There is something truly intoxicating about a life on the road – a life unbound by most responsibilities, a life dictated by whim and freewill... (until the money runs out, anyway.) But money aside, it is indubitable that exploration touches a deeply passionate and primal part of the human soul – it peaks curiosities, stirs intellect, strengthens the spirit, tickles the senses, and evokes the most incredible emotions. Simultaneously taxing and relaxing…carefree and careful...travel, as eloquently stated by Miriam Beard, is a change that goes on, deep and permanent, in the ideas of living. Therefore, in my end – the end of my internship, my summer, my journey – is my beginning.

I packed up my things – tucking evil eyes and textiles between one-too-many bottles of Bulgarian wine – crumpled under the weight of my pack, and said goodbye to Sofia. Our love/hate relationship had blossomed into full-on mutual respect, and I was mildly devastated to leave her just as we were becoming truly acquainted. I promised to return, but in my heart I knew it could be years…I think she understood. Sofia, and Bulgaria as a whole, taught me wonderful things: patience in the face of the Cyrillic alphabet, tolerance for bureaucracy and the resulting (ironic) chaos, understanding of the challenges faced by a post-Soviet “almost-Western” country, compassion for victims of the most unimaginable crimes, and admiration for a people unlike any other – quirky, careful, but absolutely gracious. And the wine…oh, the wine! Those Bulgarians certainly know how to drink with style.

My journey through Europe served as a fascinating complement and contrast (an appropriate contradiction) to my journeys through India and Africa. My internship – though certainly maddening at times – helped me to clarify my place in the world of humanitarian work. My summer, though only a speck in the (hopefully) grand timeline of my life – had a tremendous effect on my heart, my soul, and my personal aspirations. Now, having returned to my fairly-flea-free reality, I must decide how to move on with these deeply and permanently changed ideas of living.

So, moving on in the most literal of senses, I’ll be packing off to Washington, DC in about two weeks. Through and incredible stroke of luck, I am starting an extremely (and wonderfully!) demanding internship with the crisis response department of Amnesty International. Simultaneously, I’ll be starting my Masters – with the eventual goal of having a joint JD/MA in international politics/human rights. Yikes. I’m missing the beaches of Europe already. I am excited, completely terrified, but confident I’ve made the right decisions, and that I will, in fact, survive. I will use my patience, my tolerence for bureaucracy, my understanding, and my human compassion to contribute something, anything positive to this world. But for now, and in the near future, when I’m drowning in textbooks and twitching with caffeine, I’ll think fondly of my summer – the chaotic narcotic of bizarre, beautiful, Bulgaria.

In my end is my beginning remains copyright of the author MegMc2003, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Because no 13 hours is complete without a good book, I splurged on the new Harry Potter just because I decided I deserved it. The bus, incredibly hot and crowded, was certainly improved by the presence of Harry and all his friends, however expensive he was. I was just glad to be on a non-train, so I tried to grin-and-bear my way through the heat, the large, sweaty, hairy men, the utterly rank seats and the nauseatingly curvaceous nature of the roads. Luckily, Harry Potter prompted conversation with two non-large, non-hairy gentlemen nearby: a Scot and a Brit, both similar in age and equally as sweaty and mildly miserable as I.

We arrived in Ohrid, Macedonia, thrilled, at approximately 4:45 in the morning. We were joined by a middle-aged Danish man, and the four of us decided to buddy-up and find accommodation. I was not excited about wandering the streets alone, and it so was nice to have english-speaking company. We settled on a wonderful apartment, and slept away the rest of the morning.

Ohrid is a UNESCO world heritage site famous for its large and beautiful lake. Because Macedonia is land-locked, the lake serves as a wonderfully pleasant substitute seaside. Being 2500 years old and all, the town has an incredibly rich history - with architecture, cultural festivals and other diversions to charm virtually any visitor. I was hoping for someplace charming, relaxing, sunny and friendly. I was certainly not disappointed.

We spent our first day together - slightly foggy from the bus ride - enjoying the rocky beach and clear waters of the lake, as well as the charming streets of the town. Ohrid does not look tremendously different from Bulgaria - I will post my pictures as soon as I can. I was particularly pleased to see the town surrounded by densely green mountains, in addition to the lake. The setting was so idyllic, I only wished I'd had more time to truly enjoy it.

We knew the night life was booming - as we'd walked through town around 5 am to find accommodation, all the kids were still roaming the streets, looking snazzy even after a long night out. Sure enough, we found ourselves a live concert somewhere along the main street. The place was pulsing with life, and we ended up at the front of the crowd, rocking out to Grease's "Summer Loving" and Elvis's "Suspicious Minds" - the rest of the songs, mostly of the alternative rock persuasion - have melted away in my memory. We danced and sang, loving every bit of the evening.

After the concert, a little singing in the street, a marriage proposal from a mildly creepy Macedonian man, caramel popcorn and a variety of other night-life antics - we collapsed into bed...summer days, drifting away...but oh! those summer nights!!!

The next day was a bit of a slow start - those summer nights can drain the days of energy - we had a strange breakfast/lunch of italian food. Duncan, the Scot, ordered the strangest pizza I've ever seen: the 'Istanbul' had ham, fresh yogurt, and eggs. blek! I was happy with my chicken parmesan.

We spent the rest of the day wandering around the back streets, snapping photos and exploring the local castle/fortress. My time was up long before I was ready, and I left to catch my bus back to Sofia at seven pm. I was sad to leave the beautiful lake, and sad to leave my new companions. Macedonia, you certainly deserve more than even the most exciting of weekends.

Ohrid remains copyright of the author MegMc2003, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Indian-style, I fought my way onto my car as a throng of over-eagers mobbed the doors. The hot outdoor athens air was suddenly cool - I'd just boarded a big aluminum baked potato. Within the first twenty minutes, I was soaked completely and suffering from prickly-heat. Luckily, I only had 15 more hours to go.

The air - aside from being impossibly oppressive - was ripe with body odor and mutiny. We were packed solid, and no one was happy about it, so the unfortunate steward was accosted by a slew of old women and macho men regarding the non-functional air-con. When he appeared to admit his impotence, arguments erupted between passengers - babies were screaming, teenagers teasing, old ladies hollering at their seatmates. I tossed a toy at some children to keep them from pestering me. Instead, i was sighted as a sucker and they swooped down upon me...a baby nearby even slobbered all over my newly-purchased Greek worry beads. To keep from looking revolted (I'm no good with children!!), I watched the teenagers next to me downing rakia and whiskey. They were irritatingly good-natured, but I had to laugh as they belted out boy-band tunes...NSYNC's "Bye Bye Bye", and Backstreet Boys' "I want it that way" really never sounded so good. As a complement, a Tanzanian nearby taught them a little bit of Sinatra. At least, I thought, there's entertainment in hell.

My seatmate was somehow intrigued by me, and we began to chat about my work. "Not many people are willing to do what you do," he said, "you are performing the work of God - have you been saved?" Oh dear. I was sitting next to a Greek Jehovah's Witness. No joke. We chatted for a while about why I'm going to hell for being unsaved - though he was much kinder than I thought he would be - until I decided to feign sleep instead of screaming.

My fake slumber seemed to dull him, as he disappeared when the train broke down shortly after. I had two hours to suck in fresh air while we waited...by some merciful miracle, the air conditioning worked when we re-boarded. The cool air enlivened the car, and a middle-aged albanian (capable of the most noxious odors) even took to groping my leg. (but not before spilling his whiskey all over my lap.) I nearly cried in relief when we arrived in Thessaloniki - three hours late. Then, I nearly cried again when I found I missed my connection to Bulgaria and had to sleep in the station until the next train in the morning. And then, I did manage to squeeze out a tear when the station guards tried to kick us stranded few to the street. "You can't sleep here! Station closed!" It was two in the morning. "But where are we supposed to go! We can't just wander the streets!" We said, it was if the last fiber of our patience and stamina had been swiftly severed. "It is not our problem!" they retorted. But it was a big problem for a solo American female.

In the end, they allowed us to be locked in a small downstairs waiting room. "Eat, bathroom now. We open door at 6 am." They didn't want us to steal anything. Steal what? I don't know. I probably would have done it though, out of spite. I squeezed in a few hours of sleep before being herded back to the surface of the world and catching my train to Bulgaria. I'd decided to stay in Sandanski - a city close to the border - and find a bus from there. Due to complete exhaustion, I stayed the night - arriving in Sofia three days after leaving Athens. I was filthy and smelly enough rival the albanian, but completely thrilled to be back to the familiar. Oh Bulgaria, how I missed you. Oh Bulgaria, I'll never take a train to/from/around or near you ever, ever again.

Train Disdain remains copyright of the author MegMc2003, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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We'd made it to Athens after a week of island hopping. In Santorini, we'd braved the mule ride from the port...an exhilerating, hair-raising 45 degree slope experience. We'd sunbathed on the black sand beach, clambered over the caldera, admired the white-washed, blue-doored buildings and swam in an eggily pungent hot springs. Our hostel, the worst in history, was fortunately flea-free. Instead, we battled two-inch-long cockroaches in a bathroom thick with stagnant urine. Hostel Anna anyone? don't do it! Santorini as an island, however, was breathtaking. Greece is just as you would imagine it, only a smidge more expensive and remarkably more beautiful.

Naxos and Samos were also absolutely lovely - we spent much of our time beach bumming, wandering the charming backstreets, downing gyros pita and Greek salad, and simply relaxing. Life was blissfully sunny and uneventful. When the time came to make it to the mainland - we found our place on the overcrowded ferry - with a lack of seats we bedded down in a hallway - and awaited our next big adventure.

We arrived, found a hostel (the infamous above afleamentioned), and spent one feverishly hot day exploring the Acropolis and the other ancient sites of Athens. I have to admit, after a life of hype regarding this legendary location - we were all a little disappointed to see the Parthenon covered in scaffolding. I suppose, however, that it will be worth it if the place is still standing in another thousand years or so. Maybe the fleas were simply making me a bit cranky. Hungry for even more history and ancient ruins, we decided to consult the Oracle of Delphi.

She didn't have much to say (it was too hot to prophesize, I think), but the site was absolutely incredible. Delphi is only three short three hours from Athens...but seemingly a world away. We were utterly charmed by the quiet cobblestone streets carved into the mediterranean Mount Parnassus, the friendly locals, and the unmistakable air of antiquity. It is always quite strange to realize that the history of the USA is merely a blip on the grand timeline of the world...the foundation of Delphi can be traced to 1600 BC!! Absolutely mind-boggling. We spent hours climbing about the ancient ruins - ogling the Temple of Apollo, the Treasury of Athens, the Stadium and the Theatre. Kelsey, with better knees and a sharper sense of ruin-curiosity, even explored a few dark and mysterious passageways carved into the mountain.

As a fascinating complement to the ruins, the museum housed some of the most remarkable artifacts I've ever seen. I've posted a number of photographs on my Picasa site, if you're interested. Frescoes, enormous statues, intricate carvings, jewelery, idols, ceremonial what-nots and mythological arts and crafts truly enlivened the experience. Once has to wonder - with all our plastic, steel and glass - what will remain of our culture a thousand years from now?

The nearby town of Arachova was next - quiet, very much local and utterly scenic, we were glad to spend our last days in Greece lazing around in a nice, (flea-free) hotel room, wandering the streets and breathing in the fresh mountain air.

Finally, we returned to Athens and I sent away my companions to the airport. I was heading back to Bulgaria - and, in truth, I'd missed it very much. I was tan, tired, enchanted by the many wonderful things I'd seen, and potentially rid of most insects. (I plan on bug-bombing my existence upon my return to the states, just to make sure my relief isn't...fleating. haha!) I was ready to go "home" before I went home.

Greece: ancient, a titch too expensive...but beautiful, enchanting, and well-worth the welts.

The Golden Fleas of Greece remains copyright of the author MegMc2003, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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We spent our first few days bumming around Istanbul - drinking in the famous sites and a great deal more Turkish and Apple tea than any American bladder can accommodate. The Hagia Sophia is breathtaking, the Blue Mosque an equally stunning must-see (though the tacky poorly-clad Westerners tend to detract from its sanctity...if they give you a headscarf to wear...wear it!! geez!!). The city overall is a sprawling, intoxicating clash of centuries, continents, ideologies and influences. I've never seen such an incredibly harmonious mosaic of world culture and history. It's bizarre and mind-blowing to fathom the number and diversity of people to touch that stone before you. Some women scuttle down the street in full, modest, black robes and headscarves...others are in shorts and a tshirt. The towering skyscrapers and dozens of box-like apartment buildings contrast sharply against the palaces, mosques and stone structures of antiquity. We were utterly lost in the 4000 shops of the grand bazaar, in awe of the beautiful Bosphorus, and absolutely addicted to our hostel's rooftop terrace. After four busy days, we headed south for famous Cappadocia.

Cappadocia is ridden with rivulets of captivating rock sculptures - some like an ocean of stone, some like oddly shaped beehives, some150 ft tall and unmistakably phallic. I urge you to google image it... (try "goreme") What's most remarkable is the fact that people (both now and historically) use the rocks as homes, businesses and pigeon holes, even our hostel was carved from the stone. Although my mother wasn't terribly keen on spending the night in a cave, I thought it to be utterly adventurous. We even did an exhilerating four-hour trekk through a variety of rock-formation valleys. I've simply never seen anything like it. As a day trip, we explored one of the several enormous, ancient underground cities nearby...seven stories down makes virtually everyone a little claustraphobic. Entire civilizations would live in these collections of underground rooms, airshafts, churches, stables, and kitchens for months while hiding from invaders...absolutely incredible.

Shortly thereafter, we headed to the beach community of Olympos - right on the beach and near the Chimaera (spelling is wrong, sorry). At night, we hiked up the mountain to see the bizarrely natural flames spouting from its side. If extinguished, the flames will spontaneously re-ignite. Totally weird. I felt that the site was only slightly marred by the tourists cooking weiners over the flames and the western woman strutting around in nothing more than a brassiere. *sigh*

In addition to scrambling all over the most incredible ruins of the old city olympos, we were unbelievably charred crisp on the beautiful beach...damn that Turkish sun. White water rafting was a wonderful addition to our itinerary - the river water was a breathtaking turquiose and absolutely frigid. (so nice on the sunburn)

We next went to Kabak, and isolated community on another, virtually abandoned beach. The water here even more turquoise - more beautiful for lack of people. My sister and I hiked the mountains surrounding the water and swam in a sea cave (rather dangerously, I might add.) I discovered that I do not swim very well...yikes! Because the community was at the foot of a mountain, we had to take a tractor to the top when we were ready to leave. I paled at the thought of a very unfortunate death as I found my seat just above the tire to be a rather precarious perch. The drop from the road seemed utterly unfathomable. As the tractor rocked and bumped and swerved, I think I swallowed my tongue.

Pammukkale and its weird "travertines" was next - think of it as melty-looking white stone carved throughout the ages into rivulets and turquoise pools. Coupled with the ancient city Hieropolis, it was a wonderful day trip. The waters, after a bit of swimming, are said to cure arthritis, heart problems, and even obesity (after a great deal of swimming, i imagine...)

Now, we are in Selcuk - a wonderful little town of about 25,000. We spent our first day exploring Ephesus - the best preserved ancient town in the mediterranean aside from Pompeii. It was a huge, remarkable reminder of the times of old - it was so bizarre to see the remnants of a time so long past. We've also explored a small wine village nearby, took a side trip to a traditional hammam (there went my sunburn...wow!) and strolled aimlessly through the weekly bazaar/farmer's market. We have plans for a hot springs and mud bath later today - and our ferry for greece leaves tomorrow.

This is such a whirlwind explanation of our experiences, i cannot even begin to describe the charm and wit of the people, the true beauty and diversity of the landscape, the remarkable complexity of the history - or the fascinating current political landscape. I do hope, however, that you now know I have not dropped from the face of the earth, and that I am in fact adventuring through one of the most incredible places on earth.

Merhaba remains copyright of the author MegMc2003, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Wrapping up my final bits of work, I realized how tremendously beneficial my experience with Animus had been - I was sometimes supremely frustrated with the organization, but I was often more frustrated by the sheer magnitude and cruelty of the issue at hand. When a 12 year old - a prostitute for a number of years - checked into our safe house, I was simultaneously grateful for and horrified by my own luck in life. 12 years old? I was still pretending to be a pioneer. As a humanitarian, I learned that I am sometimes very sickened by humans.

As a quick rundown, my overall projects for Animus included the following: (for those of you who are remotely interested!)

- Given that our crisis line was about to flounder into non-existence, my primary project was securing funding for the next fiscal year. I researched our options and then selected and completed the most viable prospects. The grant application process is lengthy and writing-intensive, so my English skills were of supreme value for the organization. The grant request totalled approximately $24,000 (a small amount, comparatively); I sent away two of the grant application/requests, with another pending currency conversion. Of the three, I am desperately hoping something works out - for the sake of Bulgarian women throughout the country.

- As I posted previously, I used my limited (and mildly laughable) HTML skills to build a website for an upcoming series of seminars. I edited and/or composed the the majority of the content and battled endlessly with inflexible site designers. They won. I left before I could regain my dignity. haha

- To spare future international interns my difficulties, I authored a handbook detailing the intricacies of finding food, shelter, transportation and entertainment in Sofia.

- After speaking at length with another American intern at another anti-trafficking organization, I proposed the creation of an American organization directly linked to Animus - for the purposes of evading (or, more ethically, meeting) the IRS non-profit tax requirements. This would allow Animus the opportunity to apply for a whole new realm of grants, while also expanding their programs to benefit Eastern European women trafficked to the United States. Since I will soon be living in Washington DC, footsteps away from potential partners, I offered to head this new initiative. We'll see what happens....

- And finally, in between all these tasks, I served as the resident english grammar and american culture/politics "expert."

And that, my friends, is sixish weeks of pure, invaluable learning experience. On my last day, I recieved a round of hugs, chocolates and well-wishes. Walking out of the sunny little building was quite a bit more difficult than expected.

I waved to the fruit lady on the corner, annoyed the neighborhood grocers, and made my death-defying sprint across to the bus stop one last time. That night, I met my coworker marie for my "last hoorah" out on the town - the "Macedonian Jazz Band" was a hypnotic, body-crushing, mind-swirling, sensory overload (very non-jazz) experience I'd recommend to pretty much everyone. As a bizarre combination of Bulgarian/Macedonian folk, Euro-trash trance, American pop and a little polka...it was the most appropriate last-hoorah imaginable. I was heading to Turkey very soon - and this was goodbye to Bulgaria...for now.

All good things must come to an end remains copyright of the author MegMc2003, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Well, rock formations, really. Ancient, otherwordly giants punctuate over 90 km of an undulating, densely green landscape. The scarlet, gray and cream tones are a striking contrast; the sheer height of the rocks…awe inspiring.

Historically, the rocks were a natural fortification between the Danubian Plains and the Serbian Morava Valley. The “Belogradchik Pass” is marked by a fascinating, mish-mash castle…which, as noted by Rough Guides, was “begun by the Romans, continued by the Bulgars during the eighth century, and completed by the Turks a millennium later.” Although there is little left to see, several sets of mildly terrifying staircases put me right at the shoulder of one of the giants.

I started early in the morning, as the Bulgarian sun beats down with serious force starting around ten a.m. I was completely alone – the tour buses rarely find Belogradchik, the school groups were eating breakfast, and the ticket-takers were still romancing their morning narcotic (Turkish coffee, that is).

So, when I climbed to the very top – bouncing from the designated viewpoint (and across a terrifically terrifying crevice) to a perch on the edge of the world – I felt like the only human being in existence. It was silent – all sounds of the small town were buffered by fluffy wooded hills. The giants, hundreds of them, stood tall and glistening in the morning sun. Creative Bulgarians have quite delightfully designated the most intriguing of formations with identities… the Nuns, the Gossip, the Schoolgirl, the Horse and Rider. I stretched out, breathed in the (temporarily) crisp air, and let my own imagination personify the limestone.

I stayed until my clothes were stuck to my oozing pores…suddenly realizing that “brrrgaria” was somewhat preferable to “boilgaria” (haha! cleverness!). The moose-quitos were also having a midday buffet of my flesh - (they are huge, and their bites drive one to insanity). I took that as my cue to find my adventure in the cooler, forested paths of the hills. On my way down to civilization, I passed a typically “fashionable” Bulgarian woman hiking her way to the top in the most impossible stilettos. Talent or stupidity? Probably the former.

I spent the rest of my time wandering the quiet, mildly abandoned streets of Belogradchik and exploring the forest nearby. The café culture was obvious – it seemed the entire town spent all day, every day relaxing on patios with beer and coffee. Most of the stores were closed, most of the taxis were abandoned. the low-key, laidback atmosphere was perfect for a weekend repose.

My hikes in the forest were equally as peaceful – towering trees were dwarfed by even more impressive rock formations. I hiked fairly extensively, until an absolutely enormous anaconda slithered inches from my toes. Stunned, I had an unfortunate mental image of a very undignified (snake-digested) death…so I screamed like a pansy and ran.

With my heroic snake-battle, my hiking, and my gawking at the beauty of the world at an end… I caught a scenic, four hour bus ride back to reality. As we passed by fields filled with thousands of sunflowers, tiny villages blooming with life, and peaceful mules lunching on the medians, I decided that Bulgaria is truly enchanting.

Now that you’re all warm-fuzzies, may I present the small (well, Italic) print:
Unfortunately, (and I continue to mentally pinch myself for this), I actually forgot to bring my camera. Completely. I brought my extra SD card, just to make sure. I brought my charger, just to make sure. But I left my camera – you know, the most important part? – sitting on the kitchen table. It was absolute torture for such a snap-happy adventurer. Luckily, there are lots of photos I can pirate off the internet and post for you to see.

A Weekend among Giants remains copyright of the author MegMc2003, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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I didn't go alone...since I'm the newbie I was accompanied by two "oldies" - Marie, the swiss volunteer, and Milena, a bulgarian co-worker. As we pulled up to a vast, shining, (mildly excessive) beacon of modernization, I knew I was on American soil. The Embassy in Sofia is absolutely beautiful, and absolutely conspicuous in its sheer grandeur.

After a fairly thorough security check – (although my metal knee didn’t set off the metal detector…curious.)– we were escorted to the meeting room. Approximately forty attendees filtered in; Bulgarians, Americans, a Dutchman, a Norwegian, and a few Frenchies. We represented non-governmental organizations, Bulgarian governmental ministries, and a wide variety of foreign/international organizations. Although the Deputy Prime Minister failed to attend, the room wasn’t short on hot shots. As the introductions were given, I realized I was sitting next to the hulking FBI director involved in anti-trafficking (he wasn’t terribly talkative). Nearby, the big-time executive director of USAID, and across the room, a former Miss Bulgaria, and the American Ambassador to Bulgaria.

Wait, who are you again? Oh, um, an intern? I don’t think anyone was terribly impressed!

As the meeting started, I was full of high hopes for our opportunity to present the current projects of Animus. Unfortunately, the mediator – (a droning legal counsel with no public speaking skills) – gave the floor to resident governmental “experts”, who prattled on about a recent trip to Italy and the Italian legislative structures. (wait, this meeting is about Bulgaria, right?) They were terribly long-winded for having so little to say. I found this to be extraordinarily frustrating: there we were, forty different people and organizations from around the world in one place, all working for the same cause, ready and willing to collaborate, exchange ideas and strengthen our initiatives. Instead, there was no debate, no real exchange, and the only opportunity I/we had was a brief, underwhelming five minutes. It was the ambassador’s turn to speak, and the wine and hors'deurves were waiting! Any collaboration would be done in the lobby, or next quarter. (the latter, most likely.)

As I was pouting about lost opportunity, wasted potential and Italian legislative structures, the Ambassador stood tall, straightened his tie, and prepared to wow us with American diplomacy. I was excited to hear him speak – I’d been eyeing him the whole meeting, contemplating which witty words I would use to impress him.

“Welcome, welcome to everyone!” (and then he threw in some Bulgarian for good measure) “I am so glad to see such a wide variety of faces – some I know, some I don’t. And it is good to see people I don’t know, it means our cause, our strength is growing.” Good, we’re feeling empowered, not so preoccupied with hors’deurves…

“I am just so glad to say that we are here today working together, trying very hard to actually make Bulgaria a normal country.”

I choked. I’ve never been so good at poker face, and I imagine that as my eyes burst from my sockets and my jaw slammed into the floor people probably knew what I was thinking. And, although Bulgarians are rather impassive – I’d say their pursed lips and dark, flashing eyes were probably agreeing with me. Suddenly, I had all sorts of witty things to say to our “diplomatic” diplomat.

Normal. What is normal? I myself have admitted that Bulgaria is ‘bizarre’, but that’s according to insignificant little me, not US policy. But even still, I don’t have the right to distinguish between what is normal and what is not, and if I did, (we are all ethnocentric, after all) I most certainly would keep my criticisms out of a room full of Bulgarians. So, we’re here to make Bulgaria normal? Not to…you know, combat human trafficking? Rescue children from slavery? Prosecute pimps and maniacs? Create support programs for victims? Reconsider our choice of speaker?

I think he lost most of his audience shortly thereafter, I know I was growing fangs and talons. It was another sad day for America.

I had the opportunity to meet the Ambassador, the director of USAID (and his tag along), the drone lawyer and the FBI agent. I handed out some annual reports, cheesed it and attempted witty conversation. They mostly grunted at me and turned away as quickly as possible. I found Mr. FBI and Mr. USAID to be particularly brusque and unpleasant. It’s amazing how small some people can make you feel…even if your five feet and two inches are brimming with fire. I was glad for the wine.

More optimistically, I did meet a few equally disenchanted youngsters around my age. Three Peace Corps volunteers, two embassy interns and a partridge in a bureaucratic pear tree. (okay, not really.) They were all very bright, very good at their jobs, and very willing to share their opinions about life. We had a nice time chatting and eating up all the hors’deurves.

I was glad I had the opportunity to go, and I am glad I saw what I saw. In a room full of the most important and influential people to the cause, absolutely nothing was accomplished.

I stole a Newsweek out of spite.

My Disappointing Day at the Embassy remains copyright of the author MegMc2003, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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My train ride took a full hour and a half longer than scheduled -I wouldn't have been so cranky about it if the man next to me smelled like anything other than curdled milk and unwashed human. I'm assuming the forty-five minute stop in the middle of nowhere was the result of mechanical failure (it happens a lot when the train is 50 years past due for replacement). My patience wore a bit thinner as a child nearby entertained himself by spitting loudly and repeatedly on the floor...charming I know...and I was just about to go bulgarian-ballistic when we lurched back into action.

My first glance of the town was breathtaking- as I said before, the village is nestled in the mountains and the diminutive structures only emphasize the grandeur of the natural surroundings. A great majority of the homes (380) were built in the Revival-period style, while everything else has been built in a complementary fashion. No high-rises, no soviet blocs, no traffic…I was stunned. (I was in love!) The entire place is tiny and easily navigable by foot – it took me less than twenty minutes to walk from one end to the other. The air was clean, the people were friendly, the timber houses were simple and utterly charming. I was particularly thrilled to see that the horse and wagon were still a staple of existence. The air smelled crisp and warm at the same time – an intoxicating mix of mountain air, horse manure and wood smoke. Indeed, my frontiers-woman fantasies were realized at last. (Now if only I’d packed my covered wagon…)

I stayed with a local family – none of whom spoke English. When I met the matriarch, a jolly, plump old woman, she dodged my handshake and reined me in for a Bulgarian bear-hug. I knew I was going to have a wonderful time. Unfortunately, the sky darkened just after my arrival – threatening to rain away my cheerful mood. My hostess and I shuffled to her lovely home as the downpour began. She bundled me in a sweater, confiscated my soaking wet shoes and chatted at me in Bulgarian as I waited for the skies to clear.

I was fortunate…within a couple of hours the rain let up and I was free to roam the village. I was even more fortunate to be arriving on that particular day…some sort of folk festival/performance was going on in the main square that night. I never could get a straight answer out of anyone about the reason behind the celebration…but I’ve also learned that Bulgarians scarcely need a reason for a little folk dancing. The 30 or so performers of every age were costumed in traditional garb – the gorgeous embroidery was complemented by clinking coins, festive flowers and a patriotic color scheme of red, white and green. As the performers danced, the riotous combination of color and rhythmic folk music was utterly hypnotic; I could see why these celebrations survived the centuries. When the show was over, the party began. The locals joined hands and started dancing – from the very young to the very old, the citizens of koprivshtitsa knew how to live it up folk-style. Well, until it started raining again. I started the walk home drenched but utterly enamored.

I wasn't too wet to pick up a bottle of wine for my hosts - we spent the evening lightheartedly attempting conversation via dictionary and pictures (or should I say, pictionary?). As the night wore on, we understood more and more of one another (ha) and we even did a little folk dancing in the living room. I went to sleep full of wine, delicious homemade cheese and killer new dance moves.

Thanks to the roosters outside my window, I woke up early enough the next morning to see the locals getting their horses ready for the day. Aside from these grumbling early-risers, the streets were completely abandoned. As the sun was peeking over the mountains, I was ready for real exploration. Although it isn’t mentioned in lonely planet OR rough guides (I’m going to write them), there’s a wonderful panorama of the village at the top of a very long staircase up the mountain. From there, once you look past a terribly unfortunate-looking Soviet monument, civilization feeds into pristine and peaceful nature. I spent the remainder of the morning walking through mountainside meadows and exploring an utterly gorgeous, dense forest. The only other human being I encountered was an old woman looking for mushrooms; the only sounds were the birds, the little waterfalls, and the very distant echo of horse-hooves on cobblestone. It was stunning to see the morning rays filtered through the trees in the forest. Ahhh, absolute contentment.

I walked as far as I could, but it was eventually too steep even for my monkey-climb. I picked my way back down the mountain and spent the remainder of the day wandering the streets, indulging in the local fare (red meat, red wine, bread and baklava...so unhealthy, so bulgarian, so delicious!), and chatting with the locals. Five construction workers even bought me a cup of tea during a mid-afternoon break (what a sight, as you can imagine). Unfortunately, reality was waiting and I caught the last bus to Sofia at five pm. My incredible experience in Koprivshtitsa left me feeling refreshed, revitalized and rededicated to my passion for a simple life.

Incredible Koprivshtitsa remains copyright of the author MegMc2003, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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My work with the website has come to a screeching halt as I encountered problems that were no match for even my superior HTML prowess. I emailed the company that owns the domain and did the basic appearance/formatting (which is terrible, if you ask me)…but that was a week ago and nothing yet. Here’s a link if you want to check out my skills:

http://danatip.org/zb/home

I’m responsible for the addition and editing of content and links – and there’s still a LOT of kinks to be worked out. Be gentle with your criticisms

(wow, it is torrentially pouring…again…there’s even a cacophany of car alarms sounding off. If this place weren’t so green and gorgeous during the rare sunny day, I’d curse the rain away forever! I may drown on my way home…)

In the meantime, I embarked on a new project – the endless search for potential international donors. Much to my dismay, I was told that our most important, most popular function – the crisis hotline for victims – will cease and desist very soon, due to a sudden lack of funding. I find this problem perplexing: how did they manage to lose funding for one of the primary projects of the organization? If they lost funding, why don’t they have a back-up plan? Why don’t they contact current donors and propose a donation re-arrangement? And, the most important question of all, why don’t they have any existing list/compilation of potential donors? Do they go searching through the thousands of possibilities every time money is tight? Yes, as a matter of fact, they do.

I was amazed to see that there are indeed thousands and thousands of options – there’s foundations for virtually every problem, solution, interest and sympathy in the world. And, even more surprising (though also obvious, in such an opportunistic world), are the businesses making money off helping non-profits make money. Clever, I know. Well, thank you very much, but I am quite capable of conducting my own search! (It just took me 3 million and two thirds hours). Is that an exaggeration? Maybe just a little bit. (it was probably more like 2 million and one third).

Not liking the idea of having to conduct this heinous search more than once, I took it upon myself to compile a fairly comprehensive binder detailing as-of-yet-untapped partnership possibilities– including a handy reference guide at the beginning! Clever, I know. (take that you entreprenurial sharks!) It seems like the totally obvious thing to do, so I should stop gloating shouldn’t I? Well anyway, I outlined the grant requirements, included the applications and contact information, noted our corresponding strengths and programs, and presented my initial findings to my pleased-as-bulgarian-punch superiors. Just as I was ready to continue plowing through cyberspace, I was told: “this is just fine, you can stop. We don’t want to have so many options we don’t know what to choose.”

My response? please imagine a curiously mixed expression of horror and perplexity. Stop? Why? You should have as many options as possible! You don’t know what to choose? Well…shouldn’t you apply for them all??? I must be very green to this business. In my head, more options = back up plans when your most important program is about to crumble! AH!

I’m being a little bit of a drama queen. I enjoyed the work – it was extremely educational – and I am too young and too foreign to really understand the motivations behind such wacky decisions. I just hate to leave any potential untapped – especially in such a desperate situation. I also think my American mindset of: “efficiency! efficiency! more! more!!!!,” is making things a little difficult for me.

So, now that I’ve officially stemmed that project (although I think I will be doing some of the actual grant-writing next week), I’ve been doing a tremendous amount of proofreading and dictation – (my English skills are super-suave, you see.) In other news, I’ll be representing Animus at a regional round-table/conference at the US embassy in two weeks, which should be extremely fascinating. And, on the side, I am authoring a “help-manual” for future international interns. My supervisor wants something to give new arrivals so that their orientation is a little bit smoother than mine. It’s basically an extremely abbreviated version of my book- Bulgaria: how to find food, shelter and a mildly honest taxi driver. I wish there’d been a ‘me’ for me!

All in all, I’m a busy little worker-bee and I’ve been soaking up as much knowledge as my worker-bee brain can manage. In fact, I should probably say that I’ve been “buzzy”…haha! Okay, I’m sorry, I’ll stop.

Ciao for now!

"If you hold a cat by the tail... remains copyright of the author MegMc2003, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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But alas, Bush - and his swarm of secret service minions - visited last Sunday and Monday…and he fully succeeded in ruining my life. Okay, fine…he just ruined my weekend. A full twenty-four hours before to his arrival, the entirety of central Sofia was locked up tight with hundreds of barricades - (where do they keep those things in the off-season, I wondered.) Public transportation was severely limited, if it was functioning at all, and residents of the center were kindly requested to remove laundry and all things “unattractive” from balconies. Several suspicious looking characters were preemptively arrested (maybe Bush taught them that!) and Sofia’s finest were stationed strategically on every street corner (looking bored, mind you.) I was intrigued by all these measures…Was there something to fear in Sofia itself? (Sorry, that’s a really bad one. I couldn’t resist.)

I have to admit, I’ve never seen the city center looking so pristine – and with cheesy American flags plastered everywhere, I’d say the oozing hospitality almost offset all the anti-Bush graffiti. By the way, there was a protest that Saturday, though I missed it because I escaped to the Rila Monastery before the lockdown began. It didn’t look terribly convincing on television, but it was nice to see some healthy political activism in a country that makes the Tulsa “honk-if-you…” protesters look like violent radicals. (ie, political/civic participation is virtually nonexistent).

I didn’t wake up early enough to receive the President as he went strolling into the Bulgarian presidency – but I did watch the chaos on my flatmate’s television. The ironic thing was, in spite of the extreme measures taken prior to his arrival, the security appeared to be incredibly lax. Just as you may have seen from the footage of his Albanian visit, people were touching him, (stealing his watch), and practically falling over the barricades. The rumor is that these enthusiasts were ‘imported’ into the center by proud Bulgarian administrators after hearing about the extraordinarily warm Albanian welcome. It may not be true, but it sounds like a very Bulgarian sort of thing to do

I stopped following the drama shortly thereafter and I spent my Sunday lazing around my flat – which was pretty much my only option anyway. I’d almost forgotten about the affair until having dinner with a new friend the other night. A Yale undergrad, he and his Texan friend (donning a texas-flag tshirt) had decided to take part in the receiving line. So, although they were “unauthorized”, they waltzed right up and joined the festivities. The Texan caught the attention of the president, flashed him a view of his t-shirt and a loyal ‘hook-em horns’ hand signal. Bush reciprocated, and during the formal ceremony he flashed a ‘hook-em horns’ signal to the Bulgarian cameras. Although not very appropriate, not a big deal right?

The media frenzy that followed was astounding. To Bulgarians, apparently, the symbol is most closely associated with Satan. (Insert clever political quip here...)

To give you glimpse of the situation, please allow me to assume my assertive news-reporter voice: “What was that hand signal? What was Bush trying to say to the crowd? Is the gesture Satanic? Is this some secret American symbol? What could it possibly mean? We go now to our resident American culture expert!”

The mystery of it all was mind-blowing – so much so that virtually every news agency pondered the question repeatedly. Luckily, after many hours of strenuous deliberating, an acceptable conclusion was finally reached: Bush was saying “I love you” to his texas friend in the crowd. What a friendly guy! Phew, I’m glad they figured that one out.

Luke, my acquaintance, works at another NGO in town and made the effort to author a “very serious” press release clarifying the issue. By Monday, Bush had packed off for the USA and life in Sofia – chaotic, quirky, frustrating, invigorating – returned to normal.

President Bush visits Bulgaria remains copyright of the author MegMc2003, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Your parents sold you for rent money. Your boyfriend of two years sold you for a new TV. That job offer in Germany only appeared to be legit. You're kidnapped and smuggled across countless borders. That dream of yours - the dream of a glamorous life in the West - is the most horrifying nightmare imaginable. You're anywhere from 5 to 40 years old, and you'll be raped and beaten repeatedly everyday for the rest of your foreseeable future.

Your body – your life – is probably worth between 100 – 2000 US dollars, depending on your age, appearance and nationality. Even if you do eventually escape the life of a sex slave, you will not come away unscathed. Survivors must endure life-threatening diseases of the body and mind, acute terror and paranoia plaguing their every thought, recurring nightmares and flashbacks, as well as social stigmatization and isolation.

Human trafficking is not limited to sexual exploitation (although this acccounts for approximately 80% of trafficking situations) - millions of men, women and children are forced into situations of servitude, hard labor, and combat situations (ie, child soldiers). Much to the horror of the international community, the trafficking business is booming with over $9.5 billion in revenue is generated every single year. Thus, the buying and selling of human beings is the third most profitable international criminal activity behind the illegal sale of drugs and arms. Of course, guns and drugs are a one-time sale; a woman, on the other hand, can be sold up to twenty times a day, or 7,300 times per year. At $50 to $500 a client, the pimp can pocket $365,000 to $3,650,000 per woman, annually. When a woman is too ill, too old, too much of a risk - she is easily replaceable by any number of potential new victims.

The perfect commodity.

Statistics are mildly unreliable, as the magnitude of the problem is incomprehensible and many suspected victims are never reported. Data from various reputable sources varies drastically with the generally accepted range being between 600,000 and 2 million human beings each year. Approximately 500,000 of these human beings are trafficked from/into the European continent alone, with more than 10,000 of these being women and girls from Bulgaria. Some reports conservatively estimate over 27 million people worldwide are currently held in some form of slavery…some estimate 10 times beyond that. The crisis is reaching epidemic proportions as numbers increase; after all, the supply must meet the demand.

It is the most horrifying of topics to research, and certainly one of the most difficult to digest. The problem is so far-reaching, so entrenched, so profitable, so disgusting that the work of governments and non-governmental organizations seems frustratingly inadequate. If the demand is booming, the supply will be endless. It’s simple economics. Victims come from every single part of the world – no nation or ethnicity is immune. You thought slavery had been eradicated? Think again. It’s everywhere.

My experience at Animus has been interesting, depressing, frustrating and certainly educational. I knew quite a bit about sex trafficking before my arrival – thanks to my very first Model United Nations conference! Unfortunately, like most people in the world, I did not (and still do not) fully understand the gravity and scope of the situation. I never understood how crafty the traffickers can be, and that even the most legitimate of offers – an overseas internship like mine, for example – are oftentimes incredibly believable fronts for trafficking operations. Citizens of Eastern Europe are particularly susceptible targets due to the overwhelming desire of much of the population to find wealth and prosperity abroad. A life in the West is the dream of most young people – it seems that patriotism and optimism were destroyed along with democracy and the economy during former autocratic regimes. Bulgarian women are attractive, intelligent and itching to see a brand new world beyond their borders. I’ve learned all of this from Bulgarians themselves; Animus is an organization for Bulgarian women by Bulgarian women.

Animus (http://www.animusassociation.org) is an interesting NGO with a remarkable number of past and present projects. Most notably, the help line, psychological services, and crisis center/safe house are groundbreaking services that assist innumerable women each year. In addition, Animus is currently working with the tourist sector to recognize and stem sex tourism – particularly within the popular Black Sea coast resort towns. I was also impressed to learn of their ongoing educational seminars (“trainings”) for individuals, organizations, government officials etc. interested in working against human trafficking. This program spans national borders, as many citizens of other Eastern European nations participate. Animus is also hard at work in conjunction with La Strada (http://www.lastrada.org) to expand their influence to the whole of the continent. And finally, the organization lobbies for government reforms – although I have not seen or heard much about this just yet.

I was amazed to see that the organization is fairly small, with no more than 15 people in the office at any one time. These are all women – save one, and he is leaving – who are educated and extraordinarily passionate. Most of them do not speak English, though there are a few who are expertly multilingual. Unfortunately, my rose-colored glasses are officially lifted, as I now see that the typical NGO problems really do plague every NGO. Animus suffers from bad management (particularly in regards to human resources), inefficiency, poor communication and perceived impotence in the large and intimidating realm of the cause. However, I believe the organization has many wonderful and effective programs (ie, incredible potential for serious influence), and I am hoping to help the organization with more effective marketing/communication so that these programs may be better advertised.

As of right now, I am actually building the website for a large upcoming seminar. The work is tedious but just right for me – I stay very busy correcting grammar, working on visuals and researching content. My biggest roadblocks thus far have been a complete lack of direction (umm…I took one HTML course during my freshman year…but I started the project anyway so I could have something to do!), and stubbornness on behalf of the staff – (the worst English grammar imaginable, but they don’t want to change it because they “like the way it sounds.” Ah! Dr. Geller, you’d just die.) They were excited to hear that many of the programs of DVIS/Call Rape in Tulsa are very similar, but not excited to hear my very legitimate input about potential new projects or program extensions. I am hoping that I’ll get some “street cred” as time goes on. I am very aware that there is a LOT I have yet to learn, but I also know that I have at least a little bit to offer too. Overall, I am increasingly optimistic and I hope to do at least one large project that positively affects the organization before I leave. I am learning so much – and the more I learn, the more I want to make a difference.

If you want to learn a little more about trafficking, here are some interesting sites:

www.Notforsalecampaign.org
www.romun.org/documents/Background%20Info/Human%20Trafficking%20Statistics.rtf
www.unodc.org
www.helpsavekids.org
www.us.oneworld.net
www.humantrafficking.org
www.gvnet.com/humantrafficking/Bulgaria.htm
www.mtvexit.org - really interesting videos

Sexploitation remains copyright of the author MegMc2003, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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My roommates are friendly and fascinating – one is an Austrian who works as a university professor in another town for half the week, the other is a Bulgarian international lawyer working on behalf of the Bulgarian disabled. Both are approximately ten years my senior (from what I can tell) and very intellectual. My room in the apartment is about twice what it was in Africa (thank heaven) and painted a cheerful light yellow. All three of us sleep on comfortable air mattresses. We have hot water, and there is a constant electricity and water supply…ie, no rations! I’ve decided that I like this situation very much.

I’ll not feign immediate contentment – my first couple of days in Bulgaria were extremely difficult. Everything is in the Cyrillic alphabet: the street signs, the menus, the business names…everything. The language itself is guttural and alien, and my meagre attempts are seemingly futile. The layout of the city lacks the logic of Tulsa, Oklahoma (of course), the taxi drivers usually need directions, virtually no one speaks English, and I am completely on my own about 95% of the time. I can’t tell north from south and up from down most of the time – asking for directions is usually a recipe for supreme confusion for all those involved.

To my astonishment, the head gestures really are reversed – a shake of the head (to Americans meaning ‘no’) actually means “yes”, and a nod (to us meaning “yes”) actually means “no.” Except of course, for those Bulgarians who consider themselves more Western – they do things “our” way…which leads to a whole bunch of befuddlement. Yes? No? Da? Ne? Shake? Nod? What’s going on!?

I was also planning on entitling this entry “Brrrgaria” (I know, how clever) – because the constant downpour was accompanied by 40 degree temperatures. I was certainly not prepared for the cold and wet…I spent my very first day solidly cursing the weather, the language, the lack of internet cafes and my unfortunate aptitude for getting hopelessly lost.

BUT….there is light at the end of the tunnel and the sun came out – (but not before I bought a $6 coat and $3 jeans from a street market). I learned how to successfully point and grunt when ordering food, how to somewhat successfully ask locals for help, and how to make it home at the end of the day (well, for the most part). I am learning the Cyrillic alphabet somewhat quickly – mostly because my livelihood demands it. There is nothing like complete and total cultural immersion to encourage a little learning.

The public transportation system is mostly hopeless – my first attempt resulted in two old ladies adopting me and dragging me from tram to tram, wordlessly pointing and smiling in the fairly correct direction. The only thing I could say was “Ekzarh Yosif!”, the name of the street where Animus is located. I arrived, eventually. The locals are genuine and friendly, and I think that is the greatest strength of the country.

It’s the most difficult culture shock I’ve yet to endure – this place is just so different than any I’ve encountered, and I’ve never had to be so completely self reliant – (which is difficult, but good, I’d say.) My flatmates are exceedingly busy and not available to hold my hand - though they are both fascinating to talk to in the evenings.

So, why is Bulgaria bizarre? Well….I’ll just write a few things to qualify this adjective:

1. The country is mostly run by the mafia. You know, like the kind you see on the Sopranos? I laughed at them when I heard the details – but it is totally true. You can see the fancy cars and the henchmen. They are of little danger to the everyday Bulgarian local – but they have their hands in every market, every government ministry, everything. It’s just a part of life…no big deal. What?! The mafia!?
2. The fashion sense is horrifying – lime green sweatsuits, mullet haircuts, terrible makeup, the shortest skirts imaginable at any age… you think it’s not a big deal, but it’s everywhere!
3. The population has a serious inferiority complex – most people believe the country is backwards, pathetic and virtually unknown. In my opinion, having just joined the EU and such, the only way is up. Half the population wants communism back – the other half are itching to immigrate to Western Europe – this place has so much untapped potential, it boggles my mind. On the other hand, Bulgarians are fiercely proud of their past…their Byzantine, Thracian past that is.
4. The taxi drivers have a strangely unified penchant for the rap artist 50 Cent
5. Just imagine – an abandoned hearse with a huge silver cross growing out of the roof. Not a big deal? Just imagine there’s still a casket inside. Bizarre.
6. The situation with the Roma (Gypsies) can be likened to 1960’s USA or to apartheid Africa. The discrimination is so extreme – it’s completely mind boggling. No one is doing anything about it, and it’s taboo to even mention that there’s a problem. I’ve been told repeatedly to watch my purse or “the thieving gypsies will steal it”, there is severe discrimination within the job market, education, everything. There’s not even an organization to fight for equal rights – it’s just accepted.

Anyway, it is nearly time for me to return home – my start at Animus has been slow on account of my internship manager not arriving until tomorrow. I am become accustomed to life here, and I will write more details about Animus and my work very shortly. Keep the emails coming, it is wonderful to hear from all of you!

Bizarre Bulgaria remains copyright of the author MegMc2003, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Keen or not, my choices were increasingly limited. Basing my itinerary on an offhand travel agent remark about heading to Bosnia, I hopped a three hour bus to Mostar...crossing my fingers for a timely connection to somewhere near sofia. Three hours later, (at approximately 11 am or so), I was bummed to find that my only option was a 13+ hour overnight bus to Belgrade, leaving later that evening. Boo on Belgrade. I sighed a heavy *darn my luck* kind of sigh.

Well, I had a number of hours to kill, and luckily, Lonely Planet described Mostar as a “charming medieval town”. As I was perusing my restaurant options, two young men approached me about my plans for the day. One was a Frenchman living in New York, the other was his American roommate of Iranian heritage – (a general surgeon about to start his residency, I told him all about you dad!).

Since my sense of direction is atrocious, and we were all about to suffer through an overnight Bosnian bus together, we joined up for a little Mostar exploration. There is a famous 16th century bridge (Stari Most) in town that historically represents the bridging of ethnic diversities – ironically enough, it was completely destroyed in the recent ethnic conflict, and then reconstructed. At 24 meters tall, it is a thrill for young local men to go leaping from it into the river. Tourists can pay to see this done – I could think of better ways to spend my money. The whole town is extraordinarily charming and photogenic – though there are many grim reminders of the conflict.

While walking around, it was impossible to ignore the thousands of bullet holes scarring virtually every building of the town. Some of the structures were particularly wretched – so destroyed by heavy shelling that their sagging walls and exposed interiors remain completely abandoned – not demolished, not refurbished, just empty, hulking reminders of human conflict. Of course, there were also freshly constructed homes and businesses in shining coats of gaudy paint dotting the city. The contrast was certainly striking.

We also strolled past a number of graveyards – I was mildly horrified to see that every single headstone was engraved with the date “1992” – to say the least, this put the scale of the casualties into perspective. Graffiti around town included patriotic messages flaunting Bosnian pride, random swastikas, and several Tito’s scrawled on most available wall spaces.

Old town was lovely, mostly intact, and devoid of graffiti; we perused a number of souvenir shops and spoke with the shopkeepers. I managed to meet several lovely gentlemen and a young woman – coming away from the day with two free post cards and a cup of mint tea. I also bought a few souvenirs (I’m a sucker for textiles and the choices were tantalizing)….actually, I’m a sucker for shopping in general. I was mildly horrified to find that many of the souvenirs offered were constructed out of old shell casings (some half as tall and as big around as I), and bullets. War, as much as it traumatized the nation, was being exploited as a tourist attraction. I felt a surge of conflicting opinions/emotions:

1. It is good the country has harnessed something lucrative – war, death, violence, and destruction in the form of knick knacks.

2. It is horrifying that this grotesque tourist fascination is lucrative in the first place. Yikes, it’s even more horrifying that I was equally as fascinated as your average fanny-packed daytripper.

Like I said, conflicting opinions/emotions. We also came upon a number of fascinating Tshirts for sale - the heroic faces of Che and Tito were emblazoned on several, another boldly stated: "f*** the country that is not Bosnia" (every country that is not Bosnia, that is...I asked for clarification), and another was particularly hilarious: "I'm Muslim, don't panic." My companion of Iranian heritage bargained the shopkeeper down to $4 and plans to wear the shirt as much as possible around the states.

The time finally came for our long-dreaded bus ride to Serbia – we scoped out the “best” seats somewhat near one another, staking out our territory for the next 13+ hours. I soon came to realize I was the only woman aboard, and that my territory didn’t really mean much. I wasn’t able to lean back my seat – with every nudge, a remarkably tall, bulky man behind me would grunt with disapproval. He’d wedged himself into an impossibly fetal position for someone his size; his rear end was firmly shoved against my seat. Well, if you can’t beat them, join them? I curled up into something relatively comfortable, but sleep was virtually impossible – and I found myself counting down the clock to Belgrade.

We arrived at the god-awful hour of six thirty a.m. Nothing was open, no one spoke English, and the city was a hideous, sprawling, terrifying metropolis. I was lucky to find a train to sofia leaving a mere two and a half hours later – I spent the down time holed up in a nearby hostel chatting with a loony Australian and friendly Serbian.

The 9 hour train was mildly comfortable. I was overwhelmed to find my six-person compartment filled with five large, middle-aged men and an empty seat in the corner for me. They were polite enough to stop smoking within the compartment upon my arrival (I was completely amazed!), though none of them bothered to acknowledge me much beyond that.

In the last two hours of the trip, only one man and I remained. Just before the Bulgarian border, a flamboyant middle-aged Serbian with a scrunchie and white patent-leather shoes burst into the compartment. He placed his numerous bags in any space not occupied by humans and shoved the compartment curtains closed. Though my compartment partner and I had not yet spoken a word to one another, we exchanged the universal “what the hell?” brow furrowing in our confusion. I’d been nervous about Bulgarian border control – most sources I consulted remarked that the officers are usually less-than-virtuous and particularly keen on extorting bribes from American tourists. I was alone, female, ignorant of the language, and American. I cleverly deduced that to be an unfortunate combination.

When the border control officers shoved open the compartment, they took a long look at my passport, eyed me up and down, and then turned their attention to the scrunchied Serbian. In a bout of screaming on both sides, his bags were ripped open to reveal scores of cigarette cartons….certainly more than the legal amount allowed to cross the border. I was amused by the scene – the officers began to rip the air vents from the floor and ceiling, the lighting fixtures were detached, the protests of the Serbian competed with those of the officers, photos were taken of the smuggled goods….and then, just as suddenly as it all began, it was over. The smuggler sat down in a huff, ineffectively complaining to me in Serbian, and the officers moved on. No confiscation, no citation, no bribes, no arrests…nothing! They just disappeared and it was over. The smuggler re-zipped all his bags and pouted in the corner. His peace was short-lived as he was provoked once more just minutes later – as a group of juvenile football players burst into the compartment and stole some of the much-coveted “goods”. He went hauling after them and then stomped off to another – perhaps more peaceful – part of the train. My compartment buddy and I once again exchanged the universal “what the hell?” brow-furrow. Bizarre.

We were at the border for a bit more than an hour and a half – during which my passport was checked/stamped two more times. I was certainly relieved to find that the border control was more concerned about cigarettes than my money, gender, and/or political convictions. After two days of travel, I finally arrived in Sofia. Phew...adventure.

Buses, Trains, Bosnia, Bulgaria... remains copyright of the author MegMc2003, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Observations:
1. Don’t talk about the war….unless you have a great deal of time and patience. We had brief discussions with a couple of our homestay hosts at one point, but their comments were fairly limited and the memories appeared painful. Our Dubrovnik host remarked – “we tell the tourists not to go into the hills because there are many snakes. There are not snakes.”
There are landmines. He described how the Serbs had attacked from that hill, blowing the neighborhood to bits while some 90 people huddled in his basement. He was very distant and a bit standoffish, so we ended the conversation. Later, while walking in the street in Croatia, I noticed a hub-bub nearby and I asked a nearby police officer about the commotion. He answered cordially that some VIPs were attending a concert. A middle-aged bystander chimed in: ‘not for tourists!’’

He was a little curt about it, which I didn’t appreciate, so I responded, “well of course…I was only curious.” I don’t remember how this conversation transformed into a confrontational discussion about limited western involvement in the war, but I do remember having eyes the size of dinner plates and flaming pink cheeks. Croatians are very, very bitter. He accused us of ignoring the atrocities committed, because we believe (apparently) that Croatia doesn’t matter to us or to the rest of Europe. I replied, “well, I am sorry, but I was only about six years old.”

His tone softened a little – only a little – and I used my irresistible wit and charm (ha) to wear him into affability. I remarked that I certainly would have done something if I were not in primary school – to which he was a bit skeptical – and that I was hoping to work against such atrocities in the future. In the end, he seemed convinced and we even had him smiling and shaking our hands.

I let out a tremendous sigh of relief as we walked away. Don’t talk about the war…unless you have a great deal of time and patience! We should have ignored him, but I was just too damn determined to break through that bitterness. Mission accomplished? Well, for now. I suppose it must be frustrating to see the droves of indifferent Western tourists stomping all over your city.

2. There are no Dalmatian dogs in Dalmatia. At least, I didn’t see any. Many people had dogs of every other persuasion, and they enjoyed flaunting them in public. Leash laws are seemingly non-existent.

3. Park anywhere, please. On the sidewalks, on the medians, in the grass. In fact, be sure to block in everyone else as you wedge your vehicle into the last remaining three inches of space.

4. If you’re just married, you’ll join your friends and family in a long, loudly honking car procession through town. If you’re having a really good time, your friends and family will hang out the window, perhaps waving bottles of champagne. If you’re dead, on the other hand, your picture and short biography will be plastered all over town, so that everyone may know you’ve passed.

5. Pizza…pasta…pasta…pizza…*sigh.* The gastronomic options can be tiring. The seafood, on the other hand, is quite delicious…though sometimes surprisingly expensive.

6. Fruit and vegetables do taste better without scientific tinkering and pesticides!

7. Croatians appear to be avid gardeners. Virtually every home boasted flourishing rose bushes, fruit trees and grape vines. Having the blackest thumb known to man, I was very impressed by the seemingly effortless cultivation of even the smallest plots of land. I kill plants just by looking at them.

I look forward to returning someday to explore several of the more remote towns and villages. It will be fascinating to observe the drastic changes Croatia experiences in the next ten years – though I hope it never loses its irresistible charm and breathtaking natural beauty.

Croatian Observations remains copyright of the author MegMc2003, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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I made it to Bulgaria after thirty some hours of straight traveling through Bosnia and Serbia. I have somewhere to live, I am safe, and I start work tomorrow.

I have several fascinating stories from my journey, but I'll have to leave you on the edge of your seats...

I made it! remains copyright of the author MegMc2003, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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So, we're now in Dubrovnik, which is cheerfully dubbed the 'Pearl of the Adriatic'....one of the most beautiful cities in the world. We arrived about fourish days ago (I think?) and have been thoroughly enjoying our stay. Before Dubrovnik, we spent a lovely two days on the island of Hvar. We intended to do some diving, but the phone lines were down due to rain, and we were unable to call ahead and make a reservation. Feeling lazy, we walked around the town, marvelling at turquiose water that never seems to get old, drinking wine, and searching for an off-the-beaten track beach.

After a bit of walking (up and down, up and down...the entire place is built into a mountain, just like the rest of the country. My gluts are screaming sore!), I spotted a couple occupying a rather tantalizing and spot next to the water. We spent about an hour there, I even had my first topless sunbathing experience (so chic, so european...she was doing it, so I thought I'd join). It was invigorating...until a boatload of tourists sputtered by and a couple of people blatantly 'snuck' a few pictures. If I end up on the internet...sheesh! I put my clothes back on and we spent the rest of the evening enjoying life.

The next day, we headed to Dubrovnik by bus. The ride was 5 and a half hours short, with a twenty minute stop in part of Bosnia. I bought some ice cream and that was about as exciting as it got. We were utterly swarmed by 'private room' touts as soon as we arrived in Dubrovnik...I finally felt like I was in more familiar territory, after my experiences in India and Africa!

We settled on a room/apartment with a cooky old woman and her cookier old son. The apartment is fine, it just reeks a bit of mildew and we share our space with several resident spiders and a load of pesky little flies. We're not complaining The woman is just too jolly...

The entire part of the old city is surrounded by hugely impressive walls built around the 17th century. For a mere 20 kuna, we walked the walls (no easy physical task, I might add) and enjoyed gorgeous views of the ocean and the red-tiled city around us. We were even treated to a suprise air show by five planes of some kind (I know my brother and dad would have been more appreciative).

The next day, we decided to splurge on one of the many boat tours offered here...there are three popular islands nearby and we (well, porter) wanted to do something besides walk around the city. Unfortunately, we made a very bad choice...and the entire experience was laughable. First, we expected to be boarding the large, stately boat promised to us in the brochure. Instead, we were nearly left behind, because we didn't see the glorified dingy we were actually using. Stuffed beyond legal capacity I'm sure, we were hoping to transfer to something more respectable sometime soon. Alas, no such luck.

The captain was a large, sweaty, greasy toothless fellow, and our boatmates a wide variety of nationalities. Hell, there was even a dog aboard. I think my jaw hit the floor when the captain had porter do a bit of the driving while he served us some crappy soda and juice.

The rest of the day was progressively worse, though adventurous to say the least. We didnt stay on any of the islands as long as promised, we were taunted by the other groups enjoying their time on the nice boats, and we were furious to find that our 'real boat' apparently blew a pipe the day before, and the company had blatantly lied to all of us.

We were even more angry to find that we had to pay for our drinks at lunch, even though the brochure proclaims drinks are included. Luckily, the third island was quite beautiful and the beach helped me to forget my frustration.

For awhile at least. The boat broke down about a half mile before we made it back to port. I'd even made some sarcastic joke about the smokey engine...it was so bad, it was laughable!

To say the least, they didn't give much of our money back...we were able to get refunded for the drinks at lunch...but the ticket hawker who had done all the lying was conveniently absent upon our return.

Alas, buyer beware. Porter and I bought ourselves some cheap and wonderful wine to make life a little better.

The day after, we finally went diving in a very wild sea. Some of the waves seemed taller than I, and the current was strong enough to toss us around a little violently at the surface. Upon leaping in, we were lucky not to be bashed to death against the rocks. Once we were fairly deep, it wasnt so difficult...but swimming against the current was certainly a workout. We did two dives, both quite lovely. Shhh...it was porter's first open water experience.

Today, unfortunately, it's pouring rain. We were hoping to go to the beach, but we're taking care of errands instead. Porter leaves for the states tomorrow, and I've been frantically attempting to arrange my departure for Bulgaria. It seems that my plan to go through Macedonia is only possible in the summer months (it's spring, apparently), so I'll have to go to Sarajevo, then Belgrade, then Sofia. *Sigh*...at least it will be an adventure? I'm trying to be optimistic!

Overall, we've had a wonderful trip together, and it will be hard to say goodbye for the next two months. I am increasingly nervous about my time in Bulgaria, but it's an excited sort of nervous I suppose. I will write again soon!

If you want to seem some pics, here's the URL to porters site:

http://personal.utulsa.edu/~brian-porter/

The end is near... remains copyright of the author MegMc2003, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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We left Pula fairly reluctantly, our homestay was very comfortable and we made a visit to the beach our second day...which was certainly enough to encourage anyone to stay forever. It was not the same sort of beauty as Zanzibar (stiff competition, to say the least), as almost all beaches in Croatia are far more rocky and rugged. The water in Pula was a deep blue fringed with turquiose and bright green; we stretched out on a fairly flat bit of the rocky beach, soaking in the sun and scenery...entirely content and wonderfully lazy. The rocks may not be the most comfortable, but the beaches seem utterly pristine, and the water is absolutely crystal clear. *sigh* After seeing such beautiful beaches in my life, how will I ever live in landlocked oklahoma again???

I was absolutely set on seeing the out-of-the way (but totally worth it) Plitvička National Park, near a hub called Karlovac. We were unfortunately unaware that Karlovac was so tiny...with no internet, no public transportation, no reasonably priced hotels, and no tourist office after 12 in the afternoon. We arrived, exhausted, at five. Damn.

Karlovac was fairly charming; I was hoping to get in some rafting (too cold, and unfortunately the off-season), or to visit the Medieval faire at an actual medieval castle just outside of town. But time was flying, so we went ahead and left for the park.

In a word, AMAZING. In two words, COMPLETELY BREATHTAKING. Here's the website for a sneak peak of just how beautiful this place was:

http://www.np-plitvicka-jezera.hr/cpage.aspx?page=default.aspx&pageID=87

As the most-visited national park in the country, we were suprised to find that all the tourists were Croatian. In fact, our host family said we were the first Americans they'd encountered in over three years...(I hope we made a good impression!)

The park is an awesome natural wonder of several lakes connected by lliterally hundreds of waterfalls and turquiose lagoons. Every bit of water was intensely blue-green and totally pristine; we could see to the bottom of nearly every lake! I think Porter is working on posting the pictures to give you a better idea. I've never seen anything quite like it. We walked all afternoon, opting for the 4-6 hour route around most of the park. Absolutely worth the trip!

The next day, we caught an early bus to Split, the largest and oldest coastal town in Croatia. Even more interestingly, this is considered one of the earliest 'resort' towns, as Roman Emperor Diocletian built his retirement palace here, (which now makes up 'old town', with much of the structure still standing). We were exhausted upon arrival, because the bus ride was about 2 hours longer than it needed to be due to unusually lengthy stops in random towns, (I suspect the driver was a pack-a-day kind of guy, there was no other justification!).

After settling in, we explored a bit of the town - totally in awe of the many ancient pillars and remnants of roman civilization throughout the town center. We spent most of today lounging on the beach, enjoying the cool adriatic and a very warm sun. We were hoping to do a bit more exploring of the actual city once we were sufficiently sunkissed, but it is now torrentially pouring for the first time in our trip. Thus, because the city is still beautiful regardless, I imagine we'll find a (covered) terrace cafe, sip some wine, and wait away the rain.

We hope to visit Hvar tomorrow and do some diving...weather permitting. If worst comes to worst, I suppose I could do some shopping instead...

Even rainy days are beautiful. remains copyright of the author MegMc2003, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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We also stopped by the ornate Basilica di San Marco, which was certainly beautiful, but disturbingly so. Something about gilded catholic churches makes me uncomfortable. We decided not to pay the rip-off $15 entry fee, so we payed one euro to play with the pigeons instead. Although I am a firm believer pigeons are little more than (damn persistant) rats with wings, Porter and his bag of bird feed were soon drowing in them as the birds swarmed all over his arms, chest, back and shoulders. One particularly ambitous pigeon took a perch upon his head. Okay, okay, I tried it too...but they definitely liked porter more than me.

Overall, it was a pricey but lovely experience - we could have saved a bit more money if we realized that only gullible tourists actually pay for the local transportation (no one ever checks for tickets) or frequent the mildly expensive restaurants (the street food was far tastier and more affordable). We also had to leave on the once-a-day bus before I could visit the Peggy Guggenheim art collection, so I suppose I will have to return someday (a bit wiser and wealthier, perhaps.)

Soooo....we boarded a comfortable bus (nothing like Africa and India, to say the least) for Croatia, passing through a very green Slovenia and barely-there customs. I find it very strange that I've not had my passport stamped since I entered the Munich airport. They take a look at them (appearing official and mildly skeptical), and then hand them back...nothing fancy. Apparently I was too awed by the gorgeous scenery, because I managed to leave my passport on the bus - which was long gone before I even noticed.

In a mild (okay, extreme) state of panic, I found some other driver hanging around the station who made a call to the now off-duty driver of the runaway bus, who hand-delivered my passport in his BMW. He was sporting fancy shades and a ˝stupid annoying American˝ expression. Very, very close call.

Croatia has been fantastic and affordable....we're staying with a lovely local family. The husband makes his own wine and served us fresh cherries from his orchard. The wife speaks only croatian (my few phrases are a little insufficient), but she is very kind and jolly. We sat on the porch until quite late, enjoying wine and fruit and chatting with the husband and a permanant tenant - a retired naval engineer/skipper with a bad knee and a world of experience. We talked about the war, the Serbs, the croatian economy, his career memories, and his jaunts around the world (including Cuba!). We ˝ordered˝ a pizza from some local woman, chowed down in the kitchen, and went off to bed.

We awoke this morning to fresh coffee (which neither of us like, so porter downed both of our cups so as not to be rude..haha) and an extremely adorable, snorting female pug. After a breakfast of bread and jam, we made our way into town, stopping at the awesome first century ampitheater and this lovely internet cafe. I must say that I very much miss the clean air laws of the USA, as everyone...everyone smokes here. Anyway, I apologize for the stream-of-consciousness nature of this entry, but I am suffocating from lack of oxygen...I believe the only cure is a relaxing trip to the beach...

bye for now!

Old World Charm remains copyright of the author MegMc2003, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Bologna, Italy was beautiful and ancient...we climbed thousands (well, maybe hundreds) of stairs to the top of the larger leaning tower for an incredible view of the city. The steps were absolutely tiny, and I'm sure my knee surgeon would be proud of my activity level! Other than the hike into the sky, we were pretty low-key for the rest of the stay...spending most of our time people watching in the large public square and downing wine and gelatto. (I swear the foodstuffs of this place will be the end of me!)

The street performers were interesting...if not hilarious...including a group of "native Americans" in full dress playing flutes, and a large, uber-masculine, long haired man in all leather badly lipsyncing to "world peace" songs - (with his tiny little poodle bobbing along beside him).

The stereotypes of italy have been mostly (wonderfully) true - gelatto and scooters at every corner, outdoor cafes, gorgeous stucco architecture, charming public plazas, glitzed up women and macho men, cheap wine and expensive clothing, and a landscape like no other (green trees, rolling hills, and an impeccably blue sky). I certainly could not afford to spend a great deal of time here, but we've had a lovely experience thus far.

We're now in Verona, which is steeped in cheesy (wonderful) legends about Romeo and Juliet - with whom, as many of you know, I am rather obsessed. Shakespeare has a wonderful presence in this beautiful little town, and we were even fortunate to see 'the house of juliet', complete with a very appropriate balcony. You can imagine my giddyness. When I am home, I immediately plan to curl up with the greatest play of all time- in my opinion at least! It's a very romantic city, and very steeped in history. A great deal of roman architecture - including the 3rd largest ampitheater - still exists and is in good working condition.

I am running out of time, so I will have to leave you here. We'll be heading to Venice this afternoon - where the internet cafes are a horrifying 7 euros an hour. Thus, you may not hear from me again until croatia!

Until then...Ciao!

(Almost) Everything they say is true! remains copyright of the author MegMc2003, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Our first hours in Munich were mildly frustrating - we were both awake for a solid 24 hours and they lost my bag...my only bag...my entire life for the next three months! Luckily, it was delivered to our hostel later that evening. Overall, Munich was completely fantastic! It was strange, because I felt far more intimidated there than in any of the 'third world' nations I've explored...maybe it was the overly fashion conscious population (my backpacker gear was a little underwhelming I believe), maybe it was all the fancy cars, maybe it was the swarm of other travelers - I'm not really sure. I got over it pretty quick and started to enjoy myself

We took a free walking tour of the city on our first day - perusing the historical streets of Munich was a real treat. We passed multiple WWII relics, the largest city park in the world (complete with a randomly strolling very wrinkly naked old man...a bit removed from the nudist sunbathing area apparently, and a surf-able river), the oh-so-famous and atmospheric Hofbrauhaus (the oldest biergarten in Munich), and the famous glockenspiel (sorry about the spelling). The city was clean, and historic, and utterly gorgeous!

We spent the rest of the day at the very sobering Dachau concentration camp - which is just as horrifying in person as in the textbooks. We arrived a bit late due to a little too much time spent enjoying beer and pretzels, so we didn't have a chance to see the crematorium, but everything else was sufficient in pulling at my heartstrings. It was utterly mind boggling to stroll through the camp and imagine the atrocities committed there. I certainly believe everyone should see such a place at least once in their life - it truly brings the reality of the world a little bit closer to home.

The rest of our time in Munich was spent perusing the busy streets - I was even kissed by a street performer - and in Fussen, the home of Neuschwanstein, Ludwig's breathtaking fairytale castle. We took a cheesy (but wonderful!) horse drawn carriage ot the castle, wandered the overly ornate castle corridors and soaked in the gorgeous alpine scenery. We even opted out of the usual route down from the castle by trekking through the forest, in awe of the many crystal-clear waterfalls. It was truly a fantastic experience!

We caught a night train that evening for Bologna, Italy, which is where we've been since yesterday.

In the interest of time, I will have to leave you hanging by the edge of your seat until my next entry We'll be departing for Verona quite soon, and I will fill you in on all the glorious details of our adventure!

Our first days in Europe remains copyright of the author MegMc2003, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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