Bucuresti

In our research, the Romanian capitol of Bucharest isn't featured as a tourist spot, but we'd swiftly recommend it to you if you'd like to visit an affordable opera or if you're really into European techno "house" music (it's playing everywhere - bars, loudspeakers, government offices, every vehicle... everywhere).

Our brief Bucharest visit was a classic "first/only day in a new city" in our travel experience; we entertain the challenge of being parachuted into foreign territory, figuring out how to say "hello" and "thank you," procuring a map, and visiting the key monuments on foot, all before sustaining a worthwhile cultural experience that evening.

So, we caught an hour tour of the Romanian parliament building, the Casa Poporlulul, the world's second largest building by square footage behind the Pentagon, and built mainly between 1985 and 1989. Per our tour guide, "we finished ninety percent of the construction by 1989, then we executed our communist president," and, "there are sixty seats in this chamber - there were to be sixty-one, with a larger gold chair for the president, but we shot him, so what's the point?" He also voiced a lot of displeasure about the current Romanian government, especially for a parliament tour guide (you don't see us leading tours of the Cheney mansion).

We caught a spectacular view of Bucharest and the world's longest boulevard from the parliament's balcony, where the executed president was to address the public, but never did; instead, Michael Jackson was the first to stand and shout, "Hello Bucharest."

We scored some opera tickets on the way back to our room and hurriedly ate some delicious food we bought from the supermarket (read: devoured some fruit and crackers, and drank yogurt straight from the cup, for lack of a spoon).

After the opera performance, we felt substantiated in our cursory Bucharest visit, so we turned in and caught up on some of the sleep Anne and Steve stole from us in Istanbul. But now we've recharged, and we're on to Brasov, Sighisoara, and Bran (medieval Transylvania) to see some history.

More from the birthplace of Vlad Tepes (better known as "Vlad The Impaler," or "Son of Vlad Dracul," or simply "Dracula").

Istanbul: The Return

The four of us spent two more days in Istanbul before going our separate ways. One of these days was April 21st, 2007 - Sara's 26th birthday!

In our triumphant return to the Turkish metropolis, we made frequent stops at "nargile" bars, wrapped up our sightseeing, and spent much of the daylight in the sun, on foot, with baklava, honey figs, and ice cream cones in our hands.

On Sara's birthday eve, we visited the spice bazaar where shopowners peddled vials and grain bags labeled "Turkish Viagra" - if you walk by their booth they shout "my friend - five times in one night!" We then relaxed at a backgammon bar under the bridge of the Golden Horn and dined at a Taxim wine bar - we have Jane and David Gregerson to thank for a fantastic meal (including a molten chocolate cake, which we all shared).

Team Friedman spent the birthday morning jobbing a few miles down the Sea of Marmara and along the Golden Horn coast. For the official birthday evening, the four of us dined at Chan'ga, an uber-posh restaurant in the Taxim district, which featured some of the finest fusion cuisine we've ever tasted (they included a chocolate lime cake for the birthday girl).

Thanks to everybody who called to send their birthday wishes, and thanks again to Anne and Steve for schlepping along several presents across the pond (pssst: Kristin, I promise to change sweatshirts).

To Anne & Steve: Thanks for being so easily manipulated into traveling with us - we hope you had as great a week as we did. You can whirl our dervish anytime.

To Turkey: We had a great time with you, but we're not ready for an exclusive relationship. We'd like to see some other countries, but we certainly want to maintain a friendly relationship. It's complicated. We'll call you.

More in Romania!

Cappadocia: Have you seen this landscape?

We hadn't seen this landscape in film or printed media, or even heard of this region until we researched it. By the time the four of us caught our first panoramic view, we all wondered why neither pictures nor even the region's name had ever reached us.

The geological wonders of the region owese to volcanoes, basalt, pumice, the Red River, and erosion. Clearly, we're not the first people to be fascinated by it - well over six-hundred first-millennium vave chirches are carved into the volcanic ash, as well as a handful of 100m-deep underground cities, connected by 4km tunnels.

As a bit of an appetizer for the rest ofo ur stay, we started off with a 6 AM balloon flight. An amazing trip - we're still not sure if it's more breathtaking from above or below, amidst the massive monoliths. (This sounds stupid without a visual reference, but we'll post it when we can.)

We're staying in a cave hotel near the small towns of Urgup and Goereme. We hired a private guide for two days - Uzay Taner served as our historical expert and entertainment/cuisine advisor. In addition to fulfilling his guide duties, he shed a lot of light on the confusions we encountered traveling in other (fundamentalist) Islamic nations.

Our first cave sight was a massive underground city carved over four millenniums ago. Initially, it was used as a refuge from invading Hittites, then as Hittite refuge from invading "Sea People", and so-forth for Persians, Greeks, Romans, and Christians. The maze of tunnels and living quarters were constructed with integrated water and ventolation shafts, spearholes, trap doors, and massive sliding-disc barricade doors. It was like Goonies, but real - and arguably, cooler.

We drove along the silk road to several cave monastaries and a caravan palace (when trekking from Amsterdam to Asia, they'd travel in large caravans for protection and duck into these palaces after sunset). Some of the cave paintings were surprisingly well-preserved.

We also visited several craft centers and witnessed the craft (and the purchase) of Turkish ceramics, carpets, and onyx.

We sealed our Cappadocia experience with an evening of whirling Dervishes, folk dancing, and disqutheque dancing. Our seats were from t row for the performance, so all four of us were "volunteered" during the show.

Amidst the reenactment of a traditional wedding ceremony, several gentlemen were chosen to compete in a dance, and Steve won hands-down with push-up claps and some sophisticated breakdancing. Shortly after, they paraded him around with another woman (it wasn't Anne), and we think Steve may in fact be a married man in the eyes of Turkish law.

The other three of us were pulled onstage for the belly-dancing portion. We three danced with the belly-dancer, and we earned some decent applause - anybody taht didn't clap probably thought we were professional dancers planted in the crowd.

Yeah, we're that good.

We've a Date in Constantinople

(Photos pending - sorry!)

...and they're waiting in Istanbul.

Turkey is great to share with friends - in April as well as on Thanksgiving.

The cast of loveable characters for our Turkish segment has doubled to include our dear friends "Wee Little" Anne Gregerson and F. Stephen Griffiths. Since our rendezvous in Sultanahmet, Istanbul, we've been having our fun and doing our best not to see the interior of a Turkish prison.

We've been enjoying a healthy bit of cuisine and nightlife with our new company - in parts of Istanbul, being an American traveler bears an odd celebrity status; the restaurant wait staff is attentive to the point of badgering:

"Where do you live in America?"
"Well, we're all moving to Chicago."
"Wow, I have family in New Jersey!" (Pause, expecting a response or hug, as if our lives are now intimately intertwined.)
"Okay, great. Well, we love it here in Istanbul. We're here for four nights."
"You need more time!"

That's probably true - in our first full day in the city we visited the fifteenth-century Topkopi palace and Blue Mosque, then spent the entire afternoon in the Grand Bazaar; while we enjoyed the rapid-fire sightseeing, it's it's best digested with some more intersperced strolls/sprawls in the squares, Turkish coffee, and apple tea.

The palace illustrated some of the more bizarre aspects of Otoman culture - we snapped a photo (coming soon) of the gents posing in the "circumcision pavillion" which is adjacent to the harem balcony where they sultan's concubines and their eunuch guardsmen overlooked a pol of jester dwarves playing in small boats. Yeah, that about sums it up.

The bazaar may be the most eclectic, colorful, and at times confusing market we've seen. Shop attendants shout:

"My friend, where are you from?"
"Hello, can I please show you something?"
"Can I please have a minute of your time? Just a minute?"

Anne and Steve seemed a bit conflicted at times; as much as Anne desired, she clearly couldn't dignify them all with a polite "sorry, my good sir, but we're just window shopping. Perchance on our next pass through this corridor, we'll peruse your wares," so this amiable Minnesotan had to politely smile and nod instead.

One lucky shopowner sang a different song: "May I show you how to spend your money on things you don't need?"

Anne laughed and quickly purchased a bracelet.

We sat down for supper in the Taxim district and looked hungrily over the apertif tray - hot "pide" bread, battered shrimp, babaganoug, stuffed grape leaves, brains, green salad... wait, brains?!?

We met our match and have finally drawn the line. So let it be known...

We eat everthing above this line:


Everything but Brains
----------------------
Brains


We do not eat brains. We did, however, appreciate the seafood service policy: pay less for more meat. They achieve this by serving the fish intact - you filet it and pick the meat out yourself.

Anne and Steve made us a small "Chicago packet" of maps, with their Wrigleyville pad plotted for our apartment shopping reference. We're pretty sure they want us to live slocally so we can cook them dinner. But they'll probably order cable, so we have our reasons, too.

Up next: Cappadocia, Central Turkey.

Cretans Wıthout a Cause

(Photos pendıng... and sorry about the ı's - on a Turkısh keyboard.)

We left our hotel ın Chanıa yesterday evenıng ın search of some grılled octopus (we heard ıt's good here) and perhaps some Rakı (clear lıquor fermented from grapes). As fate would have ıt, we found so much more.

As we walked along the seasıde, we came upon a small market and saw some prospectıve olıvewood souvenırs ın the storefront, so we entered.

We nosed around for the better part of a mınute and started to walk out; we do thıs for hours down the streets - ıts our equıvalent of channel-surfıng whıle travelıng.

As we entered, the shopowner (a whıte-bearded Cretran) polıtely offered us a sample of the honey he harvested from the nearby mountaıns.

Why not, rıght? Here's why not: because ıt's so good that you need to buy ıt, and you'll purchase so much that ıt's a bıt heavy, and you may not have luggange space; and then, even ıf ıt fıts, ıt mıght not get past USA customs; and ıf ıt does, you'll start eatıng ıt wıth apples, then wıth other fruıts, then on a loaf of bread, then you'll need more and more untıl fınally ıt runs out, and you're usıng a spatula, then your hands to get the last drop of nectar, but your hand doesn't fıt ın the jar - a year later, you fınd yourself traffıckıng honey overseas and cırcumventıng several US customs and trade laws, and you have to lıve ın fear of gettıng locked away - forever.

After some consıderatıon, we bought a .5kg jar of The Honey. The owner advısed us to purchase an avocado and eat ıt wıth The Honey, so we ate ıt on the steps of the lıghthouse before dınner.

Perhaps you, reader, wıll joın us for a small pastry wıth a small (small) dallop of The Honey.

To be contınued - thıngs to do ın Istanbul!

Crete

Crete - historically, home to the Minoan civilization, Daedalus, Icarus, and the Minotaur; presently home to us and a handful of relaxed Greeks.


Our itinerary affords us three nights on the island but that's not enough by a longshot. Our dilemma: the cities, ruins, and natural/geological sights we want to see are spread out along the island (it's a four-hour drive from East to West), we're not rich enough to taxi it everywhere, and we're too strapped for time to rely on the public, intercity, bus system. Our solution: we rented a car.


There she is - our Hyundai - less than $100 for three days with full insurance. Yeah, she's a real beaut'. We named her Kidney Bean, but more recently, we've been calling her K-Bean, or more commonly, Beans.


Boy, it's fun to drive here. No (enforced) speed limits, scenic cliffside drives with huggable turns and switchbacks, and the other drivers politely share the road.


So we spent our first day at the Palace of Knossos, the hub of the Minoan civilization, where we saw the world's first amphitheatre, the world's first paved road, the remains of 3500-year-old frescoes, and the remains of 3500-year-old indoor plumbing, which in its antiquity would still probably function better than parts of present-day Cambodia. We speak from experience.

We walked the beach and ruins of Malia, spent the night in Stalida, then departed for Western Crete the next morning.


Beans got us safely to Rethymnon, a small Venitian city, where we awed ourselves with the most impressive parallel parking - ever (pictured above). The locals who witnessed this feat begged us to pose so they might craft a public monument in our honor; but alas, we only had time to walk the harbor and "old town" and hit the Cretan road.


We reached Chania, the oldest Cretan city, by early afternoon, which is where we'll spend the evening. This city has been pillaged by Turks and Venitians, but both were kind enough to leave harbors, lighthouses, and other monuments in their wake.


We're going to get cleaned up and cause some trouble tonight, since we're splitting town back Eastward tomorrow morning.


Is it Saturday? We think it might be Saturday.


Everyday is Saturday. (Contented sigh).

Eudaimonia

The ancients spent much of their time, their conversations, and their wine trying to define "Eudaimonia," or the good life.

Instead of trying ourselves to define it, we'd just as soon spend our Athenian time living it, with lazy strolls through ruin-strewn parks, climbs to scenic hills, a little bit of museum education, and long meals of umbrella-shaded rickety cafe tables.

The Athens Archaeological Museum sports a massive collection of three millenniums of Greek sculptures and reliefs. Traversing the artifacts in chronological order illustrates the Greek understanding and appreciation of the human form. They begin where the Egyptians left off - stoic figures hesitantly stepping their left foot forward with their arms pressed tightly against their sides. Within half a century, as Greece grew and diversified, the statues relaxed their legs apart, they cast their arms upwards to grasp tridents and bind their hair, and their faces softened into arrogant smiles. All this by 500 B.C.

The acropolis is the most popular Athenian sight - the Parthenon, a temple to Athena, is the most popular structure therein. It's pretty big, sure - but the pediments were the most significant features, and they're tucked away in a museum now. Our favorite acropolis spot is the Erechtheum, the most holy ancient site. Mythology maintains that this is where deities Poseidon and Athena competed to become the patron God of the city. Poseidon struck the ground with the butt of his trident and made a huge gash in the floor; Athena created an olive tree - you can tell by the city's name that she won (and you'd have to agree if you're a fan of kalamata olives or dirty martinis).

From the acropolis, we followed the ancient paths (or what remains of them) down to the ancient theatres, and further downward to the ruins of the Athens agora, once the site of the marketplace, legal buildings, and the corners where Socrates and Aristotle rapped about Eudaimonia.

If you have a little imagination, you'll probably be most impressed with the Temple of Olympian Zeus. The Corinthian columns stand 17m high, but only fifteen of the original 104 still remain (see picture of Sara in previous entry).

We've been privileged enough to sit and journal at these sites (we're sitting on agora rubble as we write in our notebooks) and enjoy the sun - it's a delightful precursor to a late dinner of olives and Baklava (the Mediterranean dessert, not the mountaineering facial accessory).

We did upload the photos for Kilimanjaro and the safari, in case you haven't seen them yet.

Up next: Crete.