Homeward bound: the incredible journey

Thu Jul 30, 2009 13:31 (UTC -5)

Well, kiddies, it happened. My camera’s new 1 GB memory card is not functioning. It’s not even the camera’s fault this time, as my other cards are just fine. That’s good news, but I wish I could take 600 photos at a time rather than about 79. (What an odd number, I know. The 16 MB card that came with my camera holds 8 photos. My trusty 128 MB card supposedly holds 64, but I can squeeze out 71.) Fortunately, I lost only a few photos (from Sunday night’s concert by the local band).

Anyway, when we last met, I was at the International Youth Congress of Esperanto (IJK) in Liberec, Czech Republic, and it is to that event which we now return.

Last Monday night’s entertainment was a quiz show in the style of those hilarious British radio program(me)s. Think “Whose Line Is It Anyway?” (which originally was a British radio show) and that show on NPR where people have to guess the definitions of obscure words. Its name escapes me, but I know it’s cheesy. If I do think of it before I post this, I’ll probably forget to add it in here. Anyway, the Esperanto quiz show was just as funny, if not funnier. Maybe it helped that the host (sorry, presenter) was British.

Tuesday was the big excursion to Prague. Everyone has told me that Prague is a wonderful city, so I wanted to see exactly how wonderful it was. We started out by taking a tour of the city in an old trolley that I believe was built in 1928 or 1929.

Well, it wasn’t really a tour because we didn’t have a tour guide telling us what everything was. Actually, one of the IJK organizers was there and explained everything for us, so I guess it was a tour. When the ride ended, we explored the city on foot as a group. We saw some old churches and plazas and things. I kept wondering when we would stop for lunch; they gave us food but no time to eat it, so people were eating as we walked around. I did the same eventually.

One of the highlights of the morning was going to the presidential palace. The organizers of the IJK still remembered a remark that the Czech President had made a year and a half ago. He said, “Pan-Europeanism is artificial and dead, like Esperanto.” So our group thought it would be nice to take a picture with one of the guards outside the presidential palace and maybe send it to the President.

That guard wasn’t supposed to move or anything, but dang if he didn’t look uncomfortable standing there.

Near the palace you can get a great view of the city. As the group moved on, I lingered a bit to check it out.

After that, we made our way to the Charles Bridge, which is apparently an old and famous pedestrian bridge in the city. As with many touristy places, it was filled with artists and musicians and beggars. They were also renovating a section of it. Despite all that, I liked it and wished I could stay longer. I admired the statues that lined the bridge and the view of the river.

My group was the sciencey group, so we saw some scientific sights. In particular, we saw a historic weather station (which I didn’t take a picture of because it looked like a giant white box hanging out of a window, and besides, I was running out of pictures) and went to the house where Johannes “The Earth Revolves Around the Sun” Kepler once lived. We didn’t go inside, but outside was a small courtyard with a small fountain dedicated to him.

Later, we moved on to what is probably one of the world’s most famous clocks. It’s that crazy clock thing with, like, 4 hands and 3 faces. You’d know it if you saw it, so look!

We (and a lot of other people) hung around until the top of the hour so we could see the famous show that the clock puts on every hour. It wasn’t so spectacular, actually. A couple of windows open and you can see little apostles shuffling by. That’s basically it.

After that, we finally had about an hour of free time. I spend time with my new Canadian friend, Gregory. We went to a cafe so he could get something to drink, and then we went to a souvenir shop so he could get some souvenirs. Then we strolled to the statue where we were supposed to meet with everybody. After that, we all went over to the bus and went back to Liberec.

Prague is indeed a nice city. I wish I could have spent a little more time there, particularly down by the river. There are some islands in the river that looked particularly interesting. Our unofficial tour guide said that the World Congress of Esperanto was held on one of the islands in 1996. It must have been pretty large because that’s a big event. Anyway, in conclusion, everyone is right about Prague.

In the evening, there was supposed to be a concert by one Kim, an Esperantist and accordionist. When I heard that the concert was being moved to the roof of the building, I thought it was a joke. But I saw too many people going upstairs, so I decided to follow them. Sure enough, people were setting up equipment, and a lot of the audience was already there.

Even though Kim didn’t have much accompaniment, he had everyone singing along in Esperanto.

A guitarist named JoMo joined him for the last number. I had actually had lunch with JoMo the day before, not knowing he would be part of the entertainment. It’s funny how those things work out!

On Wednesday, Andy and I did not attend the next class on how to teach Esperanto. I went to a presentation about E@I, the organization behind many Esperanto projects on the Internet, including lernu.net. In the afternoon, I was just chillin’ when it was pointed out to me that I should probably be at the TEJO meeting that was going on right then.

Apparently, Darcy Ross was supposed to represent USEJ (US Esperanto Youth Organization) at the meeting of TEJO (Worldwide Esperanto Youth Organization), but since she didn’t go to the IJK, she gave her voting power to me and Andy. So I sat in on the meeting, but since I didn’t know what anything was about, I didn’t vote. Actually, I didn’t even abstain; I abstained from abstaining. It took me a while to convince myself that I was supposed to be there.

Besides voting on officers and things like that, they decided to write a resolution or declaration along the theme of the congress (i.e., freedom). Apparently, this was a tradition that had not been followed very much in recent years, but they wanted to make a statement to the Czech President about the utility and utter non-deadness of Esperanto.

After that, I attended a presentation about the situation in Israel and Palestine, which I thought was pretty interesting. I think you can really only scratch the surface in an hour, but it was relatively informative.

The evening’s entertainment was a performance by JoMo in the town square. It was kind of a long walk (about 30 minutes), but it was nice to get out and see the city. I had heard that he was known for singing in a lot of different languages, and I was vaguely aware that there was some Guinness world record involved. (I think they assumed that everyone already knew everything about him.)

With just a guitar, he performed a lot of rockin’ numbers that got the crowd moving. Almost every song was in a different language. Besides the usual suspects such as French, Spanish, German, and Portuguese, he sang songs in Basque, Ukrainian, Serbo-Croatian, and Mohawk. He also sang a Greek song in Dutch. For the curious, his English-language song was “Kansas City,” and I’d have to say that my favorite number was “Komm, Gib Mir Deine Hand.” Oh, and Kim joined him for the later numbers. The finale was in Esperanto.

On Thursday morning, I attended a presentation called, “Wikipedia: What, Why, How.” The “how” part was especially interesting because the lecturer got online and actually created an article for the people to see. I thought everyone at the presentation would already be basically familiar with Wikipedia, but it was nice to see how impressed some people were with how easy the site is to use.

In the afternoon, instead of lectures and things, we had a Cultural/Language Festival in the town square. People from a certain country or region could get together and set up a booth to show off their culture to the other Esperantists (and, with the help of a translator, to the townspeople). Seeing all these booths decked out with flags and maps and posters and food and alcoholic beverages made it easy to see how many countries were being represented at the IJK.

Not every country had a booth, though. As I was digging the different cultures, everyone kept asking me why there was no American booth. Several reasons: there were only a few Americans at the IJK, we were all too lazy, some of us didn’t even show up to the festival, we didn’t have anything from home to show off, everybody already knows all about our culture (or lack thereof), we can’t fix our reputation in the world from behind a booth, etc. I joked that the American booth was the McDonald’s in the town square. I just thought the Europeans would find it funny; I don’t want to remind myself of how much everyone hates American culture.

The countries and regions represented were, in no particular order: Switzerland, the Netherlands, Australia, Italy, Greece, France, Germany, China, Vietnam, Brazil, Catalonia, South Korea, Canada, Russia, Hungary, Austria, Poland, Ukraine, Pakistan, and Lithuania. So that was just a subset of the countries and regions represented at the IJK.

At the official beginning of the event, they wanted to have one person from each country greet the people of Liberec in their own country’s language. Since this is much easier than manning a booth, more countries were represented. I had been asked to say hello from the good old U. S. of A., so I thought I might as well. We went up to the stage by country in alphabetical order, and I was second-to-last, in front of only Vietnam. It gave me a lot of time to figure out what to say.

Hello! Greetings from the United States of America to the people of Liberec. Esperanto, the international language, brings us together.

My delivery wasn’t as exciting as some of the other people’s, so when I was done, I tried waving or something to get the crowd roaring. The reception seemed to be about average.

As I was milling around later, the President of TEJO told me that my greeting was beautifully done (he understood English, apparently). I didn’t know what to say, but only because I hadn’t quite heard what he had said, and by the time I had figured it out, it was too late to respond. Awkward.

After some traditional songs and dances on the stage, Kim worked some of his accordion magic. But the weather deteriorated, and eventually it started raining. I made a break for the nearest building, which was city hall. I stood in front of the door with some other people as we watched everyone else take cover in booths or on the stage. As the rain got heavier, some people started running around and having a good time. After the rain subsided, we headed back for dinner.

Food interlude: I haven’t really mentioned what I ate at the IJK. Since we were apparently at a university, we were provided with cafeteria food. For breakfast there was always bread with meat and cheese. Some days the cheese was pre-processed and spreadable, other days it was the meat. Lunch and dinner often involved chicken and rice. There was usually weird juice or hot tea to drink. It wasn’t the greatest, but I was pretty fine with it. I had paid for it, anyway.

Friday was the last whole day. In the morning, I went on an excursion with a few other people to the local zoo, which was the first in Czechoslovakia. The only problem was that the zoo was closed because of the previous day’s storm. So the local guy of the group decided to show us around town. Liberec, it turns out, is a very old city. Probably the most interesting thing for me was seeing the oldest surviving houses, which were built in the Tudor style in 1681. It was nice to get out and do some walking.

In the afternoon, I went to the TEJO meeting feeling a little more confident about what was going on. They discussed membership applications from new national Esperanto youth organizations in Mexico and Benin; we also voted unanimously to explore the possibility of having the IJK in Africa as early as 2012. An Italian guy melodramatically read a draft of the resolution about freedom. There were also some other elections, and finally, a group photo.

That evening was International Evening, a sort of cross-cultural talent show that was also the closing ceremony. There were songs, poetry, dancing, sexy dancing, acting, and more. Several participants were local kids whose parents had found out about the IJK and, I don’t know, show off their kids. One guy read some of his poems and Czech as well as one in Esperanto; I think he had only been learning the language for a few days — he seemed nervous reading it — but the poem was good.

There was some funny stuff. There was a skit about Italians giving other people lessons on how to act Italian: talking loudly with hand gestures and the like. Among the “students” were Matthieu (who had hosted Andy and me when we were in France), Bara (a friend I had met online), and Guillerme (my roommate there at the IJK): an all-star cast! Some people who had come from the Summer Esperanto Study played their SES song, which pretty accurately described the SES experience.

For me, one of the most exciting parts of the evening was the official inauguration of the new Pasporta Servo web site, which was christened with the sending of a message to none other than the USA’s Darcy Ross. And, after introducing the newly elected TEJO officers and some closing words, that was it. I think they didn’t have time to present the resolution.

After all that, it was late, but I decided to chill out a little while longer. As usual, after the evening’s program, participants could go to the bar, the disco, the movie theater, or the “owl room.” The idea of the latter is that if you just want a quiet night, you can go there to enjoy some tea by candlelight. I hadn’t been there yet, so I checked it out with Andy and Diana, one of the other Americans. But I was tired, so not long after my tea, I called it a night.

Saturday morning was the leaving day. Chuck Smith, founder of the Esperanto Wikipedia, had seen the notice I posted about Andy and me needing a place to stay in Berlin, and he had told me that he would be willing to put us up since he lives there now. Andy had told me that he was tired of traveling and was taking a flight from Prague to London, where he would stay with our friend George until I got there and we had to fly home. So, I would be going through the last leg of the trip by myself.

So, on Saturday morning, I said my goodbyes to the people who were remaining. I didn’t see Andy, but I did see that the keys to his room weren’t hanging up behind the front desk, so he must have still been snoozin’. After a while, a cab came to take Chuck, his girlfriend Judith, someone else, and me to the train station. At the station, I saw several people from the IJK; Alex, who Andy and I had met on the way to SES, sat near us on our train.

We weren’t going right to Berlin; Chuck was meeting a friend in Dresden and had booked a hotel room there for a night. So after a couple of hours, we arrived in Dresden, Germany, and met up with Chuck’s friend. Alex also stopped in Dresden, so there were five of us: Chuck, Judith, Chuck’s friend, Alex, and me: a motley crue of Esperantists.

First, we wanted to drop our bags off at the hotel. I think it was supposedly a four-star hotel, and it really was classy. Somewhat less classy was the unfortunate realization that Chuck had accidentally booked the hotel room for 8/25 (August 25) instead of 7/25 (July 25). He did get that sorted out, and we were able to put our bags there before coming back in the evening.

We walked to a Czech restaurant to have a late lunch. I had some ham wrapped in potatoes covered in gravy… with a salad on the side, thankyouverymuch. I ate most of it except for the salad. I also had half a liter of beer, which I drank most of. Everything was pretty good.

After that, we walked around town. Alex went to check in to a hostel, and we started exploring the city without him. The town square was beautiful. I had read that most of the city was destroyed by the Allies, but in the city center there were a lot of old buildings that seemed to have survived.

It started raining, so we ran into a nearby Canadian steakhouse called Ontario. I had never seen a Canadian restaurant before, but it seemed like an ordinary steakhouse with vaguely Canadian decor. Chuck asked the waitress if they had poutine, and she had never heard of it. We had just eaten lunch, so I wasn’t hungry, but the others got drinks. I didn’t really feel like drinking anything.

After that, we walked around a bit more and checked out some touristy shops near the river Elbe. Alex met up with us, and after parting ways with Chuck’s friend, we went back to the hotel. We amused ourselves by reading about all the ridiculous services that the hotel had to offer, and then we decided to take them up on one of their less ridiculous services by watching Get Smart on pay-per-view. I needed to rest; I wasn’t feeling very good.

After a while, I had that feeling of blood rushing to my head, so I went to the bathroom and lost my lunch. I hadn’t thrown up in a really long time, and I hoped it would just be an isolated incident. It wasn’t. Something I had eaten (or drunk) must have really rubbed me the wrong way. Still, I felt a little better each time.

Meanwhile, the movie had ended and Alex had gone to his hostel, so it was just us three in a hotel room for two. Not only did I throw up in a four-star hotel, but it was also the first stop on my entire trip where I used my sleeping bag. Chuck and I thought this was really funny.

I woke up Sunday morning not feeling very hungry. I had some nibbles and made myself look presentable; then we took a taxi to the train station. (The taxis in Germany are overwhelmingly Mercedes-Benzes. Very nice!) On the train, Chuck and I passed the time by watching Bender’s Big Score on his laptop. Finally, we were at Berlin’s Hauptbahnhof (Main Train Station), which is huge and modern. I was impressed.

It was a short bus trip and walk to Chuck and Judith’s apartment. On the way, they stopped to show me something. There was a cobblestone line running diagonally across the street and the sidewalk. On the sidewalk, along the cobblestones, was a small plaque: the Berlin Wall had been here.

After relaxing in their apartment for a little while and having some food to eat, I felt up for a stroll around the neighborhood. They had told me that there were a lot of restaurants around them, and they weren’t kidding. Cuban, Egyptian, and Singaporean were just a few of the restaurants I saw. Also nearby were a place where you could try 100 types of beer and another place where you could try 300 types of wine. They also took me to an anarchist art gallery (note to self: cool band name), which consisted mainly of some modern sculptures and a bar. It reminded me of Gainesville.

After another light meal, the subject of The Colbert Report came up. Chuck and Judith love the show, and I mentioned that I had missed the Iraq episodes because I was traveling and hadn’t had time to watch them online. We found that the individual episodes had been taken down from the web site, and they didn’t want to watch them clip after clip. Thus, the search began, and eventually they got some downloads going. I went to bed not long after that.

On Monday, I was feeling mostly better, so Chuck and Judith took me to the Singaporean restaurant nearby for lunch. The food was very good — it tasted like Indian — but I still didn’t have much of an appetite. After the meal, Chuck showed me some of the city. We stopped at the Reichstag…

…and not far away was the Brandenburg Gate. It wasn’t as imposing as I thought it would be, but it was still nice to look at.

Interestingly, I saw some people who seemed to be getting down from on top of the gate. They didn’t look like they were supposed to be there.

The plaza in front of it is kind of touristy; you can have your passport stamped just like in the days of communism or have your picture taken with guys dressed as East German police. Awesome!

An old woman asked us if we spoke English. Chuck said “No” and kept walking. Before I knew what was going on, I said yes. Instead of telling me her spiel, she showed it to me in writing. I said “I’m sorry, I can’t read,” and walked away. Now that I think about it, she probably would have pickpocketed me if I had stopped to read the thing.

Several blocks away is Checkpoint Charlie, an important checkpoint from the days when Berlin was a divided city. There, you can find (a replica of) the famous “You Are Leaving the American Sector” sign. You can also have your picture taken with a guy who’s dressed as an American soldier. Nearby, there’s a snack bar called Snack Point Charlie. I thought it was interesting how Berlin seems to make light of its troubled past.

After stopping in a huge bookstore nearby, we went to the river to take a boat tour with some other Esperantists: an Israeli and three Ukrainians, all of whom I had met at the IJK. So the six of us were just chatting in Esperanto on the boat when Chuck decided to ask the people next to us what language they thought we were speaking. They had no idea. When he said it was Esperanto, they mentioned that they had just heard about it on TV!

One day while I was surfing the web in the lobby at the IJK, I saw a German TV crew doing interviews. Actually, “saw” is an understatement because they had their camera right next to my head. One of the organizers then asked for volunteers to sit in on an Esperanto class to be staged for the cameras. I had forgotten about it until Chuck showed me the video from German TV: the segment was in Esperanto with German subtitles, and the reporter even spoke some Esperanto before and after it. You can watch it here!

Anyway, we were all pleasantly surprised that we met people who had watched the segment. Going up and down the river was nice, especially because everything was explained in German and English. I saw some of the things that I had already seen by walking around, but it was nice to sit for an hour and have a drink. At one point, one of the Ukrainians saw a sign and misread the date on it as being in August instead of July. Chuck told her that that mistake had cost him money!

After the cruise, the six of us did some walking around. Chuck was the only real Berliner among us, so he led the way. He showed us a store with an odd specialty: all of its merchandise featured the red and green people from the East German pedestrian crossing lights. Apparently they’ve remained popular even though communism hasn’t. I spotted the hatted proletarians at various points throughout the city.

After that, we stopped for ice cream. I didn’t feel like having any, but I did feel like trying currywurst, so we got some of that next. Apparently it’s a Berlin specialty. I forget the exact description, but it’s like a sausage with Indian sauce on it. Chuck, who had some too, said it wasn’t the best currywurst he had ever had, and I could see how it could be better, but I still liked it.

We made our way to a local cultural center, where an Esperanto club would be meeting. There were four other people there: three regulars and a guy whose interest had been piqued by a newspaper article about the IJK. Together, we watched a video of the opening of a small park named after L.L. Zamenhof, the initiator of Esperanto. The park was right in Berlin, and the video had been recorded the week before. There was some music, and some officials gave speeches to a small crowd.

After the video, Chuck discussed ideas for bringing together the rather disparate Esperanto clubs in Berlin. At least, I think so. My mind was elsewhere. I was thinking about how I would be going home soon and how happy I would be to be there. I was still enjoying my European vacation, but after two months, I was starting to miss home again. Y’understand.

The meeting went rather late. Chuck and I went home to watch the first Colbert Report episode from Iraq with Judith. Then, after Judith went to bed, Chuck and I stayed up way too late talking about all kinds of stuff. It was great.

Right after I woke up on Tuesday, I went with Chuck to the corner bakery to pick up some fresh croissants and bread. It was my last day in Berlin. I wished I could have stayed longer, but I felt I should move on and see Amsterdam. Chuck didn’t resist very much because Amsterdam is his second-favorite city. But as long as I was with Chuck, there was still something I’d have to do.

Chuck likes games. He had asked if I had ever heard of a board game called Settlers of Catan. I had read about it in a recent issue of Wired magazine, and it was supposed to be, like, the greatest board game ever. So on Tuesday morning, Chuck and Judith invited over Tom, the Israeli Esperantist who had been with us the day before. That way, there would be four people for the game.

Learning the rules of a new game is always kind of tricky for me, and I tend to have no sense of strategy (just kidding, prospective future employers!!). Even though I did pretty badly in the game, it was still fun, and I think some of my friends would like it. It’s a German-style board game, so it’s different from American-style games. The differences are outside the scope of this blog post, but you can probably read about them on Wikipedia.

After a German lunch of potatoes, sausages, and cabbage (which I ate slowly), I got ready to leave. Chuck and Judith went with me to the bus stop, and away I went to the train station. They had made me feel at home and had taken very good care of me, but I had to keep moving. I was heading home.

About seven hours later, I had arrived in Amsterdam. It was late, and getting acquainted with the public transportation system was a confusing process, as it often has been. Once again, I was using the Pasporta Servo, so I followed the directions that my host had given me.

I got out of the metro station about ten minutes before midnight, making my way into my host’s neighborhood. It was quiet, and not many people were around. I had almost gotten to his street when a couple of guys came up alongside me and started talking to me in English. I didn’t listen to them; I told them I was late, that I was in a hurry, and that I didn’t want to hear it.

I turned the corner onto my host’s street and one of the guys stopped me. He started to put his hand into my pocket. He told me to give him 100 euros or he’d kill me. I shouted for help and received two swift hits to the side of my face. Then, I apparently found an opportunity to escape, because I did. I ran down the street to the next intersection, where I could catch my breath while being able to see all around me.

I saw people coming toward me from another direction, so I went back down the street to find my host’s apartment. As I made my way there, the other guy was walking on the opposite side of the street, watching me. I found the building and buzzed my host, who let me in. I told him about what happened. I was shaking and on the verge of tears. He called the police.

Two officers came, and I told them about what happened — fortunately, they spoke English. Once I gave descriptions of the perpetrators, they issued a bulletin. They learned why I was there and had some questions about Esperanto; one of the officers said he remembered reading about it in a book that had belonged to his grandfather. It was certainly an odd time for Esperanto Q&A, but I was grateful to them, so I answered their questions gladly.

The officers drove me and my host to the police station, where I filed a report (again, with an English-speaking official). Doing the police report took such a long time that I was calm by the end of it and my face didn’t hurt anymore. The guy gave me a copy of the report (in Dutch) in a spiffy Amsterdam Police folder. My host and I were escorted back to the apartment in an unmarked car. After having a little food and drink, I went to sleep and had bad dreams.

I feel a little like it was my fault. I couldn’t help that I was alone or wearing a huge backpack, but I did choose to get into the city at night, and maybe I could have stayed away from the two guys. Everyone — the officers, the police report guy, the escort — asked if it was my first time in the Netherlands. When I told them it was, they all wryly welcomed me. But I made it clear to my host that this wouldn’t hurt my perception of the place. I know it’s a civilized country, probably with a lower crime rate than the United States. I was just walking alone at night, and I looked like a tourist. It could have happened anywhere.

I am glad that it wasn’t worse. I don’t want to make light of the situation — it really was traumatizing — but I have to be glad that I didn’t get badly hurt and nothing was stolen from me. I guess I knew what to do. If I had seen a weapon, I would have given them whatever they wanted, but I didn’t, so I tried to scare them away. Fortunately, it worked. They must have just been some small-time crooks. I’m also glad that the police were helpful and that a lot of Dutch people are fluent in English.

Wednesday morning, right after I got out of bed, a couple of police officers stopped by and asked if I would ride around the neighborhood with some detectives that night so I could help find the perpetrators. I said it was okay, so they said they’d call that evening.

That day, my host had to check himself into the hospital for appendicitis, and his wife was going to work for the first time since the birth of their youngest child, so I was left alone in the apartment. I wanted to go out and see the city, so I got ready in no particular hurry. Finally, with the map that my host had given me, I headed out.

It was a beautiful afternoon for a walk; it mostly sunny with a cool breeze. I walked along the Amstel River and through what seemed to be a financial area. All the canals and bridges were beautiful to see.

I wasn’t really hungry, but I felt like I should be, so I started looking for some place to eat. I turned the corner onto a street that had a lot of restaurants. In particular, there were a lot of Italian and Argentinean places, with some American, Chinese, and Indian restaurants as well. I decided to get some falafel. Andy had introduced falafel to me in Vienna, and I fell in love with the stuff.

I was looking for a little more, so I stopped at a place down the street that had Belgian-style fries. I knew this was something I had to try if I was in Amsterdam. I also knew that mayonnaise was a favorite topping, so I gave it a try. I had a seat in a nearby plaza and enjoyed it.

The plaza was called Dam. It was nice but kind of touristy.

The Anne Frank house was nearby, so I thought I’d have a look. There were a bunch of people in line to enter. I took some pictures of the building that they were going into. Later I found out that the actual house was the inconspicuous-looking building next door. Very clever.

I continued my walk through the city, stopping to rest in several lovely parks along the way. I was really amazed by the number of bicyclists going around. They didn’t have to share the road; they had their own lanes everywhere. I think I had already known that, but it was still interesting to see for myself.

I made my way back to the apartment, and I wasn’t feeling very good because I had eaten and walked a lot. I lay down for an hour and then just hung around, waiting for the police to call. They didn’t, so I went to bed.

This morning, I got my stuff together and took the train to Brussels. From there, I took the Eurostar to London. The trip cost about as much as it did when we went from London to Paris. But it was pretty classy, and it cost about as much as a flight to London would. I wouldn’t like to go on an international flight by myself.

Andy met me at the train station in London, and we went back to our friend George’s dorm room in the West End (he’s studying here for the summer). We’re about to go to a show; his mom bought us tickets. Tomorrow: my triumphant return!

Into the world came a new feeling

Mon Jul 20, 2009 11:40 (UTC -5)

After sending my last post through the tubes, I went to see Gerda Disappeared, a recent video adaptation of Claude Piron’s classic adventure that starts with simple words and gets more complex with each chapter. Apparently my new friend Katja had tipped off the organizers of the Summer Esperanto Study that it was my birthday, so they presented me with a T-shirt and a round of applause. I was glad to get the T-shirt for free because I almost bought it in the bookshop earlier that day. The video was unbearably long and stupendously cheesy, but it would probably be useful for beginners.

Katja’s and my rooms were next to each other, and they had a common balcony. Katja had been saying throughout the day that she wanted to spend some time there. After the video, it was late, so we made our way upstairs. She borrowed a lighter from someone, but it wasn’t for smoking. She had candles.

We took a couple of chairs out to the balcony. Katja set the candles on a sort of ashtray-like thing that looked like a table. She also brought out juice and cookies. Her roommate joined us for some food and drink but then went to bed.

It was late; it was dark and quiet. Stars twinkled above the darkened trees. The city lights of Modra flickered in the distance. Further away shone Bratislava. All was calm around us. Silence… then, magic. It was the best birthday present.

On Tuesday, we went on an excursion to a castle called Smolenice. Castles are usually old, but this one was mostly from the 20th century. We actually didn’t get to see very much of it because it’s apparently used as the headquarters of some scientific organization. The highlight was going up to the tower and seeing the town all around.

For the second part of the excursion, we went to a cave called Driny. We had to walk through the woods a bit to get there, but it was worth it. The cave was cool… literally!!! It looked a bit like every other cave I’ve been to, but that was all right because I enjoy chillin’ with stalactites and stalagmites (or ‘tites and ‘mites if you want to sound hip). I didn’t take too many pictures inside the cave because the tour guide said we would have to pay for the privilege. Lame.

On Wednesday, I didn’t go to class in the morning because I wanted to sleep in. I needed to pay for upcoming excursions, but I didn’t have much cash handy. After dinner, Katja and I took a walk into town, which took about 45 minutes. As we reached the town square, it was getting very dark, and I realized why. There was a huge storm coming.

After I got some money from an ATM, we bought some ice cream. Then it started to rain, so we took refuge in a bus shelter. Well, Katja didn’t mind the rain, but I did. I was worried that we would be stranded. So

awweee jordan did u kiss in the rain??? No. Don’t interrupt me.

So I decided to start looking for a bus that could whisk us away. Actually, Katja didn’t want to get on the buses that passed by because she was enjoying the show. There was some lightning and a little rain. Then, as the clock tower chimed, all the lights went out everywhere. They came back on eventually, and the storm subsided. We decided to walk back.

There were street lights along much of the road but not all of it. At one point we were going uphill with no lights. I could hardly see. It felt like something out of a dream. Once we were almost there, it started raining again. I went to bed not long after that.

On Thursday, we went on an excursion to a castle called Devin. This one was on the outskirts of Bratislava, at the confluence of the Danube and some other river. (I don’t have much online time, so I can’t do fact checking, okay?) It actually was a genuinely old castle that was largely destroyed by Napoleon (the rascal) and not rebuilt.

After the castle, we checked out the old part of the city, which was situated on the blue Danube.

There were lots of narrow and/or pedestrian streets. The main landmark was a church.

It was nice to walk around, but it was also a little tiring, especially because we had to wait a while for our bus to come back.

That evening was International Evening, where participants could share details their respective cultures. It was essentially an informal talent show with mostly musical acts. Andy gave a piano accompaniment for some guy on a traditional song from somewhere, and then, to represent our dear United States, he did a jazz number on his own. The evening went on for quite a while, so Katja and I left early.

On Friday, there was an all-day excursion to Vienna. It was also Katja’s last day (she had to take a train from Vienna), so we wanted to make it a good one.

The highlight of the morning was our trip to the Esperanto Museum, which I totally didn’t know existed.

It showcased a small part of the Austrian National Library’s collection on Esperanto and other constructed languages. Besides interactive exhibits about the history and structure of the language, there were old posters for Esperanto congresses, copies of the book that introduced Esperanto to the world, and some products with Esperanto names. (Ever heard of Movado watches? The name is Esperanto for “movement”—i.e., the Esperanto movement—and about half of their models still have Esperanto names.)

The museum, while tiny, doesn’t treat Esperanto as a curiosity; it keeps Esperanto-speaking visitors in mind. The text accompanying the exhibits was in German, Esperanto, and English; brochures were available in Esperanto; and one of the guys who worked there spoke to us in Esperanto.

Since we couldn’t all fit in the Esperanto Museum at once, half of the group went upstairs to the Globe Museum, which was larger and actually kind of interesting.

After a cafeteria-type lunch at some cafeteria-type restaurant, Katja and I split from the group (don’t worry, it was okay) so we could do some stuff on our own. First, she needed to go to the train station to get her tickets out of town. Then we were pretty much free to wander around for a couple of hours. We went to the park at City Hall, where I had enjoyed Indian food and beer with Andy and his relative a week before. After that, we strolled back toward Schwedenplatz, where the bus would be waiting.

We arrived there early, so we had enough time to kiss on the banks of the Danube. Then we went to the bus so Katja could get her things and we could say goodbye with one last kiss. Just like that, my week-long dream was over. The ride back to Slovakia was quiet.

That evening, the Summer Esperanto Study came to an official end. We sat in the candlelit cafeteria and sang some songs. Afterward, there was some crazy fun and dancing, but I went to bed early again. I had had some long days.

On Saturday, the people who were left said their goodbyes, and the lucky few of us who were going to the 65th International Youth Congress of Esperanto (IJK) hopped into their cars or a chartered van. Six hours later, we were in the city of Liberec, which, while in the Czech Republic, is not near Prague, which you’re going to tell me is a wonderful city.

At the IJK, Andy and I met up with Matthieu, who we stayed with while we were in Paris. Then we went to get dinner. During the meal, I realized that this was a high-profile Esperanto event and wondered which famous names might be there. Just then, a man came to our table and greeted us in English and then in Esperanto. I didn’t recognize him, but he introduced himself as Chuck Smith. I was ecstatic; he’s perhaps best known as the founder of the Esperanto Wikipedia. He said he had read my blog post about my visit to Croatia and was looking forward to getting to know us.

At the official opening of the IJK, a local choir sang some traditional songs, including some in Esperanto (for which they had to read the words).

There were also a lot of opening remarks by various people in charge of the event. The theme of this year’s IJK is freedom (liberec’ happens to be the Esperanto word for freedom), and the fact that we were in a formerly authoritarian country did not go unnoticed. (Ironically, at least to me, next year’s IJK will be in Cuba.)

It was late, so I decided to get the key for our room. But it turned out that Andy and I weren’t assigned to the same room even though we requested it. I was a bit peeved at first, but then I came around to the idea that maybe we should start seeing other people. So after spending some time in the 8th-floor bar drinking unbelievably cheap but good Czech beer with SES friends, I went to meet my roommate and hit the hay.

On Sunday, I woke up and decided that the morning program didn’t look very interesting. Not having Internet access, I, um, wrote most of this. (How meta.) After lunch, Andy and I attended a course on how to teach Esperanto. Since we spent the last school year teaching Esperanto for our club, I thought it would be a good idea to learn how it should really be done. The lecture lasted three hours, but it’s only the beginning. Using what we’ve learned, we have to design a lesson plan and teach a group of beginners.

After that, I attended a lecture in keeping with the theme of freedom; it was about OpenStreetMap, which I might just start using now.

In the evening, a local band played a show in a club-like place that’s right nearby on the grounds of this university or wherever we are. I got a cheap beer and enjoyed an hour of loud rock ‘n’ roll (probably in Czech, but who could tell?). They did say “hello,” “thank you,” and “goodbye” in Esperanto.

After that, they finally got Internet access working in the lobby of our building, but my computer lost the connection and couldn’t find it again, even after rebooting.

This morning, I attended lectures on the following subjects: farming and all the doom and gloom that go with that subject, the Esperanto movement in Africa, and a new news site in Esperanto. After lunch, I decided to chill and write, um, the rest of this.

Someone I met yesterday told me it was strange that Esperanto was “only” my second language (rather than, say, my third or fourth). I knew that Esperantists tend to be interested in learning languages (or, to put it humorously, Esperantists are the people who need Esperanto the least), but I had no idea how right she was. There’s an event going on right now where people chat with each other, but they’re not allowed to use Esperanto or their native languages. I can’t participate unless I want to trot out a little stutterin’ high school Spanish. ¡Qué va!

Tomorrow is the big excursion day. I’m going on the all-day excursion to Prague, which I’ve heard is a wonderful city from just about everyone I’ve ever met. Don’t disappoint me, Prague!

It was 20 years ago today

Mon Jul 13, 2009 14:15 (UTC -5)

I am now in my twenties. Happy birthday to me. Woo!

My last post was three days late. I couldn’t get the photos off my camera (it’s old and the parts are getting loose), and once the camera magically fixed itself, I couldn’t upload the photos because my web host was in crisis mode (someone figured out how to change their account balance without making a payment). For this post, I can’t seem to access FTP or SFTP. It’s probably the local network. So, no pictures. Boo. [Edit Mon Jul 20, 2009 07:33 UTC -5: Several pictures added. Yay!]

On Wednesday morning, I arrived in Vienna very tired, so I didn’t really do anything all day. Andy cooked, and that was about it.

We spent most of Thursday the same way. We were enjoying the apartment, which belonged to a distant relative of Andy’s. He wasn’t much older than us, and he was a grad student with a girlfriend, so he wasn’t around a lot of the time. But he was there on Thursday evening, so he wanted to show us around the city a bit before we had to leave the next day.

We went to the old part of the city, which is surrounded by a circle of wide boulevards collectively known as the Ring. I remember from my history class that the city walls used to be there. We walked around a bit. The main sight to see in the center of the city is Stephansdom, or St. Stephen’s Cathedral.

After that, we went to a sort of international festival that was going on in front of city hall. They were screening films of orchestra concerts and there were tons of pavilions serving up food from around the world. Since Andy’s relative is British by birth, he was interested in the Indian food, and so were we. We also got some beer. The food was good. Even the beer was pretty good. After that, we we were tired and went home.

On Friday, we set out for the second annual Summer Esperanto Study in Modra-Harmonia, Slovakia. We first had to take a train from Vienna to Bratislava, and I was getting nervous because we were running behind. At the station in Vienna, Andy saw an Esperantist he knew; he was going to SES as well. I felt much better after that. His name was Alex (Aleks in Esperanto) and he was from France but living in Belgium.

Once in Bratislava, we had to take a couple of buses, the route numbers of which I was fortunate enough to write down. They took us to a bus station, where we would set out for Modra-Harmonia. Eventually, we were on our way. It wasn’t a long way away, but there were a lot of stops, so it took a little over an hour.

We arrived only five minutes after the (official) end of registration. We took a quiz so they could determine our level of Esperanto expertise, and then it was time for dinner. The food was actually somewhat good. After that were cheesy ice-breakers. Andy and I also checked out the dorm room we were staying in. It was actually better than a lot of the places we had stayed before. We even had our own bathroom… with a toilet and a shower!

Andy was afraid that there wouldn’t be a lot of people our age there, but young people seem to be the majority. There are also middle-aged people, old people, and a few little kids. They generally seem to be from various European countries, but there are a few from the Americas, including a couple of Canadians, a girl from Costa Rica, and one other (USA) American. I would estimate that there are about 100 participants here.

Saturday was the first full day. In the morning were the classes. Based on my quiz results, I had been sorted into the fourth and most advanced group. Andy was in the group too. Unlike the other groups, we didn’t talk too much about grammar; instead we talked about news from the Espreranto press and traditions from various countries. There was a lot of group work and discussion. There were also lots of laughs.

For the afternoon, there was an excursion to the city of Modra-Harmonia. A local guy showed us around, with one of the organizers translating from Slovak to Esperanto. There wasn’t much to see besides the remains of the old city wall. The church was interesting because its clock tower had a star and crescent on top. The locals apparently added it long ago to make the invading Turks think that they had already conquered the town so they would move on. Apparently it worked.

After that, we went to an ice cream shop for cheap but delicious ice cream. It needs no occasion.

That evening, a local music group performed Slovak folk songs, some in Slovak, some in Esperanto. After that was a wine tasting, so of course, I had to taste some of the local wines they offered. As you might imagine, there was a lot of merriment after that. The folk group came out and performed Italian, American, and other kinds of traditional songs. This only increased the merrymaking.

I chatted with a Russian girl I had met earlier that day. Her name was Katja. We talked and talked. Even after the band left and the wine was all gone, we talked. We talked until we were a couple of the last people in the room. She seemed to take a liking to me. As we walked back to the dorms, we discovered that our rooms were next to each other.

On Sunday, there were classes in the morning as well, except Andy wasn’t there because he slept in. In the afternoon was an excursion to a castle called Red Stone or somesuch thing. Katja and I sat with each other on the bus. The castle itself was sort of interesting; we had a tour guide (and translator) who took us through the rooms, which were decked out in various styles. It wasn’t the fanciest castle I had ever been in, but it was probably very good in its temporal and spacial context.

Unlike the Alamo, this castle had a basement, and it was the coolest part… literally!! It was also pretty spacious. You could have had a banquet down there.

The second part of the excursion was to go back into town and see some pottery being made. That was kind of interesting, but it was more interesting after that to go back to the ice cream shop, which Katja and I did. We continued to hang out even after that; we took a walk to a nearby restaurant. She had tea; I got a Coke.

In the evening was a concert by Georgo Handzlik, a Esperanto singer whose songs were sometimes funny, sometimes serious. After that, it was late, but I helped Katja with her massive amounts of homework (she’s in a different group), explaining (among other things) every preposition in the language. I think it helped me a little with my own Esperanto, but I also think that she just wanted to see me try to explain every preposition in the language. She’s actually a rather competent speaker.

While she and her roommate (the Costa Rican girl) were asking for help, the clock figuratively struck midnight. I was 20. Interestingly, my twin sister at home in the US would still be a teenager for another six hours. I thought that was interesting.

I woke up on my birthday morning for another Esperanto-filled day. Due to scheduling conflicts, our classes and meals were now in the same building as the dorm rooms. At breakfast, Katja gave me a postcard with a very special birthday message written on it. Andy slept in again, but I attended the class.

Since then I’ve just been hanging out; there’s no excursion today. I’ve mostly spent my time with Katja (we took a long walk outside and had some Czech soda at the same restaurant), but for some reason she didn’t want to sit around for over an hour as I wrote this. I’d better make it quick.

Happy birthday to me!

The old country

Sat Jul 11, 2009 07:02 (UTC -5)

Why? Why split up with my friend to spend the better part of a day going out of the way to an obscure, formerly communist country that’s shaped like a chicken wing and has a goat on its flag?

Curiosity, mainly. I have a funny name, and I always wondered exactly where it came from. I’ve met a lot of relatives on my mom’s side of the family but not as many on my dad’s. There was some mystery there. I knew that my great-grandfather came from a certain city in Yugoslavia – no, make that Croatia. But that’s all I knew.

Last year I did some research and found copies of the immigration records for my great-grandfather and his siblings. They passed through Ellis Island separately about 100 years ago. It seems that they came not from the city of Split but from Pucisca, across the channel on the island of Brac. But why? And who were they?

I doubted I would find out exactly, but I wanted to at least see the place and get a sense of what my ancestors left when they went to America. And, with any luck, I’d get to meet some of the cousins, the descendants of those in the Kalilich family – or, if I may briefly abandon my convention of dropping all diacritical marks, the Kalilić family – who stayed behind in the old country.

On Friday evening, after wandering a bit more in Venice, I came across a restaurant that had a pretty cheap menu and no cover or service charges. Having spent a week in Italy, I was able to get through the meal, from “One?” to the tip, using only the basic Italian phrases that Andy had taught me.

After that, I made my way to the train station to catch my train to Zagreb. It was actually an overnight train to Budapest, but it would apparently be making a fair number of stops, including Zagreb at 4:18 in the morning. I came prepared with some sleeping pills I had just bought, but my car had those booth things rather than rows of seats.

At first, I had the booth thing to myself, but at one of the early stops, and old woman and two girls who looked like sisters got on. The old woman spoke to me in Italian, apparently asking me to help her put her suitcase in the overhead compartment. I obliged. The sisters were talking to each other in some language I didn’t recognize.

A little while later, I got up to go to the WC (as they say), but at the same time, two more girls came to take the remaining seats in the booth, and I decided I could wait. The brunette sat next to me, the blonde across from me. They spoke to each other in another language I didn’t recognize, although it sounded vaguely like English at times. As the snack cart went by, the blonde asked for something in English.

After a few stops, the old lady was getting off the train and again asked me (apparently) to help her with her suitcase, which was above the blonde’s seat. As you can probably guess would happen, I lost my hold of the suitcase and almost fell on her. I said I was sorry and felt pretty awkward after that.

The brunette started reading a book in Dutch, so I had a good guess as to where they were from. Later, they started talking to me. They were going to play a Dutch card game and asked me if I wanted to play. The game turned out to be crazy eights in one of its many guises. I had to get used to their deck of cards, which had different face cards, and the “teasing cards.”

As we played, we talked about some cultural differences between our countries, such as the school systems and the drinking ages. Europeans who don’t know what the drinking age in America is are always surprised to hear it, and these girls were no exception. They were also very surprised that I had almost four months off from school.

They talked a bit about themselves and the town where they were from. They were traveling for two weeks, and Venice had been their first stop. They had tickets for Zagreb but had changed their minds and wanted to go all the way to Budapest. They looked about the same age – I guessed 21 – but the brunette was 23, and the blonde was 19. I was right on average.

It was late, and the other sisters were trying to sleep in spite of our conversation, but they eventually gave up. It turned out that they spoke English as well. They were from Quebec. One of them had been studying in France, and the other was visiting her. They were stopping in Zagreb to take a bus to Split. We all got to talking with each other, but eventually, things quieted down.

The train made several long stops. Uniformed men and women with little patience asked to see our passports. We were going through Slovenia. Later, in the wee hours, it happened again; we had entered Croatia. During much of the time in between, my eyes were closed. I might have slept for about an hour. I was cognizant of the fact that it was Saturday, the Fourth of July.

Finally, the train stopped in Zagreb. I had some time at the station, so I sat on a bench inside. I had started reading a book on my computer when a man sat next to me and struck up a conversation. His accent was somewhat strong but understandable. He asked where I was from, and I told him. I thought he would ask me for money.

“America is good,” he said. He said his name was Noble, or something pronounced like that. He said that he was Albanian, that his father had been executed by communists, that he couldn’t get a passport, that he had fought in Iraq. He mused a little on the horrors of war and said he had almost been deported from Croatia several times. He suggested that Michael Jackson might have been killed by Russian spies. He said he was 33 years old.

He saw that I had a laptop and produced a flash drive. He asked me to delete some files on it. I was afraid that the flash drive had a virus or something on it, but he showed me which files to delete, and that was that. Then he asked if I had time for some coffee at the station’s cafe, which had just opened at 5:00. I didn’t have anything better to do, so I went with him.

He got a coffee. I got a coffee with milk and sugar. I drank as little of it as possible because I wanted to sleep on the next train. Between staring at some of the TVs on the walls, I talked a bit about why I was there in Croatia. I offered to pay for the coffee, but he refused to take any money. In our conversation, he would repeat things. “My name is Noble,” he said again. “America is good,” he said again.

He asked to see my passport. I thought he was going to copy down my passport number, so I just showed him some of the pages, with my hand happening to cover the important stuff. But he asked to see it himself. I handed it over. An American passport was a great thing to have, he said. He took a look at the cover and kissed it. Then he gave it back to me.

“What’s my name?” he asked after saying something. He wanted to make sure I remembered. He said he had to get to his train and told me not to forget about him. He said I should stay in the cafe rather than sitting on the benches outside it. Why? Because it was nicer there. He left.

I went back to the bench after that and continued reading my book. The sun had come up. I took the train to Split a little while later.

The trains in Croatia aren’t exactly fast. Taking the bus from Zagreb to Split is supposed to be a little faster. But I had this Eurail ticket, so the ride was mostly paid for. The train traveled through the mountainous Croatian countryside for hours and hours. I took a few sleeping pills but then decided not to sleep. I had written down some basic Croatian phrases, so I went over those. Finally, beyond the mountains, a city on the sea came into view. It was Split.

When my great-grandfather left the Croatian coast for Cleveland, Ohio, it wasn’t for the weather. It was sunny and warm when I arrived. As soon as the train stopped, people holding signs saying “Rooms” or “Apartments” in different languages crowded around the door. Lots of people kept asking me if I needed accommodations in Split. Even outside the station, people on the sidewalk approached me and asked if I needed a room, a hostel, an apartment, or other accommodations in Split.

Since I hadn’t been able to get in touch with my distant cousins, I felt very fortunate that there was a Pasporta Servo host around here. His name was Ivica, and he told me about the ferry between Split and the island of Brac. There are actually lots of ferries, so I had to make sure I was getting on the right one.

I rode the ferry to Brac, which cost about $6 and took 45 minutes. It’s really not that far, but you’re on a big, slow boat with cars in it.

The ferry arrived in the town of Supetar, on Brac. From there, he said, I could take a bus, find a taxi, or hitchhike. Taking the bus seemed to be the only sensible option. Since Brac is a rather large island with some small towns on it, the bus service is run by some private company with charter buses. It’s about $4 or $5 per ticket.

I got off at Gornji Humac, which didn’t seem to be quite a happening place. Even the driver didn’t expect me to get off there. “Gornji Humac?” he asked me. After getting off the bus, I could see what he meant. It looked like a small village. It was the mid-afternoon by then, and no one was around. All I had was the name of the town and the house number, but I quickly saw that the houses weren’t numbered, nor were the streets named.

After trying to talk to an old woman, I realized that the number I had was the postal code for the town. I found a small bar/restaurant that was technically open. The woman there spoke English, and I asked to use the phone because I had Ivica’s number. She knew him and gave him a call for me. I ordered a Coke as a token of gratitude. Ivica arrived a few minutes later, and he took me to his house.

His house looked old like the others, but it looked pretty modern inside. I hadn’t eaten all day, so he heated up some soup that was just chilling there. It was good. He also put out some cherries, and I ate a few. To drink, he offered me something I had never heard of before: homemade cherry juice. It was delicious.

After I told Ivica why I was visiting, he mentioned that he too was from Pucisca. He called one of his relatives to ask if she knew about any Kalilićes. She did, so he got their phone numbers. He called them and asked when we could meet them. He also told me that I had a relative in Gornji Humac.

Later, he took me along while he ran some errands. First, we went to a house nearby. It was his family’s house, and he took some vegetables from the garden. Inside a small building were some barrels. He took some wine from one of them. Next, he went to a convenience store to get a few things. As he drove, he woud honk or wave at everyone. Everyone knew everyone else there.

After that, we drove out of town onto a dirt road that twisted and turned. He parked the car and we got out. I could see Gornji Humac in the distance. I followed him through various fields with stone walls around them. He was looking for his sheep. Finally, we saw the flock. I had never seen so many sheep, so it was interesting. They all say “Baaa,” but each one has a different voice. The little ones go “Baaa!” all small-like.

He wanted to lead them to a different section of his land, and they followed. He gave me some corn to feed some of them. The rest concentrated on the grass. As the sheep grazed, he showed me the lavender bushes that were growing all around. He took two sprigs of lavender and put one behind his ear. He gave me the other, and I did the same.

I asked him how many sheep he had. He said that a shepherd never tells. In any case, he said, he didn’t know the exact number, but he could tell that they were all there. He also told me a bit about the history of Brac. Apparently there was once a lot of wine produced there, but a disease killed the native grapes a hundred years ago, prompting a lot of people to leave the island. He said that was probably why my ancestors went to America.

Once he had the sheep where he wanted them, he showed me a tiny church, more like a chapel, near his land. It was dedicated to St. Michael and built in the 10th or 11th or 12th century (two consecutive ones of those, I don’t remember).

He said it was still used every year during the island’s Good Friday solemnities. The door was locked, but I could sort of peek inside.

There were a lot of rocks on a nearby mountain. He said that they were the ruins of a Bronze Age settlement. In fact, he said, there were some Bronze Age graves near us that had been recently been excavated. One looked like a pile of rocks with a small section dug out of it. He also took me to see a stone hut built and used by shepherds for shelter as well as two pools built by some ancient civilization; one for people, the other for animals.

It was getting dark. We went home, and he made dinner: fried potatoes, bread, and salad. He said he rarely cooked and didn’t have much food, but I thought the food he had was good. After dinner, it was late, so I got online only briefly to check my e-mail. Besides the usual Facebook notifications, there was my Esperanto word of the day: nobla, noble.

I slept in on Sunday. Ivica was apparently accustomed to sleeping very little, so he had already gone out and done some things. I think it was about 10:30 or 11 when I got out of bed, so I decided to wait till lunchtime to eat anything. Ivica made a delicious soup that I couldn’t stop eating. It had large chunks of ham or something in it which you’d cut up before eating.

Apparently, my relatives in Pucisca had said that we could visit them after 5:00, so we had some time to kill. Eating ice cream, Ivica and I set off to the town of Bol, on the south side of the island. The first thing he showed me in town was a local landmark called the “House in House.”

Apparently, in the 19th century, some guy had some land in town that someone else wanted to buy. He sold him the land around his house but not the house itself. So, the other guy got mad or something and decided to force out the first guy by building a house around his house. Weird, but clever.

The outer house didn’t have a roof, so the whole place basically looked like an abandoned house with high walls (with windows) around it. I followed Ivica inside the outer house, and we looked around. He showed me some architectural elements that were typical of houses in the area. He also said that they use the place as a theater sometimes. Is such the fate of all abandoned buildings?

Bol was a small town, like all the others, but it was rather touristy and had a prominent beach. I thought it was interesting to lot of the signs in town were in Croatian, English, German, and Italian, in that order. We walked down the sidewalk that ran alongside the beach.

We chatted a bit, and he ran into a few friends and neighbors. I ran into the Canadian sisters from the train. We talked for a minute about why I was there (Esperanto) and then went our separate ways.

Eventually, enough time had passed that it was time to go to Pucisca. So, we got back into the car and headed along the twisty mountain roads to the north side of the island.

I had seen pictures of the town, so I recognized it right away. It consists of some houses wedged between mountainsides and a natural harbor.

We parked at the end of the harbor, in the center of town, and continued on foot. There was a steep street nearby. Off the street was a house. A woman and a man were there. They were Kalilićes.

They had us sit inside. The place seemed kind of small but comfortable. They were watching Andy Roddick play Roger Federer on TV. There was a large crucifix on the wall, carved in wood by some family member. I thought it was interesting because my grandfather was also a carpenter, and he made some religious art that we have hanging in our house.

Ivica spoke to them in Croatian; they spoke little English. Ivica translated for me. The man, the father of the family, was called Jerko. His grandfather and my father’s grandfather were brothers, which would make him my second cousin once removed. I was surprised that I had never heard of this branch of the family tree. I thought his grandfather had gone to America. Maybe he went back? Or I was confusing him with another brother? I didn’t know.

They offered us bread, cheese, and brandy. The brandy was pretty good. Ivica and the Kalilićes talked to each other quite a bit in Croatian; apparently they were trying to figure out how they might know each other. Everybody on Brac knew each other, Ivica said. Jerko showed me a couple of photos of his grandparents and a letter that my great-grandfather had written in 1960.

As gifts, they gave me some items made of Brac’s white stone: two candleholders, an ashtray, and a small vase. They said that one of their relatives sold them as souvenirs, and their English was good enough to tell me personally that Brac stone was used in the construction of the White House. They also gave me some olive oil and brandy to take home. When I would say “Thank you” to Jerko, he would say “Please.” It actually makes sense if you think about it.

One of their sons, Milan, stopped by and greeted me in English. He seemed to be about my age. He asked me if I was on Facebook, and I told him I was. He wrote down his name and e-mail address and then had to go somewhere. I wrote my family’s mailing address and phone number for them.

After that, I wanted to get a picture, so we went outside.

They had a small garden and a lot of potted plants. They also had some grapes growing above our heads; it seems to be a popular thing to do. From the garden I could see other houses on the opposite mountainside; we weren’t far from the water.

They said that Jerko’s grandfather and his siblings (including my great-grandfather) were born in the house. The house had one story back then; the second story, which I could see was an addition, was added in 1947. I couldn’t believe it. This was where my family came from. This was the house they left to go to America.

The other son, Zoran, came by. He was a few years older than me. They said they also had a daughter, but she wasn’t there. Zoran and the rest of us went back into the house to chat a little more. Next, they wanted to take me to the cemetery, so I gathered my new belongings and we got into the family car.

I had wanted to see where my ancestors were buried, so this was a welcome development. The road to the cemetery went up alongside a mountain, where we stopped to get a view of the house and the rest of the town. After that, we continued along. It wasn’t far at all, of course. Pucisca is a small town.

There was a small church or chapel with rather elaborate graves all around it. Jerko and his wife led us to one of the outer sections that was on higher ground; apparently it was newer. Each family had a section here where its members would be buried together. It was a small cemetery, but we weren’t the only visitors there.

We got to a headstone with the Kalilić name on it. Several items had been placed there. As Zoran took a broom and cleaned up the surroundings, I got a good look. Two people were buried there; I think they were Jerko’s parents. The headstone was marked “OBITELJ KALILIĆ TRIFE.” I asked Ivica what it meant.

It said “Kalilić Trife Family.” In Croatia, or in this part of Croatia, each family has a nickname that they use informally, often to distinguish themselves from another family with the same name. I don’t think there’s another Kalilić family, and neither do they, but they have a nickname. It is Trife.

We walked around a bit more, and Jerko and Ivica each saw people that they knew. We then drove back into town, near where Ivica had parked. There was a cafe, so we decided to have drinks. I didn’t feel like beer or soda, so I just had water. Sometimes I just want water. We talked some more, and that’s when Jerko asked if I had any siblings. Just a twin sister, I said. Everyone is impressed when you say you have a twin.

I was supposed to meet Jerko and his wife again the next day, but in case I couldn’t, they wished me well. I asked for their address, which turned out to be little more than their name and the name of the town. Apparently it’s such a small town that the people at the post office know where everybody lives.

We parted ways. Ivica and I walked around Pucisca some more. He showed me the Stonemason School, which was open for visiting. It’s unique because the students there are taught to work only with simple tools. The work they had on display was very well done. Ivica was able to tell me a lot about everything because he went to the school and, by his account, fared badly.

We could see a couple of rooms filled with lions, faces, fountains, cubes, and modern sculptures, large and small, rough and polished, all made of Brac’s white stone.

There were brochures in several languages; I got one in English. It said that Brac stone was, in fact, used for the White House, among other notable structures. In the corner of the main room was a closet whose door was slightly open. I could see a stone head inside; Ivica said it was a bust of Tito.

It had gotten dark out, so we went home. I had wanted to meet with Josko, a relative that I and others of us at home had been in contact with. Ivica called him up, and he said that he would call back the next day. Ivica made fried potatoes for dinner. Once again, it was pretty late, and I was very tired, so I went to bed soon after that. It had been a big day.

I slept in again on Monday. While Ivica was out, I did my laundry and hung it out to dry outside. It seems primitive, but it actually works pretty well if you can get your clothes in direct sunlight. If not, you’re kind of screwed. I waited for Josko to call, but I don’t think he did.

Ivica had to go to work in the afternoon, so on the way, he took me to visit my other relative, the one right in town. He led me into a small-looking house and talked briefly the people there before leaving. There were two men and a woman. One of the men was smoking. I was introduced to the woman and one of the men; the smoking man left.

Marijana was the name of my relative; she lived there with her husband, Nikola. They looked to be marrying age, and she was pregnant. She was Jerko’s daughter, the daughter I didn’t meet the day before. That would make her my third cousin. They spoke English well enough to have a conversation.

Marijana said she had never heard of my branch of the family tree until yesterday, and I said the same about hers. We sketched out our respective branches of the family tree, and Marijana mentioned that she had an aunt who lived in Bol. She also said that there was a Kalilić not related to us who lived in Supetar. I figured he must be related somehow.

Nikola spent more of the time talking to me while Marijana held on to my third cousin once removed. He talked about the differences between life in Croatia and life in Australia, where he had spent some of his childhood. Times had been difficult in Croatia due to the war in the 1990s. Things were getting better, he said, but they could be better still.

He seemed optimistic about starting a family, and I was happy for him. He showed me their plans for expanding the house. He also said that they were going to a birthing class soon as Marijana went to get ready. Times had changed in Croatia, he said. Once upon a time, men didn’t want to be in the delivery room with their wives. I said that it had been the same in the States. Attitudes were changing.

The TV was on. There was some French show with subtitles, followed by the news. One of the top stories was Obama visiting Medvedev in Russia. We talked a bit about the political environment in the United States. The Europeans I’ve talked to have expressed their disdain for Bush and their optimism about Obama, just as many Americans have.

Nikola briefly went to get ready, and then they both had to be on their way. They reminded me that Marijana’s parents were expecting me to meet them in Bol. Nikola showed me how to get to the souvenir stand where they worked. After they told me they could be found on Facebook even though they didn’t have Internet access at home, we took the obligatory picture, and Nikola drove me back to Ivica’s, where I had a quick bite to eat.

My next task was to get to Bol. There were a couple of buses standing at Gornji Humac’s bus stop, but neither was for Bol, so I decided to thumb a ride. Ivica and Nikola had told me that hitchhiking was safe and common on the island. They also implied that it was legal. I didn’t feel so bad, then, as I stuck my thumb out on the side of the road. A car went by. Right behind it was a bus heading for Bol, so I just jumped on the bus.

In Bol, I found the souvenir stand easily, thanks to Nikola’s directions. Sure enough, Jerko and his wife were there with all manner of souvenirs from Bol, Brac, and Croatia: magnets, figurines, shells, a life-size seagull, and more. Their stand wasn’t far from the area where Ivica and I had walked the day before.

Jerko invited me to sit in a chair across the way from the stand. He sat next to me and got up when people looked like they were interested in something. A couple of his friends and associates came by, and he would introduce me to them. One of them asked (in English) if I wanted anything to drink. I asked for a Coke, and he gave it to me for free.

Jerko also asked me the occasional question about my family with what English he knew. He said he spoke German and some Italian, but the only English he knew where things like “How much?”, “Thank you,” and numbers. When his wife wasn’t manning the stand, she talked to me too. She said that their small seashells were from Brac but that the large ones were from the Philippines. She also said that Bill Gates came by once in his yacht, and his daughter bought a shell.

I watched the passersby pass by. I didn’t get bored; I was happy just to be there. After a while, Jerko took me to see his sister, Marijana’s aunt who lived there in Bol. We walked to their apartment, which wasn’t far away. His sister, Gita, was there with two daughers, Vera (I think) and Zorana. As I should have come to expect, they offered me some meat, cheese, and chocolate, and I obliged.

The daughters spoke English. Zorana wasn’t around for long; she had to go to work. Vera told me she was 16, but I think she meant 26. Her boyfriend came around, and he chatted with me quite a bit. His English was very good. We talked about various subjects, and he described various aspects of life in Croatia. The TV news was on in the background, and he asked if focusing on bad news was just a Croatian thing. No, I told him.

Over an hour passed as we exchanged questions about the family and I ate. Jerko mentioned to them in Croatian that I had a twin. I didn’t remember the word for “twin” from the day before, but I recognized it by the way Gita and Vera repeated it.

Jerko had to get back to the souvenir stand, so we started to get going. That’s when he asked me if I had to be back at Ivica’s at any particular time. Apparently they work till 11 PM. I didn’t have a problem with that. So we snapped a few pictures of all of us together, and then I went back with Jerko.

Next to his stand was a stand that sold stone souvenirs like the ones I had gotten as gifts the day before. It was then that I got to meet the relative who worked at the stand. He was Jerko’s wife’s nephew; not a blood relative, but a relative nonetheless. His English was fairly good, and he told me that he lived in Bosnia but worked at the souvenir stand during the summer.

He was interested in computers and the Internet; like me, he liked programming in PHP. In fact, he was sort of a hacker, in the popular sense of the word. He told me about a simple SQL injection, which I though was interesting because I don’t know about any of that kind of stuff. He also asked me about life in Florida and whether there were a lot of hurricanes.

Night fell. I thought business would drop off, but a lot of people were still walking around and buying souvenirs. I was taking pictures.

After 10, when Ivica got home from work, he gave my relatives a call to make sure I was with them. They decided to close up shop a little early to take me home.

They stopped at Gornji Humac’s bus stop, where Ivica was waiting for me. My relatives said that if I could stay longer, they would gladly let me stay with them. I appreciated the offer and told them I would be back soon with my family. I think they’d really like it there.

On Tuesday morning, Ivica was at work. I had to get back to Supetar to catch the ferry to the mainland. I tried hitchhiking, but no one was stopping. I took the next bus to Supetar. So I’ve still never hitchhiked, but I’ve tried hitchhiking.

After the bus, the ferry, three trains, three subway lines, and a trolley, I was at Tuerkenschanzstrasse in Vienna, where Andy was staying with a distant relative. We were back together. I hadn’t slept. It was Wednesday morning; I had been traveling for 24 hours.

Why go to Croatia? The scenery is beautiful, and the people are friendly. But most of all, I have family there. Even though they had never met me or even heard of me, they were more than glad to have me and even let me stay in their home. I got a glimpse of the way of life that my father’s father’s father left behind, and I even visited the home he gave up for a new life in America.

Curiosity, mainly. But also because I feel that, in a small way, I have a stake in the place, and it belongs to me.

For its entire existence, The World of Stuff has been the web site of a teenager. That was the main draw in the early days, when it was pretty exciting not only to come across a “web log” but one written by a teenager. I’ve used taglines such as “Musings of a teenage teenager,” and “The world through the eyes of a not-so-typical teenager,” and they fit: these digital pages overflow with teenage thoughts, teenage experiences, teenage non-experiences. But now, it ends. This will be my last post as a teenager. After 1,073 posts, I turn 20 on Monday.

I’ve had a lot of experiences since I turned 13 (for a detailed treatment of these, see every post I’ve ever written), but I was still maturing. So it’s fitting that I should have my enter my… twenties… while on such an epic trip. I’ve never felt very different on or right after a birthday, but this is no normal summer. On this unfamiliar continent, am I standing on the boundary between adolescence and adulthood?

It is an important decade. What will my twenties bring? A job or a career? Dating or marriage? Which do I want?

I don’t know. I’m just going to school and, in between, trying to have fun. On July 13, and for the foreseeable future, that will be the same.

Tour of Italy

Fri Jul 03, 2009 12:21 (UTC -5)

On Saturday morning, Andy and I were in Pisa, Italy. Our hotel was across town from the famous leaning tower, but Pisa is a small city, so it was a short walk. As we got closer to the tower, the density of touristy places like gift shops increased. Finally, I could see the top of the tower above the rooftops. Andy had walked around town the night before and had been impressed by how much the tower leaned. Now it was my turn to see.

Mine and many others’. Throngs of people shuffled around in front of the Field of Miracles, next to the ancient city’s cathedral and its ill-planned bell tower, which leaned noticeably, almost threateningly. I was impressed.

The first thing I thought to do was to take a lot of pictures. Next, I decided to get a picture of myself with the tower. When you see photos of people standing of the Field of Miracles with the leaning tower behind them, they’ve risked being whistled at by a police officer. You’re not supposed to stand on the grass.

Being myself, I didn’t stand on the grass. But I’d kick myself if I didn’t pose for the cheesy holding-up-the-tower photo that everyone else was looking ridiculous doing.

We checked out the area for a little while and considered taking a tour of the tower, but neither of us especially wanted to do it. So we walked our hungry selves back down the narrow streets of Pisa. A guy outside a restaurant charmed us to a table, where we enjoyed our first real (“real”?) Italian meal. There I learned that the restaurants in Italy often serve multiple courses. I had rigatoni (or something like that) bolognese; chicken, veal, and potatoes; and finally, a small fruit salad.

We didn’t have much else to do in Pisa, so we went back to the station and took the next train for Rome, where we had a hostel booked for Sunday and Monday nights, but not that night since it was too late to do that online. Andy had called the hostel and asked if we could stay there that night also, and they said it was no problem.

We arrived in Rome and set out for the hostel. I had written down the address and the name of the nearest subway station. But the nearest station wasn’t very close. I blame this on the fact that Rome’s subway system has only two lines. After asking various people for directions, we took a bus in the right general direction. Eventually, we found someone who could tell us exactly where the hostel was.

The hostel was in the northwestern portion of the city, near Vatican City and the 1960 Olympic complex. This was our second stay at a hostel, so I got more of a feel of what hostels in general were like. Apparently, they are all pretty shoddy. They didn’t give us a key when we checked in, and when I asked about it, they said they didn’t give out keys to the rooms. Our room was bigger than the last and had lockers for our stuff, but it was deficient in other ways, as we would soon find out. (Keep reading!)

We asked the guy at the desk to recommend a cheap restaurant, so he gave us the name of a pizza place down the road. We found it and had a seat only to realize that it wasn’t particularly cheap. We ate there anyway. The service was very good, and the waiter, who spoke English, was more than happy to tell us what everything on the menu was.

I decided to try some different Italian food, so I had tripe. It was really chewy, and it tasted kind of funny, but I’m glad I tried it. After the meal, we realized that that probably wasn’t the pizza place. It just had the same name.

On Sunday, I went downstairs for breakfast at the hostel. You could have a small piece of bread, some butter and jelly, and a tiny cup of coffee or whatever. Anything else you had to pay for. I pretended to be ignorant and took a croissant, but I got found out and had to pay for it. Then I got the bread. It was the last breakfast I ate at the hostel. Upstairs in the lobby, I saw two people hand in their room keys.

We set out to see some of Rome’s many sights. We started at the Spanish Steps, probably the most famous staircase in the world. In front of the steps is a fountain.

My AAA guidebook to Europe said that Rome was a city of fountains, and I soon realized how right it was. Our next stop perambulating about the city was the Trevi Fountain, a large and absolutely beautiful work of art.

Next, we set out for the Pantheon, also a short walk away.

I only knew it from the movie Angels and Demons, but it is in fact a church that was originally a Roman temple (as the name implies!). It’s a circular building whose dome contains a natural skylight. Around the crowds of people you can find the tombs of the Italian kings Humbert I and Victor Emmanuel II, as well as the artist Raphael. I didn’t actually find Raffi, but I can assume that he was there.

We walked further toward our ultimate destination, the colossal Colosseum. On the way, we saw a massive monument to Victor Emmanuel. It was really amazing to see.

By this time, we were hungry, so we found a restaurant and split a pizza for lunch. We didn’t have to go very far from the restaurant to pass by some ruins and see the Colosseum.

We decided to get a guided tour, which was pretty convenient. I learned a lot about the colorful history of the stadium and what it was like in its glory days. There was a long break in the tour when we were free to wander around. Since Andy hadn’t slept much the night before, he took a nap on an old column. And you know what? I was perfectly fine with it.

After checking out the place a little while longer, we continued our tour at the adjacent Palatine Hill, where Rome was supposedly founded and where the Roman Empire was headquartered. On the hill were ruins of a palace and other homes. Next to the hill lay the ruins of the Roman Forum.

That’s where our tour ended. Since it was getting late, we asked the tour guide if he could recommend any good, cheap vegetarian restaurants in the area. He gave us a card (he had several) for a certain bar across the river. He said they had a buffet that was free as long as you bought a drink.

After checking out the Forum down below…

…we went to get dinner. We had been walking everywhere all day, but many of the sights in Rome are close together. Even the restaurant wasn’t that far. We eventually found the place, which seemed to be a hangout for the locals. The buffet wasn’t much, but it was almost all vegetarian, to Andy’s delight. For my drink, I had a beer. It’s an acquired taste that I think I’m acquiring.

We were sort of close to our hostel by then, but we were tired of walking, so we took a bus to a subway station and went back from there.

There are three types of days we tend to have: travel days, sightseeing days, and rest days, generally in that order. Monday was largely a rest day. I had wanted to go to the Vatican that day, but I had just found out that everything there was closed because it was important Catholic feast day. So we decided to mosey to the train station to get our next tickets early.

Once we were at the station, we started to plan out the logistics of our exit the next day. We would have to check out of the hostel in the morning and visit the Vatican with our backpacks. We saw that there was a place at the train station where we could pay to store our bags for a few hours. Then, when we saw how long the line for tickets was, we decided to save that for tomorrow.

We ate pasta at a restaurant across from the station. It seemed to be something like a club at night because we ate near a sort of stage, but at lunchtime they were playing American songs from the ’50s and early ’60s.

After wandering around the neighborhood a bit, we went back to the hostel and chilled, enjoying the Wi-Fi that we had to pay for. We got in touch with Mark and found out that he would be arriving in Rome soon and would also be going to the Vatican tomorrow. We didn’t really make plans to meet up, though.

It was about then that I noticed the little bites on my arms. Andy had more of them; he would sleep without a shirt on. Yes, it seems that while I had a somewhat good night and slept fairly tight, I in fact let the bedbugs bite. Disgusting.

To save money, we had dinner at the hostel. It turns out that they have halfway decent food beyond the free breakfast. And by halfway decent, I mean just that. Not all the way decent. So that was pretty much my day. Andy went out to a club, and I retreated to our room, where I had a hard time getting to sleep knowing that insects would soon be crawling all over me and eating my flesh.

On Tuesday, we set out for the Vatican. I decided that we shouldn’t leave our bags at the train station beforehand because the back-and-forth would eat up a lot of time. The world’s smallest independent state was actually only a few blocks from our subway stop. As we got nearer, Andy realized that the place looked familiar. He had gone out for a run and apparently found himself in St. Peter’s Square.

We checked out the square first. I was a little underwhelmed. I guess I was expecting it to be more grandiose.

Then we headed toward the Vatican Museums, where one would find the Sistine Chapel and other famous sights. Andy was tired from carrying his bags and from going out the night before, so he decided to skip out on the Vatican and go right to the train station. He wanted to get free Wi-Fi from the only place in Europe where you can reliably find it: McDonald’s.

Yes, in the past week or so we’ve found ourselves at more than one McDonald’s, often buying token or not-so-token amounts of food to justify using the free, unlimited wireless Internet. And you know what? McDonald’s is a restaurant that has delicious, inexpensive food. We don’t eat there every day. We would prefer to go anywhere else. But sometimes, we need to get in touch with our families. Think of the children!!

So I stood in line for the Vatican Museums. The line was long, but it moved fast, and I was in after 15 minutes. Taking my giant backpack to the cloakroom or whatever you’d call it was no problem. I got the student discount and was then free to explore the several museums.

I started with a collection of early Christian art, which turned out to be a bunch of Greek and Roman sculptures. The place looked more like a warehouse than a museum, an ugly labrynth of a room with objects here and there, free to walk up to and often not labeled in any language.

After that, I saw signs for the philatelic and numismatic (stamp and coin) museum, which I totally didn’t know that Vatican had. As a banknote, coin, and (sometimes) stamp collector, I was pumped. This would totally be my favorite museum at the Vatican. But then I was informed that that museum was closed that day. NOOOOOO!!!!!

I decided not to waste time, so I followed the signs for the Sistine Chapel. To get there, you have to go through almost everything. Which is not to say that the other stuff isn’t worth seeing. There are lots of courtyards and terraces surrounding long, lavishly decorated rooms with old maps and globes and elegant paintings and statues and mosaics and tapestries. It really is spectacular. What’s also impressive is that you’re allowed to take pictures there.

If you don’t like crowds, though, you wouldn’t like it. There was a whole mob of people going through. Everyone seemed to be following the signs for the Sistine Chapel, and I though they would never end, but finally, I made it. There were signs saying not to talk or take pictures.

I don’t know why, but I expected the Sistine Chapel to be bigger. It’s a chapel. It’s about as big as a chapel could conceivably be, but it’s still a chapel. Michelangelo’s frescoes, which cover the walls and ceiling, are fantastic. And the room was unbelievably crowded with people talking and taking pictures. A guard would periodically try to shush the crowd to no avail. And since they weren’t doing anything about the many people taking pictures, I took one. Of course, it wasn’t very good.

After that, I went through a few more fancy rooms and then found myself back where I started. I got my bag back and returned to St. Peter’s Square. As I was getting in line to go into St. Peter’s Basilica, someone else getting in line at the same time called my name. It was Mark!

This was the second time he had met me unexpectedly. The first time was in Madrid, when I happened to run into his travel companion, Dan, who took me back to their hostel. We were both pretty surprised that we would coincidentally find each other in Vatican City even though we knew we were both going to be there that day. It’s small, but it’s a big place.

We headed into St. Peter’s Basilica, the spiritual heart of Catholicism, after I put my backpack in another cloakroom without a problem. One of the first sights you can see in the Basilica is Michelangelo’s sublime Pieta:

As we wandered around the huge building, Mark asked about the significance of the things we were seeing. We talked about our respective religious upbringings, mine as Catholic, his as Pentecostal.

After that, we visited the grottoes downstairs, where some popes and other important people are buried. No photography is allowed there, and they try to move you through the place pretty fast, probably because it’s so small. They have a guy standing in front of John Paul II’s grave whose job is to keep people from standing in front of it for more than about two seconds.

By then, it had been a few hours since Andy and I had split up, so I parted ways with Mark to meet him. Once I found him at the McDonald’s, I had lunch there (see justification above), and we got our tickets to our next destination… Venice!

The train to Venice was a high-speed train, so we got there in about four hours and change. It was dark when we arrived, and outside the train station, we could see the Grand Canal, Venice’s main drag, illuminated by the lights all around it.

The only way to get around in Venice is by boat or by foot, and the public transportation is a system of numbered boat routes. We took a boat to the famous Piazza San Marco, near where our hotel was located. (I don’t think I would ever stay at a hostel again.) With enough asking for directions, we made our way through the ancient, narrow streets and found the hotel.

It was late and we were hungry, so we asked the guy at the desk for a recommendation. He told us how to get to a restaurant that was owned by the owner of the hotel. It wasn’t far away. Even though it wasn’t exactly cheap, we ate there anyway. This was the first time I had been to a restaurant that not only had a service charge but also a cover charge per person. Apparently a lot of the restaurants in Venice are like that.

Our hotel room was small but nicely kept. There was no Internet access in the hotel, so we would have to find it somewhere else. Tired, I took my first shower in a few days (I tried to shower at the hostel but there was little semblance of convenience or privacy) and went to sleep.

On Wednesday, after I had a free breakfast that was actually good, we embarked on a mission to find free Wi-Fi. As you might imagine, we failed. We had lunch at a restaurant that wasn’t so great; the food was expensive and microwaved. It tasted okay, but it wasn’t worth it.

We found a couple of Internet cafes nearby that were kind of expensive, and we ended up making do with them. During our wanderings throughout the day, Andy and I (but especially Andy) learned how to get around the neighborhood. The ancient streets can be kind of confusing, but the little bridges over the little canals are wonderful to see.

We made it to the Piazza San Marco, where there was a sort of classical music concert going on. There were also lots of pigeons. I took lots of pictures of the landmarks in the square, St. Mark’s Basilica…

…and the Campanile, a bell tower.

I went back to the Internet cafe to do some important things. We had planned to go to Croatia next, but Andy preferred to go to Switzerland with Mark, so I made arrangements to stay with an Esperanto speaker there by myself. While I was Internetting, I got an e-mail from Mark about Switzerland plans, but Andy wasn’t there to answer because he was at a laundromat. By the time he met up with me, the Internet cafe was closed, so we had to find Wi-Fi elsewhere.

We went back to Piazza San Marco because the guy at the Internet cafe said there was a restaurant-type place where we could connect to their network. I don’t know what was up, but the way to the restaurant was blocked, and a police officer there told us that it was full. She asked a nearby woman, apparently from the restaurant, about our request to use the Internet there, and she laughed. I shot them a dirty look as we were walking away.

I remembered hearing from the guy at the Internet cafe that their other location had a Wi-Fi signal after hours. So we went there. We had to sit right outside the building, but it worked. We were on the steps of a little bridge going over a little canal. Andy made plans with Mark, and I burned off the rest of the time I had bought.

By then, it was 11 PM, and a lot of the restaurants were closing. That didn’t keep us from stopping to take nice time exposures, like this one from the famous Rialto Bridge:

Eventually, we found a place where we could get pizza even though it was technically closed. Then we headed back to the hotel. It wasn’t supposed to be a long day, but it really was.

On Thursday, we headed to the train station because Mark and Dan were supposed to be getting in from Rome around 2:00. After a quick lunch, we headed to their platform. We didn’t see them, so they apparently didn’t take that train. We went ahead and got our tickets for the next day; Andy’s for Switzerland, mine for Croatia. Unlike other places we’ve been to, the people at the ticket desks didn’t have rail schedules for other countries; we had to get them at the information desk. It was a rigmarole.

By then, we had eaten up a few hours, so we decided to eat up some more time at a nearby Internet cafe. After that, we walked around through some parts of the city we hadn’t been to yet, including the old Jewish ghetto, which still had a Jewish character to it. Before we knew it, it was time for an early dinner, so we had some pasta at a restaurant. Pizzas and basic pasta dishes are about the cheapest thing you can get at a restaurant in Venice (and probably elsewhere).

After dinner, we found a McDonald’s that had free Wi-Fi, no password required. (For the curious, it’s at Strada Nova 3923, near Ca’ d’Oro.) We were there while they were closing, so when Andy asked them about the Wi-Fi, they gave him some free food. We got cheeseburgers (without the meat) and Fantas. Nice! On the way back to the hotel, we encountered a polite Canadian woman who mentioned that there would be a city-wide Wi-Fi network starting tomorrow.

This morning, Andy left for the train station, and I checked out of the hotel. They let me leave my bag there till later, so I was relatively free to wander around. In Piazza San Marco, I saw large signs saying that July 3, 2009, was Wi-Fi Day. I checked out the shops and did some errands like picking up some Croatian kunas for the next part of my trip. I also went to McDonald’s for the Wi-Fi multiple times (hint: I’m there now).

I’m going to miss Italy, especially Venice, which has a charm of its own. Tonight, I’m heading to Croatia, where I’ll hopefully get to visit some distant relatives. If not, it’ll still be a nice few days. It’s supposed to be a beautiful country, and I’ll be staying with friendly people.