Documentaire troublant sur les conséquences psychologiques de la guerre. Pour l’exorciser, quoi de mieux que d’y jouer le plus souvent possible!?

Dans les ruines de l’hôtel Orlando, au coeur de la superbe Dubrovnik, de vieux compagnons d’armes se retrouvent pour mieux oublier le terrible conflit qui, de 1991 à 1992, plongea la cité croate dans le chaos. Troquant leur Kalachnikov pour une carabine à pression, armés de projectiles de peinture, ils jouent au paintball!

Réalisation : Jelena Popovic, 2007, 50 min 21 s

A voir en ligne et gratuitement. Pour plus d’infos, voir le site du film

I ove godine, po tradiciji, organizujemo prevoz do Dubrovnika, na docek Nove 2010. godine.

Ucesnici novogodisnjeg programa: Milo Hrnic, grupa Da Riva i Teatar.

Vise pojedinosti….. uskoro.

INFORMACIJE I REZERVACIJE:

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e-mail: labosta@t-com.me

Last week, our international trip was finally announced! Our EMBA class is going to Budapest, Hungary and Rome, Italy!

Unfortunately, I’ve already been to both cities. Fortunately, Budapest is easily in the top 3 of all of the European cities I’ve visited. What’s not to love – the mild climate, fantastic and cheap food, and the natural hot baths. I’ve stayed at the Marriott, Intercontinental, and the Sofitel in Budapest before. Of the three, I prefer the Intercontinental. The Sofitel had one of the softest beds I have ever slept on. The Marriott was in need of a serious overhaul. I’ve heard that they have redone the hotel since I’ve been there last.

I went to Rome in 2005, but it was only for three days. I did a quick bus tour of all of the sites, it will be fun to go back there with this group. Someone in our group even speaks Italian.

It is tempting to extend on this trip, especially if Hungary is the last leg. I have wanted to go to Croatia for a long time, especially to the coastal town of Dubrovnik. This may be the perfect time.

… a Dubrovnik, passeggiando dopo cena, veniamo attirati dalle persone raccolte attorno al palco del ‘Model of the year’ croato. La sosta è stata lunga, non per il concorso, ma per la musica

Il vestito, ovviamente, è DALMATA (di ufficialmentedisperso)

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I’m learning to see all over again,

Eyes wide open but vision lacking.

At 60 plus, the old vitreous has peeled away,

Much like the white puckered membrane

Within a pomegranate newly cleaved….

A year ago I walked the parapets of old Dubrovnik;

My gaze fastened on the vast vista of the Adriatic

And the pomegranate trees below heavily laden

With Persephone’s fruit–a late fall harvest to appease

Those so fearful of winter’s loss like the grieving Demeter.

Oh, ancient fruit–your rough mottled skin

Conceals unparalleled perfection of form and hue.

I remember encountering you

Growing wild on the slopes of Epidaurus

While traveling  in Greece with my mother and daughter.

Now I try to capture your mystery

Atop a grey metal table in the late morning sun,

Here in a newly minted gallery

Where once hardened prisoners served time

I  float in more French aquamarine onto  alarazin crimson

So that my still life pomegranate

Will glow and glow and glow…

Teaching me the Truth I yearn to know.

As noted in the last post, there is a page for each country in the CIA World Factbook. All have maps and and cover the same categories of facts. Additionally, there are a handful of photographs on some nations’ pages.

What is good about these is this statement that you find accompanying each thumbnail photo you click on:

Factbook photos – obtained from a wide variety of sources – are in the public domain and are copyright free.

But there are several odd things about these photos. The first is the absence of any reason why some countries have them and some don’t. For example, there are 15 photos of Jordan, and none of Iran or Iraq, 10 of Libya and none of Ethiopia, 11 each of Albania and Croatia, and none of Ukraine, Romania, or Bulgaria. The other is that by and large, these are tourist brochure shots: pyramids in Egypt, lions in Kenya.

But they are in the public domain, and it can be hard to find public domain photos of places outside the US since the understanding that photos taken by Federal employees on the job belong to the public is not an opinion globally shared.

So let’s start our world tour by meandering through Central Europe and the Balkans.

GREECE

Santorini, an island 120 miles southeast of mainland Greece.

14th century Rousanou Monastery, Meteora region, Greece

Poros, Greece

Parthenon, Athens, Greece

ALBANIA, CROATIA, SLOVENIA, HUNGARY, SLOVAKIA

The central tower of Petrela Castle outside Tirana, Albania, was erected around 500 A.D.

Tirana, Albania, and Mount Dajti, Dinaric Range

Looking down on Dubrovnik, Croatia

Dubrovnik, a walled port city on the Adriatic Sea.

Predjama Castle, Slovenia, is built into a huge cave

Slovenia: Church of the Assumption and Bled Castle on Bled Island, and the Julian Alps.

The Danube River as seen from Buda; across the river in Pest is the Parliament Building. Buda and Pest united together are Budapest, Hungary.

Fortress outside Eger, Hungary

Bratislava Castle, Bratislava, Slovakia

Tatra mountains seen from rural Slovakia

Slovakia

Slovenia

Today was one of those days that seem almost impossible to describe.  Mostly because most people wouldn’t understand the humour in the stories that that really give the clearest picture of travel, but also because most of the details would sound pretty odd to most people.  I will give it my best shot though.  The day started regularly…

I was given a ride by Mr. Begovic to the bus station to catch my bus to Budva, Montenegro this morning.  Unfortunately, I only had 50 Kuna (about $10 US) and the ticket was 129 Kuna.  There was an exchange office right there, and I had some US on me; however, as I was walking over, Mr.Begovic refused to let me trade 100 USD for Croatian Kunas when I was leaving in an hour.  So, he traded me 5 Euro for 79 Kuna ($18 USD) then gave me a bit of change in case I needed to use the toilet or buy a snack.  I tried to refuse, but he wouldn’t allow it.  After purchasing my ticket, he picked up my bag—which weighs in the 20 kilo range and provides quite a struggle for a man nearing 75—and started walking across the street.  I decided to follow my bag, and wound up in the coffee shop we had stopped in when I first arrived.  He bought me a cappuccino and introduced me to the woman who was serving and left me there with a hug and a huge smile, making sure that I understood I had to leave for the bus in 15 minutes.

The bus from Dubrovnik to Budva was gorgeous.  The bus ride was along the coastline, following an extremely windy road as the Adriatic Coast between Croatia and Montenegro is full of small inlets and bays.  I would say it may be one of the most windy roads I’ve been on before (and that’s after living on Arbutus Avenue…).  When you combine the road with a huge bus, pouring rain, and puddles of water all along the road—you get the worst possible hydroplaning you can imagine.  Our driver chuckled every time the back end of the bus fishtailed a bit, and would follow it by hitting the gas a little harder.  I’m fairly sure we spent the majority of the ride going over 80 km, but it may have been faster.  No one else on the bus seemed too concerned, so, I decided to lean back and enjoy the scenery.

Once in Budva, I enquired about buses to Bar, where the main train station in Montenegro is located.  There were lots of minibuses waiting, and I was quickly ushered onto one for only 3.50 Euro.  I boarded the bus with a some bread and cheese to hold me over—my first meal of the day.  Once the bus was around half full, the driver hopped on smacking his head against the ceiling,  He quickly recovered giving a loud laugh and punching me in the shoulder as if to say “can you believe that?”.  I laughed with him somewhat awkwardly, realizing this journey was to be no safer than the last.  He offered me a cigarette as he turned the bus on, to which I politely declined.  As the bus tore out of the station, he lit his cigarette, holding the wheel with his knees and turned the radio volume up as high as it would go.  I laughed, remembering so many other bus rides in non English speaking countries, with awkward music.  I think my ride in Cameroon may win though, as most people were dancing and singing for an 8 hour bus ride with only 7 or so songs playing on repeat.  I did think about jumping out of the window at some points, but it was fun.  It is such a wonderful way to see a country and to put yourself into so many potentially awkward situations.

Arriving in Bar safely was a miracle.  I purchased my reservation for the night train to Belgrade.  I was too cheap to go for the full bed, so I opted for just a seat…knowing I will be regretting that 5 euro decision in the morning.  I asked about lockers and maps at the information desk, but was told the lockers and tourist info are closed between 9 am and 7 pm.  Right.  Ok.  And the bus doesn’t come in the afternoon.  Ok.  So, I decided I would catch up on some emails and sit in the sun and enjoy a sprite.  There are a line of small cafes and a restaurant leading into the train station.  After having a sprite and finishing my postcards, I asked about wifi…no response really.  People in Montenegro understand English the least of anywhere I’ve been so far.  So, I wandered into the restaurant with my query.  The host/waiter had no clue what I was asking about, and my charade skills didn’t seem to help me here, pretending to type and saying every word for internet I could concoct.

A man sitting with his friend at a nearby table interrupted my wonderful acting and began speaking in French.  He explained that no one understood any English, but if I spoke any Slavic languages or French, then they could help me.  Well, my French is rusty, but I could hold my own in a light conversation.  The two men were in their late 60s, had big beer bellies and were drinking red wine.  When offered a seat, I thought this was the best thing that could happen today.  So, I pulled up a chair and we all began talking in three different languages about professions and where I had been.  They were very proud of their country and disappointed to hear I was only in Bar for one day, so I promised to return to really see the country.  The French Croatian also asked me about where I was going after Montenegro.  He was very upset to hear I was going to Belgrade and Sofia.  He began to explain, in French, how the Mafia there was out of control and the government was doing nothing to stop them.  Then he explained their biggest source of income was young girls travelling through.  All I could think of was that stupid movie Taken.  He made me promise I would have nothing to drink in either country, be back to the train station before dark, and to keep my eyes open all day and watch everyone.  I agreed.  I am sure it’s not as bad as he makes it out to be, but at the same time, there is a lot of news that we just don’t hear about in North America…so…I figured it might be solid advice coming from someone that lives in the region.  He told me Croatia and Montenegro are extremely safe and trying very hard to get their tourism going, but Serbia and Bulgaria have too much corruption.  I have read a lot about corruption in Croatia too, but I kept nodding along. After an hour or so, one of the men called a friend who has an internet cafe and the owner agreed to keep it open for me if I wanted to go there.  The waiter picked up the bill for my beer, because I was ‘the prettiest girl to come into the restaurant…ever’.  Alright…free beer….thanks…and we left the restaurant.

I was somewhat hesitant to get in the car, but they were genuinely very kind, and gave a good vibe.  So I hopped in the car and we went to the internet place, just around the corner.  I sent out a couple emails and Begot was back to pick me up to drive me back.  He gave me a tour of the city, showing me the harbour and the main squares…the language barrier was pretty strong as he spoke no French or English.  After what he considered a decent tour, he bought me a cappuccino and dropped me back off at the train station with a handful of complementary postcards of Bar.  He gave me his business card for next time I was in Bar, so I could come to his home with my friends and his wife would make us a delicious Montenegrin meal.  I agreed.  And that was it.  I expected to at least pay something for the coffee or the ride…I continued to offer, but they would both reply that it doesn’t work like that in Montenegro.  Travellers are guests, and should be treated as such.  A very odd day indeed, but a wonderful example of the Balkan hospitality.  People here always look so stern and speak aggressively, always sounding angry…but when you actually talk to them, they are overly welcoming and friendly.  And always very excited to hear that you are travelling through their country.  Some people can seem pretty dry and cold on the outside, but wonderful, interesting and caring people in general.

Montenegro… We thought it looked more like a Scandinavian country than a Baltic one. I mean, look at the pictures:

The Republic of Dubrovnik - a piece of Croatia isolated from the rest of the country in order to give Bosnia-Herzegovina a small section of coastline…

I know what you’re thinking… Dubrovnik and Montenegro are too pretty and too tame for Team Ames. Don’t worry though, this is what Dubrovnik looked like in 1991:

Over 68% of the buildings in the Old City were struck by Serb artillery shells in 1991-92.  And The New York Times estimated Dubrovnik suffered 200 dead and 900 wounded during this period which destroyed more than 3,000 residences and damaged 5,500 buildings.

Dubrovnik is a beautiful city on the Adriatic at the south of Croatia. It is one of the largest tourist destinations in Croatia, and unlike many of the other ports in Croatia, has enough space to dock cruise ships. The Old City is a UNESCO heritage site and is enclosed by the historic walls that once protected the city. Although the city was attacked by heavy artillery after the fall of Yugoslavia in the early 1990s, most of the repairs have been made now and it is difficult to find any remnants the war.

Recent excavations and findings have greatly altered what was thought to be the history of Dubrovnik. It now seems that the city has been around since the B.C. era. Between the 14th century and 17th century, Dubrovnik (known then as Ragusa) developed itself into a free state. The Republic of Ragusa received its own Statutes as early as 1272, statutes which included prescriptions for town planning and the regulation of quarantine (for hygienic reasons). The Republic was very inventive regarding laws and institutions that were developed very early on: medical service was introduced in 1301; the first pharmacy (still working) was opened in 1317; a refuge for the elderly was opened in 1347; the first quarantine hospital (Lazarete) was opened in 1377; slave trading was abolished in 1418; the orphanage was opened in 1432; the water supply system (20 kilometers) was constructed in 1436.

When I arrived in Dubrovnik, Mr. Begovic picked me up to take me to his private accommodations. Most of the accommodations for budget travellers in Dubrovnik comes in the form of private rooms. He quickly led me over to a coffee shop and asked if I drank coffee. We sat down as he continued his conversation with his friend. I was happy to wait if it meant a free coffee, so I listened to them argue away in Croatian for ten minutes or so.

The guesthouse is clean and roomy. I have my own room and my own bathroom…haven’t had that in a while! The next morning I decided to walk to the Old Town. It was about a 40 minute walk from the guesthouse. When I got down to the Old Town the sun was trying to shine through the clouds, so I decided I had better walk the walls now before it started to rain. There was only a couple other people up there that I saw during my walk, it made the experience that much better. There were tons of stairs around the walls and lots of little enclosed stair cases. Some of the higher points gave wonderful scenic views of the city and the Adriatic.

I spent the day hanging out in the Old City before walking back to the hostel. It was great to have a kitchen and be able to make my own food again. I think breakfast was the best though, just to have cereal…that made my week.

On the second day, it poured. And not just rain, there was thunder, lightning and wind gusts all day long. At one point my patio table and chair went flying across the backyard, along with my umbrella; so, I went chasing after it and by the time I got back to my room it looked like I had jumped in the bath with my clothes on. I had asked the day before at tourist information about what else I should do in the city after finding out the ferries no longer run daily in the winter. The response from both tourist desks was to find a spa or hot tub. So, I decided I would try that. Unfortunately, the owner informed me that having computers and internet on make the lighting and weather worse (who knew?) so he turned it all off. By the time I figured out where the spa was, I realized I could either walk 15 min to a bus, or walk 20 min there, and neither really sounded that appealing considering the weather conditions. I opted for a hot shower and some poorly written television. After doing zero all day, I took myself out for dinner to a cute little restaurant just down the road. There were only two other people in the place. It was a nice end to a relaxing, although somewhat frustrating day.

Today, the rain had stopped. Phew. I walked into town this morning and headed straight for the mountain that overlooks all of the Old Town and Lapad Bay (where I am staying). The hike took me…a while…mainly because I couldn’t find the entrance to the trail for a half an hour or so. But it was a great hike up and the views were spectacular. I took my photos and walked down at a pretty brisk pace. I was still somewhat out of breath and had to look sweaty and run down by the time I found a cheap restaurant. They had a lunch special on that came with soup, salad, chicken, and desert. I ate my lunch, walked around Old Town for a while longer, then headed back to the hostel. On my first night, I had found the perfect location for a sunset. Just behind our hostel there is a hill (they call it a mountain). Everywhere in town the streets are perpendicular to the slope of the hill and instead of zig zagging your way up the steep hillsides, there are stairs. Just to get from the bus stop up to the Boarding house puts even the fittest out of breath. The stairs to the top of the mountain behind were about double that. I had tried to take photos on my first night, but the clouds covered most of the light, and the second night the streets were full of water. I decided even if it rained I would go tonight.

Of course, as soon as I closed the door behind me to make the trek up there, it started raining. By the time I was half way up the stairs my pants were soaked and my shoes were full of water. My cheap umbrella kept flipping inside out, so I had to put my Nikon inside my jacket, giving me quite the belly. At the top of the stairs, I rolled my pants up to my thighs and kept trudging. I had three cars stop to ask if I was alright. I didn’t want to admit that I was just going to take a photo of the sunset, so I pretended I had intended to walk in the rain and get this wet, nodding happily. I finally got to the top and set up a little photo station with my umbrella above and my jacket on the grass…and I got a photo.

After my massive lunch, I didn’t really need dinner. So, tonight has been a hang out and organize night. I’m all packed for my bus ride tomorrow morning to Budva, Montenegro. From there I will go to Bar where I can get back on my favourite part of travel–overnight trains! Three nights of overnight trains will hopefully get me back to Athens in time for my flight to Jordan.

Author: Jane Wilkinson
Source: isnare.com

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Split and Dubrovnik, the Cultural Charms of Croatia

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Dubrovnik

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Split

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BADco. continues research on the application of advanced computer technologies in choreographic artistic practice.

After a series of workshops and presentations of Whatever Dance Toolbox (WDT) locally and abroad, BADco. invites you to our workshops in Split and Zadar:

Do it yourself

workshop leaders: Ana Kreitmeyer and Zrinka Užbinec

05.-08.11.2009 in Split in collaboration with Center for Movement (C4M Split)

18.-22.11.2009 in Zadar in collaboration with dance-theatre association “Zalet”

“Do it yourself” workshop is based on practical work using the software tool “Whatever Dance Toolbox” BADco. has developing in collaboration with German software developer and artist Daniel Turing.

———-

BADco. also invites you to its performance in Dubrovnik:

Memories Are Made Of This… performance notes

14.11.2009 20:00 in Art Workshop Lazareti

Pravdan Devlahović, Ana Kreitmeyer, Krešimir Mikić, Nikolina Pristaš, Zrinka Užbinec & Damir Bartol Indoš

Directed by: Goran Sergej Pristaš
Dramaturgy: Ivana Ivković
Collaborators: Tor Lindstrand (space), Daniel Turing (software),
Nicolas Siepen (film), Miljenko Bengez (lights), Silvio Vujičić (costumes)
Design: Gordan Karabogdan

Borrowing the title from the famous Dean Martin song, this notebook-like performance explores the mechanisms of forgetting, emotional consumption and remembering moments and spaces that have been evacuated or that were
never there.

BADco. nastavlja s istraživačkim radom koji se bavi primjenom naprednih računalnih tehnologija u koreografskom umjetničkom radu.

Nakon niza realiziranih radionica i javnih prezentacija tehnološke alatke Whatever Dance Toolbox (WDT) u zemlji i inozemstvu, BADco. vas poziva na radionice u Splitu i Zadru:

Sam svoj majstor

voditeljice: Ana Kreitmeyer i Zrinka Užbinec

05.-08.11.2009. u Splitu u suradnji sa Centrom za pokret Split (C4M Split)

18.-22.11.2009. u Zadru u suradnji sa plesno-kazališnom udrugom “Zalet”

“Sam svoj majstor” radionica je temeljena na praktičnom radu sa softverskom alatkom “Whatever Dance Toolbox” koju su BADco. razvili u suradnji s njemačkim programerom i umjetnikom Danielom Turingom.

———-

BADco. vas također poziva na izvedbu naše predstave u Dubrovniku:

Memories Are Made Of This… izvedbene bilješke

14.11.2009. 20:00 u Art radionici Lazareti

Pravdan Devlahović, Ana Kreitmeyer, Krešimir Mikić, Nikolina Pristaš, Zrinka Užbinec & Damir Bartol Indoš

Rezija: Goran Sergej Pristaš
Dramaturgija: Ivana Ivković
Suradnici: Tor Lindstrand (prostor), Daniel Turing (software), Nicolas Siepen (film), Miljenko Bengez (svjetlo), Silvio Vujičić (kostimi)
Dizajn: Gordan Karabogdan

Posuđujući naslov poznate pjesme Deana Martina, predstava u formi izvedbene bilježnice, približava nam mehanizme zaboravljanja, emotivne potrošnje i prisjećanja na trenutke i prostore koji su prazni ili ih nikad nije ni bilo.

It’s true, we finally got 20 degree weather. Nearly three weeks ago I made the bright decision to pack 2 pair of boardshorts, 2 pair of walkshorts and 2 tanktops. Recently there was a point when I wore my one pair of jeans for 2 weeks consecutively. Hindsight I tell ya, HINDSIGHT!!  So, Dubrovnik, beautiful, but damn expensive and touristfest2000. The old town was great to spend time in, but every meal was in excess of $10 (far from nearly gratis). One day Derek and I found a slightly sketch seeming local dude and rented his modest yacht for the day. Derek paddled our asses over to Lokrum (an island just off the coast), and we had great aquatic times together. Derek is sooooo ripped now, Sylvie is one lucky lady. We stayed in a room in the home of the sweetest local family. They had a cute little girl with pudgy cheeks, and were approximately 420% more friendly than the rest of the Croats we dealt with. A combination of the mediocre weather and our not-so-friendly experiences with people in the Croatian service industry  made us a tad excited to head on to Bosnia Herzegovina. We headed to Mostar and spent 4 days adventuring and seeing what truly transpired in the early 90s. The devastation these people went through was horrific, and to see the damage first hand was a pretty humbling experience. We had the best guide ever, honestly, he was a machine. Bata was his name, and he took us on a 13 hour tour of a life time. We went to the tops of mountains, swam underneath waterfalls, went to a mosque positioned amazingly underneath an overhanging cliff at the opening of an underground river more than 90km in length and visited multiple communities. This man was an overflowing source of information whether historic or geographical. His passion was unrivaled by any guide I’ve ever had, and in large part due to him, our Mostar experience was great. These people have been through so much, and to see how vibrant and passionate they are to share their culture with you is a great experience. We’re now onto Sarajevo, and likely heading into Bulgaria shortly. Derek now has a jacket, and after my recent flirting with non-pant wearing, I’m back to my denim. Not the full tuxedo, just the pants. Sarajevsko beer costs $2.80 for 2 litres of beer. Burek (a local delicacy of thin shelled pastry filled with beef, cheese, potato or spinach) costs $2-$4 to fill up your tummy. VW golfs (white or red, and late 80’s/early 90’s models) dominate these roads. I don’t mind this place one bit!

I have added a second batch of photos, this time from Dubrovnik, Croatia. Enjoy! More to come…

Port de Dubrovnik, Croatie

Mes 2 ans à Zagreb m’ont permis de découvrir ce pays aux multiples facettes : ses iles mythiques (Hvar, Korcula, Brac…), ses joyaux de la côte dalmate (Split et Dubrovnik entre autres), sa culture et ses habitants. Je vous invite à les découvrir avec moi, au travers de textes, photos, témoignages et vidéos.

This photo was taken on the Stradun, the main street that runs through the center of Dubrovnik, Croatia. Many European cities have parts that are “people friendly,” including Dubrovnik. No cars allowed – only pedestrians. This is a strange concept to a citizen of the US who lives in a city that is missing sidewalks in many key places. You want to walk to Walmart? You must be kidding!

What I like about this photo is that usually the dog leads the people but this dog is doing all it can to keep up with these children, who seemed pretty focused on going somwhere.

This summer, Jack Taylor, Wes Fleming, and I planned an  impromptu trip to Bosnia while looking at a map of the Balkans in Croatia. We figured it would be an interesting experience, and we were definitely right. The trek originally mapped out a two and a half hour bus ride to Ploce, Croatia. From there we would get on a train and head northeast to Mostar, Bosnia.

Ploce’s train station is basically a mind trip. Tickets are still written out by hand. No computer or anything, just a lady sitting at a desk with a pen and some paper. The train had a wooden interior. We quickly noticed that is was donated from Sweden to help replace the trains that were destroyed in the Bosnian War in the 1990’s.  All the windows were stuck upright, and it was easily pushing 95-100 degrees on this hot July day. Also, you can smoke darts on the train if you are ten years old, a nice perk of being ten in the Balkans.

After about an hour on the train, I realized that I didn’t  have my passport zipped securely in my pocket. Wes and Jack walked to the front of the train and had their passports checked by the Bosnian customs official. They reached the rear of the train before he did and informed me to get my passport out. When the guard came to where I was standing, he walked right by me. Why did he do this, you ask? Wes and I both had baseball hats on, so we definitely stood out from the other few train passengers. When he came back, it was just Jack and I in the last car. Since he had already checked two American passports, he never bothered to check mine because Wes was not in our car. He thought I was Wes. By the time he walked by, I was sweating…part because of the heat…and part because I was wondering what they would do to me.

As the train continued to roll into Bosnia, none of us had a good feeling. It is never good to lose a passport, but illegally crossing a border into a tense and dangerous region is another story. The prospects of getting my passport back were also grim. U.S. passports are known to fetch up to $1,000-$5,000 street value in both Eastern Europe and Russia. While we continued slowly through winding mountains and tunnels, I made a static filled satellite call to the U.S. embassy in Sarajevo. The guy on the other end could not really believe what I was telling him. He kept saying, “that’s impossible,” when I said I was actually in the country. He kept asking, “where is your passport again?” I would respond, “it’s in Croatia, but I’m in Bosnia now.” Again he would reply, “that’s impossible.”

Our plans changed quick. We needed to get to Sarajevo ASAP. I also needed to keep a low profile. That night at the hostel, I avoided writing my passport number down when asked. Trains to Sarajevo left at 6AM and 6PM. We arrived at the capital around 10AM. The ride was beautiful. A picturesque river ran next to the tracks for the majority of the ride. After leaving the train station, we got some vague directions to the embassy. It was easy to spot when we finally got into the right area. It featured a large white building with guards in front carrying automatic weapons. I showed them my South Carolina drivers license and was let through the front gate.

After going through several metal detectors and a brief questioning, I got the call to approach a teller window. Here, I began telling the story. On the bus ride in Croatia, we had to stop on two separate occasions for passport checks by Bosnian customs officials. After the second check, I remember reading the introduction section of my passport. I set it down on the seat next to me. Since the bus made several stops, it was hard to figure out exactly what towns we were stopping in because there were no signs or announcements. When we reached Ploce, we had to grab our rucksacks and quickly get off to avoid missing our stop. Of course, my passport continued down the winding Croatian highway on an old bus that hugged the cliffs to avoid dropping into the sea below.

I had to tell the story three times. The final account was told to about twenty embassy officials who crowded around the glass divider which resembled an arena ticket office. One official laughed as he said, “people try and tunnel in and get caught, and you just came right in on a train.” Most trains that we rode in the Balkans had two or often three passport checks. So having one, and getting by, was unbelievably lucky.

My passport eventually was located. I had given the bus company name to the embassy over the phone. They were able to track it down. Two girls from England who were sitting behind us on the bus turned it in. While my train was rolling into Bosnia, the embassy sent an official, I assume by car, to get my passport on the Croatian side of the border. In Sarajevo, we were six hours into Bosnia by train. We had to get back to Dubrovnik to fly out in approximately thirty hours. So, for the time being, they monitored where we were staying. We rented a Bosnian man’s upstairs apartment for the night, and I returned to the embassy the following day. If the passport didn’t make it back in time, the embassy would have to consider a few different options for getting us out by air. I am not sure if we would have left on a military plane or what exactly.

As I made the three mile walk back to the embassy the following afternoon, past bullet riddled buildings and street vendors, I still had one question in mind. The passport had just arrived, which was great,  but what would have happened to me if I had gotten caught entering the country illegally? An embassy worker explained, “they would have stopped the train, arrested you immideately, and brought you back to the Croatian border where you would have been held in dual custody, with one phone call.”

Dubrovnik, 2008, pencil & pen on card collage

The old town of Dubrovnik at the southern tip of Croatia is one of the most attractive medieval cities in Europe, enclosed by gigantic walls and fortifications. Viewed from the nearby island of Lockrum, the old city appears to rise out of the sea (like Venice which it once rivaled) as a mirage of rough-hewn stone and angular roofs composed of terra-cotta tiles. Sea, city and sky appear as in medieval perspective, stacked on top of one another rather than receding to a single vanishing point. Flattened out, the city’s spaces appear as shapes unified yet diverse, playing off each other in the brilliant sunlight.

Only when you get up close to the buildings do you realize that most of what you see is modern. Much of the old city was damaged as a result of the seven-month siege of Dubrovnik in the 1991-92 war between Croatian and Serbian forces. Meticulously restored since 2005, the traces of destruction are now seen only in the different colours of the new and old terra-cotta roof tiles.

Terra-cotta roof tiles, Dubrovnik, 2008

Ho terminato la stesura del diario di viaggio della magnifica motovacanza croata di questa estate.

Spero che piaccia ma sia soprattutto utile a chi desidera intraprendere un viaggio simile, con le cose ed i luoghi che non si devono assolutamente perdere.

Siamo partiti il 1° di agosto (fortunatamente avevano già chiuso il nuovo passante di Mestre perchè intasatissimo, ricordate ?! ) e siamo tornati il 18.

Abbiamo percorso circa 3700 km e speso poco più di 2000 € tutto, ma proprio tutto, compreso.

Abbiamo fatto 2 giorni a Povoletto nell’agriturismo dell’ormai mitico Giorgio Clocchiatti per vederci con amici ed farci un giretto in Slovenia, quindi 3 giorni in Istria, 1 a Senj, 2 a Plitvice, 3 a Primosten, 2 a Dubrovnik, 3 a Korcula ed una notte ad Abbazia.

Ci siamo trovati bene ovunque, mai nessun problema di alcun genere. Avevamo prenotato solo i primi 3 giorni in Istria, il resto sul posto recandoci nelle agenzie locali.

Anche se tutti quelli che ci sono già stati mi han detto che negli ultimi anni i costi di vitto ed alloggio sono aumentati, si spende ancora veramente poco rispetto ai nostri canoni…

Mare fantastico praticamente ovunque, ma soprattutto a Korcula e sulla punta di Prevlaka. I laghi di Plitvice sono un paradiso naturale incredibile.

Ma ecco il Diario vero e proprio: “Ćevapčići a colazione”

anche scaricabile in PDF

mentre le foto le potete trovare QUI

A disposizione per qualsiasi info…

*Jakarta Globe, 14 October 2009

Tour groups are usually a no-no. These small communities with a schedule, unpredictable characters and a bus evoke in me a tightening of emotions similar to what I feel in an airport departure hall with its amalgamation of tears, fears and stress.

Except on guided tours the tears usually come from laughing too much, the fears from getting lost in an unknown city and the stress stems from finding the best restaurant that isn’t already packed for lunch because of its famous slices of original Sacher torte chocolate cakes.

Conventional group travel — where my time is not my own — is no cup of tea for a habitual loner on perpetually itchy feet, but I thought I’d give it a go. Just for a week.

As a traveler I savor solitude. So much so that I once left a traveling companion on the beaches of Dubrovnik when her loquaciousness on the subject of her sexual prowess – or lack thereof — proved more than I could bear.

So when I joined a pack of Indonesian women on tour in Slovakia, the effect was quite jostling for this lone wolf. After quiet days of traveling solo and speaking to only a smattering of souls, entering a city and conversation again took some getting accustomed to.

Holding a good conversation is similar to a long tennis rally. It flows. The ball doesn’t drop and the talk falls in elegant strokes. There isn’t the need to start over again with a serve (or a new topic) each time in order to keep momentum going. But after weeks of self-imposed solitude, with the extent of my conversation being, “Where is this train going to?” my conversational skills were no longer on the Nadal-Federer level they were when I was a journalist in Jakarta, bouncing the conversational ball effortlessly with dozens of people a day. This time, my returns kept hitting the net and dropping.

Tour groups are generally loud and being with a bus load of excitable ladies could likely do damage to one’s ears as they chat and cackle over children, chores, credit cards and consumer goods. Silence, I conceded, was not going to be on the tour bus’s repertoire this week. But it was hard to resist joining these fun-loving ladies in their babble as we shuttled around Europe, giving new meaning to the term “bus-setter” — breakfast in the Slovakian capital of Bratislava, dinner in the Austrian cultural hot spot of Vienna and lunch somewhere in between.

Riding a tour bus is basically a compact commute through a country. Commonly crisscrossing a nation in less than a week, tours for Asians are as speedy as the turnaround of tables in a busy Chinese restaurant, more a sprint than a cross-country run. As we crossed borderless borders from Slovakia into Austria, we passed wind farms that resembled graceful snow-white ballerinas in a landscape of agricultural green and stout houses with sloping red tile roofs that ran rampant across Slavic suburbia.

We acknowledged statues of national heroes wearing military suits, standing proud in white stone, and envied the old men sleepily sitting on benches in the shade, the sun casting shadows on strong hawk-like noses. I found myself gazing at elderly women wearing over-the-knee skirts in pale colors over thick ankles, and wondering if they were prostitutes during the wars; if their dresses were shorter, in bolder colors, and if they, sporting slimmer ankles, enticed armies of men into their chambers.

Along the way, the click of our tourist cameras followed us as adamantly as a stubborn stray that shadows you home. We paused in front of beautiful objects because they were listed in the guidebook, not really seeing or absorbing what was there — a mere photo opportunity. In countless photographs, our beaming faces with dried lips from holding a smile too long remained the same. Only the backgrounds changed.

On tours, which in Europe tend to visit resplendent buildings of ages past, one is bound to learn new things, for the castles and palaces of the Continent hold riveting stories within their cracking stone walls and dried up moats. At Cerveny Kamen Castle in the Slovakian countryside, our young guide, Maciej, showed us a sealed air shaft. It was closed, he confided, after a thief clambered in like an upside down Santa one day and stole castle relics — royal bows and arrows that long ago aimed at the stags whose heads pepper the castle walls, and rusted spears and swords that once drew blood.

Then he led us down to copper cellars that took more than two decades to construct. They lay deep under the castle grounds with lofty ceilings, connected to the towers that had housed generations of sovereigns since the 13th century, where without wars and princes running down their shrouded snaking pathways, their cloaked dungeons and secret passages had long been forgotten.

The hush that fell within the echoing walls lasted but for a fleeting second before someone said, “Line up, ladies, photo op!”