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."