Gretta Gone Global

Reading an article on travel to Cuba I caught a flare-up of my travel bug.  But looking at pictures of these “undiscovered” places, I realized the cost of curiosity.

I’m not a tourist in the traditional sense, just snapping pictures and buying souvenirs to say that you’ve been there…  I like to see the culture, live the culture, become a part of the culture, preferably uninhibited by the presence of other foreigners.  But I’m not the only one to think that way.  Just like the wild west was conquered, so even the farthest reaches of the earth have had contact with curious travelers, some in the form of missionaries or colonists or anthropologists, but travelers none the less.  Every one of them have left their mark, changed the culture they came in contact with in some way, and I am no different.  Ironically, as I yearn the travel farther afield to unadulterated cultures, I pave the way of change.  The culture that I may strive so hard to learn, to become a part of, and the protect, will inevitably be different by influence of my presence alone.  Maybe virtual travel isn’t such a bad idea after all.

But for now, am I selfish to want to travel knowing full well the implications of my actions, or is it selfish to not travel and rather let others form my opinion of a culture through their observations, to let possibly less responsible people to let in other forms of change?  These aren’t just first world problems folks…

In life ppl come, ppl go, some ppl come and go and come and go, and some are always there for you

<3 my family!

Ah, and then I took a shower.  It had been four days… since Corfu.  Before leaving Corfu I decided to reduce my baggage.  Already in Naples I had realized how much I over-packed, so all extras were abandoned.  The fatal mistake was to combine my shampoo and conditioner.  I thought, Pert combines them, so why can’t I?  Well, I found out.  Even after three shampooings my hair had that lovely sheen to it that is regarded in Guatemala as fashionable and in the US as distasteful.  Gladly my new friends didn’t judge, and let me hang out with them anyway.

A visit to the zoo was on the agenda, but Camron wanted to buy a hat for hitchhiking.  To market to market we went, and learned that my German can be handy after all.  Standing in the middle of that market, talking to the Serbian marketeer in German, and having just met my bodyguards minutes before, I realized how I had changed.  Where was that child that hid behind my mother’s legs when a   stranger came over.  Where was that girl who didn’t want to go into the store alone.  Here I was, in the midst of strangers, in a foreign land, perfectly at ease and happy.  And again it struck me, how much we trust.  Strangers, in minutes, had become friends and allies, merely from being fellow companions on the road.

Well, long story short, Camron finally found a hat after much ado, and the zoo was left for another day.  Tomorrow…

Bonding over watermelon that evening, we shared our interests.  Two others joined our group, and after registering for fall classes and booking my next hostel, we went to (who would have guessed– ) salsa lessons!!  Kaptan, a dancer like myself, had scouted out a place to go and took us all along.  The cost: the equivalent of 2 euros.  Oh, how I love Serbia

Camron relegated himself to spending another in Belgrade.  Wishing to sleep soundly he booked a room at the hostel, so we went to fetch his things from his friends’ house.  Oh yes, irony.  When sharing that he would be biking through Serbia, some friends of his family told him to stop by.  Of course, the week he is there, the friends had gone to Canada.  Yes, he still stayed there, but camped on the lawn.

We walked the three or so miles to the house, seeing a whole new side of the city.  On the way back, tired, we were elated to see a bus going our way.  We hopped on, and were enjoying the ride, until the bus got on the highway and crossed the river.  Oh no, get off at the next stop, we decided.  Cross the road, and see what happens.  Thank goodness buses run often and late in Belgrade, and that we got the right bus.  And there, it left us right by the hostel!

Belgrade is known in the summer for its clubs.  Not just any old clubs, but on barges on the river.  Two of the guys were going out, being tired I said I just wanted to go and see.  Kapatan, good chap, said he would serve as my escort.  We went, we looked, we were sucked in and danced.  We walked five miles to the other bend and found the Turkish club boats.  Empty but one, the one with the swimming pool in the middle of the dance floor

And then it was morning.

And I slept.

And I woke up in time for the 8 am walking tour of the city

A new record today!!  TWO people smiled at me on the way home!  Maybe they liked my glasses, or maybe I saw them because I was wearing my glasses.  Hmmm.  Either way, I’ve decided to make my spectacles a permanent feature of my wardrobe.  I kind of like being able to see clearly to the end of the street…

On another note,

It was been over two weeks of no brandy roast or floured chicken!  Or course, I have been home for only 6 of the last 20 days, but it certainly is extraordinary.  and new cushions on the chairs too.  But I see there is catciuco for dinner tonight.  I am definitely still in the same house.  And thank goodness!  Even though things can get rather predictable, I wouldn’t have my (host)family any way else.

A supposed 12 hour train ride got me to Belgrade in 14 hours. By this time, I was used to trains being delayed and had started setting my alarm for our “exact” arrival time or even a bit later. A tip for Eastern Europeans: get over your differences and learn to work together. Rather than two passport checks and two ticket checks, combine a few things.
With my giant backpack I staggered onto the platform, bid adue to my new Romanian friends, and got in line at the info office for a map. I wasn’t taking any chances this time… Even though I had written out the exact directions to my hostel, I still ended up wandering and, ironically, re-finding my Romanians! We were both lost. Finally, with the help of several different locals, I found it. And what a place!!!!
This was my all-time favorite hostel. Walking in, it felt like someone had just let me into their apartment. The comfy living room, big screen TV, outside seating, and well-furbished kitchen couldn’t help but give that impression. But the best was yet to come: my fellow guests.
Kaptan is a middle aged Australian that had been traveling through Europe for over a year. He came to Belgrade because Budapest said he had to leave after 6 weeks, and he ended up liking it. It was his third week and he had just reserved for two more.
Camron is a Canadian my age. He was on a bike tour across Europe when his bike was stolen in Budapest. He wanted to keep going, so started camping and hitching. He kept saying it was his last night there, but then just reappeared the next day.
They were my welcoming committee. Not only did they talk to me, they offered me bread, watermelon and companionship. I accepted it all gladly. And that’s how it all started.

My usual plan of just walking out of the station, grabbing a map, and wandering the city missed a step when the tourist office was still closed.  Oh well, I thought, I can live without it.  Sure, I can, but it only took me 8 hours to find the center of town then.

Along the way I discovered the military university, a wealthy suburb, several churches, another university, the backside of a huge castle, another military complex, a Ritz Carlton, a ratty suburb, an abandoned train station, ancient war torn buildings being remodeled, the See of Romanian Orthodoxy, the main shopping district, a giant park, free bike rentals, some interesting people, and very soar feet.

When I finally found the historical center I was dead, and I was too late for them to let me into the only museum I wanted to see the whole trip: the Romanian Peasant Museum.  At that point I just sat down and cried.  I was too exhausted, too worn down, too alone, too late.  Wiping my tears, I brought myself back to my senses.  “You’re in Romania!”  I said, and got up and kept walking.  This time toward the station, and the comfort of McDonalds

The next few days of travel did nothing to alleviate my linguistic difficulties.  Just when I was getting used to the Greek alphabet I moved on to Bulgaria, where Sofia is the proud home of the Cyrillic alphabet.  Not being one for museums, I skipped the History of Writting and wandered the university, peeked in the library, and watched old men play chess instead.

The next day my poor brain had another jolt when I arrived in Romania and had to read Latin letters again, of all things.  Romanian is a romance language, darn it!  That is just proof of how uninformed, unprepared I was.  So I was justified in wanting to respond in Italian to everyone!!  yeah, because I must look Romanian…  So many people came up to me and just started talking, one lady was obviously asking for directions!  And I thought the blond hair, bermuda shorts, backpack and straw hat made me look like a tourist.  But then again, last week in southern Italy when Mom tried to call me from a phone shop the guy said “romania, right?”  and then when we were shopping a friendly elderly gentleman gave us directions.  He asked if we were foreigners but then said, reassuringly, “no worries, there is a Romanian girl that works there.”  Well, thanks everyone.  Proud not to seem and American!

Literally.

Though I had heard Greek for the entire 21 hour ferry ride (along with German, English, and Italian), it was a shock to emerge from the boat and not even be able to start pronouncing written words.  Thankfully street signs and such were in Latin letters too, so at least I knew where things were.  Well, until I was in the little village where the hostel was.  Then even trying to figure out which building was the church was a joke.  Only the chanting and incense gave it away.  But then because it was Greek Orthodox I had no idea what was going on, or even how late I was — just fifteen minutes, or an hour and fifteen minutes?  Everyone’s standing now, I guess I’ll stand.  Half are sitting, I guess I’ll sit.  They’re walking out the door, it must be over.  Thank goodness, ‘cus I’ve been in this tiny building listening to chanting for almost two hours already.

But it was a lovely town.  Touristy, yes.  But very authentic too.  I would have enjoyed it more if I had educated myself a bit, and if I didn’t have such a terrible itch to keep moving.  Well, that itch was soon satisfied.  I didn’t even want to wait one more day to catch the ferry my pass was good for.  The trip must go on…

So, what did I do in Naples?

I toured the Roman aqueduct, ate excellent pizza, pretended to be a Siren, wandered the water front, got lost.  Next day I toured Herculaneum, napped in the botanical garden, and climbed Mt Vesuvius.  Third day, I climbed the hill, got lost, toured some castles/palaces, and caught my train out.

No biggie?  That’s ‘cus you don’t know what I managed to survive.  I didn’t just get lost, I got lost on the outskirts of Mafialand at sundown.  I didn’t just climb the top of Mt Vesuvius like most ppl, but rather started from sealevel and ended at the crater.  I didn’t just eat pizza, I ate pizza with super spicy sausage.  And I lived to tell of all this.  No small victory, in my eyes.

Naples.  Yes, Mafia capital of the world, but much more than that too.

For Spring Break I was too scared to go to Naples alone.  Now, it was only appropriate that I should begin my solo travels in that very place.  And it worked!  My fears were overcome: not just of traveling alone, but of Naples and of the Mafia as well (the latter only because I haven’t watched Gamorra yet…).

So what is Naples?

Yes, home to the pizza and where I had the best pizza of my life, made by the guy who’s dad invented the calzone.

Yes, mafia central, controlled by the Camorra and in the throes of a war right now, but actually much safer for visitors because of the organization.  Criminals that would otherwise be killing randomly or conducting holdups are otherwise employed and unless you get in the wrong place, as a visitor you’re fine.  So the hostel owner marked the various mafia territories on the map, and I was free to wander the city until dark.

Naples is the home of the mythical Siren that lured sailors to their deaths with her beautiful voice.  It is home to the first aquarium in the world, the first public university in the world, and the first system of running water in the world.  The problem is that most of that has not been updated since then, lol.

Naples is the perfect spot to stay and from there visit a gorgeous coast, both Greek and Roman ruins, the active volcano Vesuvius, a palace bigger than Versaille, and many gorgeous islands.  It is a city used by ancient Romans as a vacation spot, by later aristocrats on their Grand Tour, and today is avoided by most tourists because of the mafia taboo.

So, if you want to visit one place in Europe that encompasses elements from the rest of the continent and is extremely affordable, go to Naples!!