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Dear Friends and Family, Finally here it is, the long-promised last letter about my journey in Europe and the edges of Africa and Asia. I plan to send it in two parts, as it will probably be a bit lengthy. Sorry for my long silence, but things have been busy as I have wrapped up my trip and started to pick up where I left off back at home. I last wrote after leaving Tunisia and hitchhiking across Greece with Mikey and the Serbian pilgrims. I had spent some time with the monks of Meteora and finally found my way to Thessaloniki, where I met Mikey once again. I called him up the night I arrived. The conversation was short. "How are you?" I asked. "Not so good..." "Understandable." "Where are you staying," he asked. "The Thessaloniki Hostel," I replied. "Across from the police station?" "Um, I think so... do you know where it is?" "Yup. See you in an hour." *Click* In Greek fashion, he arrived in about an hour and forty-five minutes. One gets used to this. "Have you called home?" He questioned me. "...not since Switzerland... but I send e-mails." "Here's a phone card, use the whole thing," he insisted. "My brother didn't get to talk to his parents before he died..." That's how our evening started. We wandered through Thessaloniki, Mikey reminiscing and I discovering for the first time. He talked about how much his brother had loved the statue of Alexander the Great... "he was young when he died too," Mikey told me. Later, he took me on a scooter-ride to the old areas of Thessaloniki. He told me they couldn't build a subway here because they were always running into ancient artifacts with the bulldozers. We went up to the old castle and Turkish prison. We talked a lot. I gave him a hug as he dropped me off just before the hostel door was supposed to be locked (although it was on Greek time too). I hope he sends an e-mail when his baby is born... it is due within days of my birthday! After a couple days getting a special visa and getting ready to go to "Holy Mount Athos," I boarded a so-early-it's-still-dark bus for the "island," riding next to a hermit-monk who had scars on his wrists where an Albanian had tried to cut his hands off with an axe! (If I told you the whole story you would never finish reading this e-mail) Mount Athos is actually a peninsula with a very narrow isthmus connecting it to the Greek mainland. A large number of Orthodox monasteries are there, some dating back many hundreds of years. Other than the monks, only men are allowed to go there, and only for three days or less without special permission. It is said to be the oldest democracy still existing in the world, and is set apart from Greece in much the same way Vatican City is set apart from Italy. The beautiful scenery of the mountain jutting straight up out of the sea makes it even more dramatic than it's interesting history and strange situation. I was very sleepy, and even on the uncomfortably cold deck of the ferry I managed to doze off. I awoke just as we docked at the first major monastery. "Is this Gregoriou?" I asked. The man across from me shook his head. I put my head back down on my arms and tried to get comfortable again... then sat bolt upright as I remembered that Greeks shake their heads to signal "yes!" I groggily grabbed my pack and ran the length of the boat, but the ramp was already pulling away. I got off at the next monastery, Dionysus, and (finding a monk who spoke English with only a little difficulty) got directions for the hour and a half hike back to Gregoriou. I was almost dreading it, and it was quite steep and sweaty, but it was one of the most beautiful hikes I have ever been on. The cliffs above the sapphire water give way only once for a stream to come clamoring down the mountain in a cascade of waterfalls. I recommend it to anyone, but not with a 40lb. backpack. It is interesting to eat cold potatoes with the monks, join them for prayers in the candlelit church at 3am, and watch them silently coming and going through their ancient hallways. I had hoped to ask some reasonable questions and get their answers. I had supposed that monks would spend much time studying and discovering difficult answers, but found instead that their experience is mystical, and that the experience cannot really be shared, but only used to encourage others along their own path. I came to realize that although my questions may be valid, and there may be logical answers to them in my thinking, it doesn't necessarily mean they will see things the same way. People think differently. To some, something as obvious as 2+2=4 could be entirely ludicrous while making sense to me or you. We come to different answers not because one of us doesn't think logically, but because we use different logic! I also revisited Dionysus, and spent one night there, although this time I made the trip by boat. I returned to Thessaloniki on the slowest bus I have ever ridden in. When I arrived I had just enough time to get on the intercity bus and whiz across town to catch the train for Belgrade. I hoped to see areas of Yugoslavia where humanitarian pilots have recently worked to try to get a better feel for my future career. A tiny shuttle train took us to the Macedonian border. After passport checks we began the all-night ride to Belgrade... at least it would have been all night... About 1 or 2am we reached the Yugoslav border after passing more than one train loaded with tanks and armored trucks on the tracks next to us. The AK47-toting border police took the passports belonging to me and the two other Americans, Patrick and Sam, and only returned to tell us to get our baggage. We watched the train pull away toward Belgrade as we stood in the frosty air in the middle of nowhere, leaning on our packs. Although the border guards spoke no English we had a fun time searching my pack, pockets, and wallet for a "bomb." "Bomb?" they would ask, pulling out the fuel cannister for my stove. "Bomb?" once again, opening up my cooking kit. "Bomb?" as they shook my salt and pepper shaker, smiling. "I would like to have a bomb," I told them, although they didn't understand a word. "It would make our evening a lot more intersting. But I'm sorry, we're all out of luck it looks like." Tiring of their amusement (although they did enjoy the pictures of family and the sketches in my journal) they sent us off to wait in the train station while they watched "The X-Files" with subtitles. We were very cold. I could have got into my sleeping bag, but since there were about eight other men sitting across the room which could have been Kosovar Albanian for all we knew, I decided to keep awake. Only an hour late, the train arrived at 6am to take us back to Skopje (pronounced sko-pee-yuh"), the capitol of Macedonia. At the next stop we had to buy train tickets, but Macedonians use a type of Dinar, not the Deutchmarks or dollars I was carrying for Yugoslavia. I got out and went into the exchange office, setting down my deutchmarks on the counter. The clerk pushed the 50 back toward me. I put it in my wallet. He pushed the 10 back. I put it in my wallet too. He looked through his purse full of bills and pulled out the equivalent of about $25 U.S. in Macedonian Dinars and laid the cash over the remaining 50 deutchmark bill. I picked it up and fanned the 50 to the top. "Don't you want this? Aren't you forgetting something?" He looked at the money. "Finish..." he waved me away "Finish." I didn't ask twice, although this was certainly one of the strangest things which has ever happened to me. "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth," right? (He is probably still trying to explain THAT to his supervisor!) We overpaid a taxi-driver hugely to take us to the Yugoslav embassy, which was closed for the weekend. If you plan to go to Yugoslavia, you WILL need a passport, and I recommend getting it somewhere where you have a little time. Patrick and Sam had to get somewhere, and so decided to fly out. I couldn't afford it, and ended up back at the train station. I checked the hostel, which I was suprised to find, but it was full. I checked the hotel they recommended, but it was $35/night. The desk staff was generous and spoke English well, so I left my pack and went exploring. Skopje is fascinating. I walked through the market, unnoticed and unharassed. Not many tourists come here. Instead of the plastic knicknacks, postcards, and gold-painted baubles of tourist markets they sold telephones, razors, batteries, and gloves. I loved it. No one asked me for money. I blended in. I walked past strange concrete monoliths which will stand forever as a reminder of the communist bloc. Four identical buildings stood back to back, and I wondered which architect in Moscow dreamed up the matching grey disharmony of these building which look like the cover of a science-fiction paperback. Capitalism is in full swing at the huge shopping mall where I found an internet cafe, but even there a shadow of the Soviets lingered. It was strange, and strangely intriguing. I would have liked to stay, but lodging is hard to find and expensive. With this in mind I returned to the train station to sleep. As I searched for a dark corner who should show up but our overpaid taxi driver. He told me he knew a place where I could stay for only $10 and he would take me there for free. Sure enough, I slept on an old woman's floor that night (matress included!) after a bit of coffee, tea, and some diplomacy on the part of my taxi driver. I decided that the people of Macedonia are really quite nice at heart, although a bit of animosity toward the West still can be found here and there.
The next day I boarded my (late) train for
Thessaloniki again. Although I hadn't made my goal of
Yugoslavia I had seen enough to make the trip more
than worth it. I talked with a UN observer I met on
the way back, and he told me of being shot at with
guns and rockets and having grenades tossed his way.
I decided it was just as well that I hadn't gotten
into Yugoslavia. Besides, my Mother would NOT
approve!
I hitched with the Ouzo-drinking Harry from
Thessaloniki toward Turkey after standing in the rain
for 3 hours trying to get a ride. I have never seen
so much marble. Mile after mile of marble quarries
rolled by with huge blocks, innumerable slabs, and
mountainous piles of marble all around. In one place
they were using crushed marble to surface a road!
After a night in Alexandernopouli I hitched across the
border with a Frenchman I met who was headed for
China. By night we had made it to the Orient Hostel
in Istanbul.
Istanbul is like no other place on earth. With
around 16 MILLION inhabitants, it straddles the
Bosphorous Straight which divides Europe and Asia. It
sits astride not only two continents, but millenia of
history. Formerly known as Constantinople, it was the
last capitol of the Roman empire, the center of
Byzantium, and seat of the Ottoman empire. The Orient
Hostel, on the other hand, includes bathrooms with
strict warnings against flushing toilet paper down the
toilets (it clogs them!), and a very large number of
Australians!
I had the good fortune to meet three Mexican girls
the next day at the tourist office; Laura, Lorena, and
Mariela from Guadalajara. They are attending school
in Barcelona, and were sneaking in a vacation between
classes. We spent two days together, and I enjoyed
their boisterous but beautiful company as we visited
the Blue Mosque, the Underground Cistern, the Hagia
Sofia, the Topkapi Palace, and the Tower of Galata.
The Blue Mosque was beautifully decorated inside,
and was more impressive than the Hagia Sofia, which
was the largest building in the world for many years.
The Topkapi Palace contained such imagination-firing
things as the Royal tents, the Sultan's throne, and
the Harem. My favorites, however, were the "relics."
These purportedly include the Sword of King David, the
Staff of Moses, Hairs from Mohammed's Beard, and (my
absolute favorite!) the SAUCEPAN of Abraham! (of
course all of this made me feel quite reverent and
awed... grin). Although less advertised than most of
the tourist-sites of Istanbul, I greatly enjoyed the
Underground Cistern. It used to hold the water used
by the palace. It is quite large, the roof being
supported by numerous carved columns. Although they
have walkways above the water and colored lighting it
is easy to imagine when it was pitch dark and
smugglers carried boatloads of stolen women to and
from the palace. Our guidebook told us that the
underground waterway to the palace had been blocked up
to prevent this illegal traffiking a century ago.
I was quite impressed by the "Column of Theodosius,"
actually an Egyptian obelisk over 3500 years old. The
locals had set up an "electric bull" as part of the
Ramadan carnival directly below it and were playing
American pop music last time I went past.
We looked over the city from the Tower of Galata as
it got dark. The misty haze hanging over the city
gave the minarets on the skyline a dream-like
appearance as the lights of Istanbul illuminated the
palaces and mosques. We were to meet a Turkish girl
who was learning Spanish near her home across the
Strait. At 6:30pm we first set foot on the new
continent of Asia.
I decided to leave for Cappadocia the next day, a
10-hour bus ride into Turkey. Although I had hoped to
leave early in the morning, I was hindered by a
demonstration and the fact that the metro was shut
down. Riot police lined the street, and I
accidentally ended up with a good view of the entire
demonstration marching past. I even had my picture
taken by an ambitious local photographer (I briefly
wondered if I should ask him for money to take my
picture!) I still have the token I bought for the
metro.
I eventually arrived at the "otogar," or bus station
after wandering through the residential areas of
old-town Istanbul. I passed through a meat-market and
had to look twice at a kid running across the street
with a peeled cow's head in both hands. Ramadan
prayers spilled out onto the carpet-covered sidewalk
in front of a mosque.
For those of you who aren't Muslim let me explain as
much as I can. Ramadan, or "Ramazan" in Turkish, is a
one-month fast (of food, water, cigarettes, and many
other things) observed annually by pious Muslims.
They actually only fast during the daylight hours,
enjoying Ramazan feasting at night, and getting up
quite early for breakfast. The fast is one of the
"Five Pillars of Islam," and is very important to the
entire Muslim world. As a result, it is difficult to
find open restaurants, and in smaller towns even
grocery stores during this time. One tends to just go
hungry during the day, which I did quite often.
After waiting a few hours at the "otogar" and
sharing the Ramazan fast-breaking meal with the
bus-station staff I finally got onto my bus. I slept
well as we rolled across the fertile hills of Turkey,
having no idea of the adventures I was still to have
in this country... or maybe it's just this life...
to be continued...
-Dustin
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