Almost Arctic Adventures

It was nearly 11:30 in the evening when the Iceland Air flight touched down in Keflavik, but it felt like six in the evening. The sky was light despite being overcast, and I was immediately struck by the beauty of the landscape, but these plains outside the capital were nothing compared to what I would see in the next four days in this beautiful country.

I made my way out of the airport and was greeted by a young Icelandic gentleman who escorted me to my rented vehicle. After signing the paperwork and opting for the gravel damage insurance--which would come in mighty handy--in their offsite car rental spot, I was off and headed into Reykjavik. With the evening light getting no dimmer, I drove through the capital at around midnight, but what still felt like early evening, and stayed on the highway right through town knowing I would be back to visit at the end of my stay. My eyes started getting heavy and I decided to curl up in the car for a few hours of shut-eye in a parking lot just off the road, nestled between some high hills and the rolling sea. I could only keep my eyes shut a few short hours as I was too excited to see as much of this beautiful island as I could. I was off and driving by four in the morning, through the countryside along the ring road taking in the gorgeous sights. Late in the morning, I ended up in a quiet little town and found a nice bakery where I could grab some breakfast. While eating, I found myself entertaining the young son of the couple at the next table who was absolutely fascinated with my hide and seek routine, and that thoroughly overshadowed the fantastic pastry and coffee I enjoyed that morning. I was back on the road after that and headed onward for Akureyri, the second largest city in Iceland and home to the guesthouse I would be staying at for the next two nights. Along the way, I took a slight detour up the northern coast and ended up stopping in the cold seaside air to pet some horses and take in the unbelievable cliffside views of the coast and the western fjords I could see across the bay. Unfortunately, exploring that region will have to be reserved for another trip. I made it to Akureyri by the late afternoon and, despite being tired from the drive, couldn't wait to see more of the island. So, after dropping my bags, I headed straight back out, first to the local pool for a relaxing dip in the naturally heated pools, and then onward up the coast for some more beautiful views. I made it back to the house late in the evening and chatted with my hostess Eyglo and her wonderful houseguest Anita before heading to bed to get up early and do it all over again.

The next morning I got some good recommendations from Eyglo and headed out eastbound for Lake Myvatn. On the way, I stopped to take in a small lake off the highway and stretch my legs. And when I got there I was greeted by some fierce wind whipping through the small valley that nearly blew me off my feet and whipped the water into beautiful crashing waves. Next was Godafoss, or waterfall of the Gods, where one of the Icelandic kings was said to throw his statues of the various gods when they converted to Christianity. I fought some tourist crowds at the waterfall, and decided to head straight onward to Myvatn. The word Myvatn is Icelandic for "mosquito," and how fitting a name for this lake. As soon as I arrived at the south side of the lake I was greeted by many buzzing insects crowding around for some fresh flesh. But fighting the swarms, of both mosquitos and tourists, was well worth it for the views of the lake and surrounding landscape. As I stood in awe atop a grassy knoll on the banks of the lake with the wind drowning out the moaning and chatter of the tourists crowds, I took in the view trying to imagine this beautiful place in the different seasons; the current sunny and green of the summer versus the dark and snowy, but no less majestic winter. Glancing across the lake I saw a large cone-shaped hill, which was the largest lookout other than the hills way out on the horizon, and I headed straight for it. After a refreshing thirty minute scramble to the top of Vindbelgjarfall, I stood at the summit and gazed out with 360 degree views of the surrounding glaciers and hills of northern Iceland. But with the wind whipping, I decided to begin the descent , back into the swamps and the mosquitos. As the mid afternoon arrived, so did the clouds, and I decided to squeeze in one last hike, if I could. I started the walk to Hverfjall around three in the afternoon, from an offsite parking lot to the north of the crater, and found myself wandering through the deserted plains of Iceland. The amazing volcanic rock formations and low hills made for an eery, yet strikingly beautiful landscape that I couldn't help marveling at. An hour later I reached the top via the north side of the crater and I gazed into the rocky depths of the former volcano just as the clouds arrived en masse and the wind began whipping. I staggered around the lip of the crater and enjoyed more incredible views of the landscape, simultaneously feeling as big as the world, and yet like the tiniest, most insignificant thing in it as the wind nearly knocked me over; Mother Nature showing her might. I descended back down and headed for my car, conveniently located in the parking lot of the Myvatn Nature Baths, the second largest thermal spa in Iceland behind the famous Blue Lagoon near Keflavik. I stripped down and ventured in, wading into the warm, milky blue water and rested, letting my tension release and warm muscles relax and soak. When the lagoon was not warm enough I headed to the hotter bath beside the pool, and when I reentered the lagoon found the silica mud and cleansed my skin, furthering the relaxation. I repeated this for an hour and a half as the aforementioned clouds brought a light drizzle, perfectly contrasting the heat of the pool with the icy air. Freshly restored, I showered and departed, but not before getting a loaf of hverabraud, a molasses bread slow-baked underground near by geothermal heat for 24 hours. I munched on a little of that as I continued, first over the nearest pass east stopping at some roadside geo thermal vents to view the geysers and bubbling pools. As I headed to my next destination, Gullfoss, two figures emerged roadside as I rounded a corner. They were bundled up, hoisting big packs, and with their thumbs raised emphatically in the air. I stopped and was glad to pick up a German couple backpacking around northern Iceland. A few miles was all the ride they needed before we reached the falls. They thanked me and headed for their camp as I went opposite towards the falls. My first stop was Selfoss, a smaller, but still impressive set of falls just south of the larger Dettifoss. And even from a ways upriver I could see the mist emitting from the next set of falls--the largest in Iceland--and I couldn't help but head giddily over to view the awesome power of the falls. And they certainly did not disappoint. I could hear them roar from some distance away as the thousands of gallons of water rushed over the edge and into the abyss every second. The massive force pushing the water over the edge was truly awesome and provided another moment of humility as I took stock of my place on this Earth; a small being in the grand scheme of things. A few pictures, some wandering around the edges and a good deal of mist blasting at me later, and I headed to the car, undecided over whether to venture on eastward or to call it a day and head back to Akureyri. I chose adventure and headed east, but quickly the road became harder and harder to navigate in Bianca, my little two wheel drive hatchback, which I took as a sign that my adventure was ending for the day. The two hour drive back was filled with dance music on the radio (when I had a signal), gazing into the beautiful view and constantly being flashed by passing cars as I forgot to turn on my headlights--even though it was perfectly light outside. I made it home late in the evening as the sun neared the horizon just as some clouds creeped along the horizon making for a majestic Icelandic sunset; a perfect cap to the day.

That was the end of my brief stay in northern Iceland, and as I bade farewell to my fabulous hostsesses Eyglo and Anita after a terrific breakfast of bread, cheese and jam, I decided to take track along the northern coast on a new route back to the capital. My first stop was outside of the first settlement in northern Iceland and I stopped on a steep overlook where I gazed into the misty sea envisioning a past life as a trader bartering furs and local goods for those fresh of the boast from the Continent. As I sat daydreaming of sharing an ale with the weary travelers and telling stories of life in the beautiful but unforgiving lands of this new land dubbed Iceland and being regaled by tales of life on the similarly unforgiving open ocean, my sense of adventure piqued and shook me from my own haze. It was time to move on, and see what more this island had to offer, so I hopped back in my heated car, scanned the radio for road tunes and traveled at speeds thought impossible in the days when this town was a trading post. As I wound through the northern coast in the driving wind and rain, navigating 7 mile tunnels with only one lane of traffic and traversed the gravel roads of the more rural parts of the Icelandic coast, I could do little but marvel at the beauty of the landscape; from the inland snowcaps to the waves crashing against the rocky shores. And so I drove, for another three hours before reaching the first town I stopped in on the way up. As I drove in I could see a nice overlook on the other side of some neighborhoods, and I wound my way through the locals' houses and found the overlook on a road leading to a farm, which luckily had a roadside picnic table beckoning for a guest. And so I willingly obliged, enjoying hverabraud with ham and cheese, with some chocolate for dessert, as I did the only thing you can do in a place like that: marvel. For an hour I watched as clouds rolled in and out, illuminating the houses dotting the coastline. But, as I needed to return the car to Reykjavik, I obliged--grudgingly this time--the call of the road and off I went back toward Reykjavik. I arrived in late afternoon and wound my way to my hostess's house, my sister's childhood friend Megan who played professional soccer in Reykjavik. However, since she was out of town--back to the states, in fact--I was crashing at her place with her roommate, a lovely Serb who played on the same team. I arrived at an empty house, and after a bit of scrambling, I was able to track down my hostess to learn that she had left a spare key out. This spelled the end of my time with my lovely white hatchback Bianca as the rental agency swooped in to reclaim her and I waived tearfully goodbye. I shook it off, and with evening approaching, and finding myself sans-automobile, I decided to call it a night and wake up early for a quick exploration of the capital. 

My final day in Iceland was a Tuesday, and started with a mission to print my boarding passes back to the states. I hopped the bus into the center of Reykjavik and wandered the beautiful streets and port, before hustling to my first stop: a local hostel. They could not help, however, and pointed me across the street to the public library where, five flights of stairs later, a wonderful elderly librarian helped me log onto the computers and print at thirty cents per page. With boarding passes in hand, I strolled the streets for just a few minutes more, enjoying the wonderfully modern concert hall on the water before catching a bus right back to the house. There, Danka, my kind hostess, walked me to the airport bus while we chatted about my trip and her soccer career, before she helped me get settled on the bus bound for Keflavik. I breezed through security and headed for my flight, ready to get back stateside for the final leg of my trip.

London Town

I awoke early in the morning on the bus, slightly confused as to my exact location winding through London's suburbs until we rounded a corner and crossed the Thames just west of Big Ben. I was still a bit confused despite recognizing the iconic London landmark because it was sunny... in London! Reality didn't strike until we landed at Victoria Station some minutes later and departed the bus, stepping onto British soil for the first time in years. As I made my way to the unopened Tube station, where I was to head out for my hostel, I was increasingly excited to be back in this magnificent town again, and for the adventures still to come. I loitered, along with the other bus and train passengers, waiting for the Tube to open, and then made my way on the Victoria line to Brixton, in south London. Strolling along the quiet early morning streets and through the still-recovering public square of Brixton listening to a local trying to sell some Australian hippies cocaine made me quite excited to get my London adventure underway. That excitement, however, would have to wait. I arrived at my hostel a short time later, named Hootenanny after the bar it was situated atop, only to find it closed with no signs of life in the immediate vicinity. So, I loitered some more, back to watch the sleepy Londoners arise and fill the streets and the public workers reinvigorate the square that looked to have taken a beating the night before from the local youths of Brixton. Finally, after enjoying the rising sun and the awakening of sleepy south London, I headed back and checked into my hostel minutes after reception opened.

After getting settled, I decided to use my newly minted Oyster Card and take the Underground back into London for some exploring. On this fine Sunday morning, I headed straight for the Camden market in north London and found my way around the various stalls selling tons of vintage goods; from clothing to furniture and everything in between. But, the best part--aside from people watching--was enjoying a fantastic Greek gyro sitting in the sunshine at a nearby park. Then, off I went to explore the city. Due to construction, the closest Underground station was closed, so I headed off on foot to check out some of the recommendations from the various Londoners I met along my travels. First stop, after passing St. Pancras was to Shoreditch and the East end. Off I walked, enjoying the sight of Londoners roaming the streets on this fine Sunday; running errands and enjoying tea with their closest friends. In Shoreditch, one of London's up-and-coming neighborhoods, I strolled past the old industrial buildings in the midst of renovation and readying for hip new occupants and this reminded me of the Georgetown neighborhood of Seattle, but much larger. There were interesting people eating at the hipster restaurants where they were cooking innovative food and I could tell this neighborhood was helping redefine the artistic, and culinary, scenes of London. Somehow I ended up in the ghost town that is the Financial District on a Sunday, coming face to face with the Gherkin, the well, gherkin shaped building in the heart of London and I took a moment to wonder at its odd, and hardly economical shape before moving. After stumbling onto a closed restaurant dedicated to the art of mashed potatoes, I decided to head back to the hostel for some rest. After a bit of rest in the room, where I met a Washington DC-based actuary-slash-DJ, we headed down to the bar to watch the final of the Confederation's Cup as Brazil beat reigning world champions Spain in a 3-0 rout. What a fantastic game and precursor to next year's World Cup! That was enough for me though, and I headed off to bed.

Monday I was greeted with the news that a friend from Brighton named Luke who I had met in Hanoi would be in London for the day. So, I messaged him and he agreed to meet up. I headed up to Victoria Station late in the morning and met the lad just beside the platforms. As it was nearing lunch, we decided a traditional English cider and some catch-up was due, and so we headed to the nearest pub for a pint. After some chatting, we decided to take a walk through Picadilly and Trafalgar Square. On the way past Buckingham Palace and through Hyde Park, we agreed that something touristy was in order, and I had heard rave reviews of the Hard Rock Cafe's exhibit of Rock'n'Roll history, so we went to take the tour. And what a fabulous tour! Everything from Hendrix's guitar to Keith Moon's shirt and Kurt Kobain's sunglasses to Freddy Mercury's third century Chinese throne were in the small room known as the Vault. What a thrill, and we left quite satisfied having been in the presence of history. By this time hunger had crept in and we ended up at a pub just a few blocks from Trafalgar Square for some Bangers and Mash and a pint of ale, both of which were quite satisfactory. After the filling meal, we headed out yet again, this time to Soho where we browsed the record shops as my friend, a DJ, was always on the scout for new material. Nothing sparked his fancy, so we continued our wander, landing at yet another pub for a last pint before he had to catch the train home. I headed back to the hostel and ended the fantastic day early.

I awoke early the next morning bound for the historic college town of Oxford and their renowned university. I walked through the town on a fabulously English overcast day, heading up the church's tower for a 360 degree view of the town in the mist before walking past a few of the oldest colleges including Merton and Christchurch. Then, however, the rain started to pick up. I took my leave and headed for the town of Henley-on-Thames, home of the historic Regatta crew races, and also the workplace of another traveling friend, Andrew, who I met in Montenegro. After getting stranded for an hour in the quaint picturesque English village of Wallingford, I finally hopped the local bus onward to Henley and met up with Andrew. We walked along the river checking out the preparations for the next day's events, where I saw a few superhuman sized members of the Polish national crew team and some (slightly) more reasonable sized Cal-Berkley and Harvard rowers meandering through town. After checking out the town, we got some obnoxiously large orders of fish and chips and ate them on a bench in town, chatting about our trips past and future plans. We wandered back through the rest of the town, stopping for a glass of cider before heading to the train station so I could make my way back to Brixton for the night. Another incredible day in southeast England. 

Wednesday yielded far fewer activities, with the only notable item being a cup of tea and cake at a small cafe in the Brixton market. This was mostly notable because the young barista was babysitting a cool English lad of about 7 who was making conversation with everyone who came into the shop asking what we thought of his drawing and what we were doing in the store. Quite a cool little fellow, and chatting with them made for a pleasant day.

Bucket lists were meant to be completed, and Thursday provided me with an opportunity to get closer by checking off yet another item on the list: a tennis Grand Slam event. And, of course, the only one of those hosted in the London area in early July is the Championships Wimbledon. So, I found myself up at the crack of dawn, with sandwiches and crackers in hand , and hopped on the bus at 5:30 in the morning bound for the All England Lawn and Tennis Club. Wimbledon is one of the few major sporting events that sells a large block of tickets on the day of the match on a first-come, first-served basis. So I joined the queue and waited for three hours for the gates to open, getting a big chunk of reading done in the meantime. Once we finally made it to the head of the queue and forked over our 16 pounds to enter and watch "Women's Semi Finals Day" at Wimbledon, we still had a few hours to kill. And, as we all milled around the grounds, I almost ran into a petit young lady carrying a tennis bag. As I dodged her I noted that she looked like she was probably a player heading to her match and I thought that it was cool that players shared the space with spectators and were not all shuttled directly into and out of their matches. As the day progressed, I enjoyed a few matches from Henman Hill, the large slope outside Court 1 with a giant projector for viewing the most in-demand matches and even went into a few of the smaller courts for some matches as well. In the afternoon, as I was on Henman Hill watching the second Women's Singles semi-final, I realized that I recognized one of the players as the lady I almost ran into that morning. And it was none other than Marion Bartoli, the future champion. A more astute tennis fan would have recognized her, as she was ranked number 15 in the world, having previously been in the top 10. Needless to say, at that moment she became my favorite to win the tournament, as she successfully won her match that afternoon. As the afternoon was coming to an end, I heaeded to Court 2 to watch the first set of legends Martina Hingis and Lindsey Davenport's Doubles match. That was all I had left in the tank after 13 hours at Wimbledon, and I headed back to Brixton for the evening.

And, just like that, my stay in London was over. Friday was to be my last in the Isles and London, so I took the opportunity to go for another wander. First stop was back in north london and past St. Pancras, where I passed the Camden Market I had visited a few days earlier. I walked around the market again, sleepy on this Friday afternoon, and continued on to Regent's Park where I enjoyed the afternoon sunshine, and also where I stumbled upon folks prepping for a movie shoot. They were just putting down the rails for the moving camera as I passed through, and continued onward to Primrose Hill across the street for a glorious view of the London skyline from the north, including a fabulous view of the Shard, the newest and tallest building to grace--or tarnish, depending on your view--the skyline. Then came my final destination, and the one I had been most excited for in my entire trip to London: the musical holy ground that is Abbey Road studios and the famous crosswalk just outside. I knew I had arrived when I saw the hoards of tourists walking too slowly across a random crosswalk in London. I had heard that locals were accommodating of the tourists trying to take pictures of the crosswalk, but they certainly were not on that hot and sunny day in London. Instead, they breezed through and grudgingly stopped every time a group of tourists tried to cross the road and pose. As we all joined the queue and snuck into the intersection when we could, we snapped our pics and headed on our way. I stopped outside the studios and to stand in awe and reverence at the musical history that had been achieved in those very studios; the pictures of all of the Fab Four arriving to the studio in their cars amid the paparazzi and hearing the the tracks of Dark Side of the Moon and imagining being present for the recordings in those very studios. After a good bit of daydreaming, and seeing the ominous No Entrance signs, I decided to head back to Paddington Station, collect my things and grab a sweaty and crowded Underground out to Heathrow to end my English adventure en route to my next, and final non-USA destination: Iceland!

Getting Germanic

My excursion through the Germanic countries started off with an adventure. On the night train from Budapest, I had a cabin to myself. And knowing that Vienna was only a short ride away, and thus I needed to get off the train in the middle of the night, I foolishly laid down for "just a few minutes" of shut eye. And, of course, I woke up about five minutes after the train departed from Vienna. So, I asked the kind steward what to do and he said I could get off at the next stop and find another train back. The only problem was that the next train back to Vienna was not for another few hours. So, after departing the train at Sankt Polten, I napped a few hours and waited for the next inter-city train back to Vienna. And, at four thirty in the morning, I hopped aboard with some early commuters and rode in to the city as the sun was rising and illuminating the Austrian countryside with the first rays of the day. The sky started a brilliant purple and slowly made its way through red and into a bright and clear summer morning, just as I arrived in Vienna. Though tired, I carried on and, after leaving my bags in a locker at the station, headed into the city center. There I consulted Trip Advisor, and headed for a cafe renowned for its melange coffee and sakertorte cake. That sounded like breakfast to me, and it was a fabulous one. The chocolate decadence paired with the coffee will brighten any morning, guaranteed. So off I strode, through the Austrian capital and, as the fine morning developed into a beautiful summer day, I wandered the parks of the city, taking in the fantastic architecture and beautiful gardens of the city. About mid-morning, as I was searching for another cafe, I was consulting a public map when a polite, older American woman approached asking for directions. We chatted a few minutes and checked the map together as she sought out an antique bookshop nearby. It was a pleasant conversation and we got her headed in the right direction before bidding adieu, happy to make a lovely acquaintance. On I trotted that day, out to the magnificent Schonbrunn castle and its incredible grounds, back to the city center, and then out to the north side of Vienna for some classic wienershnitzel and a beer to cap off the day. The meal was wonderful as I watched the hordes of Viennese lounging in the sun and playing in the lake from the waterfront restaurant. What a great tour of a fabulous European city.

That evening I headed back to the train station for a night of roughing it, as I was planning an early departure for Innsbruck to see my friend Gabby. The night started well until the station attendant informed all of us attempting to sleep in the lobby that the station closed for a few hours and we needed to find other accommodation. So, I wandered the streets of Vienna and caught a little shut eye on the platform before catching a morning train to Wolf in der Au, just outside of Vienna. From here I attempted, unsuccessfully, to hitchhike to Innsbruck. As the hours passed, the likelihood of hitching a ride dwindled and I realized that the more time I spent waiting for a ride, the less time I had to hang with my friend Gabby. So, I conceded defeat around midday and headed back to catch the train onward to Innsbruck. In between naps on the long ride I was in awe of the Austrian countryside and knew that what awaited me in the Austrian Alps would be a truly special sight. And it did not disappoint. After meeting with Gabby off the train, we headed back to her place to drop off my bags before a quick tour of the city and a bit of catching up. The old town of Innsbruck is small, but beautiful and we wandered the alleys and checked out the shops for a while before heading to a locals-only restaurant tucked into a residential district. As the sun set, we sat amongst the locals and were invited to the table of a local woman dining solo who chatted with us, and insisted that I try some of her cold cheese and sauerkraut dish that was quite tasty. I had an incredible potato hash, at her recommendation, and we washed it down with some local beer. Throughout the meal, she chatted with us about her USA-based brother who was coming to visit in the summer and, by the end of our meal, invited us to stay with her should we ever be back in Innsbruck for a vacation. We wandered back to Gabby's house and enjoyed a bottle of wine as the light dimmed to end a wonderful day in Austria.

The next morning, we made a great meal of pancakes, eggs and a fruit salad. It was nice to get back in the kitchen after so many months of eating nearly exclusively at restaurants. After the meal, Gabby headed to work for a meeting while I did some laundry, and we met again in the afternoon for a hike. Up we headed into the Alps, bound for a summer restaurant on the hills overlooking Innsbruck for lunch. It was about an hour walk each way, and winding through the woods reminded me of the hiking in the Northwest. The smell of pines sweating in the heat and the foothills landscape gave me a pang of homesickness, but also a warm reminder of what awaited me back home. We made it to Rumer Alm, the lunch spot of choice for the afternoon and had a light lunch. I chose the roast beef with mustard and bread, washed down with a beer and Gabby opted for the radish and bread. Both were fantastic, light summer meals and we walked back to town refreshed. We rested for the heat of the day before heading back into town for a drink and some light dinner along the Inns river, before another evening stroll through the bustling old town.

The next morning, I was bound for Munich, but not until midday. So, while Gabby worked in the morning, I headed for breakfast of a piece of apfelstrudel at a local shop followed by some final wandering through Innsbruck on another gorgeous morning. Gabby and I met up and we bid farewell as I left for the train station and my next destination: Munich.

The beautiful train ride terminated at Munchen Hauptbanhof on the beautiful afternoon of June 20, my birthday. After exchanging some messages with my hostess, and one of my oldest friends, Ciara, I followed her directions to meet near her apartment. After dropping my bags, we headed out to meet up with some of her friends for my first trip to a biergarten. We shared some conversation with her friend Courtney and Courtney's friends Matt, Sean and Neil over a Mass Heller--one liter of cold, crisp German beer--while enjoying the afternoon sun and watching the fascinating Germans socializing on a fine afternoon. After one beer, we decided a quick tour of the city center was in order for Ciara and I before meeting up again at Hofbrauhaus, the main brewery of one of Munich's six official breweries. We spent the evening chatting, people watching, singing drinking songs and, of course, drinking beer. After a few filling liters of beer over the course of the evening, we headed home to call it a night.

The next day, I met up with Courtney and her three friends to take a tour of Dachau, the Nazi concentration camp just outside Munich. We spent a somber and powerful two hours walking the camp. It was not a large camp, with the prisoner dormitories occupying the space of a few football fields, but it housed thirty thousand prisoners at its height. Learning of the cruelties and standing on the grounds where some of the greatest human atrocities in history were committed was a sad reminder of what some humans are capable of. The most chilling part of the self-guided tour was the crematorium, built just outside the prisoner housing grounds. It was here that prisoners were told they were being showered to be transferred to a different facility, but when they entered the showers, they never came out.  First, they were gassed, and then burned in the ovens. The volume was so significant that the Nazis had to build a bigger oven to handle the ever-increasing demand for cremation. The stories of children being abused, tortured and surrounded by death and despair was another particularly troubling experience. Yet there was something inspiring in the stories of prisoner doctors helping fellow inmates who the Nazis were happy to let die slow gruesome deaths; and of prisoners who had good relationships with their Nazi captors and used that privilege to smuggle needed goods like food and medicine to their fellow inmates. There were stories of hope among the despair, and it is truly powerful to see monuments and museums built to remind us to never make the same mistakes again as humans, yet also to inspire us that no matter the challenges, humans rise to the occasion and unite to oust evil in favor of good. Back in Munich, we headed for pizza in town, before walking through the parks of Munich to see the surfers who flock to a specific spot in the river where a damn creates a surf-able current. Wandering through the park, we stopped, very briefly, to notice that on the far bank of the river was a sizable group of sunbathers enjoying the sun au natural. This part of Munich's main park is a well-utilized nudist area, dominated unsurprisingly by males. Finally we ended in the Chinese garden for another Mass Heller and some conversation over the afternoon, where we also tried the weisswurst, the traditional Bavarian white sausage. From there we were off, first for a dinner of doner kebab near the Hauptbanhof then to another biergarten for some more beer and conversation. We biergarten-hopped the rest of the night before bidding farewell to Courtney's friends, as they were off back to the states the next day.

On Saturday, we headed out to the outskirts of Munich on the S-Bahn for a hike to the old hill town of Andech to celebrate the birthday of another of Ciara's friends. It was quite a fun experience, especially the first hour as we were brutally molested by swarms of mosquitoes as the first part of the hike passed through a swampy area. It was definitely worthy of a few laughs as we all wrapped our jackets up tightly around our heads hiding every inch of skin we could. Ciara's beau Al and I had the worst time, especially as I was wearing shorts, but we made it through and ended up with a fantastic view of the Bavarian countryside as we enjoyed our sausage and beer lunch. After the festivities, we headed back to Munich for a dinner at Al's place, having to hustle back to town to get to the grocery store to buy the necessary goods before its inconveniently early closing of eight in the evening. But make it we did, and headed to Al's, along with Ciara's roommate Klaas, for some chili, rice and salad. We followed it with Lost in Translation, with only a few of us making it to the end, before sprinting to catch the last bus home for the night.

Sunday we relaxed, finally getting out and about for some biergarten-hopping and skyped with folks back home, ending the day with watching Spain play Nigeria in Confederation's Cup action. Finally, on Monday I headed for the bus station bound for my next destination: Koln.

After the nine hour bus ride through the stormy, but picturesque German countryside, I made it to Koln around ten in the evening with no place to stay. My first destination was somewhere with wifi, and luckily a Mexican restaurant was open with decent chips and salsa and, more importantly, the much desired wifi. So, I scoped out the hostel scene online before deciding on my next destination across town. Off I headed on foot across the city, stopping on the bridge over the Rhine for a magnificent view of the Gothic cathedral, northern Europe's largest. I made it to the hostel on the west side of the city center around twelve in the evening. Luckily they have 24-hour reception! I was checked in for the night and settled in trying not to disturb my fast-asleep roommates.

The next day, after changing rooms to another in the same hostel, I headed out for a walk, getting coffee and pastries at a local bakery before heading out for a walk. I started at the city center, browsing the shops--including the seven H&Ms in four blocks--and then made my way to the cathedral. There I got a better look at the beautiful church, including examining the beautiful interior with its high vaulted ceilings and fabulous ornamentation. Next I headed for the north part of the city to check out the scene. There I wandered through the large park and checked out the unique neighborhoods, even stumbling upon a model and photographer shooting in the fading afternoon light. With my feet exhausted, back I headed to the hostel to rest out the day.

Wednesday, I met my new roommates; three young Canadian fellows on a summer trip through Europe. We parted for the day, as I went off for another tour through Koln, stopping at cafes and the park along the way to soak in the fresh summer sun and exploring different parts of the city. In the evening, when I returned to the hostel, my roommates had burned through three bottles, and were struggling a bit as they negotiated the opening of their fourth bottle without a corkscrew. Nevertheless, they were undeterred in their mission to have a fantastic night. They invited me along, to which I declined, but invited them to watch the latest Confederation's Cup match at a local bar before they took off for their night out. They accepted and out we headed, after they polished off the fourth bottle which they managed to open with a padlock, with minimal help from me, to the nearest sports bar. And it just so happened, that the Brazil v. Uruguay game was playing and this particular bar we went to happened to be full of Brazil fans. So, we ordered a beer and joined the raucous crowd who cheered loud when Brazil took the early lead. My new friends, and not very interested soccer observers, were itching to get their dance on, so they took off just before half after Brazil settled into a comfortable lead. I did the same, searching for a lower-key and cheaper place to watch the second half. I did not have to walk far to find a nice quiet bar to see out Brazil's victory over neighbors and rivals Uruguay. Afterwards, I headed back for the evening, stopping to check emails in the lobby of the hostel before retiring for bed. And who stumbled in just after me? My roommates who regaled me with tales of the uneventful nightlife and strange happenings in Koln for a bit before we all headed up to crash. Quite an amicable trio of lads, and I wish them well on their European summer adventures.

The next day, I was off to the bus station for a 6:00 bus to Brussels and my last adventures on the European continent. The unremarkable bus ride passed through the German and Belgian countrysides and landed me in Brussels just after midday. I settled into the hostel just inside the Old City. After checking out the different parts of the Old City all afternoon, I sought out a venue to watch the semifinal between Spain and Italy in the Confederation's Cup, and had to settle on splitting it. First, after walking into and straight out of a particularly dingy and uninspiring pub, I eventually found a nice small bar playing the game on a tiny television with a surly barmaid and locals bickering amongst each other across the room. The beer was cold and the picture crisp, so this sufficed for the first half. But, by the time halftime rolled around, I was ready to move on, and headed down to the local Irish Pub to see if they had it on. And, of course they did. Unfortunately, however, every other expat in the city knew this too, and I was crammed amongst the masses watching the game. One particular Italian fan was quite disgruntled after every change of possession not in his team's favor. That was almost as entertaining as watching a grinding result which Spain just barely won on a penalty shootout. After the match, we all cleared out and I headed back to the hostel to crash.

Friday I started with a bagel breakfast before making my way to the local laundromat to do some much needed laundry. After the washing, I headed back to the hostel and dumped my laundry, and was off to walk as much of the city as I could. I walked all around Brussels, up to the giant Palace of Justice, around to the European Parliament and through the various parks of the city, stopping only for brief culinary delights like pommes frites avec mayonaise and waffles. Through the afternoon I continued, stopping at parks for a bit of reading before heading onward, walking past the latest Dinner In the Sky destination on the west end of the Old City. A quiet, but entertaining day in Brussels.

Saturday, my last, started in a waffle shop in the ritzy Galerie Royales, where the tourists mixed with the older local couples reading the paper and chatting about local events. As I spent the morning finishing travel planning for the remainder of my trip, I even saw a group of old women come on for their usual outing. It made me wish I had practiced more French to eavesdrop on what must have been an entertaining discussion and gossip by the pleasant ladies. After breakfast, I headed out for a last walk around town, and stumbled into a beer museum. So, of course I took the five euro tour which included a glass of the local beverage. However, this was a disappointingly cheap tour. So, I consulted my map and found the local brewery making authentic lambic. It was there I headed next for a far greater tour of the fascinating Belgian beer making history and the equally as fascinating but far less satisfying tasting of original Belgian lambic. The framboise was a step in the right direction, but the tour guide who noted that some compared the taste of lambic to that of vomit was not entirely inaccurate. An interesting, and unique, experience to remember in Belgium.

Late that evening, I was greeted at the bus station by a feisty tattooed Brit bus driver and after a little commotion, we were England bound. A few hours later after driving through the peaceful night countrysides of Belgium and France, we finally ended up at the Chunnel loading station in Calais, France. After being roused at three in the morning, we headed into the U.K. Customs checkpoint as we prepared to exit the Schengen Treaty zone of Continental Europe and enter the home of the Pound Sterling. I don't know if it was the ungodly hour, the months of traveling or a combination, but I nearly wept in joy at hearing pure English by a Customs official. The joy did not last long as we waited in a queue for twenty minutes just to be confronted by a grizzly scene of three Customs queues. Two of these queues were staffed by two surly Brits who were not happy to be checking confused tourists into their country at three in the morning. The third queue, however, was manned by a kindly gentleman, who despite being bombarded with whole families of confused folks, maintained his good cheer and calmly asked the questions needed to get people through the border and patiently awaited their responses, assisting when needed. As I moved closer to the front of the line, I lamented the fact that I was unlikely to pass through the happy gentleman's queue--as he appeared to be in the middle of assisting a particularly confused family--and instead be seen by one of the surly folks. But, in an overly dramatized twist of fate, his queue opened as I stepped forward, and I was greeted by the happiest gentleman I had encountered in quite some time. After a few routine questions, he checked me through, wished me a good trip and I was on my way. As I settled back into my seat on the bus and we headed onto the Chunnel, I fell asleep dreaming about the upcoming adventures in London Town.

Back to the Balkans

So after a jaunt through Italy, I found myself drawn back to the Balkan states. First stop was Ljubljana, Slovenia, but to get there I first had to take a bus from Trieste.

And that bus ride started with meeting a kind fellow from Fort Worth, Texas named Keegan. And Keegan was no ordinary traveling Texan, he was a touring folk blues guitarist making his way around Europe playing shows. We chatted on the bus as the weather turned from bright and sunny to the hardest downpour and closest lightning strike I have ever experienced. We finally made it to Ljubljana and I headed to check into the hostel I had found online. Luckily they had a bed for the night, so I unloaded my things and went for a walk around the city. After a local meal of sausage and sauerkraut washed down with a cold beer, I walked it off around the heart of Ljubljana taking in the brilliant pink church and beautifully lit historic city center, and took in a vocalist with piano accompaniment playing for the passersby in the square. After that, I called it a night, ready to explore the next day.

The next morning started early with some light breakfast before heading to the free walking tour of Ljubljana which met at the Pink Church in the historic part of town. The group was so large we split into two groups, and ours was lucky enough to get the more eccentric of the tour guides. He was a blast, and we all enjoyed our tour of the city, including the many architectural works of Joze Plecnik, the most famous Slovenian architect. During the tour, I had the pleasure of meeting a fantastic Belgian gal named Margot, and after the tour we decided to get some lunch together. It was a beautiful early summer day in Ljubljana and we grabbed a sandwich from the local grocery and sat in the park eating sandwiches and fruit from the farmer's market in town. We continued to tour the city, including the hike up to the hilltop castle in Ljubljana for some excellent views of the city. And on our way down we discussed European politics and differing views on the intention and progress of a more unified European Union, and what it all means for the world. We continued our discussion over a beer and another crazy rain storm, and capped it off with some late afternoon Slovenian cake. Finally, as my hostel was full for the night, I decided it was a sign to move on and headed for the bus station to get a ticket to Sarajevo, Bosnia. My new friend and I parted ways, each wishing the other safe and enlightening travels, and I hopped the bus.

The overnight bus to Sarajevo started slow, but as we stopped for a midnight rest break I had the pleasure of meeting Matej, a worldly young Slovenian on his was to study in Bosnia. When we got off the bus, we decided to find accommodation together and found we had both been recommended the same hostel. So, we set out following the directions provided and, being five in the morning, were unsuccessful getting someone to answer the door. So, we wandered a bit before returning adamant that someone at this hostel should be up and at least let us in. As we found out, by following someone into the building, the reason no one answered is that the "hostel" is just an apartment with a few extra beds where the kitchen used to be, and the owner does not stay there. We finally got in and called the owner who met us at the room so we could get settled. After a brief nap and some post-overnight bus showering, we headed to one of Sarajevo's most infamous landmarks from the Balkan war: the tunnel leading from free Bosnia into Sarajevo via the airport. There we learned about the two year occupation of Sarajevo by Serbian forces and the devastation that Bosnia is still trying to recover from. Another fascinating and sad piece of human history. After returning to the city, Matej and I spent the rest of the day wandering Sarajevo enjoying the beauty of the small eastern European capital and visiting the grave of Bosnia's first post-war president, the sight of the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand that launched the first World War, and stumbling upon a music video shoot for a Bosnian pop song in the hills outside Sarajevo. In the evening, we headed for a night club featuring live music and stayed to see a Serbian cover band play loud, fast-paced rock music to the entire crowd's delight. But, as we had plans the following morning, we decided to pack it in before the finale.

The next day we rose early to catch the only train to Mostar, where Matej and I would be parting as he was staying there to study. The long train ride provided beautiful views of the rolling hills of Bosnia and was a great start to the day. Once in Mostar, we sought accommodation for Matej's stay and after he settled in, we headed for some breakfast. Breakfast was cevapi, an incredible Balkan sandwich made with sausage wrapped in a pita style bread with fresh onions. After a filling breakfast, we headed down to the famous bridge to watch the specially trained locals solicit monetary incentives from the tourists to jump into the cold, swift, and shallow waters below. After a few teases, we saw them jump, straight off the bridge some forty feet into the waters below and land gracefully, before swimming quite hard to escape the current sure to pull them away downstream. Quite a spectacle. We spent the rest of the morning wandering the streets of the old town, navigating the narrow alleys between the historic stone buildings of this former strategic Roman town. For lunch, we grabbed some bites from the grocery store and headed back to Matej's place to change before deciding that a swim at the bridge would be mighty fine. Of course, no jumping for us, as it is illegal for tourists to jump from the bridge after a series of ill-fated attempts by questionably sober tourists in years past. Plus, it was highly intimidating. So we headed down the rocky path to the beach, stripped down to our skivvies and dove into the icy waters. One jump was plenty and we spent the rest of the afternoon lounging in the sun drying off while reading books, and generally enjoying the continuing spectacle of locals convincing tourists to make it financially worth their while to jump off the bridge. Finally, it was time to catch the only train back to Sarajevo, and we headed to the train station. Matej saw me off and I wound back through the lovely Bosnian scenery en route to the capital for one more day of exploring.

The last day in Sarajevo I spent relaxing, catching up on work back home and wandering the parts of town I had not yet seen. Little was notable, except the hot fresh borek I had in the morning, the walk through the back streets of Sarajevo and finally the kind couple whose restaurant I patronized for dinner, which was a lovely experience of hand gesturing and miming my order of cevapi. Overall, a fantastic stay in a fascinating and beautiful, if recently troubled country. Next stop: Serbia.

The next morning I was up and out of the hostel early to catch the bus on to Belgrade, Serbia and a new adventure. The 6:00 am departure was rough, but necessary and as the bus wound through the hills of Bosnia and into the flatlands of Serbia, made even more splendid by the breaking morning sun. As I arrived, and was hassled yet again by cab drivers, I politely declined their solicitations and made my way on foot to the hostel I had found online. When I got there, I was lucky enough to find they had a room at a very reasonable price. Not only that, but the two owners Ivan and Dragan were incredibly kind and we spent the afternoon on the hostel's deck chatting about all things Serbia and Belgrade, along with a chatty Australian who owned another hostel in Belgrade. In the evening, I went for a wander around the city center, including a stop at a recommended Serbian restaurant for some spicy pljeskavica, a traditional Serbian meat dish. I spent the evening wandering the streets, stopping into a Jazz club for some live music and then back through the tourist streets to my hostel.

The next day in Belgrade was rainy. So, I did what any self respecting Seattleite would do and put on a not waterproof fleece and wandered the streets until I found a good cafe to work on my computer from. After wasting away the morning over a couple of cappuccinos, I wandered the streets more until I stumbled upon the Nikola Tesla Museum. What a find! After a brief self-guided tour, I was lucky enough to have the main tour guide start the English tour early, and thus tagged along for some product demonstrations and a short film about the inventor's life. And what a fascinating life! Tesla memorized hundred-page books while in grade school and could, and frequently would recite them perfectly back to teachers and family. Throughout his life, he invented some of the most influential technologies--including the radio--yet still, unfortunately, died nearly penniless. The highlight of the museum was testing some of his inventions, including using wireless energy to light fluorescent lights we were holding from a few feet away. Such a fun time! The evening was spent walking through Belgrade and across the river to the barges to a floating club where I watched an unfortunately short rock set by a band playing some really good tunes. I headed back and, instead of searching for another bar for another few beers, decided to check out for the night.

My last day in Belgrade started with purchasing a overnight train ticket to Budapest, before joining a walking tour of Belgrade, where I was lucky enough to have a fantastic tour guide! A young, enthusiastic and hip guy, Janko was extremely knowledgable and even wooed us with food and drink. And that included the local homemade distilled rakia (he was working for tips after all) as well as a homemade pepper spread that his mother made. Both were fantastic and we finished the tour quite satisfied. After the tour, a few of the guests went to the Serbian Central Bank museum and had our face printed on fake Serbian bills. Now fully entertained, I joined two Quebecoise sisters, Laurent and Rachele, for lunch at a local Serbian restaurant. The fare proved underwhelming; quite the opposite of the company. The two sisters were fantastic to chat to and we had a great time at lunch discussing Canadian politics and travel. But, after a short wander through the streets, I was off to my train, and them to another museum, so we parted ways and wished each other well, hopeful to meet again in the future. I spent a little time at the hostel collecting my things and packing up before heading for the station and awaiting the evening departure.

The train ride was uneventful and landed me in Budapest on a bright, sunny morning. I wandered the streets, stopping at a cafe for some early morning coffee and hostel research before heading out to find accommodation. I spent the rest of the day roaming the streets of Pest, heading down to the overflowing Danube and past the many beautiful buildings and churches of the city. In the evening, I met up with my friend Peter who I met traveling in China and we shared a few beers while hopping between parks and the river, chatting about the Hungarian politics and future travel plans. What a fun night.

The next day I was up early to rent a bike and ride around Budapest. The first stop was Buda, where I rode up to the hilltop castle for beautiful views of the city. While dodging crowds on my bike, I headed down through Buda and across the river and back to Pest where I headed for the large park in the north east part of the city for some relaxation and book reading. I spent the early afternoon lounging there and checking out the park's flea market just as it was closing. There were many good antiques, and it was one of the times I regretted traveling so light. After stopping for a doner kebab lunch, I headed up for the best views of the city from the Citadella. There the sun beat down beautifully as I admired the views of a sprawling old city, and I was not the only one. Plenty of tour groups and travelers were mingling and enjoying their jumping photos in front of the statues. I headed back down the hill in an exhilarating rush of speed and back along the waterfront where I moseyed for a bit before crossing back to Pest to return the bicycle. Back at the hostel, I showered and took a quick nap before seeking out a bar playing the opening games of the Confederation's Cup. And, to my delight, I found a nice quiet bar with cheap beer and a projector playing the Brazil vs. Japan first round game on the wall. I enjoyed the game and marveled in yet another experience sharing a common hobby with people I never would have encountered but not for this trip.

My last day in Budapest was spent back at the park lounging in sun and reading before heading for an evening train to Vienna. Thus ended my second stint in the Balkans, plus Hungary, and next I was off to the Germanic parts and back into Western Europe.

Italian Adventure Parte Due

Early in the morning, at least by Italian standards, my family took off, bound for Fiumincino airport and a plane to whisk them back stateside. With a day to kill--and still unsure as to my next destination--I started roaming the streets hoping for some inspiration, or at least decisiveness. And so it was found as I  made my way to Termino train station and purchased a night ticket to Venezia. With ticket in hand, I continued an afternoon of wandering, from Circo Massimo across the Tiber River to Gianicolo Hill near the Vatican and then down through Trastavere and back across the Tiber via Isola Tiberina and through the quiet streets near Campo de Fiori, finally back through the heart of Rome to the train station. I spent the evening reading and awaiting the train out to see the famous canals of Venice.

And so my evening train departed, and I settled in for a long ride northeast and arrived into the foggy outskirts of Venice at the Mestre train station early the next morning. Mestre, an outlying part of the city, is the not the Venice of the movies and so I exited the station early in the morning with no shops open and unable to figure my way into the Venice I had seen so many times on screen and in history books. An hour and a cappuccino later, I got on a bus bound for the heart of Venice and stepped off at Piazza Roma. A quick walk to the main station followed and I stowed my bags for the day, content to walk around the city for a day and figure out my next move. I procured a map and ended up wandering the streets in search of another wonderful cappuccino, and found one in a small cafe staffed and patronized only by locals (a rarity in Venice I would find), and I settled in to await a reprieve from the escalating morning drizzle. After my brief break, I headed out for a wander, taking in the vast network of alleys criss-crossing the island and marveling in the fact that I could be shoulder to shoulder with tourists one moment, and make a turn off the main street and have a beautiful alley to myself the next. A day of walking followed, seeing the main sights , but only entering one: the majestic St. Mark's Cathedral. I took in the Piazza and the Grand Canal as I traversed the islands reveling in the beauty of this classical city. But, by late afternoon I was sure there was not a hostel to be located and I needed to be on the move, so I decided Slovenia via Trieste would be my next destination. Back to the train station I went, purchased a night ticket onward and waited out the night watching as the cloudy afternoon light was steadily replaced by the city lights illuminating the bridges and churches of the city.

My second consecutive night on a train ended in the Trieste train station early the next morning. More accurately, it ended on the train. I woke in the morning to find myself alone in the train car with the lights off and automatic doors shut. So I arose and pried the doors open to find a sleepy Italian city awaiting. I found the neighboring bus station and got a cheap ticket on to Slovenia before finding a morning cappuccino. Armed with an evening ticket onward and the knowledge that my grandmother lived in Trieste as a child, I decided to try to find any information I could on our family's brief history in Trieste. My great grandfather was chaplain in the United State's Army stationed in Trieste after World War II and their family spent three years in the northeast of Italy. Their stay included the birth of my grandmother's brother in the city, so I decided to start my search at the hospital. Unfortunately, the hospital did not remember the monumentous occasion. However, the kindly staff was able to point me to the Anagrafe, or local records office. The nice manager even gave me a lift over to the office. As it was not yet open, I enjoyed a cup of tea and anxiously awaited the possibility that the visit would bear some fruit. And, in fact, it did! I entered the office just after it opened at 8:30 and was pointed to a very nice woman who was more than willing to assist me in my quest. She looked up the records and pulled the original birth certificate of my great uncle Jon and allowed me to examine. Completed with the handwriting of my great grandfather, the family record registered with Trieste's Demographics Office was an amazing document to hold. Unfortunately, I did not know my great grandfather well enough before he passed, but holding that document with his handwriting some five thousand miles from home was a truly moving experience. Finding that piece of history so far from home made me appreciate the impact that each life has on the world. The scope of each person's life, and the stamp that we leave on the world is so much larger than we might first assume. Although this was just a piece of paper, probably not called upon for years, the fact that something of my great grandfather's was sitting untouched in a closed drawer in northeast Italy for years represented a time when he was part of that community, the community I was visiting then and that was a powerful experience. But, I was abruptly aroused from my reminiscence by my Italian hostess at the Anagrafe who politely informed me that that was all the information she had, I could photograph it, but then--and again I stress politely--informed me I could be on my way. I asked her whether there was anywhere else I might go to seek information, and she recommended the Archivo Storico conveniently located next door. I headed over there only to be told that there really was not much information on the the U.S. Army's staff as the Army took all their records with them when they departed in the 1950's. For the second time in under an hour, I was politely dismissed. Unsure of another avenue, I tried some internet research but was unsuccessful in my attempts through the rest of the day and waited out my bus to Slovenia. However, just a few minutes before my bus, I was delighted to see a message from my friend Lodovico informing me that he was in Italy and would love to host me. So, I abruptly changed plans and decided to stay a few days in Trieste before meeting up with Lodovico after the weekend.

I checked into one of the limited choices of guesthouses in Trieste and rested through the evening, ready to see some more of Trieste the next day. And so, for the next two days I wandered the streets of Trieste, heading up to the castle, around the city center and making a trip to the Castello di Miramare about five miles outside the city. The Castello was very nice and in remarkable condition and the surrounding grounds were nice to stroll through. Alas, on Sunday afternoon I headed back to the train station and hopped a train bound for Conegliano, back on the route to Venezia. And on the platform was my friend Lodovico, ready to graciously invite me into his world and show me around his piece of northeast Italy. Our first stop, after a brief tour of Conegliano, was the hilltop castle in town for a couple glasses of prosecco. It was here near the town of Conegliano that prosecco was invented, and we drank our glasses of local prosecco, before a cap of spritz--a carbonated apertivo made with campari--and then we were off. Our next stop was some authentic pizza just outside the town of Vittorio Venetto near Lodovico's house. After some fantastic local pizza, we retired for the evening with a big day planned for tomorrow.

We woke up early the next morning and after a light breakfast, headed into the Dolomite mountains for some hiking. After winding through the mountains, we ended up at a mountain town near the trailhead to Tre Cime, or the three tops. But before we hiked, it was highly necessary for a shot of local grappa in the town. With our bellies warm, we hit the trail and were quickly knee-deep in snow. After wading through the snow for an hour, we reached the summit greeted by sunny skies and a beautiful landscape. We took in the landscape for an hour, ate some sandwiches from the mountain top cafe and shared some beers before making our way back down the mountain to the trailhead. We headed back slowly taking in the mountain towns of the Dolomites and stopping frequently to marvel in the landscape. Back in Vittorio Veneto, we decided to hit a local vineyard so Lodo could purchase some of their bottles direct from the source. In we stopped and were greeted by the vintner herself, who gave us a personal tasting of four of her wines before Lodo purchased a few bottles. Then it was back to Lodovico's house for dinner with his wonderful parents. On the menu was a light summer meal of scrambled eggs, which was such a delight. Combine with the recently purchased red wine and sprinkle in a little broken English conversation and you have the recipe for a fantastic evening.

The next day we packed Lodo's bikes into his car and headed for Treviso, on the road to Venice. There, we unloaded the bikes and set out for a day of riding through the Italian countryside. First stopping in Treviso for a quick cappuccino, we then followed the river out into the countryside through many small towns and villages on a gorgeous northeast Italian day. Lunch consisted of a wonderful sandwich and red wine before we finished the ride back to Treviso. On the menu at Lodo's was a terrific summery meal of canteloupe wrapped in prosciutto and bruschetta with basil, chopped tomatoes and garlic. After that, we attempted to watch a film but only I made it through, and just barely, before we called it a night.

Wednesday, my last in northeastern Italy, was a fun day as well. Lodo had some work to do, so I set out solo on a bike headed for the countryside on the other side of Vittorio Veneto. I made it through to Revine, a hillside town just a few kilometers from Vittorio Veneto and took in the views of the valley from their magnificent church at the top of the town. After being barked at by some rather unfriendly dogs, I decided to move further on down the road, with the next stop being Cison di Vaimarino. This town had a hilltop resort, which although very quiet, had fantastic views of the valley below. I marveled in all directions before noticing the storm rolling in. I thought I better get a move on, but I was just too late. On the way back, the rain started to come down hard, with lightning on the way. Luckily, Lodo had a break from work and when I called him from the local roadside osteria, he was able to come to my rescue. As I waited for Lodo to generously fetch me, the locals in the osteria were gathered and chatting in full. Great people watching and one of the gentleman tried to make some conversation, but unfortunately, we could not bridge the gap between my lack of Italian and his lack of English. "Deutsch?" he asked. "Nein," was my solemn reply. So instead, I ate a panini and watched as they caught up on the local news. Little did I know as I sat watching the old men commiserate, that the raging storm outside the window was clearing at a remarkable rate and by the time Lodo arrived, blue skies were back. I felt a little red in the face at this discovery, having Lodo drive all the way out of town to pick me up because of...good weather. No problem, said the ever so gracious Lodo, and off we headed homeward bound. Back at the house, Lodo finished some work and then we headed off for some bicycle polo practice, a sport Lodo was trying out with friends. As Lodo and his friends practiced I sought out the young Moroccan boy who was practicing his soccer skills. I asked if I could join and he graciously accepted my offer, and we passed and practiced corner kicks (and all resulting goal celebrations). Alas, it was time to go, and we headed into Vittorio Veneto for a final tour which culminated at a pub in the old town with a number of locals enthusiastically discussing philosophy. How perfectly Italian.

The next morning I was off to Trieste on the train, and from there I was Balkan-bound yet again.

Johansson Family Italian Adventure 2013

I closed my eyes with views of nightfall off the Croatian coast swimming through my head and awoke to a crisp, sunny morning just off the Italian coast. We landed early in the morning in Ancona, Italy and I headed straight to the local "stazione" to procure myself a train ticket southwest to Rome. To my delight, the next departure was within the hour, which left just enough time for an Italian breakfast: cappuccino. I headed across the street to a small cafe full of older locals and run by a cheerful Italian couple. The gentleman served me, and smiled as I hacked through some broken Spitalian--my mix between the few Spanish and Italian words I knew--while the nice lady smiled as she read my bill in Italian, and then in English. The cappuccino and brioche was a wonderful start to the day, and I headed for the train.

I landed in Rome around lunchtime and went for my next essential: gelato. With a few hours until my family's arrival, I enjoyed the gelato and people-watched as many a Roman filed past on their way to and from lunch. I hopped the airport express to Fiumuncino, and en route fashioned a sign for my family, just in case they shrugged off the apparently homeless backpacker lurking at the arrivals gate waving at them. Fortunately, they recognized me--or at least my sign was effective--and after a brief, emotional reunion, we headed for the rental car pickup. The evening sailed smoothly after checking into our hotel in Fiumuncino and enjoying a walk and a grocery store dinner.

After a tumultuous night's sleep--especially for those not accustomed to the time zone--we departed early the next morning for our next destination, Umbertide in the Italian countryside.The first few minutes of the drive were crucial, as we determined the roles each of us would play pertaining to the transportation. I was selected as chief navigator, with little objection, and joined my father, the pilot, in the front seat to get us headed the right way. After mixing it up with the Italian drivers for a few hours, we arrived to our countryside town and followed the directions to the incredible guesthouse Kristen, location and activities scout, had booked for us. We settled in thanks to the direction of Mom, the Director, with the only glitch being the lack of heat or functioning stove. And after some help from the landlord, a kindly American-born but Germany-residing fellow named James, his two children Helen and Norman, plus a little Johansson ingenuity, we sorted out the appliances and enjoyed the heat in our cozy, stone villa. Next, we headed to the grocery store. This turned into quite the endeavor as we relied on our car's navigation and not the local's recommendations. Our navigation, whom we dubbed "Miss Moneypenny" due to her voice's resemblance to James Bond's assistant of the same name, gave us a really crazy route to the farthest grocery store in the direction opposite of town. However, after some uncomfortably windy roads, we made it and grabbed some essentials, most necessarily chocolate, to last us the next day or so. We got back and relaxed the day away, enjoyed a splendid dinner prepared by our very own Doug Johansson, and wandered down to town in search of internet for planning the next day's adventures.

First stop the next morning was the local market, as Wednesday is market day in Umbertide. All the vendors were out, from cheap clothing to fresh vegetables, but most important was the porchetta vendor. We bought four sandwiches for lunch and watched as the grandmotherly woman behind the counter carved us some fresh porchetta straight from the roasted pig. Mouths were watering (and one still is while writing) as she stuffed it into a bun accompanied with only a dash of salt--as no other seasoning or accompaniments were needed for this finest of smoked meats--and wrapped them tightly in wax paper. We quite willingly parted with a few euros a piece and packed them away--less willingly--for lunch later. After the market, we headed to the nearby town of Assisi, known as the home of the Catholic Saint Francis, inspiration for the Franciscan sect of Catholicism and for his focus on helping the poor and disenfranchised. We walked the old city on the hill, enjoyed some beautiful views of the Italian countryside and viewed the main cathedral in the town, complete with the burial place of St. Francis himself. After afternoon gelato, and some local lemon-pistachio pastries, we headed home and relaxed for the rest of the day, making one trip to town to pickup some freshly made ravioli from the local pasticceria and other accompaniments for dinner (including more chocolate). Another unsurprisingly incredible dinner followed and we were all content to sack out early.

The next day we headed to the famous Italian Renaissance city of Firenze. With nothing particular on our agenda, we headed to see Michelangelo's David, since I bear his name and was the only one not to have seen it. We wandered there slowly after passing the Duomo, the Ponteveccio bridge and the Ufizi Gallery, laughing at the crowds waiting to get in. Just our luck then that the wait to see the Galleria d'Accademia, home of the David, took a few hours. And each time our resolve waned, the line would move and our confidence in a timely entrance would rise, only to crash back down as we waited, prone, as the ushers allowed 15-20 people at a time. The line was not terribly long, but the rigidly managed capacity kept the line stalled. Eventually, we made it, in just enough time to breeze through the exhibits and see the David. It was a remarkable statue, but after the wait, and wading through the tour groups surrounding the statue, I was ready to move on having seen it. So, we headed for another walk through Firenze, pausing for more gelato, neither the first nor the last time such a stop was necessary, and headed up the hill to Piazzello Michelangelo for a beautiful view of the city. We wandered back through eastern streets of Firenze and back to the train station for our afternoon train. Once home, thanks to our trusty Skoda station wagon, we crashed for the evening.

Friday we started the morning with a trip to town to check internet, but more importantly, to procure me a trim. The family was starting to get embarrassed in my presence, and the least I could do was to negate their embarrassment with a beard trim. So, while the others sought out the internet for checking in back home and researching future plans, I struck out alone through the mean streets of Umbertide and eventually found a small barber's shop. The portly gentleman manning the shop and I exchanged a few words and gestures and eventually communicated our way into a three euro trim. Afterwards, I rejoined the family to much approval of the new look and we headed back to the villa for a relaxing afternoon and evening in the Italian countryside.

Our last day in Umbertide, Saturday, was a fitting conclusion to our countryside adventure. In the morning, we piled into the Skoda and trusted Miss Moneypenny to lead us to the nearby town of 

Perugia. And thirty minutes later we landed in the town noteworthy for Amanda Knox's shenanigans a few years ago. Not much was happening in Perugia though. A small antiques market greeted us near the city center which we perused, before we browsed some shops, and saw loads of young kids gathered to receive some type of awards. After that, we roamed our way back to town and headed down for some final visiting of the city center. Then, in the evening, our host and landlord James invited us to his neighboring villa for a homemade dinner of sausage, lamb ribs and french fries, and of course wine. We enjoyed the dinner with James, his two children, and one of their friends while secretly wishing we could get updates on the Champions League final being played at the same time. The dinner and conversation were fantastic though, and we headed back satisfied with a fabulous evening to be greeted with a satisfactory result to the match. Though none of us had a vested interest in the outcome, we were happy to see Bayern Munich win the match to secure a historic season. We called it a night then, as Roma beckoned in the morning.

We awoke early, packed up our stuff and hit the road south, back toward Roma. First stop was Fiumuncino, and the airport, to return the car. We then took the airport train into the city and wandered our way to the (also fabulous) apartment my sister had secured for us near the Vatican. After getting settled into our flat, we decided to head for a walk around town, sure to see sights in the Eternal City. We hopped a metro to the stop Colosseo and what greeted our eyes as we exited the metro? The immediately recognizable Roman Colosseum. And what a magical sight it was. The rich blue sky contrasted wonderfully with the ancient stones illuminated in the afternoon sun. We walked around the structure, and with none of us crazy keen to fight the crowds inside, decided to continue onward through the city. From there it was up to Piazza Venezia, through the old streets of Rome to the Pantheon and the Trevi Fountain finally ending at the Spanish Steps. After browsing the haute couture shops we found a small pizzeria broadcasting the Roma v. Lazio derby match between the two local soccer teams. The pizza was great, soured slightly by the 1-0 result in Lazio's favor; disappointing only for the fact that Roma has one of the USA's star players Michael Bradley on their side. The loss was quickly forgotten as we headed back to the apartment on foot. An ill-advised navigational risk failed to pay off and we found ourselves up against an insurmountable hill at which, exhausted, we opted for the efficiency of a Roman taxi.

Monday was a day of walking in Rome. First, we headed through the streets past the Vatican and Castello Lungotevere into the heart of Rome. After a pizza lunch we headed for more touring, a little shopping, and more exploring, before we sought gelato and people watching near the Pantheon. After the gelato, my dad and I were rudely awakened by a jean-clad undercover police officer who informed us we were not allowed to nap near the fountain in the square. So we decided more afternoon strolling was in order, before my dad and I headed for more shopping, but this time of the culinary variety. Another fresh pasta meal capped off a beautiful day in Rome.

To start our last day together we split up. My mom and I awoke early and headed for the Vatican while my dad and sister each headed off on their own jaunts around Rome. Our first stop was the stunning St. Peter's Basilica for a walk thorough the sacred hall which bears the name and holds the remains of the first Catholic pope. The imposing high ceilings, dark marble and vast gold sculptures gave the cathedral a truly powerful and reverential feel in the low light while simultaneously impressing upon visitors the massive historical wealth of the Catholic Church. After a fascinating walk through the Basilica, we headed to the line for the Vatican. Knowing that we only had a few hours before meeting up with the other half of the family, and thus in a vulnerable state, we succumbed to the hop-the-line scams and ended up paying a few extra euros for the privilege of switching one line for another. In the end, it turned into an adventure as my mom and I breezed through the Vatican with high priority on seeing the Sistine Chapel. We waded through the crowds of tourists through the textile galleries and famous paintings headed for Michelangelo's masterpiece, only to find it even more jammed with tourists and staffed with a few museum security guards trying to quiet the chatty hoards of tourists stuffed into such a beautiful room. Great as it was to see, it was truly a shame to see it so crowded and buzzing. Hardly the reverential room it was designed to be. That concluded my brief tour of the Vatican, however I hold solace in the fact that I had flicked a coin over my shoulder into the Trevi Fountain two days prior thus ensuring my return to the Eternal City. But on we went, meeting back up with my Dad and sister at Pizzarium, a highly acclaimed pizza place a few blocks from the Vatican's walls. And, despite the not very traditional Italian name, the pizza was superb and served as a great lunch. Afterwards, my mom, sister and I headed for more walking and shopping before being greeted with a fabulous baked pasta dinner from my father--a fitting cap to our family's stay in Italy.

That night we savored the dinner looking out over the streets of Rome knowing the next morning we would part again, the three others back stateside and me onward on my journey through Europe.

Breezing Through the Balkans

After two metro rides and a pair of buses, I made it to Istanbul's main bus terminal on the European side with a little time to spare before my departure. I had my last doner kebab and bid farewell to a fascinating city.

Boarding the bus, I was delighted to find my seat in the front row of the upper deck, where I was sure to find a beautiful view of the Turkish and Bulgarian countrysides as we wound north farther into Europe. And, at least for the first part of my journey, that was the case. However, pulling into our first rest stop some three hours into the ten hour journey, my seat mate and I were surprised by a cascading shower of water leaking through the roof of the bus and straight onto our seats. We hopped up quickly, but not until my seat mate had been properly soaked. Fortunately we had just stopped and coordinated some new seats, but unfortunately, my new seat was at the very back of the bus. As we continued, however, I found my new seat mate to be a pleasant Swiss fellow who had also spent the last few months traveling around the world. He had been in Vietnam, and spent the last few months traveling through India. We swapped stories, but our itineraries had not overlapped much, so mostly we discussed our experiences with Indian culture, food and the like. During our two and a half hour border checks (out of Turkey and into Bulgaria) he inquired as to my current travel plans. I informed him of my intention to head straight through to Budapest without stopping, except in Sofia to catch another bus. He was stunned. How could I skip the Balkans, he asked?! Over the next few hours he convinced me to travel through the Balkans en route to Italy, and after he departed the bus at his stop in Bulgaria, I spent the rest of the ride planning a new route in between serenades by a lovely group of young people apparently in some type of Glee Club--or just REALLY good friends who practiced a cappella singing in their spare time. Their rendition of Mama Mia was particularly pleasing, I must admit. After arriving in Sofia late at night, I took a cab ride to my hostel and fell fast asleep dreaming of the new adventures to be had.

The next morning, after a hearty hostel breakfast, I walked a few blocks to the Hall of Justice in Sofia, to be arraigned on charges of... just kidding, to meet up with the free walking tour of the city. We started just after ten in the morning, and walked through the city learning about the different eras of history represented in Sofia. The city is unique for having preserved history from different societies, most notably Roman and Ottoman, because throughout history, the society that replaced its predecessor built on top of the previous without destroying it. We saw the headquarters of the old Communist Party, which must have been rather lavish in its time, and learned how the main Communist shopping center was a symbol of the greatest era in Bulgaria; an opinion I believe my cute medical student/tour guide shared. Throughout the tour, I chatted with a pair of nice American college students at the start of their tour of Eastern Europe tour. The pair was to part in Sweden at the end of the summer as one was studying the Swedish language and Viking history, while the other headed back to school. The tour concluded, and I bid goodbye to my new acquaintances and set out to procure a ticket onward to Kosovo, via Skopje, Macedonia. After some hand gestures, writing of bus times on a piece of paper, and plenty of laughter and confusion, I successfully acquired my ticket and headed off for some lunch. The rest of the day I spent wandering, including visiting the most impressive monuments of Sofia that the tour did not have time to properly see, like the Hagia Sofia church, and discovered some new ones like the stadium in the south of the city. At the stadium, I discovered that Bon Jovi was playing that evening and thoroughly enjoyed the local Bulgarians decked out in Bon Jovi attire and getting ready to give love a bad name. In the evening, I headed to the bus station for my next journey.

The bus headed to Skopje turned out to be a large van, with eight of us packed into the seats and ready to go just after midnight. About three hours into the ride, we had to pass the border from Bulgaria (and the EU) to Macedonia. And it was probably the most cumbersome border crossing I have experienced. At three in the morning, we were herded out of the van and all of our luggage was searched. We had to stand over our bags, open them up and let the border guard examine each piece. I was excited to get through it and onward to Skopje, just another hour away. After arrival, I awaited my ride to my final destination: Prizren, Kosovo. Through couchsurfing I had arranged a ride from a Macedonian who worked just on the other side of the border from where I could get one final bus to Prizren. Zoran showed up just after seven and we departed through Macedonia to Kosovo and he and his coworker dropped me at the bus station. It was quite interesting to learn the perspectives of peacekeepers from Macedonia working in Kosovo, and how the situation has improved since Kosovo declared independence in 2008. A fascinating short ride, and hopefully my host's and my paths will cross again. I finally reached Prizren in the late morning, where I had a much needed shower and set out to explore the city. After some great recommendations from my hostel owner, I headed to the see the castle situated atop a hill overlooking the town. Though not much remained of the castle ruins, the location made for a beautiful view of the countryside to the north and the hills leading to Albania and Macedonia in the south. After exploring away the afternoon, I wandered back toward my hostel, but on my way I passed a bar playing a soccer match and decided to stop. I had totally forgot that the Europa League final, the final of the second tier Europe-wide club soccer competition, was being played between Benfica and Chelsea. I grabbed a beer and took a seat next to the locals, including the proprietor. After exchanging some broken English declaring our allegiances, I found myself to be in the minority rooting for Benfica. Unbeknownst to my fellow fans, I was rooting for Benfica for the sole purpose of spiting Chelsea, the nemesis of my favorite club, Manchester United. All the same, we cheered, booed and threw up our hands in disgust as Benfica succumbed to Chelsea's last-minute stoppage-time winner. In the end, we all shrugged, smiled and parted ways, having watched a thrilling match in good company. No riots, no overturned cars. After the game, I called it a night, as, in my mad dash to Italy, I was due to be on a bus early the next morning bound for Montenegro.

One bus turned into three as I made my way to Kotor, Montenegro. The first bus passed through the beautiful scenery of Albania en route to Ulcinj, Montenegro, before I had to catch a bus to Bar, and then finally on to Kotor. Luckily, I enjoy the motion of traveling as the comraderie of a shared objective to get to the next destination is particularly conducive to good conversations. And this trip was quite fruitful. I met a Finnish gal who was on holiday from her job at the Finnish embassy in Prishtina, Kosovo and, during our layover in Bar, we went on a quick exploration of the city, chatting about life in Kosovo, favorite travel experiences and future plans while stumbling upon a beautiful church near the bus station. Upon arrival in Kotor, after some beautiful coastline views that reminded me of the Oregon coast, my new friend enquired as to my plans for accommodation, of which I informed her I had none, and we headed to her recommended hostel inside the Old City. There we discovered that not only was our hostel serving free dinner about an hour after our arrival, but one of our dorm mates was a superb English fellow from London who joined us on a brief tour of the Old City before dinner. After a scrumptous dinner coupled with a healthy amount of chatting, we headed off to bed and vowed to swap stories of our respective next day's adventures the next evening.

As my new friends were off to other destinations and with only one day in Montenegro, I decided to go check out the town of Kotor and see its sights. First, after a breakfast of scrumptious cheese borek, I went down to the harbor and wandered around the bay of Kotor, walking a few miles out of town despite the drizzle. On my way back, I failed in my attempt to hitchhike back into the town. This was not terribly surprising as I was looking like a particularly haggard traveler at the time; I don't think I would have picked me up. Nonetheless, I made it back in time for a quick grocery store lunch before heading up to St. John's Fortress behind the Old City. The fortress is a group of reclaimed ruins with a flagpole flying a remarkably large Montenegrin flag and home to incredible views of the bay and surrounding townships. On my way down I followed my English friend's advice and wandered behind the fortress walls to some additional church ruins and further views of the hills and bay. In the evening, over another free hostel dinner, we regrouped and discussed our day's adventures while meeting some new people, including a couple from Portland who were moving to Seattle, a pair of gentlemen from Greenlake, a fellow from New York and one from San Francisco. This was easily the most Americans in one place I have seen since leaving home. During the course of our chat, the Portland couple informed us that Real Madrid and Atletico Madrid were playing a domestic league cup final on television, and that they were heading to a bar to watch it, before inviting us to join. So, we packed up the crowd and went to search for a bar playing the match. Luckily enough, we found one on the first try. We settled in for a fierce battle which ended in overtime with a beautiful goal by Atletico Madrid clinching an upset over heavily favored Real Madrid in the local rivalry. We bid farewell, as a few of us were off early the next morning, and packed it in for the night.

Early the next morning, I headed to the bus station to catch a ride to Split, Croatia; my last stop before Italy. After a few border checkpoints and a whole lot of kilometers, we made it to Split in the early afternoon and I wandered to the hostel I had found online. Unfortunately, no one was home so I found a sign advertising another place and located it just a few blocks away. Luckily, they had a bed for cheap and I settled in and showered before walking the streets of Split for the rest of the day. I headed into the park at the west end of Split and wound up the trails to watch the sun set and kiss the islands goodnight. The next morning I headed out on a wander to find a beach to relax on for the early afternoon, and found a nice quiet one on the west side of the park. Though a bit rocky, and with icily cold water, it was a peaceful place to read a book in the early summer sun. After another wander through the park, I went back to the hostel and showered before my evening ferry across the Adriatic to Italy.

Chilling in Croatia was a nice, relaxed way to end my hustle through the Balkans. Next stop: Italy, and a family reunion!