At last! Electricity! And Free Wifi!

I don't know why, but I've had a heck of a time finding a place with a nice, unsecured, and properly wired network. Sure, there are plenty of internet and gaming cafes - most of them called "DooM" - but I don't want to 1) pay for Wifi access when the Western world is starting to create free Wifi hotspots and 2) sit in a place with a bunch of grown men playing video games all day long.




It was actually the Irish guys I met the other day who directed me towards a place, which led me to no fewer than six four or five bar signals in the area. I'm not more than 200 meters from the Black Sea right now. The very first thing I did when the bus arrived from Veliko Turnovo on Sunday evening was go to the sea. I had to walk through Christmasland, which was great, but I booked it through there and enjoyed it more on the way back. At night, the Black Sea is, of course, black. The thrill of the sea air and the call of the gulls even at night sent me to a level of contentment I hadn't felt since I was, well, standing on the Bosporus in Istanbul eating a fresh mackerel sandwich while watching the fisherman catch more mackerel. I couldn't see much - a lighthouse, the lights from a ship in the distance - but the sound of the waves and the smell of the air was quite satisfying. I went down to the beach the next day. The Black Sea was green.


The Christmas display here is nice. When I got here Sunday night, after I rushed to the sea, I strolled down the street and took some photos of the lights. I was out for a bit, then went to a restaurant to get some dinner. Apparently it rained while I was eating, because the sidewalks were all wet, which lent a surface for reflection that had been absent in my photos before I ate.

It is quite nice to see Christmas decorations. Usually by this time of year I am sick of them from the Christmas overkill we suffer in the US. Before I left Washington, I had to go to Target and was appalled by the huge Christmas section next to the Halloween section. In September. Being in a country that isn't drowning in excessive decoration at the beginning of November has really made me appreciate this Christmas season. You could even say I am feeling sort of in the Christmasy spirit, which I can't remember really enjoying for the past several years. Sure, there are some tacky Santa Claus decorations in the storefront windows, but for the most part, everything is pretty tasteful. Except for the bizarre window display with the Buddha next to the snowman next to the Santa next to the giant stuffed black spider. That was a bit weird.

Speaking of "Santa Claus," you know he was Turkish, right? Good old St. Nick? He was an impressive figure, imprisoned for his religious beliefs by the Byzantine emperor. And yeah, he'd be appalled by the materialism and commercialization of Christmas.

But about Varna - I can't say there is much interesting here beyond the sea. Varna is a city for clubbers, mostly from Eastern Europe and Germany. The incessant house music is irritating. As I am not into that whole club scene, there isn't much for me here that is beyond the realm of my imagination. Varna is one of Europe's oldest cities. Back in the old days - about 570 BC - the city of Odessos was established by the Thracian people, a people related to the ancient Greeks. What I find particularly thrilling is that the city is named for Odessius, a.k.a. Ulysses in Latin, my favorite book. (Look at my screen name to know the extent to which I like the book. And Greek mythology, too.)



There is definitely a bit of a Soviet presence here, much more so than Turnovo. It is the third largest city in Bulgaria, after all. More importantly, the city was called Stalin from 1949 to 1956 at the "request" of Varna citizens. Apparently there are manhole covers that still say City of Stalin. I'll have to keep an eye out for those. This statue is the typical ex-commie state memorial that has been left standing because it honors soldiers or some other group not-directly related to communism, although there is no disguising the communist themes, namely labor and military. See the photo below of the hammer and the sickle. Oh, and for those Americans who have those "country stars" on their houses, those are COMMUNIST stars. I've seen plenty of them here in Varna. I have to photoshop them because the photos I've taken are from the ground and the stars are rather high up, but I'll try to post them later.


This cathedral is absolutely beautiful inside. These Bulgarian churches are all quite amazing. I learned today about the icon paintings when I went to the archaeological museum here. They even had a stage by stage display of how icons are painted. I so wanted to take photos, but it was not allowed, and given that I think I was the only one in the entire museum on account of it being winter and this being called the "Summer Capital" of Bulgaria, the museum babysitters had their eye on me the entire time. I guess my backpack was an indication that I was going to steal something; I don't know, but it was a bit annoying. Anyway, the cathedral is incredibly beautiful and I wish I could show it to the world, but they didn't even have postcards to purchase. I was particularly amazed by the painting of Christ on the main dome, and I'm sorry I don't know the names of Bulgarian Orthodox church parts.

On doing a tiny bit of research about the Bulgarian Orthodox Church, I've come to learn that one of the two dioceses in America are in New York and Akron, Ohio, of all places. Turns out there are a lot of Bulgarians in Ohio, Michigan, Illinois, and Indiana. Kind of funny to me given that you know, Ohio and all? There are a lot of Bulgarians in California as well, but there are a lot of everyone in California.

Now they've turned the Wifi off in the place because I've been here too long. I'll continue to write this and save it in a Word document just to spite them. What are they going to do, kick me out? If you're going to have Wifi, you might want to expect people to actually USE it. But it's trendy here. Even the most ridiculous places have it - like strip clubs and dance clubs, places where no one would EVER use it. It's just like the fancy televisions in the restaurants and bars. That have the sound down. Yes. They play music videos with the sound down and then play the same songs on the radio or a CD player. They just have the televisions to have them, to prove that they're "cool." Same with the Wifi. They don't actually want you to use it. As I have web pages that were still open at the time of the turn off, I am pretending to not be affected by it, and I can tell that it is making them mad because this is a small place and...despite the fact that I was only there for an hour, they made me move to the bar, and they still didn't turn the internet back on. And I still gave the waitress a tip. But I've gone to another place.

I guess the post is getting rather lengthy, so I'll explain the Irish stuff and sign off. Yeah, Irish. After being sufficiently frustrated with the Bulgarian-owned Chinese place which advertised Wifi but didn't know how to set it up, I sought the only place I knew where there were sure to be English speakers thoroughly aware of the ways of the modern world, an Irish pub - not the faux Bulgarian-owned kind you find all over the country, but a real Irish-owned one. Yes, I had a real draft Guinness. And yes, I had real Indian food, from what I think is the only Indian restaurant in the country. It was fun. Cricket was on the television, and there were only five guys there - regulars - so it meant I had to talk to them and they had to talk to me. They informed me of many things about Varna, including this Wifi cafe, and we ordered Indian delivery, which was excellent, especially since I am so bored of Bulgarian food.

More photos:

Varna online

It certainly is much warmer here in Varna! The Black Sea, which was green today except when it was pink at sunset, is providing a milding effect on December, and I love it. Even got a little pink on the face from being outside all day. So nice to have color in December - maybe I won't even get all pale white in the winter...fat chance. Winters wrath always wreaks havoc on the skin! (Maybe next year I should go to South America or Australia where it's summer in January! Ha, ha.)

Lots and lots of stuff to report, but not much time to do it on account of my computer's crappy battery, which was overused because I had problems connecting to the internet in yes, this Chinese restaurant (spelled "restourant" in English). No, it is not owned by Chinese people, just as the Irish pubs - except for a place called O'Neill's in town (no, I haven't been there. Why pay 5 leva for a Guinness when you can pay 1 for a Zagorka?) - are not Irish owned in Bulgaria. Looks like I have about twenty minutes to blab. It's my own fault - I forgot the adapter for my plug.

Oh, about the connection problems - I don't know what the heck was wrong, but a guy with a laptop, who apparently is a student of computer something, and his professor are here - not together, mind you. But the student got his professor to come and help. I really think it was a matter of the computer finally just deciding to work, because the professor didn't do anything that I didn't do. I pretended like I was the computer illiterate girl, of course, just because I felt bad the professor got up from his Chinese dinner.

And why am I in a Chinese restaurant? Because the heavy metal bar that I went to before - it was the only wifi place around! It was horrible! - had a password to access the internet that the bartender didn't know. I mean, why are you going to say you have Wifi, secure it, and not tell your bartenders the password? Maybe she is just, um, what a professor of mine used to say - not quite bright.

Fifteen minutes left. Funny, because five minutes hasn't passed since it said twenty minutes. This battery is shot. I need another. I'd hate to spend dollars on one when this computer is nearly shot. I mean, how do you think I felt when I had people helping me with it and IT'S PROPPED UP ON A CD ON THE FRONT LEFT CORNER BECAUSE THAT'S THE ONLY WAY IT WORKS! But it works, and it was free, and aside from the many times it hasn't functioned for me, it functions. I shouldn't complain. I mean, here in Bulgaria, it is trendy for bars and cafes to provide wifi, but most Bulgarians don't have laptops to use it.

Except the mafia, of course.

Which is big, by the way.

We're talking 20-30% of the nation's currency being dirty money according to some anti-corruption non-profits.

But yeah, one of the first things I noticed in the cafes was that I was the only one typing away on a laptop. When I first arrived in Turnovo, the "typing" was pretty much me starting, restarting, and restarting the computer again. That was before I realized that the memory was full. Once I saved my photos to CD and deleted them from the hard drive, I've had no problems (except when I try to move it and the screen turns into old school messed up Nintendo.) Until today. And now, my low battery warning has come up and I need to post this before it dies.

Sigh...

I didn't have my camera cord to post photos anyway. It's with my plug adapter.

13 days

It just occurred to me that I only have 13 days left of this trip. I can't believe it. It's been interesting, and though I've been unable to update this blog as frequently as I had planned, I've filled two notebooks full of observations and thoughts. Perhaps when I get back I'll post some more.

With those 13 days on my mind, I'm going to head out to Varna. I really want to see the Black Sea, even if it is cold. The hostel owners have some friends who own a hostel there, so that's where I'm heading. Then I'll probably head up to Ruse to spend a couple of days before heading back to Budapest to catch my flight. Ruse is on the Balkan Express line that I'll be taking.

I'm not done with Bulgaria. I'll be back, and hopefully sooner rather than later.

Boy, this ain't the West

I'd like to say I am pretty skilled in the art of googling. Back in the infant days of the interwebs when fewer tubes let trucks carrying data to your desktop passed through, there weren't so many advertisements in a Google search. Today, you have to really know how to search for the information you want.

That being said, it's usually pretty easy in the Western world to pull up a train schedule with fares, even if it is in between the countries of Europe. You don't have to wade through pages of Amazon.com books to find what you're looking for - it's in the first one or two entries.

Not so for Bulgarian trains and buses. There is one bus company - ETAR - whose website does an excellent job of organizing clear and concise information. I applaud them for that. Unfortunately, ETAR has limited routes and does not go to some of the places I want to go. But they are a private bus company and that is understandable.

What is not understandable is why I cannot find any information on trains that go from Ruse, Bulgaria to Budapest, Hungary. I am starting to enter planning for the return home mode, and am looking forward to visiting Budapest before going back to the States (and hopefully turn my observations into some sort of travel book.) Yet I have not been able to find information on such a train route, and I am getting frustrated.

Bulgaria is now an EU member and must prepare for the onslaught of tourists it will be receiving in the coming years. This includes providing online train schedules in a language someone in the West can understand. English is the most logical choice given that it is the new lingua franca of the world, and the Bulgarian State Railway website does provide English schedules and fares within Bulgaria. I commend them - the site is well designed, very organized, and user friendly. But the ticketing agency - RILA - knows no such organization.

Look, I know back in the day when the Orient Express was still running, there wasn't such luxury as the internet, nor did people speak English (or other languages) so widely as they do today. Times have changed. The whole world is spinning so rapidly that we need the information at our finger tips so our heads don't explode. The generation under mine probably doesn't even know how to use a phonebook. A young Bulgarian entrepreneur with English language and computer skills could make some dough on offering website translation services. I'd do it, but I need another year or so in this country before I could learn the language well enough to translate it.

Tourism is strange

Thought it was time to post some more photos. It was nice at the beginning of the week so I spent some time walking around outside and snapping photos of parts of the city I don't think I have captured yet. It was quite warm even after the sun went down, and I was very happy, but that warmth was shortlived, for a fog rolled in and brought real November weather back to us.


Can't say much has happened in the last week. I did get to sing Irish pub songs with some English guy along to a Bulgarian singer in a place called the Melon Bar. I was sort of tempted to go back to Spain with the guy and his buddy, as they are movers and drove here to transport furniture for someone who is moving here. It would have been fun to drive across Europe. But I stayed here, of course, here in Mother Bulgaria.


Every time I think of "Mother Bulgaria" (seen here in the photo), the words "Mother Bulgaria jumped the gun" come into my head from The Beatles' Happiness is a Warm Gun. I can't help it; it just happens.


Anyway, you can see the fortress in the distance. The fortress is actually fake, though it is the city's biggest tourist attraction. In the 70s the Soviets decided to build some walls on top of the old fortress site, not bothering to consult historians or research how the old fortress actually was. There are a few things that are genuine, but they're all in ruins. The church that sits atop the hill was reconstructed in 1981 and painted in 1985. I am one of the few people who likes the paintings, I think. The same scenes you will find in any old Bulgarian church (St. George slaying the dragon, St. Dimitrius slaying the villian, St. Lazarus rising from the dead) have been painted on the walls but in a modern style. I took some photos awhile ago but they're on my other memory card


Here's a "tourist attraction," but I can't figure out why. They say it is a good example of architecture from the post-Ottoman renaissance period but really I think they're just amused by the fact it has a statue of a monkey on it. Indeed, they call it "The House with the Monkey." But the city is weird like that. All tourism is weird like that, really. I mean, the city has built this whole fake renaissance street, complete with copper makers and other nineteenth century artisans. It's like a Turnovo Disneyland or something, you know, It's a Small World, blah blah blah. Thousands of tiny trinkets and junk no one needs is there for tourist dollars, euros, pounds, and leva. There is a tourist restaurant up there I've been tempted to go into for some fish and chips, but I imagine they charge tourist prices, too. We have these kinds of things all over the U.S. - pioneer towns and colonial towns and the like, so it's not like this is a unique thing, and it does get to show you what things were like back in the day.

Anyway, here are some photos of the tourist village. The monkey's in there, too.

Du du du du

Du du du du. Du du du du. Du du du du. The sound of the train echoes through the tunnel as it appears from beneath the stacks of buildings and passes over the Yantra River. It is distant enough not to be loud, but loud enough to put a smile on my face. I love that sound. It is the music of travel, a symphony of comings and goings, a mystery. Where are the people heading to? Are they in search of new adventures, or are they going home after a long journey? Are they going to visit friends of family, or are they lonely travelers desperate for companionship? Are they on business? Going to a wedding? A funeral? The birth of a new life? Du du du du. Du du du du. Du du du du. The rumbling has a sort of mechanical beauty to it, manufactured but not false.

There's nothing like a train. I wish America would fall in love with railroads. As it is now, they are ridiculously priced, take twice as long as by car, and don't stop many places. When I came back from Turkey, I had to change trains in a town called Stara Zagora. I bought a ticket for a trip through the Shipka Pass over the Stara Planina (Central Balkan Mountains) - a three hour journey back to Veliko Turnovo.

It cost $2.50

I love trains. Du du du du. Du du du du. Du du du du.

On Neighbors

There are some things about Veliko Turnovo I'll never forget - the kind of "have to be there to appreciate" moments. Next to the hostel lives an older couple - perhaps in their late fifties or early sixties - and their friend, Donia, who lives on the second floor (first floor if you're European). They don't much like living next to a hostel with all the different people coming and going, and we have our suspicions that they sometimes bang on metal pans just to make noise.

I've never actually seen any of them, or if I have, I don't recognize them, but I have certainly heard them. The noise always begins around 6am when the man leaves the house for the day. Sometimes I hear them talking outside the window, but if I don't, I always have the car to wake up to.

The car is an ancient white piece of junk that somehow still runs, though not very well, and is a typical Eastern European car left over from the commie days when there were waiting lists for the crappiest cars ever manufactured in the whole history of the universe. You literally had to put your name on a list and hope you got your car within a couple of years. Of course, Communist Party members always got their cars first, and the common folk often got nothing, you know, because in a communist society everyone is "equal." Some are just more equal than others.

The fact that many people in Bulgaria - especially in somewhat prosperous Veliko Turnovo - still drive these ancient pieces of junk puzzles me. How do they still run? I often see them broken down, and I've even seen people use sledgehammers to start them! In a town where pretty much everything is in walking distance if you're not lazy or elderly, why go through the trouble of these cars? Was it the triumph of getting these cars that makes one keep it? Or is it because car ownership is so valued? And how did they get these cars in the first place? Were they members of the Communist Party? (Oh, I remember the days of broken down cars and would rather not have a car than constantly repair it!)

I'm not sure of the answers, and maybe I wouldn't notice so much if I didn't have to put up with one on a regular basis. I can tell you the emissions pouring out of these cars can make your lungs feel black. The urban air of Bulgaria is filthy - I'm sure half the cars would fail U.S. emissions tests. Imagine, though, waking up to the stench of burning gasoline at 6am from an engine that revs for a solid five minutes - more if it is cold. That's what happens when the neighbor is able to park his car in front of his house instead of down the hill. It isn't just that - the car is so loud (heard of mufflers?) that half the street doesn't need an alarm clock!

The neighborly experience doesn't stop there. Apparently the stairs in the house are too much for the woman, because rather than going up to knock on Donia's door, the woman comes outside and cries, "Donia! Donia!" several times a day, regardless of the hour and often right when we're falling back to sleep after the car.

Someone said he thought the woman had been calling a troublesome dog or a bratty child for awhile. I thought she was just crazy. Now we laugh every time we hear it - even at 6am! (Well, sometimes, anyway.)

Stuff that is kind of funny - I won't forget it!

Happy Thanksgiving

I didn't get to go to the monastery I wanted to go to yesterday, so I'm still in Veliko Turnovo trying to figure out a new plan. Seems some of the monasteries don't have accomodation in winter and some were damaged in the massive flooding the country has experienced in the last week, so what to do now...

Sweaters and stuff

Ahh, the rain. The cold dampness descends with a vengeance on a warm body. November in Bulgaria. November in Europe.

When I studied in Luxembourg, I used to write short stories parodying university life there, barely changing the names of the students so everyone would know who they were in the stories. Each one usually began with "It was a cold, rainy day in Fluxembourg." I added an adjective with each new story until it read something like "It was a cold, dreary, depressing, soaking, rainy day in Fluxembourg." Today is such a day in Veliko Turnovo. So was yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that one, too. Makes it difficult to feel anything but lethargy.

This is the kind of day when you can walk five minutes outside but it takes twenty minutes inside to lose the chill. Of course, this makes you want to stay inside, which leads to the lethargy, which leads to a sort of restlessness, which sends you out to do something, which makes you cold again, which makes you want to stay inside...it's all a vicious, wintry cycle, and it's not all that pleasant, especially when you're looking at a calendar and you realize you only have about five weeks left and you are thinking about all of the stuff you need to cram into those five weeks even if it means walking outside in the cold, damp air across the puddles sitting atop the cobblestone streets. It's not as if you have a choice. You either stay inside and do nothing except waste your precious time away or you fight the lethargic comfort and go out anyway. After all, didn't you just walk 12 km to see a monastery in subfreezing temperatures? And didn't you just suffer the Marmara winds to visit Istanbul?

I seem to have deluded myself into thinking it will get warm again, as if I'm in denial that winter is really approaching. Some people go to Florida for winter - I go to a country that has more snow than Ohio. I blame Washington. I mean, I've been living in a city that has just been reclassified as a southern climate. (Thank you, global warming.) (That was sarcasm, mind you.) DC is far enough South, i.e. warm enough, that drivers slow to a grinding halt when a single snow flurry makes its decent from the winter's sky. Maybe I've simply forgotten what real winter is like.

I still haven't forgotten how to dress for winter - don't worry about that. (Grandma, I brought two pairs of longjohns.) I have my bright red Washington Nationals skull cap, a scarf, and a nice warm pair of fleece gloves. I have a warm Eddie Bauer fleece designed for the cold outdoors that is reversible, giving me an "extra" thing to wear, though I'm sure by now people have caught on that it's the same shirt! What a practical article of clothing. The fabric is such that it dries quickly, a necessity in all of this wetness.

And so I've blabbered on about the weather, something people talk about when there's nothing else to talk about. But I am stuck inside with nothing else to talk about. As one Bulgarian said today, "In winter in Bulgaria, we kill the pigs and drink wine because it's the only thing to do!"

Constantinope (Not Istanbul)

After visiting the palace, I headed over to the archaeological museum to take in some of Constantinople. Aside from the myriads of broken and glued back together plain red clay pots, it was interesting. So much of Constantinople has ended up in other parts of the world that museums in Britain, France, and Italy have more artifacts than this one, but Istanbul is full of archaeological excavation sites that will yield troves of treasures. The "church" pictured here - Hagia Sophia (Church of the Holy Wisdom) - used to be the largest building in the world and the seat of the Byzantine Patriarch. It was converted into a mosque when the Turks conquered Constantinople but is now a museum, thanks to Kemal Ataturk. Yeah, it's old - finished in 537.

Across the world, countries are demanding their artifacts be returned to their countries. The Greeks have been passing out flyers with a picture of a headless horse asking "Where's my head? It's in London!" and are building a new archaeological museum where they will have empty spaces with signs saying such and such an artifact is "temporarily on display in London." Good to see they have some humor about it.

Anyway, back to Istanbul, as there isn't much of Constantinople left these days. Here is a mosque. I know, I know, shocking, isn't it? I mean, a mosque in Istanbul? What will they think of next? I liked this one's ornate exterior. It was once a church. Very plain inside compared to a lot of them we visited. As you can see, it was an absolutely beautiful day - couldn't have been more perfect for walking miles as we did. It'd probably be better to actually write the name of the mosque here, but as we saw so many of them, I can't really remember it, and since it was the very first thing we saw that morning, aside from our bread/egg/tomato/cucumber/grape/olive breakfast, by the time I went to write everything down, the name had slipped from my memory like the melting real butter on my bread. Had it been toasted. But at least it was butter and not this nasty margarine stuff the Bulgarians have left over from the Soviet days. (My theory, anyway.)

Sometimes - or most times, in my opinion - the best things you see are things you weren't looking for, like the stunning view of the entire city from atop an old wall a few miles from the city center. We scaled the wall like we were climbing a mountain, though we did have a few ancient steps to help us up. This isn't a city, it's a billion cities expanding further than the eye can see. I've poorly put together a sort of panorama to try to show the scope of the massiveness. They actually go in order, though I've mistakenly left some gaps. Kind of difficult to take a 360 degree photo! This is definitely the best view in the city - and the only thing it cost was some energy from the climb!

(Click to make larger, but mind the gaps and the seams.)

Istanbul (Still Not Constantinople)

If you haven't seen part one of my trip to Istanbul, it is here.

The Imperial Palace - known as Topkapi - was an interesting mix of centuries. Some of it was quite old; much of it was constructed during the 19th century. I don't consider anything built after the creation of the United States as old, so at times I did not really feel I was staring at anything other than the remains of a dictatorship. In many ways the Ottoman Empire in the 19th century was backwards. Suits of chainmail and ruby encrusted swords were on display, created during a time when war was fought with guns and trenches. The Ottomans of the 19th century concerned themselves with gems and fancy dishes while the rest of the modern world had moved into the Industrial Age. It's no wonder the empire fell.

I found it curious that the Sultans were glorified, not just by the Turks, but also by the tourists who visited the palace. People marveled at the precious treasures of the Sultans instead of thinking about how these things were stolen or plundered during warfare. Indeed, one woman exclaimed, "Oh. My. God. Nuh-uh. That is not real." as she looked upon an 84 karat diamond with a sort of drooling, gaping mouth. It's a freaking rock! It's a shiny piece of the Earth that people died for. The whole lot of those gems were nothing more than rocks found in the ground. Think about it - isn't it amazing that people have fought wars to obtain shiny rocks that serve no practical purpose? And Sultans are glorified for their collections of shiny rocks? Sultans are nothing more than dictators with a fancy name. They taxed their citizens heavily - especially those who weren't Muslim - and enslaved whomever they wanted. They forced women to become their concubines if they fancied them. While much of their empire was poor, they ate great feasts every night. No cost was too great for their hedonism, not even the cost of human life. Yet they are still glorified. Us common folk look at their palaces and riches in awe despite the fact that had we lived back then, we would have been their slaves, our precious items to be taken on a whim if a Sultan or a high official desired them.

Look at this massive kitchen. Another row of smokestacks sits beside the visible one. I cannot fathom the heat generated in this place, especially in the sweltering summers when humidity from the sea wreaked its havoc upon the city. Imagine the hundreds of people who had to work in these conditions, probably for 16 hours a day. I sweat at the thought of it! I'd rather sit in a cubicle staring at a computer screen for eight hours a day, five days a week, looking for the weekend. The Sultans were a bunch of lardasses whose gluttony rivaled that of a Texan rancher or Rosy O'Donnell. All they did was sit around on a lot of ornate pillows in their gaudy jewelry and their hideous robes eating, drinking, and fornicating with the concubines in their harems. At taxpayers expense, of course.

They did this while pretending to be good Muslims. It's kind of like all of those American evangelicals who are getting caught for child pornography or soliciting sex in airport bathrooms. Is it that they who scream "God!" the loudest are actually the most immoral of all? I've often wondered that. Seems to me that "God" should be a very private thing. You kind of think about these things when you are surrounded by a religion other than the one predominant where you grew up. It's easier to look at things from the outside, and well, now that I've had several experiences in the Muslim world, I can see that religions have more than just God in common. They also have hypocrisy.

There was some interesting architecture around the palace. Lots of domes and arches. There wasn't much that struck me as amazing, however, as I think European architecture created during the Ottoman times is much more interesting. Not even the tiled rooms really impressed me. They seemed kind of tacky to me - it was like having a room full of plates on your walls. Indeed, the Ottoman tiles were inspired by those blue and white Chinese porcelain plates that the Turks were so fond of. There is a whole collection of them in part of the kitchen. The funny thing is that these plates, once thought to be so precious, are now mass produced in China.

Just to clarify - I didn't hate everything about the palace. I just thought about things in a different way than the myriads of tourists around me. The thing is that we haven't really done away with empires - we just go about them in a different way. The United States is definitely a sort of empire. Our citizens are dominated by corporations with ties to government, and our taxes (aside from the real taxes we pay) are the things we keep buying to keep the corporations in power. We still send our soldiers to war for riches from the ground - now in the form of oil instead of gems. History is not a linear thing - it is a circle, and we keep making the same mistakes over and over again. When you think of it this way, you have to wonder if we'll ever get it right, and if we can't, maybe the fact that we're destroying the planet is a good thing?

No, no, of course it isn't. We have to keep trying. We have made progress. I look at the European Union as perhaps the greatest human advancement in history. I mean, here is a continent that has known nothing but war throughout its existence, but a few incredible men who were sick of war came up with a plan that would ensure that if one country went to war with another, that warring country would also be destroyed. This is done by linking economies together, no small feat. I give credit to the European people for accepting such an arrangement. If they would only accept Turkey, then perhaps it would be a start to ending religious war, too? One can dream, right? Right?

Istanbul (Not Constantinople)

Istanbul, Constantinople, the crossroads of the old world, a place I had always wanted to visit but had seemed so far away. It was such a whirlwind I can hardly believe I was there. I should start at the beginning - an overnight 11 hour ride on a bus with no toilet, archaic border controls, and a station in "Istanbul" ten kilometers from the city center.

We had decided to go to Istanbul about an hour before the bus left, so we shoved our stuff into our bags and headed to the station in Veliko Turnovo.

The bus ride pretty much went like this: we were afraid to drink beer on the bus for lack of a toilet but did it anyway, had to get out and run around a corner at one of the stops along the way because of it, bought a bottle of wine at a truck stop that looked like any American truck stop - including the truckers, had anxiety about Bulgarian customs taking our passports because they won't just stamp them in front of you like the rest of Europe, had to get out at the Turkish border, run across a billion lanes of traffic to buy visas, run down half a mile to find the bathroom, and hope that the bus didn't leave, got back on the bus to go a few miles then stop again, walked around the overpriced shops they stop us at while they washed the bus - this was at 4am, mind you, saw orange juice! and bought it, stood around until they had finished washing the bus, bought some more beers because there was nothing else to do, got back on the bus and noticed the trucks stopped on the side of the road to sleep just like in the U.S., saw there were properly paved four lane highways in Turkey and thought we had reentered civilization, dozed for about a half hour until it was light out and I just had to see Turkey, caught a stunning glimpse of the Sea of Mamara at sunrise, was dropped off at the bus station where I had to find a WC but it cost to enter and I had no Turkish money, got a lira from a cab driver to pay for it, took a cab into the city, stopped so Tom could get some lira from an ATM, neither of us knowing the exchange rate, got out of the cab in the hostel district, ran over to a travel agency to find out the exchange rate and how much a cab should cost from the bus station - 25 to 30 lira, told the cab driver we would not pay more than 30 lira and he agreed, handed 40 to the cab driver, who proceeded to hop into his cab and give no change. It was not the first time we would be ripped off.

When we arrived, it looked to be a beautiful day. A warm breeze was coming off the sea, and the sun shone down like a diamond the Ottomans had pillaged in their warmongering. Having had no sleep, I planned on seeing some of the city and napping later on. The hostel gave us some breakfast since it was 8am when we arrived, a "Turkish" breakfast consisting of a hardboiled egg, a ton of bread, some grapes, olives, half a tomato, some cucumbers (I will probably not eat a cucumber for a year after this trip), and a host of spreads for the bread. This photo is a view of what I saw as I ate my breakfast.

A kid from Northwestern University who is studying Byzantine history in Greece was visiting Istanbul for a few days - Jacob was his name - and he sat with us. I was half asleep but somehow Tom and he had decided to see some sights together, so we finished our breakfast and set off for some stuff I was too tired to remember the names. Jacob was one of those who had particular destinations and stared more at a guidebook than what was around him, at least on the first two days. I am a person who is more content to wander around and try to get to know the city a bit, but we made a beeline for a mosque that had once been a church.

By the time we arrived after taking a couple of wrong turns, I decided I just wasn't up for sightseeing, so I set out for the hostel to sleep for a few hours, leaving them to the guidebook.

But as I walked back in a sort of zombie daze, I passed a street that showed me the water, and well, I just couldn't pass it up.

The sky was turning ominous, and I noticed dozens of freighters in the distance that were anchored - a sign that the waters were too treacherous to travel. The waves were capped with white foam and sprayed the shoreline as they pounded it. Wind blew off the Sea of Marmara while a few scattered fishermen thought they'd try their luck with the impending storms. I walked along the water tired, content, and telling myself over and over again, "This is Istanbul," unconcerned by the weather blowing in. But then the harassment started. A guy came up to me wanting to sell me something or wanting me to come to his shop or something. I'd heard about the Turks, but I was not prepared for their incessant chatter. Where you from? Can I talk to you for a minute? You are English? American? Spanish? Can I ask you a question? Do you like rugs? Just one minute, one minute of your time. Excuse me, excuse me, can I say something?

I don't know what the guy was selling, but I left the water, returned to the hostel, and proceeded to sleep for a good four or five hours, except when a woman came in and vacuumed the room. I had no idea where Tom or Jacob were, so I thought I'd do some of that wandering I had wanted to do in the morning. And I did. I just walked and walked and walked some more, looking at every crack and crevice, listening to every nonsensical word, sucking in every breath of smoke-free air (get a clue, Bulgaria!) It was pretty chilly, but not unpleasant. I walked down to the Bosphorus and thought about early school days when for some reason the Bosphorus-Sea of Marmara-Dardanelles passage way was burned into my mind. The strait was lined with fisherman and people selling fresh seafood. Oh, how my mouth longed for the taste of that glorious fruit of the sea! Alas, it was not to be, as it was Friday, and all the banks were closed, and I only had cash to exchange, and well, you kind of need banks for that, and I had no lira, so, you know, no seafood for me! So I strolled across the Galata Bridge, which I mistakenly thought was the bridge to Asia.

After I didn't walk to Asia and back, I was caught in a massive downpour. I think the entire sea had been sucked up to the sky and was being spit back down on us. I could do nothing, as I was already soaked, so I continued walking, but this time with the destination of the hostel. I thought perhaps Tom had come back and he could lend me some lira so we could go eat dinner. Me and my shortcuts. I've always had a pretty good sense of direction and thought I'd take a "shorter" way to the hostel. I didn't know I'd hit a wall - literally a 500 year old wall of the old Ottoman palace. And it was a long wall. And I'd hit the wrong end of it. And the rain came down harder. I ended up finding a gate to the palace after a much longer walk than I had wanted and somehow still held the delusion that I could find a short cut. I was walking in the right direction when I went through a gate and suddenly happened upon some metal detectors and security. I just wanted to get out of the fortress but they wouldn't let me go through. I didn't realize that this was the entrance to the imperial palace and it was closed for the day - I just wanted to get out of the rain.

I finally did make my way back to the hostel just before Tom arrived, as equally drenched. We hung our wet clothes across the room and that night, it was so hot and humid in there from the heat and our wet clothes, I thought it was going to rain inside!

The next day was much better weatherwise, though it wasn't without rain. Tom, Jacob, and I spent the day at the palace, which was full of interesting and not interesting things. I was still in awe of just being in Istanbul and stared out at the Bosphorus, the Sea of Marmara, and the Golden Horn as if they were mythical waters come to life. I tried to imagine when the city of Constantinople/Istanbul had been the most important city in the world.

For some reason, though, I thought it'd be warmer, perhaps like the Mediterranean countries. I wore a hat and gloves.

Outside the palace gate is one of the oldest churches in Turkey, which unfortunately is not open to the public. Inside the palace walls, which costs about $10 to enter, is the ruins of the Ottoman Empire, once masters to the Bulgarians and what seemed like half the world at the time. I had many thoughts run through my head as I stared at the palace walls, the remains of the treasury, the massive kitchen, and the decorous rooms of Sultans, but I will save that for later, as it is getting rather late and I am not fond of not getting a proper sleep!

To be continued...