Tweet: See No Evil

Tagged in Sarajevo

Tweet:Non-sequitur

I'm not even sure what to make of it but didn't want to pass it up. Can you caption or explain it for me?

Tweet:Well, well, well..

I'm not sure if they got the order right.

Tweet:Ahh! Earthquake!

"Keep it down or Earth will know we're here and keep quaking!"

Tweet:Dorky Gorky!

And they said Russia wasn't gay-friendly.. Welcome to Gorky Park!

Tweet:..Jigawho?

Hov's Ukrainian yacht!

Tweet: Tag Along

Discovered this stowaway inside my camera bag, inside my day pack which only ever
left my back to lay beside me in my hostel bed *shudder*

Tweet: Pocket Full of Posey

Likely part of the fleet that invaded the then-Ukrainian, now-Russian port of Kerch

This is what they had to parallel park in

Tweet: Queen & Adam Lambersht

Live in '86 - and again in '14

Easy come, easy go

Tweet: Spirograph

Dizzy yet?

Try climbing it!

Underwater Kama Sutra

How's your Cyrillic?

WITWISA: A Gimme

If you don't know, now you know!

Profile:Croatia

Meet Croatia

- Coastline country mirroring Italy to the east

- Severed ties with Yugoslavia beginning 1990 leading to the "Homeland War" '91-'95

- Speak Croatian (nearly identical to Albanian, Montenegrin, Serbian, Bosnian)

Stray Dog Rating (out of 5): Oh sure, by day it's not too bad but come dusk the mongrel cats come out from the protected architecture sites to clean up, at least in Dubrovnik(3.5). Otherwise it wasn't so bad (1). Didn't see a dog that was stray (0).

Cuisine: To borrow a phrase from southeast Asia - same, same, but different. Every restaurant has an identical menu of fish and meat, leaving me with grilled vegetables and inferior attempts at Italian dishes like risotto (just regular rice) and particularly mediocre pizza. With the bears whoever felt like cooking prepared from the cellar full of vegetables, potatoes, pasta and rice with plenty of garlic. When nobody wanted to cook bread ripped from the loaf with local honey had to suffice.

Sidewalk Safety: In the village these obviously did not exist but you were most likely to see few vehicles out tractors, if you did though the roads were narrow that only one car could really pass at a time. The old cities had limestone smoothed to a marble shine from thousands of years of treading and restricted vehicles which was nice (watch out for the delivery vehicles in Split though.)

Rambling Impressions: It seems necessary to break this into Bear and Non-Bear impressions for these were entirely different. With the bears there was a great sense of community in the small, somewhat remote village of a few hundred. One shop, one bar, one restaurant allowed people to live simple lives, primarily based on agriculture and forestry. I really enjoyed the friendliness and helpfulness that this brought, even as a volunteer who was quickly immersed into this even through a translator.

Non-Bear had its pluses too. Driving through the mountains, littered with lengthy highway tunnels, is gorgeous as the pines mix with the deciduous trees on their side. Once you cross you've got vibrant blue sea overlooked by the range. Here are resplendent walled cities of Zadar, Split and Dubrovnik in order of increasing beauty. Dubrovnik is utterly gorgeous and worthy of its barrage of visitors.

Profile: Italy

Meet Italy

- That boot on the map you may have seen
- Nearly 2/3 of all Italians are employed in either service or tourism
- For example the tiny city of Venice (pop. ~200,000) sees 20,000,000 visitors in a year!

Cuisine: Can you fault them for having pretty mediocre beer when it's washing down the world's favourite cuisine? (Yes.) I suppose I had my fair share of wine anyhow, a really nice Chianti in Bologna but it was the food that was the main event. Included was our self-guided pizza tour of Naples, thin crust with tasty sauce and really tasty but not too overwhelming cheese, the smoked buffalo mozzarella a knockout. Then the pasta, especially the spicy pepperoncini with oil and garlic. Gnocchi and mushroom risotto weren't half bad either. Those are the main events but the land of cannoli and tiramisu (both of which I will normally pass on but were alright when I dipped a spoon to try Kate's) does the meanest gelato. Partial to the nut - Bacci, pistachio, creamy hazel -I vied to try two flavours at every sitting (or standing) which became a nearly daily ritual (occasionally two a days) regardless of how full of pasta I was. The cone in Rome with a smack of fresh cream - also normally passed upon - was particularly delightful.

Stray Dog Rating (out of five): Only pets!

Sidewalk Safety: Things are pretty slick for all those visitors. Traffic moves relatively well but you gotta keep an eye out for those sneaky scooters that like to scoot wherever they please. Walk with confidence on the zebra stripes.

Rambling Impressions: Whoa, who are all these people?? I suppose I knew Italy was a tourist destination but, by golly, after traveling out of, or at least shoulder, season through eastern Europe it was a little overwhelming at times to deal with. "I'm paying how many Euro to be shoulder to shoulder with all these dummies?" said the curmudgeonly stuck-up traveler. Still there were some remarkable things that duly deserve to be regarded by people who have traveled from afar. Rome has a gluttony of gems, it isn't even fair really, while I can totally see the original appeal of Venice even if it's now much harder to note through the throngs of souvenir shoppers. I'm glad to have done it and perhaps on a shorter, romantic venture might return but I definitely prefer more authentic, open pastures.

Indiana Andrushenko and the Chianti Sun Cycle

Pursuing the assailant into the enormous and empty cathedral Indiana made immediately for the stairwell. This wound up 463 concrete steps and besides his own heart beating he thought he could hear footsteps ahead of him. Closing the gap by taking the stairs two and three at a time he turned the tight wind of stairs to catch a glimpse of the source of the pounding noise; just a lowly security guard. He hadn't seen anything so Indy squeezed past to reach the ringed observatory just beneath the frescoed ceiling. Nobody was here except the painted angels so he scrambled further still to the final flight of steps. Bursting onto the roof he found himself dazzled by the morning daylight beaming onto the orange clay roofs a hundred metres below. When his pupils dilated he confirmed that he was the only one atop the cupola while Florence slowly woke below him. Due to the low density of pedestrians in the piazza below he was able to detect the culprit forcefully stealing a bicycle and setting off toward the Roman gate. Just as Indy was wondering how the escape from an enclosed dome had been possible with only one way down he discovered another way down - a rappelling rope was hooked on the lip of the gutter. Rather than risk it himself he descended the stairs in a hurry, pushing past the first of the paying tourists who were making their way up without any idea how close they had come to a madman.

Procuring a bike for himself (with a promise to return it) he had a pretty good idea of where the fleeing man was headed and set out to catch him. Snarled traffic in the city centre made the flexibility of the chosen means of transportation a decided benefit, allowing him to exit the city walls in short time. From there the ride became trickier as the climbing began immediately. In fact the first few uphill kilometres were nothing compared with what was to come. Ordinarily an avid cyclist Indiana could feel the rust in his legs from months off of his beloved bike due to extensive travel away from home on assignment in recent months.

After the first forty kilometres he began to feel his thighs burn on the extended climbs through the hills of Tuscany. There was no time to waste though so except short pauses to reconfirm his tracking information he forged onward. Not much later his reconnaissance instructed him to veer off the paved roads and into the forested trails. It became transparent almost immediately that the path was mountain-bike-only and the bike he had was decidedly not a mountain bike. Alas he had to work with the tools at hand and rumbled over the boulders and through the mud as best as he could. Near the river he lost the scent and was instructed to return to the original route. To his consternation this required him to redo a long climb he had completed prior to the sidebar. If that one hurt it was the seven continuous kilometres up into the Chianti mountains that followed which really took its toll; 10° and 12° inclines are no easy task.

Down the other side he was sure he would narrow the gap as he flew like gangbusters. Every muscle in his body tensed, down to his hands wrapped lightly on the handbrakes in case they were warranted, as gravity fed his velocity into and out of the winding turns. Vineyards were a leafy blur, insects met a sudden end on his face. The route led him through cute Tuscan villages but there were more important objectives at hand than sightseeing.

In the end all signs pointed back to Firenze; over 110km, not including the 90 minute offroad jaunt, seemingly all up hill but obviously breaking even as he began where he started. Not exactly where he had started though, for the pursuit ended dramatically in the Piazza del Michelangelo. As the sun burned out on the bridges and the dome where it had all begun nearly 11 hours earlier Indiana finally got his man.

Tweet: Home Field Advantage

Our last morning in Italy! On home turf now but don't fear, I've got at least three more posts stored up, including a final Indy adventure (from this trip anyhow). See you soon?

Tweet: NHL Playoffs

Was worried about catching hockey games in the land of futbol (at midnight) but proud to say I didn't miss a game of the Leafs cup run.. Also back in time for game 7 of essentially Cup finals (West wins)

Tweet: Venice in the Rain

I love Paris Venice in the rain! (even thunderstorm!) I don't want to speak for Katherine but I'm guessing.. not so much

Train Tracks

Katherine was trailing behind because I was cheating and pushing my heavy sack rested on the bar of my rental bike. Before turning off the main street to return it I waited so she could see my departure. As you can guess while I jumped through hoops with the bike mechanic who insisted I'd had a flat tire my primary concern was that Kate hadn't made her way the two hundred metres to the shop. Rushing the rental return it still seemed to take half an hour, leaving only that much time again until our train departure. So where is Katherine? We'd briefly discussed her carrying on to the station since she was anxious about being late for the train, so I headed towards it too under that assumption but worrying the entire ten minute walk that it wasn't. Imagine my relief as I spotted her red MEC duffle bag across the busy hall where she was peering up at the departure board.

Coolly I slid up and asked "Which platform do we leave from?" She said she wasn't sure as none said 'Bologna' and I explained it was likely a wayward point, not the destination, but that I knew it left at 10:03am. We both studied the board again but didn't see any at that time. Figuring I was looking at the arrivals as I've done many times before I verified that it was the departure board, and indeed there was no 10:03am.

"It is this station, right?" she confirmed and I whipped out the tickets. Shit, shit, shit.

Checking the time it was 9:40am - "We have to get a taxi!" - and we bumped into each other as we broke toward the taxi stand as if it were the Amazing Race.

"Do we even have any money?" Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. I'd spent down to my last couple Euro coins on the bike rental and hadn't replenished. I started scrambling around looking for an ATM, then ran back to Kate to give her the ticket so she could ask a train attendant what we could do, then shouted over my shoulder for her not to go far as I rushed off to find a bankomat.

Eventually I found it and cursed its double automatic door that, like an air lock, slowly allows you in, waits to close, then slowly opens the inner door. Like a sailor on this morning I swore again under my breath at the blank screen of the first terminal and the massive conglomerate of people around the other two. Checking my watch with a sinking feeling I explained to the young guy in front of me that my train was about to leave, hoping to jump the queue.

"Mine too. I just boarded the bus, the driver had no change to sell me a ticket and waved me on. Sure enough at the next stop the ticket checkers boarded and now they're standing outside with my passport."

"OK, you first," I gestured graciously.

With a mittful of bills I impatiently depressurized through the bank's double doors and ran back to Katherine.

She reported that the bus would take half an hour and indicated a 40-person strong lineup for the taxi. Even if we hailed one immediately the 13 minutes remaining until departure would hardly be enough to get there.

"So what do we do now?" I distinctly remember asking, feeling defeated. We went toward the info desk where there looked like there was a minimum 13 minute lineup so we accosted a uniformed train employee in the hall asking if there was anything to do. He made a call to see if perhaps our train was delayed but sadly informed us "Your train is on time. Funny with this strike going on and nearly everything else delayed or cancelled." Huh? He advised us to join the info line and see if there was anything to do.

It moved surprisingly quickly but was 10:03 when we reached the Italian speaking old man. As soon as I pushed the ticket toward him he looked at it, saw our destination and pointed at a departure on his screen. He didn't get it. I pointed at the different departure station on our ticket and he pointed at the same departure train on his screen, seeming quite apologetic due to the strike. I tried pointing at the train number - same result.

Katherine and I never would have boarded a train without a ticket ordinarily but emboldened with his direction, albeit still supremely hesitant we headed toward that platform. Everyone has heard stories of cranky train conductors extorting money from woeful foreigners or tossing them out at deserted stations yet we were about to try and do this anyhow.

En route we checked for other departures for which we could legitimately buy a ticket (four times the cost, plus the money we'd be burning on the unused ticket) and this departure came up as sold out. Yet we managed to find a pair of seats before it pulled out of the station, only for the rightful owner to show up a minute later. So there we were standing with our properly validated ticket for a rickety old (but scenic) train that had left from an entirely different station while we had ascertained that this was a fancy high speed train whizzing through Italian tunnels. The announcement came on and said the first stop would actually be our stop, meaning we had 37 minutes.

Thirty seven excruciating minutes of waiting for the sickle to fall, of glancing each way for the ticket checker, of holding our breath when anyone looking even remotely authoritative (like wearing a suit) walked down the aisle. With less than five minutes till arrival Katherine thought she might be sick from stress, or maybe just wanted to leave me to do the explaining, and ducked into the bathroom. Nervously I urged the train into the station as I gathered our bags. Just before it came to a stop Kate emerged, grabbed her sack and not until we were both safely on the platform of our destination did either of us breath a sigh of relief.

"As always everything works out in the end," I told her with mock bravado and she just glared at me for having put her through that.

Tweet: Lean on Me

You have to go to Pisa for a leaning tower? That's Bologna! (There's actually two! Side by side yet curiously leaning in opposite directions)

Hostel Hunting: Russia and Ukraine Concluded

Odessa
My train out of the fiery region of Crimea arrived in Odessa even earlier than the planned 5:30am. This time I knew right where my hostel was and was sure it was nearby the train station. in minutes I had found the sign and having learned my lesson immediately went to the dingiest entrance I could see around back but couldn't find it. Around to the front again I tried pulling the knob but the door wouldn't budge then realised I was the knob and pushed it easily. There were five doors on three landings and not a single one was marked. No buzzer could be found. The hostel WiFi was strong but password protected. Being pre 6am I didn't want to knock on the seemingly private residence doors so I silently willed someone to feel my presence and come let me in. After fifteen minutes of silence besides me pacing noisily up and down the stairs peeking in keyholes and peepholes and any other holes I could see I came up with a new game plan. On the street I asked a man to call the number on the sign for me but he either didn't understand or didn't want to or was so drunk from being out at the all night girlie club next door that he didn't call. He did tell me he was an army man and asked me to join him for a drink but he was a creep so I turned him down. He followed me across the street so I walked off to the only other address I knew, nearly two kilometres away with my massive bag. There the archway was exactly like the picture with the arrow but beyond that there was no indication of where to go in the courtyard with ten or more entrances. Climbing a number of random staircases nothing looked good and the stray cats were evil eyeing me for being in their turf. The sun was rising and one man exited but coldly brushed me of altogether when i approached him directly. It had been nearly half an hour here now and almost two since leaving the train and I was exhausted. A young boy appeared with his dog and told me in decent English there was no hostel there. I didn't know what to do and didn't want to walk another 4km back so I sat. The boy returned after his pup had done it's business and he approached me to offer advice. On my map he pointed out another and I thanked him and walked a reasonable distance there. Kid knew his stuff - there were two hostels there. When I checked in and had an 8-person room to myself for two consecutive nights understood why some might have closed (at least got the season.)

Conclusion
Having related these tales to some travelers I've heard that many hostels in Russia and Ukraine are illegal since they do not want to pay taxes. This might explain the obscurity and lack of signage and all the pain I endured.

Fill in the _ _ _ _ _ [Rated M for Mature]

Not 15 minutes later.. Under the _ _ _ _ _ _' rain (apostrophe as desired)

WITWISA: Fill in the _ _ _ _ _

Under the _ _ _ _ _ _ sun (on a bike)

Guardian: And I Quote

Even after beeping out the entire 'When the Saints Go Marching In' on the apartment buzzer which amazingly read 'Sunny Italy' just as we hoped, nobody answered (of course, this being a Guardian post and all.)  We determined to head back to the main street and look for assistance or WiFi, whichever came first, and before we even reached the sidewalk we had our guardian. "Problem?" the middle-aged, friendly Italian man asked and we did our best to explain without any common language but in the end just pulled out the B & B phone number. He dialed, spoke briefly and handed the tin can over to me. It sounded like an Italian man speaking quickly to me, arms waving, from within an echo mic.

Following a frustrating minute of 'pardon', 'I can't understand you', 'your sister what?', 'scuzzi?', 'I'm at the apartment - just come here' I gave up and handed the phone back to the guardian who promptly flipped it closed with the guy on the other end in mid-sentence.

'Gratzi' we muttered as he walked off and we were once again faced with 'now what?'

But before we could answer that the guardian returned speaking into the phone and motioned for us to follow him. We hauled our sacks behind as he used his few English words with us 'car', 'sister', 'cafe canasta' and lead us to the last one where he indicated for us to wait and with a handshake he returned to whatever he was doing before he made the mistake of asking us 'problem?'

Like dweebs we stood on this street corner for a quarter of an hour waiting for something to happen. "Katherine, watch my bag," I instructed before marching back to the apartment.

'..oh, how I want to be in that number..' Still no answer so I returned to Katherine. Except Katherine wasn't there and there was no sign of her or my bag. "Well, I guess that's the last I've seen of her. Dad is going to be upset with me.." I thought with despair. Figuring the only chance was that she'd been picked up and had driven around the block I ran back to the apartment one more time and was relieved to see her unloading my massive pack from a miniature car. "Boy, am I glad to see you!"

Hostel Hunting: Kerch Me if you Can

Kerch
Dusk was settling in when I passed Ukrainian customs off the ferry and I still had to take a small van taxi transfer to town. The walk from the bus station was delightfully well lit, even embedded in the concrete, but the streets were nearly deserted at only 8pm. Trying to get my bearings I seemed to have passed the hotel once already without seeing it and now came at it from another direction. The address I was looking for should have been on the darkest part of the road next to the dilapidated buildings.. I couldn't see it and instead went to main street to reevaluate. Nobody there spoke English so I went into a restaurant with an English menu and WiFi. Following a nice meal and interaction with the manager I set out with expensive fallbacks but made one more stab. This time I recognised the sign from an online picture though it didn't say hotel at all or, you know, have a light on. When I knocked a slippered man slid to the door and we negotiated for my small, comfortable room ($20 CAD) without any common language while standing on plexiglass revealing a fake archaeological find.

Tweet: When in Rome..

Or anywhere in Italy for that matter.. I've had at least 2 of the following 3 everyday and completed the trifecta the last two days in Rome
- Gelato
- Pizza
- Pasta

Guardian: The Lady Split

Scene: Evening. Brother and sister stand in narrow street looking up at apartment building with consternation. Lady appears from around corner.

Lady: Have you rang the bell?
Brother: Ye-
L interrupting: They didn't answer?
Sister: N-
L interrupting: Do you want me to call them? Where's the number? There it is in the window.
L into phone: Dobro dan.. (continues in Croatian)
L to siblings: He'll be here to let you in in fifteen minutes. Maybe get yourselves a drink

Lady turns back the way she came and vanishes (maybe around the corner)

Hostel Hunting: Rest of Russia

Sochi

Super Stefan Spies subjects know what happened in Sochi with the broom-wielding Russky behind the unwelcome mat. Stefan Spies slackers can get up to date here.

Krasnodar

Off the train I had only a vague idea of how to get to my hostel for in the excitement of winning Olympic hockey gold I'd forgotten to sort it out properly. Anyhow my half bus instructions seemed to bring me near where I wanted to be but I couldn't find the actual address. I asked a passerby who indicated the entire massive building complex with thirty storefronts beside us then carried on. On the corner were vagrants and throwing caution to the wind I asked the group. One lady pointed down a sketchy back alley and I followed her finger. If the alley was sketchy the back courtyard wasn't even an outline. Still not sure where to go I figured a sign above the well graffiti tagged darkened entrance to a hallway might say 'hostel'. 

I took it then dared myself to go up the unlit stairwell covered in paint. Two floors up the same letters adorned a door and I tried it. Inside was a large open floor covered in dust and scattered furniture. Two people who may have been painting or autopsying bodies pointed me around back. Proceeding with caution I saw a room that seemed promising and I went right in. The guy in this "Art" gallery didn't speak English but lead me one more hallway and turned me over to the hostel.

Tweet: Guido

The secret to being a great tour guide is telling the same jokes (that other tourists before you made) over and over again as if they are fresh and your own.

Coasting the Amalfi Coast

Waiting twenty-five minutes in the Italian sunshine and even muscling my way to third in line at the bus door at what was supposed to have been the first stop of the route still did not assure me of the prime left side window seats. Actually it didn't assure me of any seats as by the time I shoved my ticket in the validation machine and reached for the nearest duo of seats a punk backdoor-boarding kid jumped into them with a dumbass grin on his face. That's how it's gonna be, eh? I shoved my dumb ass onto the only remaining seat available on the whole bus much to the lurching thirteen year old girl's chagrin. Katherine was less aggressive and much less enthused about the 75 minute scenic bus ride standing crammed between less spry Italian adults on the so-called-but-not-actually air conditioned bus. Stuck on the far side aisle I silently steamed as I tried to look past the sleeping, iPod listening, cell phone tapping prepubescents completely ignoring the outrageously beautiful scenery of the Amalfi coast. As I figured, 15 minutes into the ride someone exited beside Katherine (who refused my gentlemanly offered seat) and I sent sibling telepathy her way. "Hiss - Kate! Take that seat! Go! Sit, now! No - the lady's going for it! Katherine, no!" Yet she seemed the genius when mere minutes later the prime seat, front-left, opened up and she snagged it. I won't lie, I was jealous. That is until I leapt two rows when the front-right seat with full windshield view became available.

With the seats sorted just in time to leave the city and hit the coast I was able to sit back and enjoy the ride by buckling in and gripping tight. For the Amalfi highway is little more than a one-lane paved highway that barely clings to the edge of a coastal cliff which winds in and out, up to a hundred metres above the sea. Yet here it is attempting to support a huge tourist scene, demanding long passenger buses ply its route half-hourly in both directions, in addition to local traffic and unaccustomed foreigners in rental cars. I couldn't blame the driver for tooting his two-toned horn at each blind corner (which was essentially every corner). He'd first turn the bus-sized steering wheel with the dolphin emblem in the middle 540° into the corner before a 720° back out and into the next. People respected the beep as well, with one guy who was leaning in a driverside window absolutely scrambling to get out of the way and another flipping in his sideview mirror nearly at the cost of his fingers. For it truly was that close - when we met another bus both had to slam on the brakes and the other backed up into the line of traffic behind it so we could basically kiss mirrors as we inched by. During this manoeuvring the brazen motorbikes would sneak up and squeeze through as one bus was reversing and the other moving forward! Clearly posted "Give way to overtaking vehicles" in descending languages Italian, English, German, French seemed to have emboldened some to pass at importune times, such as construction zones, but since everyone heeded the request we witnessed no injuries. I did fear for the pedestrians putting their lives on the line to walk on the road, for there was surely no sidewalk outside the concrete guardrail. The bus, I decided, with its dizzy dolphin was a hair-raising enough way of traversing this gorgeous coastline and I was grateful not to be driving it myself. Cycling on the other hand.. that would be amazing!

Tweet: Pompeii Barbarian

Civilised guests follow the worst R! In honour of today's trip to Pompeii I had this song running through my head all day (it's not what you think)

Hostel Hunting: Moscow Pizza

Fresh, or more appropriately wilted, off a plane from Toronto I had successfully navigated the Moscow subway with my newly acquired Cyrillic skills and just had to find my hostel. Yet when I reached what I thought was the address it was just a plain, tall apartment building. Furrowing my brow I continued down the street to what looked like a pizza restaurant sign. Inside did not look like a pizza restaurant nor did it look like a hostel. The security guard regarded me as if I'd told him a marinara sauce recipe in Italian when I inquired 'hostel?' so I retreated. Reconsulting my address I peered around before returning to the original place. There was no buzzer so I tried the door and sure enough it opened to a small dark foyer. Inside a glass booth not unlike an old fashioned cinema vendor sat a curmudgeonly old lady but she did react when I repeated my query. Hesitantly I handed over my passport when prompted and nearly five minutes later a young lady appeared at the locked inner door to bring me to the third floor hostel.

Tweet: Chauffered Ride

The €19 didn't seem so bad after all until we were dumped onto another regular bus and a 50 minute delay #OvernightFerryAftermath #NoShower

WITWISA? Birthday Beach

A second photo so you won't be annoyed when the revealed answer feels like it was a trick question

WITWISA? How I Spent My Summer Vacation

Actually how I spent my birthday too!

Tweet: BBQ Problem Solved

This May 2-4 the answer to "you want a veggie dog or burger?" now has a simple answer.

Tweet: Why, sir, it's Christmas Day

Sure hope the Crax factory workers were Muslim

(Not a) Guardian: Soviet Trains 'n Trams

With ticket in hand after passing an hour in the nothing-neighbourhood of the station I returned to the platform. It was eerily quiet. The sinking feeling quickly sank but I waited until 5 minutes past the departure time before asking the only person around, a Russian speaking cleaning lady. Eventually she understood where I wanted to go and shook my head and put me back on the tram I'd come in on. I pieced together that I'd interpreted the hand gestures of the price as the departure time from the sour Soviet train ticket lady. Cleaning lady explained something to the tram driver and the more pleasant tram ticket lady as she pushed me on. I still didn't know what was going on as we pulled away and they tutted but otherwise couldn't seem to help. Back at the main town, I cried out that I didn't know what they were expecting me to do as they told me to get off. An old man was the only one to answer to my agony. I showed him my ticket which had the destination in Cyrillic and he led me emphatically to the bus station. We stood at the platform for a minute as he asked and the answers didn't seem positive. Dragging me along again we went inside where the Soviet bus ticket lady was amazingly more sour than the train one had been. It seemed the ticket I held was not good for the bus as I'd hoped all this fuss had meant and that the next bus was not until after the next train. My old man seemed to have another idea and still wordlessly he pulled me back to the main road. However I recognised this from the time I'd taken the tram to the train station nearing 2 hours ago now. We played the worst game of charades since that time I had an unbearably itchy back during my turn, so he and I changed over to Pictionary in the dirt. Eventually I figured out he was sending me back to the train station on the tram three hours before the next departure, that he wanted me to confirm the platform it would leave from, and that he was not a guardian after all. I thanked him for his intentions and to his consternation walked away to find a better way to pass the time.

Profile: Montenegro

- Small, coastal and formerly communist though that fact doesn't hang as thick over them as Albania say (likely due to the massive Balkan tourism money injection)
- Uses the Euro despite not being in the EU
- Regrettably joined in the '91 shelling of Dubrovnik, Croatia which they have since somewhat apologised for

Cuisine: Anyone like grilled vegetables?? Besides that and risotto I did have a very tasty and different typical local dish. It was like mashed potatoes but there was more cornmeal mixed into it than potato giving it a thicker texture. Served with a healthy scoop of cream cheese and whole bowl of sour cream. Same old light beer Niksiçko dominated the scene throughout the country but their tamno pivo (dark) was worth walking out of bars for.

Stray Dog Rating (out of 5): The dogs could bark but all seemed to have owners. 0

Sidewalk Safety: No cars in the old towns! Cobblestones could pose problems for the high heeled or drunk, and of course walking along the tops of fortress walls is dangerous but that was by choice.

Rambling Impressions: Coast, old town, fortress. Coast, old town, fortress. Yes these things can make for a quaint place to stay and get lost but when it's all you have to offer, or at least all you have to offer in the rain the repetition wears thin. In my first five hours in the country I'd done this combo twice and was faced with two more opportunities. My attempt to raft/canyon/bike was shut down due to already amassed snow and forecasted rain ending in a lovely, if long drive through more canyons to the northern national park then back to the third old town. Some night life made it tolerable but heavy rain the next day drove me right out of the country, doing the opposite of Albania - planning a week and spending 3 nights.

Tweet: Dorbrodosli!

@sisterkate has arrived! And we almost immediately went hiking to stunning waterfalls. Welcome to Croatia

Bear with Me: Tails End

Nobody seemed like they were getting up today after last night's hijinks, plus it being a Sunday. I had planned to take the 7am bus until I'd found out a couple days before that no such bus ran and I'd be forced to hitchhike. First though, half an hour after everyone is supposed to be up we were awoken to find a full size cube van heaped full of an assortment of bread and baked goods on top of hard kernel corn. It took six of us six hours to unload it all by hand and I still had my hangover but not a ride. Finally a visiting Dutch couple to the refuge agreed to take me so I was knighted with my volunteer bear necklace and instructed to retain the Kuterevo Spirit for all my life. Goodbyes and hugs were exchanged all around and off we went. As it turns out my guesthouse was literally across the street from theirs and Katherine hollered to me from our balcony as I retrieved my bag from their trunk and wished them safe travels.

BwM: Hoes and Hoedowns

Thankfully after the long night at the restaurant and beyond my morning task was sitting in the shade assembling necklaces. Why then did I volunteer for the position of helping the neighbour with her potatoes (all the information I knew)? Because the neighbour was also the pizza shop and we were down to some potatoes and skanky peppers in our cellar. Hence why I found myself riding in a tractor drinking rakija in the sun before 10am - what hangover? Turns out 'her potatoes' was planting them by hand. Not to take my own field but I'm a natural with a hoe and we completed the whole field in two hours instead of the anticipated four, plus half an hour to drink pivo, eat bread and cheese and homemade cake in the shade. In compensation we enjoyed another beer on the patio and lazily waited for our pizza which eventually arrived. Our pick up, Renault 4, was otherwise engaged thus the afternoon slipped by as I napped in the deck chair. Kuterevo Refuge founder eventually came to slurp a coffee, shoot a rakija and drain a water (in that order, all with his eyes closed) and we were driven back to hear about the witch who had visited during the day as the rowdy priests and nuns cleansed the place (out at least gawked at the bears). I did some of my own gawking and captured some brilliant images of tussling big bears. At 7:55pm Lukas asked for 30 kuna and we ran with a wheelbarrow full of empties to the one and only shop in the village, stocking up before they closed for the night at 8. Marco, the newly nut free two year old, showed that he was recovered as he ran excitedly around his enclosure, batting his new tire swing around, while I collected wood for my totem. This would be painted sometime after moving to American House lounge and finishing the case (but never the unending supply of rakija) as the night descended into a full on goodbye party for me.

BwM: Take Me Out!

It was a forgettable day of sunshine without joy as we just sweat doing menial tasks all day without any swimming option nearby. As the evening set in I watched the pair of bears eat what I tossed them but it was hardly a highlight. I did however have dinner to look forward to as we had decided at lunch to go to the only restaurant in town when we considered what we could make with the 3 yellow peppers and garlic available to us. We had phoned ahead and there was a surprise set menu - "normal" or vegetarian. Upon arrival we were given rakija, naturally. Next was nice toast and cheese but we were so polite in not being able to split 4 six ways that they took half of a piece away before we could protest. The bread was oily like a croissant and went well with the soup that was closely followed by salad. They hadn't yet offered drinks so we asked for both red and white wine but some were shocked when their first sip of white burned like the rakija it was. As we mowed down our family style main of risotto and cheese they replaced the mistaken clear beverage but not before we tucked a little in our assortment of glasses. The owner finally returned and greeted us with what else than a round of rakija - "gvili!" He joined us for awhile and even took our picture, first from the end of the table and then from the rafters of the outdoor barn we were eating in, seated leaned against hay on wool blankets. Totally stuffed they brought yet another litre of red and some fried dough smothered in jam as desert. With all the booze in front of us we had time to pass and did so by somehow picking on the only other native English speaker in the varied group for her British accent. ("Polah baa", "it's not faih") Eventually after all the other tables left we polished ours off, even most of the plain fried dough they'd brought as a bonus. Still chuckling we went inside to pay where the owner broke out another two shots of rakija plus a plate of delicious cheese despite my bursting belly. All told, with much on the house, we paid under $20 each and walked home entirely by moonlight to play cards ("pesinas") well into the morning.

BwM: Cut Only Corners

Today was odd in that we didn't slice any animals open. We began with a presentation about bears from Hubert, one of the world's authorities on the creatures. Following I found myself rather free to marvel at Marco's resilience to run around the day after losing his manhood. The cutest couple in the place put on a show of play fighting in the grass for me. Postaja was overtaken by important visitors so we ate outside and after a short sunbench nap I was summoned to work by the big bears. Splashing had me shirk my labour to watch as first two bears bathed till one left the other to backstroke and blow bubbles - if this was a photo blog you'd be overwhelmed with adorable. They appreciated when I later brought them buckets and buckets of dandelions even if they were already noisily munching corn off the cob like the civilised bears that they are. Dinner was a beer until the VIP returned alongside the founder (and chapeau wearing star of BwM:Arrival) whom we toasted with some of the fresh rakija I made on my first day. Even after he left it continued despite definite vows from everyone this morning that they would be getting an early night's rest.

BwM: Eunuch (UPDATED)

While I put the chicks outside (you've seen them) over 40 people were arriving to the refuge. Then as I chased the supposedly injured but surprisingly spry escaped cat down the lane everyone hushed me. I realised why as I watched Marko, the youngest bear on site at 2 y/o, spin in circles and try to reach the sedative dart sticking out of his neck. Eventually he settled but this was disconcertingly in his water pool, thankfully without his head under and a crew rushed in to transport him out in a rope net. I could only stand to watch the vet perform a hasty Brazilian shave before I was thankfully called away. Inside his vacated den we cleaned up, hiding nuts for his return without them. At one point I found myself atop his jungle gym replacing a worn out toy with a fresh tire swing.

I was fifteen minutes in the enclosure before my heart palpitations as I suddenly remembered somebody telling me the gate connected to the two bears in the next enclosure was unlocked and could simply be pushed over by them, allowing instant entry to where I was standing. Peaking down the tunnel it looked closed on the far end and this was confirmed by my fellow volunteer who said he had checked twice and laughed at my tardiness.

Soon he was returned to lay groggily for hours in the grass while I assisted in lunch preparations. Following was some quiet time as Marko continued to sleep it off. I had a task by the big bears and a couple of them came over to where I'd sat to watch them tussle. The biggest stuffed himself in a hole barely large enough for me and scratched on the post a meter away.
Still with unspecified afternoon volunteer tasks I offered to fix the broken bike and when that was compete tuned up the rest of the fleet. To make sure I'd done an adequate job I cruised to the next village with some incredible landscapes to race through while being pursued by no less than a dozen dogs. Back at base I sat by the fence and Mladi approached me curiously for a game of peak-a-bear while his main squeeze (bear hugs, mostly) rolled in the grass in the distance. When she decided to join us they too tussled some before crashing into the evening darkened bushes. Dinner was late meaning we'd already dipped into the pivo and afterward it once again descended into raki, at least accompanied by world politics.

Tweet: (BwM) Aw, nuts.Aw, shucks.

I'm embarrassed to admit that yesterday I cracked my first ever (as well as thirtieth) walnut by hand. #FirstTimeForEverything

BwM: Autopsy

The morning was simple enough - moving heavy things in wheelbarrows and weeding. However after our lovely picnic lunch the day picked up. Forty experts visited our refuge to perform the autopsy and dissection of first three wolves and then three sheep suspected to have been killed by wolves. I documented the whole thing with my camera, only pausing to snap shots of the agitated bears nearby harassing each other and climbing trees. When everyone left we loaded up the carcasses and met near the grave I had dug where we buried the wolves and then lit a massive bonfire for the sheep. When the pivo ran out we made our way back down the forest path in the dark for a much delayed dinner which stretched into wine/sparkling water and rakia (hence the late hour and brevity of this post despite the interesting content of the day). You're lucky my photos are not available to upload.

Bear with Me: Arrival

Exiting the bus a chapeaued older gentleman approached and inquired "Stephan?" so I shook his hand and followed him to his vehicle - an old, red Renault 4 with 194,000 km. He opened the door for me but I was confused and thought it was right-side drive and tried to get in the driver's seat. Once a passenger, I asked how he was and he quietly said "so so" and then explained that he didn't speak much English, essentially putting an end to any conversation. This allowed me to focus on the car's smoked meat smell and the road's growing puddles, as the pencil sized wipers fought a losing battle. In the dark the headlights beamed an askew angle as we raced the thin winding mountain roads, often falling onto either shoulder - and not only when we met oncoming vehicles. Breaking the silence of the squeaking steering wheel he finally said "Kuterevo" as we entered the village and soon pulled up to the volunteer postaja. Inside I met a flurry of people and a flock of birds (see duckling), was handed a beer, attempted to go to the closed bar, returned to discuss the world over the remainder of a case of beer, and then had to excuse myself at 2am (see Eric/Per).

Bear With Me: Graves, Recycled Shit, Ice Cream

My bold claim "I'd rather dig wolf graves" became a lesson in "be careful what you wish for." The terribly rocky ground was offset only by interesting company and the beautiful mountaintop forest surroundings, despite being in a bear cemetery. Following a large vegetable tofu casserole lunch we were off on bikes to refill the sawdust supplies for the compost toilets. Our return brought the toughest assignment of the day, moving hundred kilo planks. On the bright side we were moving them around the outside of the young bear enclosures, so frequent rests allowed us to watch the bears munch playfully on tires and jump into the pool for a cooling dunk. There was also an ice cream break, for the bears at least, where I got to toss a block of walnut and fruit filled ice into the youngest's enclosure so he could cautiously eat it while keeping an eye on me. We bought a case of beer (20X0.5l) for 119.80 kuna ($24 CAD) before chasing an old man in slippers around the bush, driving wooden stakes into the ground where he divined from a photograph. After sunset I returned to the big bears to toss logs with snacks hidden inside them into the area and then went to the volunteer house to snack myself. After cracking into that case I had potentially the best part of my day - first shower (hot even) in three days.

Tweet: Can you spot the ugly ducklings?

They're usually chirping and often pecking but now there sleeping. They are always smelly.

Bear With Me

My first morning at Kuterevo Bear Refuge in Croatia began by brushing my teeth as I watched two young cubs greet each other 'dobra dan!' with a hearty sniff. Following this I distilled raki from apple, pear and plum pulp with copious quality inspections at all stages. The afternoon saw me collecting wheelbarrows of wildflowers which I then fed to the five appreciative 'big bears' who clamoured over each other with pleasure. Following dinner and an information session with my fellow hippies volunteers we hit the 'bear bar' (actually) for a bear beer (nobody said that). What will tomorrow have in store?

Guardians: Eric and Per, Bosnia/Croatia/Norway

Rafting on the Una River in northwestern Bosnia I met these two fun-loving Norwegians. Within minutes they had invited me to join their party. You see this weekend getaway was a surprise for Per's birthday. He was instructed to drive to Eric's house with his car gassed up, waterproof gear but no need for a passport. Upon arrival he was told to park in the garage and get in Eric's car - curve ball. They drove towards a nearby party city when at the last minute Eric, who drives anything fast, cut across four highway lanes into the airport producing astonished Per's passport he'd procured through his girlfriend. They flew to Croatia where they'd be partying but first the next morning they were paddling down a river with me. I'd been wondering how I was going to cross the minor border to reach my bear sanctuary destination the next day so when they offered a ride in their rental I jumped out of the raft at the chance. The two, who sell and service top-end sports cars in Oslo (at thrice American prices due to taxes), were superbly gracious and overwhelmingly generous. At the end of the few hour drive we stocked up on party supplies which we brought back to their pimping rented apartment. When the rain of the day exhausted itself Eric made it rain champagne with a pop! into the rose garden and the party began. Though I'd planned to go find a place to stay there was no opportunity, and frankly no reason, to leave as they introduced me to the Tomorrowland After-Video and American boat races while I played some Canadian music in a cross cultural exchange. (Early Nickelback was a surprise hit.) Carling beer, yes I believe the same terrible Canadian export, and "jet fuel" aka vodka replaced dinner and the after burners kicked in when the bars of Zadar closed up and gave way to night clubs at 2am. Dehydrated on a leather couch is where I found myself this rainy morning.

PS Beautiful people who wish to join me in Belgium for Tomorrowland 2015 can comment below

Tweet: Grocery Gateway Goods

.. and BEER!

Tweet: Grocery Gateway Gross

all kinds of bacon..

Tweet: Grocery Gateway Globules

Welcome to the Fun Zoo. Croatia has your bases covered! Choco globules.. Goody!

Profile: Greece

Meet Greece

Rambling Impressions: Only fair to remark on the Greek islands separately than Athens as these are the only places I experienced as once I reached the mainland I only felt compelled to stay totaling one week.

Athens is a massive sprawling city where the recent hard times show prominently in more than the graffiti tagged walls (street sleepers, daytime shouting matches). Despite the array of ancient ruins, or perhaps because of it and the horde of tourists it brings (yes, even in early April), there is little charm.

The islands are gorgeous and at least the two smaller ones I visited were reasonably untouched. Small towns hosted the tourists while getting out of town took only 5 minutes by foot. Even the roads, mostly gravel tracks, offered astounding hikes with short green trees and sheep.

Cuisine: Each Greek salad had a full brick of feta on it - ridiculous! Otherwise the dishes are limited to stuffed peppers and tomatoes, pitas with tzatziki and tomatoes, spanikopita, or more baked cheese. Asking for moussaka without meat, a fairly common dish in Canada, was met with good natured guffaws. Every damn beer was identical - light Hellenistic lager - fine but boring. An interesting dessert I was offered was essentially an orange or similar fruit that had been soaked in sweet sauce such that even the peel was soft and sweet.

Sidewalk Safety: Reasonable actually as Athens is such a modern city that it's inhabitants tend to abide by laws and lights. Just watch out for the motorbikes that always sneak to the front of the red light lawn and are off like a crack when green illuminates. The islands are so sparsely populated sidewalks hardly exist but there's so little traffic it is hardly a concern.

Stray Dog Rating (out of 5): Cats scurried around at dinner to a 2 on the scale on one of the islands but otherwise I can hardly recall noticing others. Wracking my brain to avoid passing out my first 0 but all the dogs I remember were obvious pets.

Profile: Albania

Meet Albania

- Former Communist holdout in the Balkans that jumped ship to China when Russia wasn't providing for them correctly. Locals still seem somewhat new to capitalism
- EU aspirations that may be optimistically high

Cuisine: An assortment of baked veggies in various ways were all alright. Crêpes were big - savoury and sweet, day or post bar. A nutty thick ice cream was also a sweet treat. Beer was your standard easy drinking pilsener or lager - I kept trying new brands but they were practically identical.

Stray Dog Rating (out of 5): Although only registering a mid 3 on the scale for quantity they were some of the saddest group going. Mangy and dirty looking it was not uncommon to see pooches missing paws, limbs or parts of tails.

Sidewalk safety: Akin to Sochi massive, leg breaking potholes were commonplace even in the main square of town - watch yourself after dark. Traffic was typical of the Balkans though pedestrians did seem to heed some respect. Just don't get caught on the narrow crumbling boulder pathways hundreds of metres up a mountain cliff going the wrong way against a van or you may be forced to practically dangle over the edge to allow it to pass.

Rambling Impressions: To be honest I had basically no clue about Albania - when my father mentioned it was communist it was news to me. Perhaps due to this and some warnings that the capital was a yawn I was pleasantly surprised by this country. It seemed to do things in its own way, to say peculiarly, that left me just smiling sometimes. People were incredibly honest such that I wouldn't even ask prices before handing over money for the most part - helped that things were quite cheap too. People are pleasant and happy to help though English wasn't overly prevalent bar in the (bars of) educated capital, Tirana. Driving was a pleasure with the lush mountains to gaze at, while Berat at in the south was incredible to look at even in the rain. The northern Albanian Alps, scene of the snowblind pass adventure, were perhaps even better. Planned three days easily elongated into a week.

Guardian: Sulejman, Sarajevo

A thoroughly engaging, well-read and opinionated man who said 'hello' on the train to Sarajevo when he saw my flag on my pack. Having been raised in Bosnia and survived the war in the 1990's he was an especially interesting and, to my benefit, willing guide.

Although we had a train ride and entire evening of intellectual conversation regarding a broad range of important topics below is just a small selection of poignant thoughts paraphrased from the dialogue concerned with the war.

"I grew up with MTV!; we never believed it would come to arms.. During the first few days we'd be sitting in a cafe with shells flying overhead but it was too surreal. We hadn't come to terms with what was actually happening."

"It didn't make any sense. Families were fighting on both sides. My family lived in a catholic part of town but we weren't catholic so we were forced out. My mother had to move to another village. After a year of conscripted service I fled in the tank of a tanker truck while my Croatian friends smuggled us over the border. Worst off, my father was sent to a concentration camp. One day in there is too long - he was there for four months."

"Being on the front line didn't matter - we didn't have any weapons anyhow. We were in our trenches and they were in theirs."

"From Croatia I was able to go to Italy. Fill out the forms and they'd let anybody in but they wouldn't provide for you, not like Canada does. I saw Africans in the streets unable to get a job and I thought 'I can't end up like that' but without the language I couldn't work. In the end, myself and a friend went over the mountains and snuck into Switzerland where we at least had a chance."

"Humans are tribal. If it's not religion it's colour, or ethnicity, or language. We'll find something to separate us and that always leads to violence."

WITWISA? Assassination, Olympics, Siege

- Assassination of Franz Ferdinand occurred here, commonly acknowledged as the prompting for the first world war

- 30th anniversary of their winter Olympic hosting celebrated this year

- City was under siege for three and a half years in the early to mid 90's, with video of the constant shelling broadcast around the world

"Think about, bout, bout, thinka ooo" - Rockapella

Indiana Andrushenko and the Snowblind Pass - A Dramatic Continuation

Be sure to first read the opening segment of the story of the snowblind pass before continuing here.

..he didn't think he could possibly go on and began to plot his route back out of this frigid notch.

Yet as this played through his head he eventually got back to the start where he would have to explain his failure. No, this was his only opportunity, he resolved and he could not stand to have wasted so much time only to give up and turn back. Thus he pushed on, breaking the remaining distance into small, more manageable chunks as the entire climb looked too daunting as a whole. Ever so slowly he plodded, settling upon a methodical but slow strategy to avoid his body sinking by step as it seemed to do without warning - sometimes one in 5 paces but then other times five paces in a row, only his crotch preventing him from plunging further. This method was to stomp to create a platform, pause then push off of the platform. It wasn't foolproof, as the platform could still give way and he'd end up freeing his leg only by pushing out with his frozen hands, but it seemed to reduce the frequency of this. Surely he made progress to the next junction and the clouds even parted to briefly warm his head and light the path of previous snowslides that had petered out in the valley around him.

Judging to be approximately halfway up the snowy pass, although this could not be verified for the very top was still obscured from view (and he retained blind faith that it would be passable) Indy stopped for lunch. As if destined the sun also showed itself for the first sustained time since base level. As he munched his outlook grew cheerier and though there was still plenty of snow to cover he began to think he might just be able to do it. Then he heard it - a rumble that seemed to be all around him. Searching the cliff tops nearby he vainly attempted to identify the source but all looked still. Just to his side a few snowballs rolled down serenely, no doubt loosened by the warmth of the persistent sun but definitely not creating that gut-tightening noise. With a sick feeling he turned to look at the cliffs directly above where he was sat, wary that a rush of snow could be hurtling toward him from an unidentified source, ready to wash him from his perch and down the rocky edge he'd carefully climbed to get there. It was beyond the top and from behind a cloud that the source finally presented itself as a jet plane cruised overhead. With a sigh of relief he packed his lunch and began moving on again.

The film version of this adventure would show a montage of young Indiana toiling in the white, slipping repeatedly and stopping often to catch his breath and survey his ever-slowing progress. Not until practically to the end of the visible route up did the top present itself and though it looked reasonable what lay beyond was anybody's guess. The final metres took ages with dead tired, frozen legs lifting sopping wet boots methodically one after the other. Finally he reached what looked to be a massive snow drift and when he stood upon it and peered into the unknown he went snow blind. All he could see was grey and all he could think as the minutes passed was how it had taken him nearly seven hours to reach this point and now there was no going forward and no going back.

Still stood at the summit in an instant the foggy cloud that has encompassed him passed to reveal a glorious scene. As far as the eye could see the the snow spread away down a narrowing chute, and to Indiana's supreme pleasure it was at a degree he could manage on foot. Taking it all in only long enough to compose a plan of attack, attack he did! The sun had come out to play and so had he so his quick steps soon became step and leap, and step and leap. This would last until a leg got trapped in the snow behind him leaving him awkwardly splayed in snowy splits with a dumb grin on his face. This was well and good until both legs were momentarily trapped before letting go sending him hurtling forward where he managed to turn his back just before impact to skid on his shoulders and pack. A minute later though he let his guard down and the same happened without the turn resulting in an ice pellet face plant.

As the pitch and the composition of snow changed so did his approach. A cross country ski style resulted in something like stunted skiing, while a tuck such that he was nearly seated on his heels almost worked as a slide. What did work on the properly packed spots was succumbing to the inevitability that he would be fully soaked and sitting with his legs rigid straight out in front of him. If he caught it right these served remarkably well as a toboggan where he would gather speed until he slammed into an accumulated snow boulder from a previous snowslide, or his sore leg muscles cramped and he could no longer retain rigidity. Actually there was one other instance where he bailed from a slide, this was after a very long distance indeed when he noticed the snow around him accumulating and could not see what was to come over the next hump. It was reminiscent of the boulder landslide in the Zoodochos Pigi adventure as he dug his heels in to pull up just in time to watch as the snow around him plummeted over the edge.

Progress, he noted with delight, was significantly better than climbing up the other side, naturally. As the sun continued to shine he continued plodding downwards, sliding wherever possible. Eventually the snow thinned and rocks began to show through again until finally it was no more. On a rock in the mostly dry mountain stream bed he seated himself to soak in the rays to his soaking garments and eat what remained of his snacks. It was during this break that he made two significant discoveries. The first was that he was way off course, nowhere near actually. The second was that everything in his pack was drenched. With his only clean undergarments dangling off him to dry, he carried on a mostly unmentionable route carefully lowering himself down the crumbly and slick when wet (most everywhere) limestone riverbed. When he deemed it appropriate Indy cut into the mossy forest which eventually let out into a glorious meadow on the other side. The only activity of interest between the sun disappearing beyond the next mountain ridge (but before actual sunset) and when he arrived at his prize was nearly stepping upon a coiled venomous snake. Indiana hates snakes.

Tweet: Dead End

The first worldwide law should ban unsigned, 100+ stair alleys that end at a locked private gate

Tweet: Actually Funny?

I know some of you must be asking yourselves "Is Stefan always this funny?" Of course not! Spends all day composing and still can't get a laugh or keep it under 140 chars

Not Overdubbed

Katherine (@sisterkate),

I've got a confession. Remember those Christmas mornings when I told you I was just going to the washroom? I was totally going to sneak a look at the freshly gift-laden tree. Well I've gone ahead and snuck a glimpse of Dubrovnik too. I could hardly help it! It was on the way! It was just one night! Anyhow not to worry, I didn't actually open anything but I have gotten a lay of the land and scoped some nice restaurants. Besides the place is utterly gorgeous and I'll happily return to properly explore it with you. See you in, what?, only two weeks? Can Not Wait!

-Stefan

PS Nobody won the WITWISA prize of a trip to anywhere in the world with Stefan Andrushenko. Dubrovnik was the answer.

Tweet: Strike a Pose

First I'll stand sexily beside this ugly statue I haven't even read the inscription of. Your turn! Pass me the camera phone.

Where in the world is Stefan Andrushenko?

Tell Me!

Your old favourite is back with a brand new version! Now you too can play along at home with this simple online travel log. StefanSpies.blogspot.com
If you can differentiate Istanbul from Constantinople on a map then this blog is for you.

"Sing it a cappella!"

Profile: Macedonia

Meet Macedonia

- Small, landlocked Balkan country
- Divided and conquered a mind boggling number of times
- Has had three flags in recent history most recently the flashy red and yellow sun

Cuisine: Cheap. I actually only had one real meal which was nice enough grilled vegetables and the rest was salad - like Greek but the cheese grated. Local beer was also basic lagers but dark lagers could be found (still on the cheap $2-3/0.5l)

Stray Dog rating out of 5: A couple were making a huge racket in a fight one evening on the street near the restaurants but otherwise barely noticed - 1.5 chiens.

Sidewalk Safety: Where sidewalks existed relatively safe, otherwise watch out for cars.

Rambling Impressions: Hard to get a true impression from 3 nights in 2 cities but here's what I saw. The country has gorgeous mountains and chasms requiring tunnels for highways often. The capital city, Skopje, has a ridiculous amount of stuff. Sure, most of it is just statues and bridges and things but there are also an inordinate amount of modern museums as well as a couple ruins. I, of course, visited on a Monday when everything was closed and only got to enter Mother Teresa memorial (born here) and the Museum of the Struggle by the People of Macedonia (and struggle they have - amazing the country even exists now). Lake Ohrid is supposed to be wonderful but in the wet snow it looked pretty but that's all. People seemed indifferent for the most part with only some English spoken although a few that I had some further interaction with were kind.

Tweet: Tighten Your Belt

If these full day hikes are to continue I'm going to need to punch another hole in my belt cuz there's no way I can consume any more pastry or beer.

Profile: Turkey

Meet Turkey

- Under the Black Sea
- Home of Istanbul, the city of two continents were East meets West (Europe - Asia)
- Has been home to Greek, Roman and Ottoman empires through the ages to name the most influential
- Officially secular thanks to Atatürk and his 1923 war of independence but high majority of practising Muslims (and current political party of power is pushing for a more Muslim state)
- Uses the Latin alphabet also thanks to Atatürk

Stray Dog Rating (out of 5): I purposely lowered Bulgaria in case I needed to rate higher and I still have to raise the ceiling and give 5.5 cats out of 5. Not only small towns but in Istanbul the vermin were brazen enough to repeatedly jump up on empty chairs at dinner. Dogs 3.5, oh and I noticed because members of my tour group patted each flea-infested one within whistling distance.

Sidewalk Safety: Actually the sidewalks were smooth and reliable but anywhere off track, path, cave, dead end, cliff top would be littered with broken glass. As for traffic, the entity with greater momentum always won. [Physics Lesson: р = m(v) where m is mass, v velocity, р momentum] Therefore if you were a pedestrian basically any vehicle that wasn't at rest took precedence. However if you were an aggressive bus you would overtake cars going down a mountainside even if they were practically forced off the road to make way for you.

Cuisine: Stop with the kebaps! Many places I was lucky to find a pide (squashed football shaped pizza without sauce) but often resorted to the meza (bland appetiser dips of eggplant or sort of salsa). The Cappadocian dishes slow cooked in clay pots you got to crack the lid off of with a hammer was alright, the pickled vegetables plate the best. There was a finger-shaped crumbly sweet nutty dessert i had once that i couldn't understand the name of. On the cheap one could get a tost sandwich - essentially pide between bread on a grill. The beer wasn't much better as Efes, a mediocre pilsener and i don't like pilsener, was so popular it was usually the only option most places. Cities might offer a tiny step up with Bomonti 100% malt or if you were super lucky Efes dark for a premium. (Maybe since Muslims aren't supposed to drink and most don't.) Shout out to Patos Rolls - essentially spicy Doritos with each one (you guessed it) rolled up.

Rambling Impressions: A country with vast historic significance as many important civilisations were rooted in this land. The ruins of these are innumerable and intriguing, although some have not been kept in very good repair, while others have been reconstructed well.
Istanbul is dazzling and offers a unique experience although it is very much a tout town where haggling and enticement quickly loses its charm and becomes exhausting. I'm not much for religious buildings but these mosques are impressive in their stature and ornament, while the history of the 2500 year old massive Aya Sophia makes it excellent. Other cities and towns, including the more religiously conservative ones in the east where almost all women are covered, exhibit their riches in less showy ways and many are quite comfortable and beautiful. Altogether the country is astounding from its great green mountains and rolling fields to the aquamarine waters of the coast. Being primarily on tour my interactions with the locals was often as a group and through a translating guide but they seem a very humble, modest and eager to please people who hold pride in their country. Despite the food I would like to return to hike the 500km Lycian Way from Fethiye, studying more of the gluttony of ruins along the way and making better use of the gorgeous beaches.