Church Your Own Adventure

A) Ask if I need a ticket
B) Walk in confidently 
Take two photos casually. Large hand claps on my shoulder and muscles me toward the exit while aggressively lambasting me for taken forbidden photographs. 
"I'm sorry - I didn't know."
"Haven't you already been to the first seven churches?"
C) Admit to not having been there and sneaking into this church
D) Give him ammunition to say that I already knew
"Well then you have visited seven churches where photos were forbidden so don't pretend you didn't know."
E) "OK," put camera in backpack and continue to eye the frescos
F) "OK," snap photo of his face and run away

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!

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!"