Carpet Shopping - Istanbul, Turkey - February 2016

We were given a recommendation by a friend of friend in Minnesota who used to import rugs with her husband to resell. She is Turkish.

With a hand written note in Turkish and a name on a scrap paper, we sought this person out. After flexing my best internet sleuthing techniques, we came up with three possible locations for his shop. This guy is a wholesaler and does not have a website, relying on word of mouth and personal connection. Not to mention, google maps has met its match in Istanbul. Addresses rarely pinpoint the right spot. You're lucky if it directs you to the correct block. 

We found his shop in the basement of a rug bazaar off the beaten track. We walked into a moderately sized room, stacked to the ceiling with folded "kilims", two guys sitting on the floor performing repairs. We asked, "Nedeem?" One of the men affirmed with a nod and quickly got up, shook our hands then stepped out, obviously in search of someone.  A few minutes later, he returned along with a man in a suite and wool overcoat. Short, dark complected, droopy jowls giving him a boxy face. Middle aged. He kinda looked like my middle school basketball coach,  Mr. Ortiz. He immediately knew of our contact in the states, including some specific details he couldn't have made up. We had our guy.  We gave him the hand written note, and he pulled up some stools.

He offered us tea (the first of many we would have that day), and a few minutes later it was delivered. Tea is consumed in little glass tulip shaped cups, served on a saucer with two sugar cubes and a small spoon. 

 

Nedim spoke decent english, but didn't do much talking, not much smiling. We talked about ourselves to fill the gaps, tying to build rapport. When we mentioned carpets, he said "not now, now we drink tea." After tea, Nedim suggested we get lunch. We walked around the corner to an ottoman place where you choose what you want behind the glass, similar to the fast food place we visited in Sarajevo. Nedim was clearly a regular here. The food was extremely flavorful. Whipped eggplant, vine leaf stuffed morsels, couscous, baked beans....

Nedim bought lunch and we headed back to the shop.

Over tea, Nedim started opening up as we began to talk about carpets. At his direction, his assistants started digging into the stacks and unfolding the kilims for us to see. Turkish kilims are carpets woven on a loom, usually with wool, and don't have much pile.

The assistants unfolded most of the kilims in that room and the adjacent room in pretty rapid succession as Nedim described their origin and age and whether they were "nice" or "cheap". We looked at close to a hundred.

Cheap being a relative term, of course. All of the kilims are vintage, the older the "nicer". Old age doesn't add value simply because it's old, but also because it signifies quality. Older kilims don't contain synthetic fibers and the wool is hand spun. Also, the older rugs use natural dye, not synthetic, affecting the way the piece looks over time.They were also made by women, mainly for personal family use. 

Time for more tea.

We then went back through each rug, eliminating about half of the pile. Then we did it again. Drank more tea. Then narrowed it again,  until we ended up with about 10. Each time the assistants having to fold, unfold, move, stack. Lots of work.  This process took several hours.

We ultimately settled on buying two kilims, one really nice, the other "less" nice. We bought twice as many as we planned on and went wildly over budget, but are satisfied and excited with our purchase. They are beautiful, intricate, colorful and quite large.

Not surprisingly, carpet sellers are going to strive for the largest margin they can, opening the door for negotiations. I'm sure Nedim made money, but we feel comfortable we got a fair deal without a contentious blood bath negotiation due to our personal connection. Knowing she would see our purchase, he was adamant we got something nice and we believe this kept him somewhat honest on price. (Not to say we didn't negotiate. ... Competing in negotiation competition in law school,  Clare was one of the best in the country.)

The deal being done, we had more tea. The kilims would be ready to pick up in a few days after some repairs and prep for transport. We were exhausted.

Nedim then said, "Wednesday we go to music.  Meet here at 9 pm, get some sleep." (The current day was Monday.)

On Wednesday evening, we wandered the streets near the kilim shop, looking for a place to eat before we would meet nedim and go out.  He happened to be outside talking to someone and spotted us down the block. He whistled and hailed us over. He wondered why we were so early.  We told him we were looking to grab a bite to eat before meeting him in a couple hours. He said, "no,  we go to dinner together, I told you not to eat". When we thought he told us to get some sleep, he actually said "don't eat." Whoops.

A little embarrassed we said no problem, we'll go get tea and come back.  He insisted that he take us for tea and show us a place where men play cards and other games. 

The entrance was on an alley and there was no sign.  We walked down the stairs into a smoke infested parlor. A couple billiards tables and a bunch of card tables. Men playing cards, backgammon and what looked like rumicube. Everyone smoking and drinking tea, not a drop of alcohol in the place.

We pulled up chairs to watch some of Nedim's friends play cards.  It appeared that four of them were playing euchre. We drank a couple glasses of tea. Once we had been in there long enough to be sure our baby was going to be born early and with low birth weight from smoke exposure, we gave Nedim the nod that we were ready to go.

We jumped in Nedim's car, which he happens to park right by sultanahmet square and the exact spot of the suicide bombing a couple weeks prior. We mentioned the bombing, and he said it happened 10 minutes after he had parked,  and he heard the blast while walking to work.

We sat in bumper to bumper traffic making our way out of the center. After an hour in the car and traveling 12km, we arrived.  The place was right by Nedim's house and he was a regular. We were sat right next to the stage.

A bottle of Raki ('rocky') was brought over and a bunch of mezzes (cold appetizers, spreads etc that are typical Turkish cuisine).  Raki is an anise flavored liquor like ouzo. When mixed with water (the common prep), it turns milky white. 

We ate and drank while the band fired up.  It was a traditional anatolian group with 5 members. The lead playing a baglama (a guitar like thing with a rounded body), a violin, flute, keyboard and percussion. It was loud and very upbeat. 

After a while, Nedim ordered spicy chicken wings as our main dish (famous at this place, supposedly).

The main attraction was then introduced, to sing with the house band backing him up. Standing out in front of the stage, dressed in a suite, flamboyant like a lounge singer. He would take requests that people write on napkins for the waiters to deliver. 

He was all over the room.  Often handing the microphone to audience members for an impromptu duet. Sometimes allowing them to sing full songs.  It was like a concert and karaoke all in one.

At one point, several people started dancing a traditional number. In a line, men on one end, women the other.  They gyrated their shoulders up and down in a fast rhythm, kicking feet in and out. 

There were maybe 50 people in the place.  It probably held 300-400. It was highly entertaining and also surprising how hard they were partying on a regular Wednesday night with an empty house.

It reminded me of the wee hours of a wedding reception where the only ones left are the really close friends and the really drunk people, keeping the party alive like there is no tomorrow. 

At about 1:30am we were exhausted, I was half drunk, our ears were ringing and the second hand smoke was making us hoarse. Any developmental issues or character flaws our child has, I'm going to blame on this night.  We suggested that we leave, knowing Nedim would otherwise stay all night. It literally took us a week to recover. 

The following week, we ventured across the golden horn back to the shop to collect our wares. We drank a few cups of tea while the assistants showed us the kilims again and then packaged them into a duffel bag weighing 45 pounds.

Visiting Turkish Bath (Hamam) - Istanbul, Turkey - February 2016

The term "turkish bath" has never conjured a specific image for me. Rather, invoking a sensation of luxury and intrigue, foreign culture and ritual of a distant past.

The term took on very tangible, hot and sweaty, manifestation when Clare and I visited Budapest on our honeymoon in the summer of 2014.  We "took the waters" at the historic turkish baths on multiple occasions, forming some of my fondest memories of Hungary. There, it means an ancient complex of mineral baths and saunas of varying temperatures and atmospheres. Massage and other wellness services also being offered, but self guided relaxation being the most prominent activity.

The hot spring and sauna enthusiasts that we are, really took to this new variation of the theme.  We are accustomed to these activities in undeveloped natural solitude, the ancient and elaborate setting in Budapest added a fun new element.

A local north east minnesota masseuse and spa owner told us that his visit to the turkish baths in istanbul many years ago literally changed the course of his life. (In hindsight, i can see many turkish bath influences at his oasis on the north Shore of lake superior) We were sure to heed his advice.

After some Internet research, Clare decided that,  unfortunately, due to her pregnancy that she should refrain from going.

There are many hamams in istanbul, and most of them that are findable online are geared toward tourists. The reviews are all mixed (probably because people are either prude and unadventurous, or they expect a spa treatment more customary to their home country), but one theme was consistent, over priced.

Luckily for me, there was a less advertised place down the street from our apartment in old town. This was a very "local" street, so I thought it should bode well. Also, very minimal online presence.

After inadvertently walking in the seperate women's entrance (sexes are split up), the experience began.

I walked down a flight of stairs into the courtyard of a three story room lined with changing rooms,  obscured by clear plate glass and some stained glass. Kinda like a small hotel lobby.  A large domed ceiling.

There were a couple old men sitting around on benches, one got up and greated me at the door with a laminated piece of paper. The two options were written in english, either a simple self service entrance fee, or the complete package including sauna, scrub and massage.  For 50 lira, i took the full package (the big tourist hamams offer the same for 150).

I was led to one of the rooms and handed a pestamal, a stiff table cloth looking thing, that i was to wrap around my waist. The room literally was all clear windows, so no privacy. My kind of place!

After changing, another man showed me into the hamam, gesturing that the "sauna was back there." He then muttered in broken english to get him when i was ready.

I felt only mildly self concious about not really knowing what to do. I had done enough prior research to know the general routine. Plus, I have uncanny mimicry skills. Experience with saunas and being naked amongst strangers also helps (don't ask).

The marble room had a large marble platform in the middle under the domed ceiling and was lined with marble basins perched on a six inch step. The basins each had a hot and cold tap (really hot, really cold) and no drain (they kinda looked like toilet bowls). There was also a row of semi private marble stalls, each with its own basin. The sauna was in the back corner. There were a few other people in there, each sitting by a basin on the step, dousing themselves with water using a little plastic dish. The taps running full blast, the basins over flowing.

I sat down at a basin and started copying. After i drenched myself, i moved into the sauna. It was a marble room with wooden planks covering the bench, heated by steam pumped under the benches and was very hot.  It wasn't really steamy, though, like a steam room.  It was more like a dry sauna. There was a basin in the room.  I settled in, feeling at ease.

After a few rounds of sauna, i was sitting on the large marble platform cooling off when a man came up to me and asked "massage?"  I said yes, and he led me to one of the stalls and told me to wait. I sat on the step near the floor and continued to douse myself with cold water.

A few minutes later, the man who initially showed me the hamam appeared before me. Large belly, grey hair, balding and draped in a pestamal like mine.  He had a towel over his shoulder, a bar of soap in his hand and a black scrubber pad. I felt vulnerable as i looked up at this half naked figure filling the stall.

After getting the water in the basin just right, he doused me a few more times.  He then got down on one knee and started rubbing me with the rough scrubber mit he had attached to his hand.

He tilted my body forward and scrubbed my back, then my chest and my arms.  He held my arm out and rested my hand against his chest.  The scrubbing motion jostled my arm causing my fingers to course through his chest hair.  It was oddly intimate.

He moved onto my legs, propping my ankle on his hip as he knelt and scrubbed my sauna softened, wet skin.

The pad was rough and he was strong and deliberate. I wouldn't call it relaxing.  He doused me with water, and i could see coils of skin rinse away.

He then led me to a marble bench where i laid on my stomach where he proceeded to lather soap on my back. He simultaneously washed and massaged my back, legs and arms. Again, strong deliberate motions, not particularly enjoyable in the moment. He rubbed the back of my legs so hard, my knee caps painful as they ground into the hard marble.

I turned over and he continued with my chest, stomach and legs. He propped my legs, one at a time,  on his hip and rubbed hard, my knees hyper extending. When he got to my left leg, (knee recently operated on), I kept it bent to protect my knee. He did not like this.  After a few grunts and hand gestures, he conceded that he needed to "go slow".

He then doused me several times, rinsing away all the soap. I was led back to the stall where he washed my hair and beard. Once i was thoroughly rinsed, he left me to relax.

I emerged from the hamam and was wrapped in towels and sat on a bench. A cup of tea was set in front of me. There were a couple of other middle-aged turkish men relaxing.

After 20 minutes I dressed and headed on my way,  squeaky clean and refreshed.

(Unfortunately i don't have any pictures of my experience, but if you follow this link you will get the idea. )

Istanbul, Turkey - Old City - February 2016

Despite the suicide bombing that took place in istanbul a few weeks ago,  targeting German tourists in the popular Sultanahmet square, we decided to maintain our plan to visit.

The easy thing to do would have been to cancel and go somewhere else. Somewhere warm, we even thought. I personally never wanted to change plans. To me, getting caught up in a tragedy, whether in an "exotic" place like Istanbul, on a routine domestic flight, at work or at a party comes down largely to bad luck. These random occurances have very low statistical probability of happening.  It's bad luck. Period.

In light of the zika virus shit storm that has errupted, I'm actually feeling vindication for not making a rash decision and heading somewhere warm. By opting not to change plans and visit (with my pregnant wife) a "safe" place such as mexico, the Caribbean or south east asia, all "plan B" options that we (thankfully!) scuttled, we avoided a quantifiable threat.

We got to Istanbul around midnight. Originally the plan was to arrive mid day, but our turkish airlines flight was rescheduled, probably to consolidate. We decided to book a hotel room for the first two nights because we wanted to avoid the potential arrival hassle that we commonly experience with airbnb. On top of that we were arriving so late. Wandering the streets of a big unknown city in the middle of the night with our luggage didn't seem prudent. So, we booked a hotel and paid the extra to have a driver waiting for us at the airport.  Normally something we wouldn't do, but for 25 euro, it was a reasonable price to pay for peace of mind.

The hotel was modest and inexpensive,  but it included breakfast and the staff was very nice.  There are millions of hotels in Istanbul, competition is on the side of the consumer.

We both slept really hard that night.  Our bed in Greece was very narrow making it difficult to sleep there.  It was nice to be in a full queen.

If you look at an Istanbul map (and you should),you'll see that the old city with many iconic sights (sultanahmet square, ayasofya, blue mosque etc) is separated from the more modern bustling area of taksim and istiklal street by a large inlet called the golden horn.  There are a couple bridges that span it.  You will also notice another long skinny waterway adjacent to the taksim area and that intersects with the golden horn in the sea of marmara. This waterway is the bosphorus straight. It bisects the European and Asian continents and basically connects the black sea with the Mediterranean.  It also disects the city of Istanbul, creating the third well known, but less touristed area,  "the Asian side".

Our first day we dove right in and headed to the Grand Bazaar. A guard with a metal detector wand casually monitored the flow of people in and out. There are many entrances to the market housed in an expansive old building with high arched cielings lined with blue tile. 

The market is a maze of vendors selling everthing from carpets to lamps, to ceramics and leather. Many of the shops sell the same tourist souvenirs, and then there are high end jewelry and antique stores. Little cafes and mosques are scattered throughout. 

We wandered for a while getting acclimated to the constant request for us to stop and shop. "Yes please. Exuse me...." Unfortunately for the shop keepers, they don't realize they are actually repelling us.

The streets surrounding the bazaar are basically an open air extension, although more clothing, housewares, luggage etc are sold.  Lots of counterfeit watches and handbags, shoes and clothes.  People everywhere, busy.

We made our way down to the "spice bazaar". Very similar to the Grand, but smaller and with an emphasis on spices and tea.  Super crowded! Hard to stop and shop if you want to.

The next day we moved to an airbnb about 15 minute walk away. It was on the 4th floor overlooking a busy,  what I'll call local street. Neighborhood markets, restaurants, shops etc catering to the local community, not very touristy. Definitely had a little edge to it. There was a "pide" shop across the street, specializing in wood fired flat bread. We would get our breakfast from them, along with an orange at the market  (where we also bought our water, 10 liters at a time for about a dollar). Local currency is the turkish lira, 3 to a dollar.

The apartment itself was really nice and newly remodeled. It had two bedrooms with queen beds, a kitchen and a large bright teal couch. Gaudy gold crown molding and chandeliers made the place fit for a sultan. The marble tile shower and huge shower head was a treat after the wand and baby bath tub we had in Greece. There was a decent view from the room, but from the roof top terrace it was divine.

Sunsets looking over the mamara sea were unreal. Imagine a painting,  boats moored in the sea, so many large ships in close proximity that it is almost a caricature. Vibrant colors in the sky, domes and spires silhouette the horizon.

The old city is full of must-sees, and we hit a lot of them the next day. First Topkapi palace, including the sultan's harem. Talk about painted tile, lounges and fire places! Not to mention a harem of women and and army of eunuchs at your service!

Next was the ayasofya, an ancient church turned mosque turned museum. The expansive dome with giant caligraphy discs were impressive. Huge circular chandeliers hung from the high dome, loomed right over head, maybe 7 feet off the ground, creating a very cozy vibe inside the otherwise cavernous structure.

Adjacent to the ayasofya is the famed blue mosque with its towering domes and spires. We didn't enter. Supposedly it's more magnificent on the exterior. The call to prayer sounded while we were in the courtyard between the two.  A booming call and response from adjacent spires filled the air and drowned out the sound of thousands of bustling people. Amazing.

This is the area where the suicide bombing occurred and we saw some German flags placed at the spot.

We then visited the historic basilica cistern, an underground man made cavern supported by rows of marble columns, dimly lit,  the sound of water dripping all around and classical music playing in the background. Large fish could be seen swimming in the places with more illumination.

Afterward, we relaxed outside at a small cafe, drank tea and I smoked a hookah.

The next day we shopped carpets. I'm detailing the experience in a separate post found here.

On Tuesday, we went to the Turkish and Islamic Arts Museum. It held an impressive collection of ancient Qurans, old carpets and even a beard hair from the prophet Muhammed. We were hoping for more carpets, fresh off our shopping spree and new found appreciation. I guess an ancient beard hair will have to do.

Next we went to the Istanbul Museum of The History of Science & Technology in Islam. (We bought a five day all access museum pass when we visited Topkapi palace, so we are getting our money worth). Apparently, a lot of scientific achievements from people of Islam have been reappropriated by westerners or western Europeans during the writing of history.  This museum catalogs these achievements, mainly in the form of replicas and videos, and straightens out the history (or spreads a bunch of propaganda).

That night I visited my first turkish bath or "hamam." There are some big tourist hamams, but this was in our neighborhood and not one of them.  It was me and a bunch of middle aged turkish guys. In short, it consists of sitting in a sauna, getting exfoliated with a rough mit by a strong man, then being aggressively bathed/massaged by said man, then doused with copious amounts of water. I am detailing the experience in a separate blog post that can be found here.

The next day we went to the Fatih neighborhood  Wednesday market. An open air market selling primarily scarves, bulk linens, womens and childrens clothes and sweatpants. The market is frequented by local women,  most of them wearing all black and colorful head scarves (apparently the way to personalize an otherwise monochromatic and plain outfit). We stuck out. 

Afterward we visited the Suleymaniye Mosque. You have to leave your shoes at the door and women must cover their heads. Clare conviniently had just purchased a couple scarves, so she fit right in.  It was similar to the ayasofya, very high ornate domes with large circular chandeliers hanging low. Impressive. We even got some free information about islam and a copy of the Quran. Hopefully they let us back into the US.

That night, we met up with Nedim, the carpet guy, and he took us out to dinner and traditional music. It was a late night full of great food,  awesome  (LOUD) music, dancing and cigarette smoke.  I have detailed the experience in the seperate blog about carpet buying.

Our bodies would make us pay for this experience for the next several days.

The following day, we packed up and left our fancy apartment and headed across the Golden Horn to the new city, the pulse of Istanbul's modern identity.

Thessaloniki, Greece - January 2016

You know the saying,  "it's all Greek to me"? To me, it was flash backs to calculus and physics, every span of words looking like a math formula. Greek is a phonetic language, however we weren't sounding anything out.

Our m.o. coming to greece has always been the food first. Because we only had 8 days in the country, we decided to pick one spot and stay put. What appears to be a simple move from place to place, planning with a child's enthusiasm and idealism, teleporting nor the hyperloop have been attained yet (although the latter is making headway).

Even traveling by airplane is not fast. We left the eko garten in Croatia at 7am and didn't walk through the door of our thessaloniki apartment until after 10 pm. A word to the wise, if you are planning a 10 day trip to europe and you're thinking, 'oh, I'll just buy cheap plane tickets and go to these 5 places,  no problem' You are in for a lot of time in airports, taxis, busses, unpacking, packing and dragging your luggage up and down stairs, without much time to do what you came for. Every move, we have decided, costs you 1-2 days.

Anyway, we picked thessaloniki because it is acclaimed for its food, we got good airfare in and out,  and it's just fun to say!

We booked a spacious joint (airbnb), just off the water front and about 15 minute walk to the city center. Our dining recommendations came from our host (a hip 30 something bachelor who was organizing protests with heavy tractors on the side),  a couple of blogs and a list compliled by a cooking school that we would visit later in the week.

The first day we had brunch at a little family run joint tucked in an ally just off of a market. We sat outside under a heat lamp (smoking inside). The owner/chef was a cheery old man who whisked us back to the kitchen to show us his fish.  Clare chose a whole fish caught that morning that they grilled and I chose these little fish tails that he pan fried. Not sure the name of either. A Greek salad and some white wine rounded it out.  Holy olives, feta and onion! And toasted bread with fresh olive oil!

The meal was completed with greek coffee, herbal tea from the mountains and some home made traditional sweets.

We then wandered through one of the large open markets. Fresh fruit, produce, olives, nuts, feta, fish, meat and their vendors all creating a dizzying visual, audio and olfactory mosaic. Resisting the urge to buy a little of everything, we wandered through and got our bearings, promising a future visit.

Thessaloniki waterfront is lined with a wide promenade bustling with people and dotted with sculptures. Large ships coming and going from the busy industrial  port. We would wander this path a couple of times every day.  Always something new to see.

That evening we came back out and ate at a nice-ish place translated to 'pomegranate and honey'. We split a home made ravioli and a mushroom risotto, again with crisp and soft toasted bread. For dessert we got two creations doused in chocolate fudge. One resembled vanilla ice cream, the other small eclairs. (We have grown accustomed to having dessert with every meal of the day, usually eaten while planning our new diet and exercise regime to start immediately upon our return home)

The following morning we had a somewhat "American" breakfast at a place called Estrella. Green smoothies, soft boiled eggs and omelets with toast followed by a cream filled croasant smothered in chocolate and berries.

We then returned to the market on a mission for snacks and breakfast supplies. We left with pomegranates, oranges, kiwis, dried cranberries, walnuts, honey and a tub of yogurt (all to be swirled together for breakfasts). And wrinkley black olives and firm green ones (watch out for pits!) and a big hunk of feta and a round loaf of fresh bread. Did I mention coffee, tea and beer,  too?

So excited by our purchases, we went home and relaxed on the big couches to dig in. I drank beer with olives (montana martini) and spent the late afternoon writing about our time in croatia.

We had dinner at a local place named Local, recommended by our host.  Shrimp and thin sliced pork with peppers. Souffle and creme broulee. After dinner drink at one of the many bars with elaborate outdoor heating setups.

The next day we enjoyed our yogurt with fruit and nuts before heading to the archeological museum. When in greece, go see old marble columns and ancient busts of gods and royalty.

With a roaring appetite we popped into a gyro shop. You know,  meat cooked on a vertical spit served in a pita. In greece,  the standard prep consists of pork from the spit and french fries all doused in ketchup and mustard and rolled tightly in a pita, eaten by hand (yes the fries are in the pita, too).  No yogurt sauce, no greens, no veges.

For lunch dessert we went to a, by all appearances, cigar shop that our host told us about.  Upstars in the lounge, decorated in antiques and library motif, they serve an extensive wine list and gourmet food along with the cigars. Thankfully there was only one other couple in there at the time, and the guy was only smoking intermittently.  He was too busy with his mistress.

The dessert was an encrusted carmel type thing garnished with balsamic, cherry tomatoes, tart berries all in a work of art.  It wasn't decadent, but it was so good and paired nicely with the red wine of unknown (to me) provenance.

We walked it off, out on a pier separating the port with the civilian waterfront.  Looking back at the city on the hill, the full moon rose above the ridge line of white meditterranean houses and the sky was pink and orange from the setting sun.

Dinner was at an "ouzerie", a restaurant specializing in small appetizer plates that pair well with ouzo, a national liquor. We shared spiced feta puree, yellow lentil puree and fried anchovies. I drank tsiporo instead of ouzo by recomendation. Strong astringent clear booze. You know the drill.
This was my first experience with anchovies...when in Rome. .. Well, now I know the connotations are not unfounded.

Next, with our appetites whet for history, we hit the Byzantine museum followed by a church with catacombs below. It's pretty much what you would expect, really really old stuff made from marble, glass, pottery and gold.

In a fit of dejavu we decided to eat gyros again for lunch. Clare's suggestion and i wasn't protesting. This time we went to a place recommended by the cooking school.  Here, the meat was cooked over coals rather than gas. The guys manning the grills were mesmerizing. The preparation was the same as before. So good!

We rounded out the day with dinner at a Creten place. They served us a beautiful green salad,  roasted rabbit and chickpeas with spinach.

The next day, Clare wasn't feeling well (tired, cold like stuff), so i hopped on the bike provided with the apartment and went for a spin.  I rode southeast along the shore until the promenade ended, then heading in to ride the streets and side walks, ending at a marina the next town over.

That night we ate at a "fine dining" place that ended up being a dud. The service was more annoying than attentive and the other dinners were equally annoying (mother daughter duo, on their phones the whole time, in their leather and fur.). Once they started smoking (we were under the impression it was not allowed), we took our bottle of wine and moved outside. The food was so so, but it wasn't very expensive, so not too bumbed.

Next up was our greek cooking class.  We had a private lesson with Despina, a trained chef, and charming gal in her mid forties. The day began with a trip to the market where Despina toured us around and purchased our ingredients for the meal. Wild "mountain" greens, slightly bitter and prickly, to be cooked down for a salad.  Zucchinis, hot green peppers, a squid and prawns for an orzotto and feta for a greek pie.

We returned to the kitchen where we snacked on some pastries and tea, then got started. We chopped and prepped all the produce and seafood. Then into the pan.

The results were a spicy and flavorful calamari and prawn orzotto (like risotto, but with orzo), a cooked mountain green salad, a flaky feta pie, and dessert was cardamom and orange zest semolina concoction.  We washed it all down with greek wine and mountain tea. A fun experience leaving us with some great recipes and some new techniques.

Needless to say, we had a very light dinner.

The following day was sunny and beautiful. Despite Clare battling a minor cold, we rented a second bike.  We retraced the route i took the other day, ending at a little seaside restaurant adjacent to the marina. Much to the surprise and confusion of the waiter, we insisted on sitting outside.  It was pretty warm,  maybe 60, and we feared another smoking party. We dined on salmon and mussles. The mussels were prepared two ways;  cooked in a spicy tomato sauce and the other served in a creamy yogurt sauce.

That evening I holed up at the coffee shop across the street from our place to do some more writing.  Maintaining this blog from my smartphone takes a surprising amount of time without a proper keyboard.

For our last dinner we had an unceremonious take out gyro. We found out that night that our flight the following morning had been rescheduled for 10pm, so we were left with a bonus day.

Having eaten all our yogurt etc, we returned to Estrella for breakfast. I had a loaded bagel and Clare had the pancakes doused in chocolate. Yum!

We then headed up the hill to thessaloniki old town to wander the meandering narrow streets. Much of the city was destroyed in a fire in 1917, including all of the lower part along the water,  then rebuilt in a grid. Furthermore, in the 50s and 60s, owners were incentivized to demolish old buildings in favor of new apartment buildings and shops that would yield a greater return. Not until more recently did the government ban such demolitions.

Up on the hill we stumbled across a monestary that is a unesco inscribed world heritage center. It had a coup of peacocks. So colorful!

We made our way back down to the waterfront where we stopped for a drink and to watch the boats at one of the many cafes that line the coast.

We returned to the cigar shop for our final meal, this time ordering more than just dessert. We had an artful green salad full of fruit, a risotto and an extravagant cheese plate.

At about 6pm we jumped on the city bus headed to the airport. With our luggage, we crammed into the already full bus, so full we couldn't make it to the kiosk to pay. Out the window the sun set over the water, and the sky glowed one last time.

Bosnia & Herzegovina, January 2016

Under siege.

The winding road ascended away from the coast, the croatian border control in the distance. The female agent quickly stamped our passports and we pulled ahead into the purgatory that often exists in remote mountain border crossings. (Between Chile and Argentina emigration stops near Bariloche, there is a several mile no-man's land.)

After a half mile we pull up to the Bosnian check point. A corregated shack on the windy ridge, the gate requiring manual operation. The agent, in a navy trench coat and military hat,  emerged from the shack and we handed over our passports and the vehicle documents. He asked me to get out of the car and pop the trunk.  He was quickly satisfied that my backpack and Clare's teal suitcase contained only personal items. He dissappeared to the shack and a few minutes later we were through.

The road winded along the ridge for a few km, the ritzy croation coast visible down in the distance, the rubble of burned out buildings out the other window. The landscape was rugged and remote. Mountains draped in low hanging clouds, the temperature flirting with freezing. After several minutes of silence between us, no other vehicles, the road rough, I wondered aloud if they had snow plows here.

We were heading inland, snow seemed imminent and for the first time since getting the car we were a little nervous. Croatia has great roads, is really well developed, has bounced back from the war. We felt a little more isolated coming into Bosnia. The occasional police check point didn't make us feel any better.  In the middle of nowhere, a small group of police (in their trench coats and hats) were standing on the roadside, waving some cars over. It seemed sketchy. While we saw several of these checks throughout the country, we never got waved over, but we were nervous passing them each time.

Bosnia & Herzegovina conjures up visions of war and instability and I never really thought of it as a 'destination'. We were intrigued, however, after reading endorsements in other blogs while researching this trip. It's true, Bosnia still bears many scars from the war. But the old adage rang true. Rich culture, friendly and warm people, great cuisine. A great book, indeed.

We reserved an airbnb in Mostar for our first stop. We only planned to stay one night there, so we got an early start (for us) leaving dubrovnik, arriving in Mostar about noon.

The place we booked had a few hundred reviews  (that's a lot) and the host was very communicative in advance. (This bodes well for a smooth transaction)  Because we don't have active phones or mobile data plans, it's very important for us that we firm up all arrival details, including directions, to these Airbnbs prior to hitting the road. We have learned over time that hosts will expect us to just call them when we get close or if we get lost.  That's not an option, so we are very diligent about collecting info and confirming plans in advance. This is by far the main drawback of using airbnb vs hotels.

Of course, as we honed in on the place, we couldn't immediately find it.  Turns out google maps only led us to the street, not the actual address. We parked and decided to look on foot. It was a busy street, difficult to drive back and forth on.   Well, none of the buildings or houses have numbers on them and nobody we asked knew what we were talking about. (We later found out that after the war, the government removed all the numbers and changed the name of the street, but never bothered to return the numbers. So even the locals are unsure of the names).

After an hour, we finally found the place, tucked behind a store, not actually on its addressed street.  Sigh. An hour is precious time when you only have one afternoon to visit.

Our frustration was quickly erased when the host, a middle aged gal, invited us in for tea and coffee.  (On several occasions, the host listed on Airbnb and who we correspond with is a young adult who we never ultimately meet.  It's always their parent.  I think the kid just handles the online stuff due to their tech savvy and language skills, but their parents really manage the property.) Anyway, she invited us into her house, prepared bosnian coffee, tea, and we gestured our way through a nice visit.

We then walked down to old town, stopping at an atm to retrieve local currency, Bosnian Convertible Mark. (The fourth currency of the trip - euro, krown, kuna)  The cobblestones were very rounded and bumpy! Definitely not heels friendly. The streets of the small old town were narrow and quaint. We walked across the iconic and unesco inscribed Stari Most (old bridge),  spanning a beautiful green river. A hand painted sign at the edge of the bridge stating "never forget 1993."

We wandered out of old town through the city streets to the Spanish square, a polished and stately promenade dotted with foreign embassies and buildings in ruin. 

In one of the parks, there is a life size Bruce Lee statue. Not sure of the connection, but we molested it and got a few fun photos.

We found our way back to the old town and the restaurant that came recommended by all, Sadrvan. This began our love-hate relationship with bosnian eateries. The food was top notch. We shared a mixed platter of national specialties. Stuffed vine leaves, stuffed tomatoes, stuffed cabbage,  sausage links with soft and moist pita bread, bean stews and a bunch of other flavor rich little nuggets. The meal topped off by dessert and bosnian coffee. (Similar to turkish and Greek coffee,  a very fine powder boiled in a decorative copper pot, creamy and rich,  served with a super sweet turkish delight candy).

We were having an early dinner, as we tend to do, so were alone for the majority of the meal. As we hit coffee and dessert a few other groups arrived, armed with cigarettes. There is no escaping second hand smoke in this country. We are particularly sensitive to it due to Clare's pregnancy, but seriously. The baby is probably going to need a nicotine patch to wean itself after this trip.

That night we were woken by the loud sounds of young men partying and carrying on in the street below our apartment. We thought for sure our car, parked on the curb, was going to bear the brunt of it.  Thankfully not.

We packed up after a quick breakfast and headed down the road toward Sarajevo.

The journey took us through the mountains along a strikingly beautiful river.  The blue green glacial waters reminded me of similar rivers in Patagonia. (Not as beautiful nor pristine, to be sure, but still really nice).

We again booked a place on Airbnb, a rather large and nice place perched on the hill above old town.  For the money (30 us d/night), the nicest place we have stayed on the trip.  We were given specific instructions  on how to back our car into the provided spot, from above. The place was on what seemed to be a 20% grade. You only have one shot to get it right. We would stay here the next two nights, never moving the car.

That afternoon we got our bearings and figured out the path down the steep streets into town. Most buildings have bullet holes in them and cemeteries are scattered about. Here and there stands a new place.

A call to prayer rang out over the city.  Simultaneously beautiful and enchanting, but also a little foreboding. I've never witnessed this ritual and I regret to admit that it gave me a twinge of discomfort.

Bosnia & Herzegovina is a Muslim country, representing half of the population and one of the presidential positions.  (There are always three presidents, one Muslim, one jewish and one serbian orthodox). Small Muslim cemeteries are found throughout the city, where the Muslim members of the Bosnian army are buried. 

We ate lunch at a 'fast food' place where the food is pre-prepared and on display behind the glass ala Chinese take out.  We selected a variety of dishes which they garnished with a fresh piece of bread.  The bread in bosnia was so good! Always fresh and moist. A huge improvement over the croatian hockey puck.

Wandering through the old town we came across a crusty old guy selling roasted chestnuts and fresh squeezed pomegranate juice. He pressed the juice into repurposed pop bottles, 20 oz cost us 5 marks (7 marks to 1 dollar). Divine. We capped the afternoon at one of the many coffee/dessert shops. Seeking out an empty place and hoping to finish before the inevitable arrival of smokers.

That night we dined at another traditional place called Inat Kuca (the house of spite). It was a charming house turned restaurant that we had to ourselves. Clare had a home made ravioli in cream sauce and I had another mixed plate with the (locally) famed sarajevsko beer. Crisp and flavorful!  (The brewery, with its own water well, was a life line for the city during the war when the municipal water supply was cut off by the republik of Srpska forces. A tried and trued method of warfare. Really frustrating to witness us poison our own water in Flint and potentially with the proposed copper mines on the edge of the Boundary Waters Wilderness.)

A round of bosnian coffee and dessert to cap off another fine meal.

The next day we decided to take a city tour, the first one of the trip. We booked the Complete Sarajevo War Tour, led by a quirky guy in his early thirties (who looked early 40s), self described as "really fat". We met him, in his large orange jacket and small red backpack, in the center first thing in the morning ( 9am).  We loaded up in the chauffeur's car (a fit guy in his early 40s, looked like early thirties), a small 4 door hatchback. They whisked us away, heading through town, past large hotels, shopping malls,  national media station, and the US embassy  (only cost 6million euros). This stretch is known as 'sniper alley' because the wide multi lane thoroughfare was exposed and vulnerable to the snipers perched on the hills surrounding the city.  Erven, the guide, provided a cynical play by play of each passing building.  Pointing out the nice mob owned high rises and describing the miscues of a disfunctional government reeling in the aftermath of the war.

The first stop was at the entrance to a tunnel that connected the city with the country, running under the UN protected airport runway. It was a lifeline of supplies and also served as an escape route for the few able to secure exit documentation. (The attacking republik of Srpska was trying to kill everyone and the defending Bosnian army was trying to prevent people from leaving the city so they would continue to have something to fight for.  Our chauffeur had escaped with his family through the tunnel. Our guide had taken refuge in spain, his mom insisting they flee prior to the beginning of the war in '92).

From there we drove through the snow up into the mountains. It snowed about 4 inches the night before and was still coming down heavily. The route is through an active mine field, the road flanked with little red signs marked with scull and cross bones warning not to venture off the road. Every year people get blown up.

We visited the site of the nordic ski jumps from the '84 winter olympics held in sarajevo. The facility is defunct now,  only functioning as a little rope tow for beginning skiers.  The podium is still there,  offering a great photo op. It's hard not to notice how modest the podium and the other facilities were.

Next we drove farther up the road to the site of the defunct Hotel Igman, a luxury hotel finished in 1983, specifically for the Olympics. Erven, our guide,  calls it the concrete monster. During the war, the place was destroyed by the Srpska forces. We walked through the ruins, climbing the stairs to the fifth floor. It is now used for people playing paintball and the swat team trains inside it.  (Apparently it's a tourist attraction, again, too.)

We decended the snowy mountain road in route to our final stops.  The jewish cemetery on the hillside above town, a Srpska sniper post. Headstones  bearing bullet holes.

I asked Erven who was happy with the outcome of the war that lasted 5 years. He shrugged his shoulders.

We rounded out the afternoon with lunch and another visit to the dessert shop.

We had a final traditional bosnian dinner that night.

In the morning the city was under a blanket of snow. Our car perched in its spot overlooking the narrow, steep, "two lane" road we would need to descend.

Thankfully we didn't meet any cars coming up and the tires held true.  We were on the road again.

We headed north,  again taking in the scenic country.

Our time in B&H was a highlight of the trip and we would have liked to spend more time. I highly recommend it. Unfortunately we had a deadline to return the car and a plane ticket to Greece. Tourism is rapidly picking up every year,  and B&H is expected to apply to the EU. Visit now while it's less crowded and still a little raw.

We got to the croatian border at slovonski brod. The agent's eyes lit up with surprise when we handed him our USA passports.

We spent the next two days at a very funky "wellness" hotel, Eko Garten. I think we were the only ones staying at the 15 room mom and pop b&b. They only spoke croatian and german. Mom was sweet, dad was grumpy. We decided to eat dinner there both nights. Dad was in the dining room watching tv, mom would take our order and whip it up. We ate German inspired delicacies such as schnitzel slathered in cream cheese covered with shredded white cheese. We took advantage of the facilities, bathing in hot beer. We needed a couple of days to relax before we moved to the next phase of the trip. This fit the bill.