Flashback to Croatia

It feels like an eternity since we were in Croatia.

We are in Iran now, with Internet so slow it would put Northern Ontario dial-up to shame, and I have been doing some picture organizing. I came across some Croatia files and my traveller's urge to bottle everything up has taken over.

So here we go, a picture tour of Croatia's Dalmatian coast.

"Eeeeeat"

In Belgrade we became friends with an awesome couple named Neda and Milutin. Zack and I (both marriage skeptics) admitted that these Serbian newlyweds “had it together.” From the two days we spent with them, it was clear their partnership was something to be emulated. Lucky for our homeland, it looks like Neda and Milutin may be Canadians one day soon; they are currently going through the motions of the Canadian immigration system.

Late one night after leaving the bar, Neda, Milutin and a group of about five of their friends took us to a restaurant (more of a food shack really) to try some famous Serbian meat, in this case an enormous hamburger folded with cheese stuffed inside (brilliant, I know.) Each of the late night grilling options could be topped with anything you like, including different vegetables and sauces.

While sitting on picnic tables and inhaling our grilled late night goodness, I asked Neda what Serbian people do on Sundays (it was late Saturday night after all.) With a mouth full of grilled spicy sausage topped with mushroom cream sauce, she responded in an exaggerated deep voice, “eeeeeat.” Bear in mind this is also the woman who told me that she once ate roasted pork so delicious she burst into tears.

Thinking about Neda and her unabashed/refreshing love of food inspired me to blog about some of the amazing (and some of the far-from-amazing) meals we have had so far on this trip.

Without getting to “dear diary”, I couldn’t possibly post about food without mentioning my ever turbulent relationship with food. Like a lot of Western women, I often feel guilty after eating and classify everything into “can’t have”, “can have” categories using an elaborate inner math equation based on what else I’ve eaten that day and how much exercise I’ll be getting. I know I’m not alone in this one since this very topic creeps into countless conversations with nearly every female friend I have. Thankfully things get put into perspective pretty quickly when you travel and while I’d like to say “I’ve been cured” of my hellish relationship with food, I’m happy to report it’s certainly mellowed. 

Going to grab a handful of these fresh home made ju-jubes became a habit very quickly in Sulaymania , Kurdistan. By the third day the shop owner prepared my dish of "take-away" treats when he saw me coming. 

Just when Zack thought Baklava couldn't get any better he discovered Baklava mashed up in custard. This dish was purchased as a gift from a nice guy who just happened to be in the shop, Kurdish hospitality never disappoints.  

Cevapi! If you think this looks like delicious breakfast sausages in a buttery nan-like bread, you are right. It's a Bosnian obsession to eat cevapi usually with a side of raw diced onions. This one was purchased for us by a friendly truck driver, driving a truck full of smelly cows to the slaughter house. Yes, eating beef in a truck on the way to a slaughter house it a bit morbid. 

Calamari baguettes (or bocadilos) in a Madrid "typical dish" according to our friend Devorah. 

Family breakfast at the farm in Banja Luka. Those are soy patties on the left, so delicious and the only vegetarian protein we saw in the Balkans. 

A dinner of champions while camping in the rain in Slovenia. 

Kumpir, the first thing we ate in Turkey. It's basically a baked potato  hand mashed with butter and cheese and then filled with everything you could imagine (corn, olives, spicy sauce, sausage slices.) 

One of many pizza sessions in Italy. This one was purchased by weight in front of the Duomo in Florence. It was good but nothing compared the pizza heaven that is Naples. 

Gelato mountains, also in Italy. 

Our first meal in Kurdistan at a road side truck stop between Turkey and Erbil. We were confused when more and more side dishes were being brought to the table, little did we know you were supposed to wave away the ones we didn't want. 

Squid stuffed with ham and cheese in Kotor. A local specialty and a major treat for us. 

Sometimes when you treat yourself (above squid dish) it means you need to be a bum the next day. Here is some over-boiled pasta and sauce from a jar that we packed for lunch as we hitch hiked down the coast of Montenegro. It tasted terrible. 

Where are all the women? And other Eastern Turkey horrors.

Greetings from Tatvan on Turkey's Republic Day!

Tatvan is a city of 100, 000 people on the West coast of Turkey's biggest lake, Van Golu. There isn't too much international tourism in this city. We have been here for two days and I think we are celebrities of sorts. Plenty of people (mostly children) have been running up to us to practice their English, which consists or "Hello", "where are you from?", "my name is....." Each statement is then repeated with little or no pause for us to answer. We woke up this morning to the sound of a marching band, having a last minute practice before their big Republic Day Parade. The parade was essentially all school children wearing their respective school uniforms. A few teachers looked annoyed that their students were more interested in posing for the city's two tourists (us) than practising their songs and maintaining their formation.

Eastern Turkey has been a stark contrast to Western Turkey: Minimal tourism. Maximum misogyny. It has become pretty commonplace for men to just ignore me and look directly to Zack for a conversation or information. Also, where are all the women? The streets of Eastern cities are pretty bustling, with lots of outdoor cafe space to drink cay and socialize, but you can't help but wonder, where are all the women? It's like a an episode of the Twilight Zone where women are kept in jars or something. There are groups of men everywhere, of all ages - young boys playing soccer, teenage boys up to "no good", and endless clusters of older men chain smoking and drinking tea, but very few women. I like to hope they are having a blast chatting with one another in their homes, doing really fulfilling work that brings them joy and challenges them. I have my doubts. 

I've developed a highly scientific strategy for assessing a region's level of women's liberation. Knitting stores. 

A city with none or minimal knitting stores = liberal. City with a knitting store on every corner = oppression, minimal rights, child brides. See how this works?  

Women's oppression and religiousity aside, Eastern Turkey has been pretty wonderful. Van Golu, Mount Ararat, Mount Nemrud (really a volcano) are each enough to take your breath away. In Van Golu there is an Island that has a 1200 year old Armenian church on it. We headed out (on a boat full of men) to the Island. Imagine our giddy excitement when we found out that the church is called Zacharias and is covered in etchings and paintings of wildlife. I'm not one to get excited about churches, but this was a beauty. 

A palace dining room. 

Sunset at Van castle, some hooligans showed us a hole in the fence so we didn't have to pay to get in.  

Ferry ride Akdamar Island. 

Zachary in front of Zacharias church

The view from the church. Lake Van is gorgeous and one of it's claims to fame is  a special cat breed that has different coloured eyes and loves swimming. Also in Van lake you can do you laundry without soap because of high chemical content. 

Wildlife pictures on the church. 

Another interesting thing about our time in Eastern Turkey is that it happened to fall on Bayram, the four-day holiday surrounding Eid. On the first day of Bayram, families slaughter either a sheep or a cow. We knew this was the practice but were not at all prepared to see what we saw that morning in Erzurum (a very religious city.) We woke up on the morning of day one and wanted to go shopping to buy me some new pants (I lost the only pair I had on the trip.) Not only were all the stores closed (rookie mistake) but the city was a complete ghost town. Nobody was out on the usually busy streets and instead, there were cow and sheep parts everywhere! Every dumpster was full of innards and dogs were munching on legs and ears. The streets were literally running with blood (see photo.) We even came across a group of men (obviously) hosing down a severed cow head. 

Burger King was giving out flags to children to celebrate Bayram. Irony not lost on us. 

I'll spare you the picture of intestines and severed heads. 

Mostar

Mostar is another beautiful Bosnian city we visited after Sarajevo. The bridge, simply called "The Old Bridge" (or Stari Most) is the focal point of the city. It was destroyed during the Bosnian war of the 1990's and then rebuilt as a symbol of post-conflict Bosnian unity. Our Mostar friend (and amazing hostel owner), Taso, told us stories of growing up in the war and seeing the entire city cry the day the bridge came down. Mostar is (apparently) the hottest city in Eastern Europe, and when we were there in September is was still 40+ degrees. Interestingly, the winter is harsh - very harsh - reaching minus thirty degrees with five feet of snow. I didn't believe the snow stories but then saw pictures, trust me they get A LOT of snow, like 'dig a tunnel from your front door to the market' kind of snow. A harsh summer followed by a harsh winter, the Balkans are a land of extremes.

Like Sarajevo, Mostar still has many reminders of the war. The tiny little tourist strip next to the Old Bridge has been restored but if you turn off any side street you will see most homes still have bullet holes. There is one street that served as the "meeting point" of Serb and Bosnian troops. This street still looks like a war zone, buildings have been blown up and the rubble just abandoned. I took a long walk down this street one afternoon but didn't bring my camera (it was threatening rain and I just wasn't in a picture mood.) So unfortunately, I have no pictures to show you of the destruction. I have only pictures of the pretty stuff (isn't that telling of tourism). Pretty or not pretty, I'm so thankful for my time in all parts of Mostar and now I'm thankful that you've read about it.

Here is a picture Zack checking out the bridge.

When I stood and got a good look at the bridge, a gust of wind blew my skirt up. I grabbed it just in time to avoid a bum show, now this is one of my favourite photos from the trip. 

Old Ottoman tombstones, they are meant to represent turbans. Mostar has some amazing history, the entire town is a UNESCO world heritage site. I always thought it was cool to declare an entire town a world heritage site, but then I realised it means people can't renovate their homes (including ancient/inefficient plumbing) without jumping through a mountain of red tape. Our hostel didn't have a sign because they were waiting on UNESCO approval, which meant Taso picked us up at the train station. A win for us.

I'm not sure why the "don't forget" signs are in English. Perhaps because the Bosnians could never possibly forget and some might say the international community barely even noticed. 

The view from the Old Bridge. The water below is only 12 degrees, recall that the air is 40+. It's a rite of passage for all the boys in the town (and some silly backpackers) to jump off the bridge. Taso jumped when he was thirteen and tells the story with a huge grin on his face. I think it's interesting that only five woman have ever jumped, it's interesting but not interesting enough for me to jump. The only death this year was an Aussie who had a heart attack because of the cold water. His family is now suing the city, grief clearly compromises judgement. Now because of this all potential jumpers need to "do a test run" on a rock down the river from the bridge and sign a waiver.

Another view from the bridge at sunset.

I loved the side of this building, vines had just been pulled off and they left this beautiful stamp. So many possible metaphors come to mind about Mostar and the war....imprinted, etched, left behind....you get the idea.