Somewhere on the Globe

30,000 miles and 20 countries, we’ve accomplished something I only dreamt about while growing up – taking a year off to travel overland around the world. Cobbling together a potpourri of public transport, we somehow managed to make it around this wonderful globe and muddle our way through the lumpy visa procedures. 372 days later, I’m nervously tapping my feet 32,000 feet above America’s heartland as we cruise across washboard currents of air while composing our final blog, headed back to sunny California on the final leg of our amazing journey. Sometime after midnight we’ll arrive in Petaluma and triumphantly walk the final two blocks to our humble little abode on Myrtle Court, our memories emblazoned with a lifetime of stories and an inventory of many wonderful and delightful characters we met along the way.

Mayun, who taught and drilled us on the finer points of the Balinese language, the wonderful group of students who treated us to a communal hot pot dinner up in the mountains of China, RaRa the teasingly delightful elephant, the persistent and lovable DVD man of Yangshuo, charming Gabriela in Znojmo and Miss Joy in Soppong, Will and the gang in Gilly Twawangan, Captain Iwanowski and the crew of the Isadora, the informative and helpful Mr. Cheng of Huang Shan, Ubud’s most gracious host xxx, who thoughtfully replenished our hot water throughout the day, so many people have enriched our lives the last twelve months – know that you’ll always be in our thoughts.

Having spent the last two weeks in Wisconsin, we’ve come to realize the value of family ties, those connections so frequently taken for granted, something to be cherished and nurtured along the road of life. Bittersweet to spend time in our old house, once so full of life as the nine of us contended for space and privacy, I was moved by the sudden discovery of hidden nails and an assortment of fishing lines above the living room door, an enchanting remnant left there by my father, evidence of so many Christmas trees which adorned our living room, tied every year to prevent an accident. Emotions flooded me as I recalled the many joyous Christmas evenings crowded together in a celebration of love, our dear mother in her red holiday sweater dispensing her cherished cookies and trademark ham, with family and friends dropping by to toast the new year.

It was a rewarding two weeks in Wisconsin, a fitting ending to our long journey. Visiting our nephews in Notre Dame, celebrating Nathan’s big high school football upset, sorting through centuries old scrapbooks and piles of photographs, culling personal souvenirs from a room of mementoes, meeting brother Pete’s new girlfriend Betty, we managed to squeeze a lot of family time into our schedule while we helped to clean up and paint the old house. This morning, giving longtime neighbor and forever best friend George a final tearful hug, we left behind more memories than any one person ever deserves, reverently passing through each room for perhaps the last time, every nook and cranny so familiar and intimate.

Chiseling off the Pfeffer nameplate from the front doorbell in one last act of finality, we grudgingly threw our bags in the car, not at all ready to leave but knowing that we must, and with one last look around, waved goodbye to the folks, sure to be proudly standing behind the windows as they always did when we drove away. We’re the luckiest people in the world right now as we head home, with great families and an optimistic future awaiting our arrival.

Fulfilling a lifelong dream, we wish you all the best, and leave you with some of the wonderful people who enrich our lives, some who hopefully will be around for many years to come, others from the past, left behind but not soon forgotten. Finally, we’re living proof that you can live your dreams, that you can and should follow your passions, that you can accomplish anything you put your mind to.

                                                                                       

                                                                              

A deep primordial rumbling washed over my slumber, disturbing me from my dreams in the middle of the night. After spending two and a half days in port, our freighter Isadora was finally leaving the port of Ijmuiden, one of the main shipping ports on the coast of the Netherlands, on its way to America, filled with 22,000 tons of steel rolls destined for automakers back in the states.

At 2:00 AM, calculating and sluggish, the 700 foot long Polish freighter inched from its berth and threaded through the harbor towards the open sea, the deck awash with activity as ropes were stored and anything loose on deck securely fastened. For the next fourteen days, this vessel and its 4 passengers and 19 Polish crew members, would be our home as we complete the last leg of our twelve month, 30,000 mile around the world adventure.

 

Consuming 26 tons of fuel each day, we steadily crawled across the North Atlantic towards the St. Lawrence Seaway, where we would ascend a series of locks and arrive at the plateau of the Great Lakes, 600 feet above the sea level of the Atlantic Ocean. We intended to disembark in Cleveland, Ohio while the Isadora continued on to other ports of call in the Great Lakes, replacing its load of steel with grain and returning across the Atlantic. Until freezing weather locks out access to the Great Lakes, this cycle is repeated twice a month, generally April through November.

Unsuccessful in my efforts to convince my wife of the merits of taking a 21 day freighter across the Pacific from San Francisco to Singapore at the outset of our adventure, I succeeded in selling the shorter 14 day trip across the Atlantic, especially since it terminated in the Midwest, where we were going to visit with family for a few weeks. Safely fortified with twelve bottles of wine and a dozen or so books, we perilously ascended the swaying gangplank and checked into the owner’s suite, a modest room across from the pilot deck, certainly a comfortable home for the next 14 days.

Blessed with perfect weather, we tracked steadily at 14 knots through the English Channel, the white washed chalky cliffs of Dover clearly visible off starboard, as we shared the shipping lane with a collection of vessels heading towards the open sea, those leaving on the right and those arriving on the left. Having free reign to roam everywhere on the ship but the engine room, we spent many hours a day in the bridge, where the pilot on duty patiently explained the radar system, the navigational maps, the different kinds of vessels, the rules of the sea and other interesting nuggets of maritime information.

By the end of the second day, we left the relative calm and congestion of the English Channel and headed into the North Atlantic, maintaining a steady bearing of 263 degrees towards Nova Scotia, a six day journey. Away from the protection of England and France, the sea turned angry, as books and anything not put away went flying about the room, while our vessel clumsily slumbered through the Atlantic swells, pitching and yawing in an unpredictable rhythm. Not yet acclimated to the rolling, we both wisely took some Dramamine to settle our internal gyroscopes.

The third day brought calm seas and not a vessel in sight, as the Isadora rode the manageable swells up and down, a rather welcoming turn of events. I spent some time in the pilot house while the 2^nd Mate was calculating our vessel’s position, when much to my surprise, observed twenty or thirty dolphins giddily hop scotching across the waves, destined for southern waters and eagerly escaping the clutches of the impending northern winter.

Soon the unpredictable weather turned again, as the swells gained height and the Isadora staggered through rougher waters, an obvious storm somewhere over the distant horizon. During breakfast the captain announced we would have an evacuation drill at 9:00 AM, and when the time came the wind was howling and the vessel was swaying as the crew and passengers assembled on the top deck. Hanging on for dear life, we hesitantly climbed into our escape boat and buckled in, all the while I’m worrying this escape boat will catapult into the sea it’s now become so rough and I calculated what to do if that situation were to develop. Mercifully, the drill ended and we quickly escaped back into the warmth of our cabin, although we did have a few laughs over the situation, after all, the captain could not have picked worse weather to conduct the drill.

Dawn brought no end to the turmoil of the ocean, but still it was much better than the poltergeist inspired second day at sea when everything flew about the room. We relaxed around our cabin and adapted to the continuous swaying of the boat, our heads like bobble head dolls, first left, then right. That night, we were invited to the captain’s quarters for some Polish Bison Vodka and cookies, a treat to facilitate a restful sleep later on. That evening we ceaselessly rolled in our bunks, the clinking bottles in the refrigerator resonating like a cheap xylophone as books restlessly shifted on the shelves despite our best efforts to secure them. Drifting off, I nervously dreamt of the movie ‘The Perfect Storm’ as we moved further from the comforts and security of landfall.

Relentless, the irritable ocean persisted for yet another day and night with objects pitched about our cabin in the middle of the night, presenting a mine field to negotiate when awakening and trying to find the bathroom. Nearing Newfoundland, the weather was cooling with a fall bite in the air chasing away any illusions of an Indian summer, as we comforted ourselves in the cabin, unconsciously swaying to the inaudible songs in our heads. Nonetheless, we persisted in moving about the ship like a couple of drunken sailors, timing our moves to take advantage of the rocking – moving on the downswing, pausing on the upswing. Not since disco nights in the 70’s have I moved so clumsily about a room.

One night at dinner, the captain noted that we would be passing through a hurricane, an unusual occurrence so far north in the Atlantic, in fact the first one in 17 years. Marge’s eyes just about popped out of her head when she heard that, while the captain then explained that we would just about be in the protection of Nova Scotia when we met up with storm so not too much to worry about, little consolation for my wife, unfortunately. As it turned out, the hurricane was pretty much spent and neutered by the time we intercepted.

                   

At last we entered into the shelter of Newfoundland as I spotted land off starboard late one afternoon and the seas turned uncharacteristically calm. All day the fog had persisted, limiting visibility, until late in the day when I looked out our porthole and saw a flock of seagulls gliding opportunistically next to the vessel – a sure indication that land was at hand after 6 days in the open ocean. Soon we were in the St Lawrence Seaway and passing by an unusual pod of white whales off our bow, with everyone on deck exchanging binoculars for a closer look. Patiently lumbering upstream for the next 4 days, passing first Quebec, then Montreal and Toronto, we would incrementally step our way through the locks, elevating our vessel unto the plains of the Great Lakes, first to the level of Lake Ontario, then another series to the level of Lake Erie.

 

Soon after Quebec, we encountered the first of seven locks on the St. Lawrence Seaway, each lock elevating the vessel 20-40 feet, ultimately matching the height of Lake Ontario (around 200 feet). Using a local pilot to guide us through, the Isadora gently squeezed into the narrow lock with hardly a foot to spare on either side, a one hour time consuming maneuver with minute adjustments in steerage and power called out to the helmsman from the deck of the bridge by the pilot. Within the pilot house, commands echoed throughout the entire process, ‘port 10’, ‘dead slow’, ‘hard starboard’, ‘aft thrust’, the precise maneuvering of such a large vessel always under control. Finally, safely moored, the lock doors were closed, water was fed in, and the 40,000 ton vessel groaned and creaked as it was uplifted in a matter of minutes, before continuing on its way to the next lock and meticulously repeating the process.

Finally exiting unto Lake Ontario, we cruised across the sullen waters under stormy conditions for about 8 hours before arriving at the second series of locks, the Welland Canal early in the evening. All through the evening, for the next 10 hours, the Isadora would repeat the process, the crew rotating every four hours throughout the night while we slept away, heedless of all the activity occurring outside our cabin. The next morning before breakfast, we had exited unto Lake Erie for our final 12 hour run to Cleveland, Ohio, our final destination.   

The four day journey through the St. Lawrence Seaway and canals was fascinating and beautiful as we steadily threaded our way through the waterways, past islands populated with summer cottages and small towns tucked away in coves, the banks splashed with the colors of autumn, a bite of chill in the air, and the honking of geese expectedly heading south for the winter. Standing in the pilot house and admiring the impressive scenery that passed by the vessel, we remarked how odd it must look to the people on shore, as they sat in the front yards of their cute little cottages while 200 feet offshore a 700 foot long freighter slid by.

Four thousand miles of open ocean over the course of 14 days, this is not an adventure for those prone to seasickness, as the North Atlantic can get a little rough. Not being a cruise ship you need to create your own entertainment and keep yourself busy. That being said, we thoroughly enjoyed the days at sea in the company of the working crew as Captain Iwanokski and the entire crew were quite welcoming and friendly. The Isadora is less than 10 years in service and was very clean and modern while we dined with the crew members in the mess cabin three times a day with Polish influenced meals generally on the menu.

Finally arriving at our destination in Cleveland, we bid farewell to the crew members and with one last look at our little cabin, closed the door and headed down to disembark. It was the perfect ending to our magnificent adventure around the world, a relaxing though sometime nerve racking experience we’ll not soon forget. Between the two of us we read fifteen books, while I worked on 5 travel articles and organized the few thousand digital pictures we have stored on our laptop. Falling asleep while being shaken awake is challenging, yet I look forward to my next adventure at sea, although I might have to go alone, my powers of persuasion do have their limits.

Now back in Wisconsin (love those camouflage beer cans just in time for deer season), we’re catching up with the family and enjoying the autumn season as we help out with cleaning out the old homestead and applying a little paint here and there. We will be flying home on the 21-October, so it will be one year and one week we’ve been away. We both did love the freighter and would recommend for the right person with an adventurous attitude, and it will be hard to top the freighter stories Marge is passing along – she really did love her little Isadora. Our little $90 camera finally wore out after 30,000+ pictures while we were on the freighter, so it was difficult to post good clear shots - these were the best I could come up with.

My irrational fear of flying was validated and fortified when the plane burst into applause upon touching down in Einhoven, a small industrial town in the south of the Netherlands. Surely, others on the plane were also relieved to have landed safely, something maybe not so certain when flying the crowded budget airline dominated skies of Europe. Nonetheless, the flight was a delight with the cabin attendants intent on selling as much overpriced food product as they could in the allotted two hour flight time. With a Southwest style of cattle car loading, the plane was jam packed with young kids having a good time as we were loaded on to shuttle buses, transported to the tarmac and routed up metal stairways unto the plane. Hey, disembarking on arrival, I felt almost presidential as I stepped from the plane and slowly descended the metal steps leading unto the asphalt tarmac. Celebrating its fifteen minute premature arrival with a flaunting race track blast of the trumpet, the last stressful hurdle of the trip was complete.

Hopping on a one hour express train to Utrecht, about in the south of the Netherlands, we checked into a rather bleak and uninspiring room at the Little Siam Hotel. Living up to its name, the room was generously called little, when in fact it was more like a closet with two single beds crammed into the available spaces. At 55 euros, it was the cheapest place in this town, rather depressing although it was only for one night. The next day, we moved to the Strowis Hostel, an old 17^th century building taken over by an energetic group of volunteers and turned into alternative accommodations with related cultural events. Our room was lovely, the place was packed with young people, and we were overjoyed to have space and not have to take turns changing into our clothes.

Utrecht is a very cool city, with more bicycles than cars by about a 100 to 1 ratio, the streets ringed throughout by a series of canals with huge and obviously very old trees shading the banks with many old buildings turned into yuppiefied stores, cafes and bars. Very enchanting, it’s known as the shopping heart of Holland and it’s easy to see why, as you could spend a couple days doing window shopping at the many clothing, textile, galleries, kitchenware, furniture or book stores around town. At night the town explodes with activity as people crowd into the outdoor cafes and bars generously spread along the canal banks or cruise the canals on the many entertainment barges, perhaps catching an off key rendition of an Elvis song.

Bicycles are everywhere as the principal means of transport, nothing fancy, just the plain old one speed bikes from my youth, with separate bike lanes running throughout town and further into the countryside. One needs to be careful crossing the street, first you cross the pedestrian lane, then look both ways in the bike lane, then the same for the bus lane, likewise for the car lane, then reverse the process to the other side – there’s always a lot of traffic, be it walkers, bikers, buses or cars. I always thought the Netherlands was a cool country, with the emphasis on outdoor activities, although everyone seems to be a smoker – ride a bike all day, then stopping for a beer and a smoke, seems like exclusionary behavior. Also, where else but Holland can you sit around in your hotel room eating those genuine trademark windmill cookies your mom always fed you when you were a kid – the kind with the windmill imprint on the front and the almonds embedded in the back.

The Dutch are an interesting group of people. Take for instance their liberating concession to practicality, the outdoor latrine. Situated in the open plazas around town, these molded plastic latrines look more like a high tech boat anchor, but look closely and they are a 4 person latrine, all out in the open for everyone to view as you take a tinkle. No such apparatuses for the women however. They are also very liberal with red light districts, cannabis bars and a surprising absence of police. As you walk down the narrow alleyways, you’ll pass by narrow homes and apartments with large front windows that encroach on the sidewalk, allowing outside light to fill the rooms, at the same time allowing everyone to look in, as if you’re looking at an Edward Hopper picture of a diner and the occupants inside. Neat and tidy and very elegantly furnished, sleek with glossy white enamel paint, it seems odd like the people are some sort of exhibitionists, as you could stand and watch the people inside eat dinner, watch TV or just sit around and talk or read the newspaper.

From Utrecht, we took a half hour train, accented nostalgically in periwinkle siding with lime green cushions, to Amsterdam where we stopped for the day before continuing on to Haarlem, about 20 minutes outside of town. We’ve been to Amsterdam a couple of times already, it’s a great city, but decided to try another area, especially since hotels are double the money here over the other smaller outlying areas. Besides, everyone that comes to the Netherlands goes to Amsterdam when there are other great destinations in the country that are frequently overlooked – like Utrecht and Haarlem. We did revisit the Rijksmuseum, one of the nicest ones around, with a significant number of Rembrandts on display, and walked around the town enjoying the fall weather with leaves fluttering about and the canals reflecting the many stone buildings. Very lovely, but at the same time, a little too touristy for us.

Haarlem, maybe 15 minutes by train outside of Amsterdam, is a really cute little town, with all the trappings and sights of a Dutch village and few of the tourists. Staying at a lovely hotel in the main square, our double windowed room looks out on an ancient church and colorful old building, with loads of outdoor cafes ringing the perimeter. One brisk day we rented bikes and headed out to the coast, maybe a 10 mile loop, before deciding to ride up to Ijmuiden where our freighter boat, the Isadora, is scheduled to arrive today. Braving breezy headwinds we pedaled our way through the suburbs on delightful red brick bike lanes, enjoyably filled with families on their bikes out enjoying the very fall like day like ourselves. Cruising into the little town of Ijmuiden, we finally got headed in the direction of the harbor, where we saw this gigantic cruise ship anchored in the channel, Marge immediately thinking this is really the vessel we’re going back to America on, I’m thinking where the heck is my little Isadora. Turns out, the Isadora is delayed in another port and running a day late, so staying another night in Haarlem becomes a necessity, no problem, I like Haarlem.

Marge is having some anxiety over our freighter trip, especially when the dock master relayed that our trip may be delayed due to rough weather. Nonetheless, we’re ready to go, the last of our hotel reservations being booked through the 17^th of September. Then we’ll board the vessel, spend the night or two, and eventually be on our way on either the 20^th or 21st. We did find out there are two other French passengers accompanying us on our voyage, so Marge is happy that there are at least two other brave people in the world who would consider such a trip. My main concern is whether to stock up on wine or beer or both.

 

So, after almost a year of travel, we’ve just about come to the end as we enjoy the last days of our freedom and head into an uncertain future. This will be the last blog for a while since we have no internet access while crossing the North Atlantic and I've run out of U2 songs to write my stories around. For me, I could turn around and head back the way we came, continuing on for another year, canvassing through places we bypassed and revisiting places we enjoyed, while Marge is flipfloppingly torn between being rooted and being upended. But our travel war chest is depleted for now and needs to be replenished, so finding short term jobs will be a priority when we return. Teaching English, joining the Peace Corps, living overseas in an inexpensive Indonesian island are all possibilities while we still have our health and energy and adventuresome nature.

Then, who knows, traveling has always been in our blood, and the travel slow, see more method of our ploddingly overland route around the world has been more enriching than expected for the both of us. For us, staying in one hotel for a week at a time allowed us to become neighborhood dwellers temporarily – we frequented the local grocer, the local cafes, the internet guy and so one. Very rarely did we have stays of 1 or 2 nights. If you’re constantly moving around, you end up spending an inordinate amount of your precious time checking train/bus schedules, researching places to stay and reading about the next location. And on that note, I would never travel anywhere without our little ASUS EEE PC laptop, invaluable and really the only thing you need other than an ATM card and passport.

Most surprising was how easily this was done given the scale of the undertaking – the hardest part is the decision to do it, after that, it all falls rather clearly into place. And certainly we’ve been lucky to keep our health and not have one bit of problem for the entire year, with everyday being a delight and positive experience. Maybe not so much luck, for we know from beyond certain people guard our flight, timely angels from above tirelessly securing two wandering souls, welcome sentinels from our last destination before heading home, the vigilant angels of Haarlem……

4000 mummified Capuchin monks, skeletized and propped up with ropes in a centuries old monastery, secreted sculptures by Bernini and Michelangelo surprising you in hidden churches, ancient ruins littering the landscape wherever you turn, the majestic and incomparable St Peter’s Basilica with the bones of the founder reverently cached in a crypt beneath the main altar, artistic fountains fed by spring water routed through 1000 year old aqueducts, the historic artwork at the Vatican and the inspiring sculptures at the Villa Borghese, cobble stone streets trodden for centuries, the majestic and soaring Coliseum with the adjoining Forum, the hard to believe its still standing Pantheon, all the tombs of the martyrs, the old paintings, the old buildings, the old churches - yes, Rome is the Eternal City and certainly stands as the most dramatic and interesting city to visit in the world today.

Before boarding the overnight train from Vienna to Rome, we were able to spend most of the day wandering around this Austrian capital, with its many attractive buildings, weighing in for lunch at a very popular sausage festival. Arriving in Rome, we met up with Marge’s mom Cathy and sister Donna, and spent six nights in a well located upstairs apartment a few blocks from Trevi Fountain. We hit the main sites during the day and sampled a different restaurant each evening under balmy Roman skies. Being the end of August, the temperatures did get into the low nineties during the afternoon, a perfect opportunity to retreat to the air conditioned and shaded apartment for an afternoon siesta. Marge’s mom had never ventured outside of America before, so it was nice to watch her appreciation for Rome and its unique culture. Marge took the family on one of those tour buses that drives around town and shows you the sights, since there’s a lot to see, and this gives a good overview of all the sights and easy for mom to do.

Rome is indisputably one of the grandest cities in the world, a destination everyone should visit once in their lives. The greatest memorials to ancient civilizations lie throughout the splendid city, where you could easily keep yourself occupied for a week. After the Vatican, St. Peter’s Basilica and the Coliseum, choose from the many other churches and ruins that proliferate throughout town. Or just wander through town and marvel at the many piazzas, fountains or curbside cafes. The amazing aspect of Rome is the variety of sights around every corner, the inscriptions in Latin that are emblazoned everywhere, the beautiful women and the handsome men dressed in their stylish attire, the many high quality museums scattered throughout town, or simply dropping in on every church that crosses your path, as they seem to be on every block. And did I mention the food - you could spend the week here and sample hundreds of pizza joints, or stuff a Panini like the locals, or sit down and enjoy homemade pasta. Marge’s mom was always so amazed that we ended up eating in the streets, as most of the cafes share the road with autos and motorbikes.

Of course, one of the highlights is St. Peter’s Basilica, the immensity of it taking your breath away when you first enter, the cut marble and sculptures everywhere, the extreme reverence of the place, the many paintings adorning the walls. There’s simply nothing like it in the world. Marge and her mom did take advantage of an opportunity to attend a Mass here which run throughout the day at the various chapels and altars that seem to be everywhere. Next door is the Vatican Museum, which you can cover in about 2-3 hours, gazing at the many treasures collected by the church over the years, a room of Rafael’s, a room of Ruben’s, the Sistine Chapel, all very elegant. I climbed to the top of the dome one late afternoon, a treat in itself, as it’s many steps wind around on the way up, almost dizzying myself as I ascended. We also had a tour of the underground crypts, a network of excavations being worked on beneath St. Peter’s, where years ago a former church was built, later covered over and used as the new foundation for the present Basilica. Here lie the bones of St. Peter, which you can see stashed away in an alcove tucked beneath the main altar of St. Peter’s, all rather interesting.

The Pantheon is most amazing, built over 2000 years ago, and still standing so majestically in Piazza Della Rotunda. Formerly a pagan temple, it now houses the tomb of the noted painter Rafael, along with other martyred Saints. How they built this temple to last this long is the most incredible feat, with its large dome suspended and supported by its own weight, and the oval opening at the top, shining brightly unto the marble floor below. A block further on is Trevi fountain, a popular gathering spot for pictures and cafes, as recessed alleyways recede and radiate down every direction, lined with places to eat.  

We were visually stunned at the Villa Borghese, a centuries old estate containing sculptures collected by a wealthy patrician family over the years. Of particular note were the five or six marble sculptures created by the masterful Bernini. How someone could take an 8 foot tall block of solid marble, chip away at it for years, and end up with something so beautiful is just so astounding. Young David, with his furrowed brow and laser eyes, his body wound like a spring, ready to launch a rock from his slingshot at the mighty Goliath. Or, the couple in love, she escaping from his clutches and metamorphasizing into a tree, the leaves so delicately carved, his fingers pressing into her thighs and creating a subtle indentation, the energy of their bodies so eloquently expressed, simply amazing. This Bernini guy has marble sculptures all around town and I tried to see them all – he is a very special talent.

From Rome, we all took a two hour train to Florence where we spent another 3 nights at a great hotel that has been converted from an old monastery. Marge and I had been to Florence a few years ago, so we had seen the main sites, but Marge’s mom and sister thrilled in the small town atmosphere of the city. Personally, I think Florence is worth a day trip from Rome, but no more, since you can get through the sites in one day, and Rome itself is so much grander and interesting to spend your time. Yet, people rave over Florence, I’m just not sure why, although Marge did like it more than me. The Duomo doesn’t compare to St. Peter’s, or for that matter a handful of other churches in Rome, the Uffizi is nice, but the Vatican collection is better, and the town itself is really overrun with tourists during the day, exaggerated because of its compact area where most major sites are clumped rather close together.

It’s best to head out early in Rome before the heat has gained a foothold and the tourists clog the ancient alleyways. Surprisingly, in the confusing and endearing manner of the Italians, many of the sites are closed at 2:00 PM for a couple of hours, so don’t be too disappointed if that church you had to see is closed when you arrive – just wait around until 4:00 PM. Our method for wandering the side streets is very effective – follow the shadows wherever they lead and stop at every church – it doesn’t matter which direction you go in Rome, there’s something that will charm you wherever you turn.

Cathy and Donna had a great time and Marge and I both enjoyed meeting up with our family in such a special location. From here we’re headed up to the Netherlands for a week, scoring big with two $29 air fares on budget Ryanair – ok, it started at $29, then there’s the boarding fee, and the taxes, and the fuel surcharge, and the baggage fee, and the online fees, and the check-in fee, and the pilot fees, so it really came to $117 each, still not so bad. So we cheated a little on our overland route, but it was very expensive to get to Rome from Northern Europe and even more expensive to go from Rome back to Northern Europe, with train fares running upwards of $500 for the two of us (not to mention the 18 hours of travel time). So despite my reluctance to fly, I sucked it up and saved a lot of money and time. We’ll be staying in Utrecht for a few days before moving to Haarlem just outside of Amsterdam.

I loved Rome, the sights, the sounds, the smells, the people watching, the history, the culture, the endearing personalities of the natives with their embellished motions accompanying every emotion they emit, the way they wear passions on their sleeve, the overwhelming friendliness and their love of life – I’ll say it now, it’s the best big city in the world – when the moon hits the sky like a big pizza pie, that's amore.

If Znojmo was any more anonymous, the Federal Witness Protection Program would stash all their people here - in fact, it would not surprise me to discover Jimmy Hoffa running the pension next to our hotel. Not even mentioned in the Lonely Planet guide, people arrive by word of mouth, an inconspicuous and little visited destination apart from the trendy and popular destinations of Prague and Cesky Krumlov. Three hours south of Prague, an hour and a half north of Vienna, this spotless little village in the Czech Republic territory of Moravia flirts with its neighbor Austria in the midst of a burgeoning wine industry, content with neglect and comfortable being overlooked as a tourist destination.

Before arriving in Znojmo, we spent three nights in Olomouc, located two hours from Krakow by train. Highly recommended by Lonely Planet, we’re not sure we’d so enthusiastically recommend the town, although it does have a modicum of charm - it’s just a little too sleepy for its size. Predominantly a university town, it has a disproportionate number of churches, all of them quite lovely and worthy of a quick peek. One of them, St Michaels, has been turned into a Museum, the likes of which we hadn’t seen in all the museums we’ve visited up to now. Award winning architects have taken an old church with all its nooks and crannies, and turned it into a fascinating walk through Christian history, with old chalices, wooden crucifixes and statues collected from the many local churches, integrated into the exposed brick work of the 200 year old monastery. Very well done and not to be missed if you’re in the area.

 

Arriving by train from the Czech town of Olomouc, we were captivated with our first sighting of the delightful village of Znojmo, as its red clay roofed homes sat supine to the dominant church spires of St. Nicholas Church high upon the hills, as if they were worshipping at a Sunday Mass. One of the oldest towns in the Czech Republic, it sits on the Dyje River, with St Catherine’s Rotunda sitting majestically at the town’s apex and flower boxes spilling bright geraniums outside every window. We spent a wonderful 8 days hiking and exploring the local area, visiting nearby villages and dining and sampling local food and beverages in the attractive Renaissance town square.

Our accommodation at the Traveller’s Hostel in Znojmo could not have been better, as we had a large brand new room with views over the nearby river and hills for a tidy $39/night and  very nice host in Gabriella. There is a wide range of accommodations in town, with many pensions offering simple rooms in the $30-40 dollar range, most of which do not have a Web site. With a population of 6,000, its compact, refreshingly souvenir shop free, very enjoyable and effortless to get lost in for a week, away from the commotion of Prague. However, this is still a sleepy town, so don’t expect a vibrant night life. In fact, on a recent Friday night, by 9:00 PM everything was pretty much shut down. There’s a disproportionate amount of babies in town, as young mothers proudly wheel their newborns around the square in high tech strollers, evidence this is more a working local village than a tourist destination. Here your pantomime skills will be put to the test, as Czech and German are the predominant languages with very little English spoken.

Bordering Znojmo is heavily wooded Podyji National Park, a vast expanse of open space that spills into neighboring Austria. Bisected and cleaved by the Dyje River, it’s laced with thoughtfully designed trails that meander through tiny local villages, groves of birch, patches of wild blueberries, fields of grapes and orchards of apples swollen with fruit. Color coded trails are frequently blazed on trees and rocks, with intersections well signed and easily identified on maps. Make sure you pick up a good map showing the color coded trails, choose your loop and distance and follow the markings through the forest. Trails are also agreeably segregated into cyclist and hiker, also clearly marked on the map.

Even more thoughtful are the many small wooden wine stands that appear along the trails as well as hospitality stations serving snacks and pints of Hostan beer. Tourist brochures tout these excursions as ‘wine cycling’, and we met many groups of friends either out for a bike ride or a walk taking a break at these thoughtful and perfectly civilized way stations, engaged in conversation and sampling the local wines. Bikes can be rented for the day in Znojmo from the Town Center, the steeple like building directly next door to the visitor’s center off the main square (although pricey at $20/day).

 

We left early one morning from Znojmo and headed to the vineyards of Sobes, about a three hour walk away, passing through the tiny villages of Popice and Konice, admiring their requisite 200 year old churches, continually charmed and blessed by the many religious shrines along the way, eventually arriving at a tasting stand overlooking a Sonoma like vineyard, my homesickness for a tasting room instantly evaporated. Notable for their sauvignon style white wines, it’s a great way to spend the day, with samples poured into shot glasses (25 cents to $2).

While in Znojmo, make sure to hop on a local bus to the delightful little village of Cizov, where you’ll find the last remnants of the infamous Iron Curtain, located just outside the village across from the surprisingly well staffed and informative visitor’s center. Here a lonely yet dutiful sentry tower looks over rusty barriers of barbed wire and a perpetually barren fifty foot swath of no man’s land, poisoned so many years ago, a lasting testament to a time not so long along when this country fell under the influence of communist Russia. Originally running the length of the border with Austria and representative of a bygone repressive government, this is the last remaining segment, now so out of place in this modern independent Czech Republic.

 

From Cizov, we followed a series of wooded trails back to Znojmo, a distance of approximately 14 miles. Routed through alternatively, surprisingly mosquito free dense forests, open fields resplendent with wildflowers and dotted with local deer stands, vineyards and local villages, we delighted in the fresh air and sights as we wound our way back into town, occasionally stumbling upon old stucco homes cunningly tucked next to gurgling creeks. Lacking a proper map of the trails, we did take a few wrong turns along the way, so do try and pick a detailed map at the visitor’s center before heading out.     

A one hour train through cornfields and vineyards will take you to the picturesque little village of Mikulov, dominated by a Baroque Chateau that sits upon a hill in the center of town. On a lazy Saturday morning, colorfully clad cyclists congregated in the town square, eager to explore the many local roads which radiate into the surrounding countryside. Cafes, souvenir shops, galleries and places to stay edge the square, while a well staffed tourist information center dispenses excellent brochures and information. As we sat and had a bite to eat, the owner dispensed homemade unfiltered wine from an old plastic jug into recycled liter soda bottles, quickly snatched up by the locals. Proving that the town is geared towards tourists, free WiFi is generously available anywhere in the main plaza. If you’re looking for more of a tourist town, this is a better choice than Znojmo.

Bordering the town are limestone foothills, home to many endangered species of plants and animals and protected as a UNESCO biosphere reserve. Scramble up Holy Hill to Saint Sebastian Church taking in the Stations of the Cross and enjoy the views to the horizon of this remarkable area. Wander down Husova Street, historically the home to the Moravian Jewish population, visit a synagogue and contemplate the many gravestones in the unique centuries old cemetery.

Both Znojmo and Mikulov have an efficient and well located transport station, with connections by bus and train to Prague, Vienna and nearby towns easily arranged. Both bus and train schedules within the Czech Republic can be viewed online at the  www.idos.cz - just check the English box at the bottom, provide both departure and arrival towns and the date and time you’d like to depart. This very effective site will display a range of options along with the cost.  

 

Home to Martina Navratilova, Ivan Lendl, Pilsner and the original Budweiser, the Czech Republic has a lot to offer with sparkling little villages, one of Europe’s most elegant cities (Prague), great regional food, a modest cost structure, loads of outdoor activities and an easy and efficient transport system for quickly whisking you from one destination to another. Centrally located, it’s close to all of the popular spots of Europe, although once here, you may decide to just stick around. Our last night here we stopped by a local eatery, where three of the locals and the waitress spent about 30 awkward minutes deciphering the menu, eventually ending up with two wonderful dishes. These are the rewarding moments of travel, when you connect in even a small way with people living a world apart from you, yet are so much the same despite the differing countries. 

 

After almost eleven months of travel, two of my favorite places along the way were the very first stop in Ubud, Bali, a delightful week spent amidst rice paddies, croaking frogs, the incessant yet soothing clickety-click of the inventive home made bird repellants, and the mysticism of this unique culture along with the week spent in Znojmo, Czech Republic, a totally unexpected surprise and a last minute fill in before Rome. So it’s only fitting that we begin and end our trip with two exceptional destinations – can’t wait to return, if fact for the right price I’d buy something here right now and spend days painting and wandering the wooded glens. Highest marks for entertainment and cultural value, it’s even better than the real thing…

 

This will be the last blog for awhile. From here we’ll be in Rome for a week or so, then head up to the Netherlands for a few days before boarding our freighter the middle of September. We may try and go down to Pompeii while in Rome, it just depends. Hope you enjoyed, we certainly did….

After our 3 day stopover in Vilnius, we headed out for the Mauritan Lakes District of Northern Poland, noted for thousands of lakes scalloped from the flat plains by retreating glaciers during the last great Ice Age. Unfortunately, our only option was an overnight bus (which continued on to Warsaw), and we exited the bus at 3:30 AM in the little Polish vacation village of Mikolajki. When I say little, I mean there was one cobbled street that ran up the center of maybe 4 blocks of buildings. Fortuitously, one of those buildings was the ‘Non Stop Bar and Restaurant’, which true to its name, was still pouring drinks at four in the morning. Dropping our bags, we had a cup of coffee and a bite to eat while waiting around for things to open up so we could look around for a place to stay.

What we didn’t know at the time was that this particular week was the busiest time of the summer for the Polish people (‘Frei’ Week which translates into ‘free’ week, the one week in the summer when all Polish people are on vacation), so everything decent was booked, and we were left with rather poor value prospects. Heading to the next town of Ruciane-Nida, we thought we’d have a better chance of finding something, so we again hopped on a local bus and arrived at the tourist office, only to be promptly told there were no rooms available anywhere in town. We then jumped on another local bus to the village of Pisz, where they did had rooms. Unfortunately, this last town was not that attractive, and rather than waste a day there, we again got on a bus around 5:00 PM, this time to Warsaw (4 hours), the capital of Poland, where we hoped to make a further connection to the town of Krakow.

 

Now this was turning into a very long day, as we arrived in Warsaw, only to find out that the overnight bus to Krakow was sold out, but we could take the midnight express train, all well and good, except that the express train gets into Krakow at 3:00AM in the morning. We had reserved one night at Sheraton in Krakow, but even then we were hours away from check-in. So, Marge and I became bums on a bench just like all the other travelers for a couple of hours, until rousted by the police around 6:00AM, when we dragged our butts over to the hotel and dropped off our bags.

 

Rather than wait around in the lobby, we thought we’d take advantage of the early hour and do some sightseeing, hoping to catch a second wind and make it through the day. That something turned out to be a day trip to the infamous Auschwitz concentration camps, about one hour by bus outside of Krakow, something I’m ambivalent about even mentioning, and even more unsure about recommending – it’s certainly not for everyone, yet from a historical and compelling perspective, something not to be missed .

I wasn’t sure what to expect, but the Auschwitz Museum is very tastefully done despite the subject matter, and it’s kind of hard to explain, but here goes. There are about a dozen former prison blocks that have been converted into the State Museum Auschwitz-Birkenau which contain various displays. Among the most poignant and disturbing was the building with the various rooms filled with personal items – there was a room of combs and brushes, another of luggage and suitcases (with names handwritten on each piece), another pile of eyeglass, another of kettles and pots, another of small baby shoes (particularly sad). Worst was the room a couple hundred feet in length filled with human hair, shamelessly shaved from the women prior to the gas chambers and woven by the Germans into rugs and mats. Another building depicted daily life in the concentration camp, another medical experimentation, while many walls were lined with pictures of prisoners photographed and documented by the Germans. Every country impacted by this concentration camp had their own dedicated building with their own local slant on things, the most moving being the one where they had rooms of life size pictures of families and victims in the good times – a couple skiing, a family at a birthday party, a group of people on a picnic – now all gone. Other countries emphasized the more graphic – photographs of executions and hangings – very tough and maybe best skipped through quickly.

Next door within walking distance is the Birkenau concentration camp, even more shocking in its scale, as you can see the wide expanse of barren wind swept land ringed by barbed wire where prisoners were crammed into leaky wooden barracks and worked to death. From the lookout tower at the entrance you gaze down upon the solitary deadly railroad track that was the terminal station for so many poor souls. At any one time, there were upwards of 200,000 prisoners here, with gas chambers killing 2,000 people at a time, their bodies lifted into the four cremation ovens above. Much of the camp was destroyed by the retreating Nazis, although the barbed wire runs to the horizon and brick chimney stacks stand as silent testimonials. One million people were innocently killed on these grounds over the course of two years – poor souls whose only misfortune was being born Jewish, selectively and systematically culled from their everyday lives, transported in cattle cars, separated from their loved ones, led into gas chambers, then unceremoniously dumped into mass burial pits or cremated. If we had a third atomic bomb, we should have dropped it on Berlin.

 

While we were touring Auschwitz, there was an outdoor Mass being celebrated with a lovely church chorus singing songs in Polish that sweetly reverberated throughout the grounds, lending a delicate and ethereal quality to the day, as if angels were singing from on high, wishing peace and happiness on those mortals who trod where so many suffered. I’ll tell you, after leaving I was ready to change my name to Smith – the current generation of Germans would rather put this shameful event in the past and move on, but right now it’s too close, too cruel and too cowardly - shame on you Germany, you’ll always carry this stain and you rightfully are the pariah of the world.

Back at the hotel at the end of this sobering day, we showered and left to walk around Krakow, investigating the town square and grabbing a bite to eat. The town itself is very lovely and compact with Wawel Castle and Cathedral dating from the 14^th century snuggled gently into the bend of the Vistula River and forming the southern anchor of the dynamic town center. Europe’s largest town square is replete with outdoor cafes, street merchants and lively crowds of tourists which is lively into the late hours of the evening. While we were there, we took the opportunity to partake in the weekend Pierogi Festival, a local Polish delicacy which is a small dough shell stuffed with either sauerkraut, potato, spinach or other meat products – something Marge’s mom makes a few time a year.  

 

Another worthwhile stop is the Czartoryski Museum, where you have the singular opportunity to view one of the five rare Leonardo Da Vinci’s on public display – ‘Lady with An Ermine’ – along with other impressive works of art. It’s quite remarkable that with a month, we’ve had the opportunity to see three of the five Da Vinci’s (two in the Hermitage) and now one in Krakow. Standing in front of this remarkable piece of art is indeed inspiring.

 

Another intriguing section is Kazimierz, the Jewish Quarter of Krakow, where Polish Jews were rounded up and executed in a local concentration camp as depicted in the movie Schindler’s List. Wander the streets and look in the old synagogues, sample some authentic Jewish cooking or visit the actual factory where the movie took place. I tried some authentic Jewish potato pancakes, but they were no where as tasty as the ones my grandmother used to make – freshly ground potatoes, compressed into patties with a little onion, then baked to a crisp in hot oil. Very historic, very authentic, very worthwhile.

Costs are high in Krakow, no doubt about it since it’s the most popular tourist attraction in the country, but it’s a great cosmopolitan attraction, and wandering the neighborhoods and soaking up the atmosphere will easily occupy you for a few days, not to mention the historical significance of a day trip to Auschwitz. The food is great, the sausage is great, the beer is great and everyone is having a grand old time in Poland. We ended up renting a small studio apartment for about $80/day for the last two nights, conveniently located 2 blocks from the train station and two blocks from old town. We probably sped through Poland too quickly - it’s quite a large country and has many attractions and sites to visit, although we’ll certainly keep it on our list to revisit. In a way, we wish Marge’s Mom could have met us here, we think she would have really loved it.

 

From here, we had many options - head west to Prague, head south into Slovakia and Hungary, or even head further into Austria. We’ve booked an overnight train from Vienna to Rome on the 27^th of August at a rather exorbitant cost of $350 (for a lousy 10 hour ride, our most expensive travel segment so far), so that’s our next milestone. Stay tuned for the last reaches of our fantastic trip around the world as our concluding destination may surprise you, a final stop in a town where I was ready to buy a house, a place so captivating it may end up being our favorite place - and the last shall be first. 

You’ve got to love these little underdogs, flipping off big bad Russia and declaring their independence, thumbing their noses at the outdated socialist model and creating and restoring traditional sovereignties. Good things are happening in these tiny Baltic States, with a vibrancy and happiness and pride so missing in Russia. Crossing the border into Estonia, we were again dismissively and grumpily searched and stamped by unhappy Russian immigration officials, then refreshingly checked and welcomed by a very smiling and effusive Estonian worker who boarded our bus and was so glad to see us. I’m starting to feel sorry for these poor souls stuck inside Russia and can only hope that soon the government can have a nationally sponsored and prescribed Prozac program to enhance their mental well being and bring something positive into their lives.

Our first stop was the city of Tallinn, capital of Estonia, population 400,000, sitting proudly on the Gulf of Finland and only recently an independent country (1991). This is a really cool town with many young people, a lively and classical old town square, shiny malls, loads of outdoor cafes and a refreshing absence of drab grey government structures so prevalent in Russia and China. We stayed a little ways outside of town in a lovely Bed and Breakfast and spent our days wandering the compact and endearing downtown area. We were hoping to travel cheaply this far north of central Europe, but things are surprisingly not that cheap, so we have to save money wherever we can from here on down, utilizing cheap local buses and less frequent sit down meals. We were surprised to find so many tourists so far north – this place is off the beaten track – but it’s August, it’s Europe and everything is going to be crowded and expensive.

Estonia itself is a land of outdoor opportunities, with loads of national parks, heavily wooded parks and a multitude of hiking and biking choices, while everyone seems to be fit and healthy and fun loving. Unfortunately, with a limited amount of time, we were not able to venture far out of town, but it looks very appealing though on the cool side. Downtown Tallinn is a cookie cutter perfect town square, saccharine sweet and loaded with just the right combination of old churches, bronze statues, outdoor cafes and lively beer pubs. One night we enjoyed a couple of liters of local brew with a couple from Berlin who were riding their motorcycles around northern Europe, well spoken and very intrepid adventurers. Another night at the same brewery, we shared our table with a group of tax attorneys from Russia, although we suspected they really were Mafia lawyers – we doubt ordinary people in Russia pay any taxes, it’s only the very wealthy.

 

We opted to skip Riga, the capital of Latvia, and moved on to Vilnius, population 600,000. The capital of Lithuania, it’s a little gem of a country, which pride fully came within a basket or so of upsetting our Dream Team a few years ago, plucky and refreshing and very endearing. Tossing our bags at a little hostel/guesthouse right off the square (Litinterp – highly recommended), we spent a wonderful 3 days in this charming town. We liked this town better than Tallinn, it was less geared to tourists, had a nicer Old Town (Eastern Europe’s largest), really friendly people, great restaurants and bars, wonderful churches and historical buildings and warmer weather due to the fact that’s it’s more inland. Is Riga worth a visit, I suppose so if you have the time, although for us hitting two of the three Baltic States would have to suffice this time around.

Just outside of Vilnius lies the small little hamlet of Trakai, an especially worthwhile day trip, where you have the opportunity to walk around a couple of sparkling lakes, visit a castle nestled on an island (built 1350-1390) and visit a church of a rare Middle Eastern religious sect – the Karaites. This small area was very, very nice and reminded me of our cottage on English Lake where our family moved for the summer to live on the lake. We did look at an upstairs room for rent that in hindsight would have been a peaceful refuge for a week or so, but again our travel compass pointed south and unlike Asia, we’re now on more of a restrictive timeline.

 

These tiny and spunky little countries are hard not to root for – after disengaging from Russia they have a fresh outlook, a young and festive population, certainly a brighter future with a seemingly highly educated group of young adults, enchanting historical sites and fun towns. All in all, if you’re looking for something a little different than the same stale old cities of Western Europe, head up here and experience freedom loving and opportunistic Estonians, Latvians and Lithuanians – you’ll certainly be warmly welcomed as they are very proud to show how far they’ve advanced in such a sort amount of time. Bravo for them.

 

Our blogs may seem to be briefer than usual, though not intended, we just haven’t been spending enough time in any one place to develop any story lines or relationships other than a one or two day stopover. We have always tried to stay a week or so in all of our locations up to now, but traveling in Europe has become a hodge podge helter skelter scramble to go south with lots of competition from other travelers for the same accommodation listings. Therefore, we’ve been spending an inordinate amount of time researching places to go, places to sleep, best and cheapest transport and so on. It’s all become too time consuming and as we reflect back, things are starting to jumble together – was that wonderful baroque church with the blue stained glass window in Tallinn or Vilnius or Krakow – did we meet that nice couple from Australia in Poland or Czech Republic? Maybe the end is in sight and I’m spending too much time fretting over what I’ll do when I get back – maybe our batteries are running on empty – maybe compared to the pleasures and unexpected surprises of Asia, Europe seems so – well, it seems like Europe, when you’ve seen one baroque church, you’ve seen them all, when you’ve seen one town square, you’ve seen them all. Maybe I’m hoping to discover something fresh that will both surprise and astonish me – like the ruins of Angkor Wat or the Great Wall of China – but it’s not likely.

Next stop is Poland, one quarter of Marge’s heritage, home to pierogis and kielbasa and hearty goulash. We’ve moved from the rice diet of Asia to the starch laden diet of Europe, with hearty beer and huge helpings. This is serious trouble for me because I love my beer and my sausage and have very little will power.

When we started this trip, there were three things I really looked forward to – the ruins at Angkor Wat, the Great Wall of China and the Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg. Arriving in this northerly city on a brand new spiffy overnight train from Moscow (maybe the best train we’ve been on so far), we were greeted with wintry blasts of cold wind from the Gulf of Finland, despite being the middle of summer. Here it was the beginning of summer with light until 11:30 in the evening and everyone was walking around in winter coats.

 

Met at the train station by a representative of our tour group, she led us to our home stay in the suburbs, a private room in a local family apartment, a cost effective solution to the high cost of lodging in this prior capital. Not sure what to expect, we gritted our teeth as she took us through the bland, concrete Soviet style high rise apartment blocks towards our destination, past graffiti sprayed walls and characterless buildings. Finally leading us up a dingy entranceway, we called the owner, got buzzed in and proceeded up to the 11^th floor on this ancient Flintstone freight elevator which buckled and groaned while grudgingly ascending, all the while wondering if this was its last trip up. Alex, the friendly owner, met us and led us through his three locked doors, into his small but charming apartment, and showed us to our room. Initially taken aback, we warmed to the accommodations over the next few days, and it turned out to be not as bad as we initially feared.

 

After Moscow, St. Petersburg has the look and feel of a European city, with its classical skyline of French colonial buildings bordering the river, with murky canals ribboning through downtown and ornate bridges spanning the waterways while statues of all shapes and designs dot the landscape. It’s really quite a contrast coming from Moscow, as it definitely feels European and cultured and classical and middle class as opposed to Moscow which has a feel of raw power and intimidation and grittiness and I don’t know – more Russian – plus you don’t see so many people walking around with alcohol here.

 

Founded in 1703 by Peter the Great on the mouth of the Neva River, the population runs around 5 million people with much of the architecture influenced by a many Italian designers and architects. Originally the capital of Russia until 1918 when it moved inland to Moscow, it later was renamed Leningrad (1924) and during World War II was under siege by Hitler’s advancing armies for 900 days. One million people starved to death during this epic holdout, yet the city held and ultimately cost Germany the war. Renaming itself St. Petersburg in the 1980’s, the city itself consists of many islands as it occupies a strategic position on the wind swept Gulf of Finland.

 

Certainly the number one reason to visit St. Petersburg is the Hermitage Museum, a former palace now packed to the rafters with a cache of fine art to rival the Louvre (an alleged 3,000,000 objects to view). The Louvre may have a more impressive collection, but remove the art from both museums and people would still flock to the Hermitage. Without the art, the Hermitage remains an impressive work of exquisite craftsmanship, each room jaw dropping and inspiring, perfectly complementing the paintings, with murals on the ceiling, mosaics and marble everywhere, a chandelier hung room etched in gold – everything beautifully rendered and composed. And when you tire of viewing the art, redirect your gaze through the oversized windows and admire the colorful classical skyline or the river and canals snaking alongside.

As far as the art, there’s a room of Reuben’s, another of Rembrandts, two of the five Leonardo Da Vinci’s on display to the public, twenty or thirty Gauguin’s, an equal number of Matisse – we were completely overwhelmed by the breath and depth of the art on display. Name a painter and it’s likely there’s one on display here (or close by in storage as they rotate pieces). And not just paintings, with ancient marbled sculptures occupying a number of rooms, fine old porcelain objects, a remarkable collection of Egyptian artifacts (including an unwrapped mummy), exquisite textiles and some of the most amazing detailed wood cabinetry you’ll ever see.

 

To avoid the long lines, we bought a two day pass for $52 which allowed us to walk to the front of the line each day. As it developed, we spent most of the first day on just the second floor, there’s just so much art and as you walk from one elaborate room to the next, it gets a little confusing – I found it easiest to use the map and cross out the numbered rooms as we left them – you can’t just wander on a whim. Every art lover should make a pilgrimage to this wonderful destination, although I wondered where the heck did the Russians get all of this art from.      

 

Although the star attraction, the Hermitage is not the only beautiful structure in St. Petersburg, as many colonial buildings line the streets, especially the main drag of Nevsky Prospekt. It’s certainly a more affordable city than Moscow, as there are street vendors where one can eat cheaply in addition to bargain rate cafes here and there. Our homestay accommodation turned out to be ok, although it would have been nicer to be one subway stop closer to town as there wasn’t really any place to walk to out where we were – it was essentially a residential area – yet the price was right. Alex the owner was very nice, and we got to spend five days in this unique city, although I never once was able to get into the place using the four supplied keys, Alex always waited up for us.

 

One night we went to a ballet performance of Romeo and Juliet at the Alexandrinsky Theatre (thanks Brock), since we really wanted to attend the Bolshoi in Moscow which was regrettably closed for repairs. We sat in balcony box seats for around $38 each, not so bad when you consider the theatre itself was rather small and rather well known and historic. And the ballet wasn’t so shabby either, although we had the choice of seeing Swan Lake and I would have probably preferred that.

 

Being this far north is certainly challenging weather wise, as it’s very cold even in the dead of summer, perhaps 70 degrees to them constitutes a heat wave. From here, we’re arranging transport over to the Baltic States – Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania – those little irrepressible rascals that escaped from the clutches of big brother Russia, to see how things are developing in their newfound capitalist and freedom loving environments. Then on to Poland and wherever cheap transportation takes us, as our cost structure has escalated dramatically since crossing the Urals from Asia into Europe.

 

With a Tony Soprano meets Boris Yeltsin fabled atmosphere, we weren’t sure what to expect after arriving in this capital city following our 5000 mile train trip across the heartland of Russia. Six dollar big Macs, gorgeous stiletto heeled Russian women right off the set of a 007 movie, midnight sunsets, a hundred brands of vodka in your local convenience store, muscled pistol packing bodyguards in body armor guarding the many Ferraris, Mercedes and Land Rovers, pin striped businessmen on cell phones, all night dance clubs – did I mention the KGB, Kremlin and Red Square.

 

Moscow is an intoxicating affront to your senses – love it or hate it, this city is a walking tavern with everyone cruising the streets holding open containers of alcohol, while high end restaurants dot the streets and police and military cast a wary eye on everyone passing by. Reeking in history, intimidating, intriguing and impressive, this eroded super power, although not for the faint of heart, is high on our list of traveler’s destinations. Not the destination for the novice traveler, this is one place you need to be on your toes and really blend into the surroundings - no flashy clothes, stick to the large crowds, don’t wander after dark, avoid all eye contact with anyone wearing a uniform.

 

Ground zero for the Cold War, historic, picturesque and essential Red Square is the epicenter of Moscow. Passing through the south entrance of Voskressensky Gates and climbing the cobble stoned entry, you can’t help but reflect on how this country was our sworn enemy for so many years throughout the Cold War. Proudly this square was used to extravagantly parade the military might of this nation and proclaim the virtues of Communism. Lenin, Stalin, Khrushchev, Brezhnev, Gorbachev, Yeltsin and Putin – indelibly etched in our consciousness - who doesn’t recognize these former leaders. Yet who can name the leaders of China or Germany or France during these same periods of history.

 

Ironically, the square is now bordered by Gucci, Armani and other designer stores on one side and Lenin’s – Mr. Communist himself - mausoleum on the other. We did get a peek at this former leader as we queued up and passed by his body lying swathed in red velvet in a rather simple and subdued setting. He looked pretty good, although Uncle Ho in Hanoi is probably the best, with the pompous Mao at the bottom of the list (bury the Chairman already and make the building into a museum or school). At the far reaches of the square sits the majestic and Disneyland like St. Basil’s Cathedral (built 1561) with its fabled onion domes, whose architects and designers were blinded after construction was completed by Ivan the Terrible to insure its uniqueness. An inspiring day to walk around these hallowed grounds and inhale centuries of history.

 

Bordering Red Square is the infamous Kremlin (from the 1150’s), somewhat disappointing in that it’s expensive and limited in its attractions open to the public. There are maybe half a dozen Russian Orthodox churches you can visit, although when we were there two were closed for restoration, while most of the other official government buildings were off limits and heavily guarded by unsmiling military. Nice overlooks of the city, a pretty garden, a couple of cathedrals, but for $15 each, although essential, it’s not worth it – Red Square is better and free.

 

Built back in the 1930’s and 1940’s, the Metro system is not as spiffy and modern as Hong Kong or Shanghai, but more than makes up for it in extraordinary character. With 15 lines and 150 stations, it’s convenient and efficient with trains scheduled every three minutes. With no self service ticketing kiosks, you’re treated to the rare pleasure of queuing in line to buy your tickets from a frumpy Soviet woman who grumpily dispenses your tokens with nary a smile or acknowledgement as if it’s your fault she’s there and not at home boiling cabbage and potatoes and watching TV. Arriving at each Metro platform is like stepping into a time capsule – Mayakovskaya (built 1938) with it’s patriotic mosaic themes emblazoned on the ceiling, Komsomolskaya (1935) - elegantly festooned with crystal chandeliers and marble, Ploshchad Revolyutsii (1938) and its 76 life sized bronze figures, Novoslobodskaya (1952) elaborately adorned with remarkable stained glass windows (in a subway station!!!), Kropotkinskaya (1935) encased in marbled walls and accented with marbled columns. All of them a work of art and reminiscent of an Art Deco motif, it’s essential to hop on and off for a couple of hours and visit the more unusual and artistic stops – and it’s only 75 cents.

 

The Metro itself is clunky yet durable in the lovable style of the Soviets, with tunnels hundreds of feet underground and people transported downwards on aged industrial strength escalators built between the two World Wars. A rattletrap of heavy gauge metal bolted together from the 1930’s and 1940’s, it’s a miracle these subways are still in service after all of these years. Careening down the tracks at haphazard speeds, the entire carriage swaying and rocking on 75 year tracks, powered by age old engines and lacking any modern technology (no digital map showing where you are like in Hong Kong), its raucous and timeless and next to impossible to talk to the person next to you because of the substantial decibel levels. Hang on, because the acceleration is uneven and immediate and the deceleration sudden and unexpected. Bouncing around on this relic is the most fun we’ve had since the public buses in Indonesia. Absolutely endearing and memorable.    

 

While visiting the monastery Novodevichy Convent, one of the more majestic churches in Moscow, we were drawn to the cemetery next door, which turned out to be one of the more surprising and memorable sites we’ve seen on our trip. The final resting place for war heroes, politicians, literary figures and other people of importance, the actual grave sites are outstanding in their artistic design, with life sized rock carvings of the actual person, or just a bust of their head, or their picture etched into granite – it’s kind of hard to describe and something you have to see to appreciate –we were blown away and wandered up and down the aisles seemingly always finding another one that outdid the last.

 

Moscow is best appreciated by hitting the streets and wandering around, as there are many classical churches and old French inspired buildings on every block (even the grocery store across the street from our hotel was a historic building). We made a stop at the Pushkin Museum and were disappointed – it’s again expensive ($15 each) with a very limited art showing. They had room after room of sculptures, except they were plaster casts of the real thing – like a fake David and so on – how bizarre. When I asked the lady at information where all the good art was, she said next door at this other museum (also $15), which we decided to pass on – after all, you can only spend so much money at these attractions. Don’t waste your money at the Pushkin.

So that’s the good of Moscow, the bad being how expensive this city is. It’s real sticker shock although we knew ahead of time to be prepared. Our Marriott Hotel wanted $40/day for internet access, a cup of coffee was $3, two Big Mac meals came to $15 (they have the largest McDonalds franchise in the world on Red Square – complete with metal detectors), there’s no way you’re going to go out and have a nice sit down meal. And there’s a disturbing lack of street food, places on the street where you can grab a cheap bite to eat – a hot dog, a crepe and so on. Forget souvenir stores, there’s nothing of value relative to the price. And it costs an arm and a leg to visit each of the sites, so you need to pick and choose carefully.

 

For the ugly, it’s the obvious chronic alcoholism so prevalent in this city, with cheap beer sold at every little claustrophobic corner store and outdoor vendor. And not just 12 ounce bottles of Miller, we’re talking 24, 32 and even 64 ounce bottles of local brew with alcohol content of 8.4%. Everyone walks around with open containers of beer while empty bottles are piled everywhere and it’s shocking to see so many people hanging out first thing in the morning with a big beer in their hands. That and the cheap vodka, where a rot gut wine sized bottle can be had for $3 at most every store in town (we at least stick to the high end brands that set you back $8).

 

And before I sign off, a quick word about our train ride across Russia – a memorable and majestic ride on one of the most famous railways in the world, something I’ve always wanted to do since I was a little kid. Across 10 time zones and almost 5000 miles, passing through 87 cities and towns, we spent 4 days and 3 nights in our 1^st class cabin enjoying the scenery, drinking vodka, reading books, sleeping, lounging about, and catching up on our blog, occasionally getting off the train for 10-15 minutes at various stops along the way. Siberia is vast and studded with birch trees and lakes, very similar to the Northwoods of the Midwest where I grew up. It seemed spring like with wildflowers blooming everywhere, as we rode along the scenic route, passing the many wooden chalets and admiring the breed of people who live here during the excruciatingly cold winters.

 

For the first day and a half we shared our individual train carriage with a group of Spaniards, who then unexpectedly got off the train in the middle of Russia – it turns out there was a total solar eclipse they were off to observe – and we were really the only people left in our car for the duration of our trip (very strange). Had we not had such restrictions on our visas, we would have gladly exited the train at that point to join this group and observe this once in a lifetime opportunity.

 

Ultimately, Moscow is a strange and lovable city for us – plenty of things to see and do, but affordability is a big issue. Great if you’re on a company expense account, not so great if you’re an independent traveler trying to economize. Fortunately, we had 2 free nights at the Marriott, a place where even the discounted rate is $400/night – certainly out of our range. Moscow is every adjective in the dictionary except cheap, yet certainly worth a visit.

 

Still, there is this underlying divide between the haves and the have nots. There are many wealthy people in Moscow, with high end designer stores everywhere, yet there are many that don’t share in this prosperity and probably never will. With alleged corruption and payoffs part of daily life, I don’t get a sense of a thriving economy so evident in China. In fact, other than natural resources, I’m not sure what Russia sells to the rest of the world. Curiously, our ATM card is blocked for use in Russia due to excessive computer fraud, something of a hassle for us since only one of our plastic cards worked for cash advances, and this is one place where you’d go to the ATM every day.

Immense, clunky and deep down lovable, the people of Russia deserve better than they have, and hopefully someday will become as successful as the other former republics who have moved further down the road to freedom. A repressive and socialist country trying to shirk off its failed communist pedigree, it has the potential, but does it have the willpower and initiative – only time will tell.

  

We’ve been on quite a few trains the last 10 months, but train #263 from Mongolia to Lake Baikal is easily the worst one. Stuck in a miniature cabin with two other roommates, we traveled for two nights and three days in a hot car without benefit of air conditioning, everyone pretty miserable and worn out over the poor conditions. Not to mention the train stopped at every little village along the way, with the train getting up to maximum acceleration only to start slowing for the next stop.

 

Worse yet, we wasted 5 hours at the Mongolian border waiting for customs and an engine car, sweltering in a stuffy carriage car as the immigration folks took their sweet time. For a while we were all allowed off the train to wander around and stretch our legs, but once customs collect your passports for processing, you can’t leave the train. And while the train is stopped at a station all bathrooms are locked. Our roommate Roy was busted for whizzing off the back of the train while we were stopped and locked out of the bathrooms – they hauled him off the train and fleeced him out of $50 – a fine they said.

Even worse was the Russian border, where another 5 hours were spent with unfriendly Russian police and other officials (including a German Shepard dog) swarming through the train, inspecting baggage, double checking your documentation, and generally being about as unwelcoming to tourists as they could. We all sat there with a pretend smile, knowing full well that at any time, someone official could find fault with your papers and kick you off the train, doomed to figure out on your own how to continue, or worse, forfeit your trip and all your money. Again, while the train is stopped at the station, the bathrooms are locked, and you’re not allowed off the train, so you needed to plan ahead to not be caught in this bathroom predicament. Prior to arriving here, the Mongolian cabin attendants had passed out plastic bags containing sleeping attire – slippers and pajamas – which the friendly Russians all confiscated when they boarded the train – thanks guys, I’m sure they’ll make nice Christmas presents to the relatives.

 

If Russia truly wants to encourage tourism, they need to send these people to charm school – first off, stop ordering people around in Russian, we’re a Westerner only car, so send someone on board that speaks English and can tell us what’s going on – secondly, your teeth won’t fall out if you crack a smile, try it sometime – thirdly, we’re not trying to sneak contraband into your country, so ease up on the searches and the sniffing dogs – fourthly, lose the paranoia about us spying on you, you have nothing we want to steal - lastly, the Cold War is over folks, so let’s simplify the complicated visa requirements and just grant 30 day visas like all the other countries in the world. You do want to encourage tourism to your country don’t you – well, friends tell other friends about their experiences, so let’s try and make it a little more pleasant next time.

After two nights and three days on this train from hell, we all gratefully arrived at Irkutsk, the gateway to Lake Baikal, where we were met and taken to a home stay on the shores of the lake in the little village of Bolshoe Goloustnoe. The lake itself is immense, and it’s really hard to get a sense of scale standing on the shore – there’s enough water in this lake to supply the world’s population in drinking water for 40 years – yes, 40 years – it’s big and it’s deep. Ringed by mountain ranges and isolated except for settlements along the southern shoreline, its waters are constantly replenished by melting snow and frequent storms – in fact for the two days we were there, it pretty much drizzled and rained the entire time. They say you can drink directly from the lake, although with a lot of litter and many piles of cow dung along the shore, I wouldn’t.

Fortunately, the other guests at the home stay were fun to be around, as we caught up with Karen and her three daughters, who are moving back to the UK from Hong Kong, and James and Becky, teachers living in Shanghai. Both nights we sat around and drank many rounds of cheap beer, after individual hour long sessions in the sauna out back. The food at the home stay was ok, although somewhat meager, and the only bathroom was an outhouse out back – yes, the old fashioned wooden house with the stinky smell to it. This is a very small and very local village with not much to do, so two nights here was plenty (the liquor store next door is open until 3:00 AM). The local people did not impress us with their friendliness, while everyone seemed to be drinking at all hours of the days. Especially disturbing were all the discarded liquor bottles along the streets and along the shores, and we thought, if they can’t keep this beautiful area clean, what hope is there?

One of the days, we went on a rather wet 5 hour hike up along the shoreline to have lunch at a fisherman’s hut, and we sat around and sampled local Siberian fish stew and pan fried pike (that’s what it looked like to me). Honestly, if you’ve seen the Great Lakes, you’ve seen Lake Baikal (and Lake Tahoe is certainly more dramatic). And I can’t imagine what winters are like in this remote forsaken part of the world. Just trekking to the outhouse out back could kill you with extreme temperatures well below zero. It’s interesting for its wooden houses and a quick walkabout and a chance to experience life in Siberia, but unless you can spend a lot of time here and get to the farthest reaches of the lake, it’s kind of over rated. That plus you have to take the crappy train and spend up to 10-11 hours going through customs, and I just don’t think it’s worthwhile. Mongolian, for us, was a better experience.

 

Going back and spending one night in Irkutsk was far more interesting, as this small town is about an hour from the lake and has many old buildings, restaurants and shopping. From here you can hop on a boat that will take you to the lake where you cruise around for the day – something to consider if you do decide to visit. My imitation Nike shoes that I purchased in China – I really should have known better – came apart at the seams after one week, so, fortunately, there was a real Reebok store in town where I was able to get a legitimate pair of shoes that should last the rest of the trip.

 

From here we get on train #9, 5000 miles non-stop to Moscow - three nights and four days - although we’ve upgraded to 1^st class so won’t have to share it with anyone. Sometimes you have good roommates, sometimes you don’t, and we didn’t want to chance it for that long of a time, although so far we’ve been very lucky. Russia is a strange country as its people seem not yet accustomed to dealing with tourists – we hear the word for No – nyet – quite a bit, and many shrug rather than try and help you out. Hopefully, the next generation of young folks will move this country forward since they seem friendlier and more open to the outside world, as well as being interested in where you’re from and what you do. Somewhere in this vast countryside there lurks an alleged superpower…