Grumpiness, Watermelon Aguas, and Weeds

This is one of the days when I can feel my already-austere face scrunching up into a sour old-woman scowl at the state of the world and of life. I could list all the reasons, but some of it (unfortunately) is just that I might be becoming a sour old woman in a sorry state of a world. So I came to the local coffee shop (which I will not name) and I’m treating myself to a coffee and a lemon pound cake – even though Starbucks (oops, there I said it) makes only passable coffee and pretty-bad pastries. It makes me feel a little better anyway. At least I’m not sitting at home nursing a severe old-age back ache.

Just last week we got home from a great trip through countries of the former Yugoslavia, Venice and Vienna, plus another week with Doug’s high school friends. We relaxed, enjoyed the personal connections, got lots of exercise, and learned lots of new things about places here-to-fore unknown. All, I might add, in great weather even if a bit hot. We got home to about three days of severe jet lag which led to depression. At least I, unlike Doug, didn’t have to go to work right away. Which leads me to one of my reasons for being grumpy. This is my last day of my two-month summer time off. All of which is topped off by an associate who is on one of his nuttiness rolls – and I don’t mean “nutty” in an endearing sense.

Then too, we just had the shooting in the Aurora, Colorado which is sad and horrific and beyond comprehension. But when I listen to the commentators and reporters, I hear over and over ad nauseum that the freakin’ NRA lobby is so powerful that there is nothing any reasonable and peace-loving politician (are there any?) or citizen can do. And by “peace-loving” I’m not talking only about the good old lefty, anti-war die-hards; I’m talking about all of us who harbor the Very Reasonable expectation of being able to go to a movie and come out alive. I expect that’s most of us and yet "most of us" seem to be more on the side of the NRA gun lobby than we are on the side of peaceful living. Can anyone explain that???

We were just in Mostar, where the bullet-riddled buildings, cemeteries full of the grave sites of those who died too young, and the stories and videos of dodging sniper fire stand as legacies to the absolute idiocy of violence and war. Makes one listen to the news from Syria in a whole new light.

And with all this, I think of my dad who died in April and who loved his guns and deer hunting. But he also never joined the NRA and there was never a loaded gun in our house to protect us from anyone. In fact, he was a conscientious objector who decided that his love of God meant that he could never kill another human being, not even (the part that most Americans in their love of blood and gore find unbelievable) in an act of self-defense. I miss my dad so much this summer.

So what’s a woman supposed to do when she misses her dad, has aging-body aches and the just-back-from-vacation blues, has to go back to work, and lives in a world of tea-party lunatics? First, I’m going to the library for a completely inconsequential book (James Garner’s memoir). Next, I’ll write – that does something for my mood. And finally, I’ll make good food before I return to work and we resort to the fastest options (made just a bit more palatable thanks to Costco spinach ravioli and veggie burgers.) This doesn't alter the craziness, but I will feel a little better.

Even in my jet lag, I've been making food that we love in an effort to ward off the world-weary melancholy. And it was all vegetarian which (to my delight) utterly confounds some of the Big Meat Eaters out there. There were cumin-bean tostados heaped high with local tomatoes and lettuce, salad nicoise (beans in place of tuna), fresh pesto on bow-tie pasta, salads made with tomatoes-from-Jessica’s-garden, homemade salsa and chips, watermelon and cantaloupe (always makes me feel better on a hot summer day), and the watermelon-basil agua that kept both my mouth and me (Doug’s too) happy for most of an entire evening.

Tonight there will be eggplant pizza with lots of garlic and a Greek salad with yummy feta and black olives. And I have enough watermelon and basil (also from Jessica’s garden) to make us each another Basil-infused Watermelon Agua. And we’ll share it with my friend Pauline. Good friends being cranky and eating good food together is a great way to beat the blues.

That should hold us for another evening while we watch the latest season of Weeds. Life is good. Mostly.

Home Again

We left Dubrovnik at 7:30 Wed. morning, had a 4.5 hour wait in Frankfurt, and a loooong plane ride to San Francisco. Then there was the BART ride to our car and the drive home. We were up 24 hours and happy to pull into our driveway in Reedley. Its sprinkling this morning and there's no California sun shining, but its good to be home.

Four months of planning, three weeks of travel and here we are again, full-circle and home again. We are safe, no one lost anything, nothing was stolen, all went well. We learned a few things about people and places, tried some new foods, and know a slight bit more about the political and territorial landscape of several countries in the former Yugoslavia.

This morning I'm enjoying our morning routines and sounds: the birds singing, the Frosted Flakes, NPR's broadcast. I began my to-do list on the plane and am gearing up to get to work. For the moment, however, I'm basking in the feeling of home along with the good memories of the three weeks past. My dreams last night were of walking cobblestone streets.

Now I just need to talk to Keeto, pick up Gilda, and smell my butterfly plant in the front yard.

On Our Way Home

Tonight is our last night. We'll be on the plane in Dubrovnik in the morning. We had a hot and claustrophobic bus ride from Mostar to Dubrovnik this morning, which was redeemed in the last hour when the road wound high above the the turquoise blue of the Adriatic Sea.

When we arrived in Dubrovnik, we made a quick run for Old Town Dubrovnik, a walled city dating from the Middle Ages. Our usual information-laden walking tour turned into a cable car ride above the city to look down on Old Town Dubrovnik. The walls are imposing and more intact than Split's Old Town/palace. We are at the end of our capacity for stuffing more information into our addled, hot and tired brains.

Like everywhere we've been I only wish we had more time. I am, however, ready to be home again. We finished our evening with chocolate crepes and creme caramel. No pictures of either one.

Bridge Divers, Swords to Ploughshares, and a Cemetery

There is a long-standing Mostar tradition of bridge diving from the Old Bridge. We got to see three dives today. I couldn't possibly get a photo of it, but Colleen managed to capture one. The divers stand and pretend they will jump for quite a while before they make this 75 foot dive into the icy cold water of the Neretva River.

Among the shops of Old Town Mostar was a coppersmith who takes bullets and bombs from the war and creates objects of art -- a real life example of swords to ploughshares.

The Muslim cemetery that fills a former park is a sad commentary on the reality of war. All the graves have a death date of 1993 to 1995. The cemetery replaced the park because it was too dangerous to bury their dead in the more exposed cemeteries. This space was safe from snipers.

Cevapcici

For the person who wanted more food photos, here is tonight's dinner. I had cevapcici (pronounced che-vawp-cheech-ee) which are little sausages served with a thick-ish pita bread, onions and tomato. Doug had stewed vegetables and french fries.

We ate in a restaurant on the steep banks of the Neretva River with a view of the bridge. The restaurants on the river are terraced; our restaurant had 5 or 6 levels. The middle photo shows our restaurant from the top of the bridge.

In the photo of Doug you can kind of see the terracing and the steps between levels.

Mostar, Bosnia-Herzegovina

Mostar is quite different than anywhere we've been. This city was heavily damaged in the war and even though it was 20 years ago it still shows. Bombed out buildings and pock-marked walls are all around. The poverty is more readily apparent here. Still, it is a beautiful city.

The Old Bridge of Mostar (see the photo) was destroyed in the war in the 1990s. It was a 16th century bridge and they rebuilt it exactly as it was built initially. The stones even came from the same quarry. It is an important bridge to the city, one with great emotional value. Its destruction was highly symbolic. It was built in 1566 and reopened in 2004.

This is a Muslim and Catholic town of about 100,000. At 5 tonight we could hear the Muslim call to prayer.

Split, Croatia

We have only one night in Split because it is a pitstop on the way to Mostar, Bosnia-Herzegovina. But we have had enough time to wander through the old town and eat ice cream several times. It's really hot here. The climate has changed and is different from anywhere we've been so far.

The old town is built into the structure of Emperor Diocletian's summer palace. He was the last Roman emperor before Constantine came along in 313 A. D. and declared christianity to be the official religion. Diocletian was quite thorough in his persecution of christians. St. Euphemia (mentioned in my post on Rovinj) was one of his victims.

The streets of the town wander through the palace.  Parts of the old town witnessed various iterations in different eras. For example, there is a monastery in one section and a Jewish ghetto was created in the 16th century.

The palace was excessively large. Two thousand slaves died during the initial construction phase -- Diocletian had it built quite rapidly.

Another Old Woman and the Color Green

I had to add a photo of my seatmate on the bus to Plitvice. She stared out the window most of the time, but we shared a smile and a seat. That was enough. She wore a sweater and carried a purse that made me think of my great aunt Fannie.

The countryside of the part of Croatia that the bus drove through is as green as Iowa in June. It's a green that I miss in California.

Plitvice

Plitvice is a national park in Croatia. It has many waterfalls (side by side) flowing down over the travertine cliffs into a series of lakes. The views are amazing and the terrain a bit unusual, with boardwalks over and around it all. We had a good day of hiking notwithstanding one knee (mine) that got creamed. We're all a bit tired tonight and getting ready for some park food sustenance -- a bit of a letdown after the wonderful food of Rovinj.

The first shot of the Croatian war for independence was fired in this park. It's hard to imagine it in such a bucolic place. And it is still such a recent event.

Language Tidbits

It's interesting to listen to people and to see how things are expressed. A lot of English gets thrown into the mix. For example, in Belgium we sat on the train beside a couple speaking Flemish. As they talked, we caught the following phrases:
soft landing
FYI (repeated numerous times)
beautiful people
buyer beware

In Rovinj, the waitress was speaking Croatian to the next table and when she got an order wrong, she said, "My bad."

This part of Croatia (the Istrian peninsula) speaks both Croatian and Italian.

On a shop in Rovinj there was a sign advertising "sendvici" or sandwiches.

This is another one of the joys of entering another culture.

Food, Cats, and Old Women

Rovinj has had the best food of our trip and someone (who will remain unnamed) emailed an order to put more food in the blog. Happy to oblige. Here's my shrimp risotta (last night) and olive crusted catch-of-the-day (tonight's meal.) Also, Doug's ravioli with truffle sauce. Lots of truffles on the menus and in the markets around here.

The town is full of cats, many of them wild. They hang out by all the outdoor restaurants and are everywhere. Never saw so many cats running around.

Then I have to add a photo of an old Croatian woman. Gotta love the old women -- the ones in the doorways of Rovinj and all the ones in my life.

Rovinj

Rovinj is a step back in time. Its too hot to walk a lot, so we took a glass bottom boat ride on the Adriatic.

The first photo is the "street" in front of our apartment. The second is the old town from the top of St. Euphemia church. We climbed the bell tower -- the third one this trip. This one seemed a bit precarious with wooden slats for steps.

Euphemia was a fourth century person from a wealthy family who gave the family wealth to the poor. She was a victim of Roman emperor Diocletian and tortured for not worshipping the local god. Thrown to the lions, they refused to eat her. Now she is a saint.

Leaving Venice

We're leaving Venice and it was too short of a stay. If not for the horrible crowds, I'd want to stay longer. Today Doug and I went to find the orphanage where Antonio Vivaldi worked for parts of his life while he was composing during the late Baroque period. He was also a priest who taught music to the girls at the eighteenth century orphanage.

On the way to the place where Vivaldi taught, we ran into a crowd coming off a cruise ship and heading into the main part of town. It was like swimming upstream in very choppy water -- so thick with people that it was almost frightening.

Now we're sitting in the VIP deck of a ferry crossing the northern Adriatic to the old Croatian fishing town of Rovinj (pronounced RO - veen).

I've been taking photos of the food we're eating, but they were on my camera and couldn't be transferred. So here are two plates from our lunch in Venice. I had a delicious pesto pasta and Marty ordered the McDonalds pizza so we could see what it was and if it was good. He assures us it was good. And yes, it has french fries on it.

San Marcos Square

The morning mass was only spoken, no singing. My sources were wrong and it was a bit of a disappointment. However, it was worth it to get to San Marco Square and the Basilica at sunrise and before the crowds. It was peaceful and the morning light was beautiful.

The water taxi ride was great too. There are no motorized vehicles in Venice. You take the water taxis to a point near where you want to end up and then walk.

Water Everywhere

This is Venice and it's a beauty. I've loved each place, but this is wonderful. I need to get some sleep so I won't write much. I'll just leave some photos and hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoy walking around here. As I said when I began this blog the best advice I've had on being in Venice is to ditch the tour books and maps and wander -- and get lost. It's a small island; how lost could you get?

So now it's off to sleep so we can get up in time to catch a water taxi to go hear the singing of the 7 a.m. mass at San Marcos Basilica (last photo.) There is a calm and mysterious quality to the city, even with all the exotic chaos. San Marcos embodies the best of the mystery and intrigue.

This afternoon, I nearly ran into a woman with a baby in a stroller -- or she almost ran into me. She cheerfully conveyed to me her sentiments about tourists (me in particular) via a very well-known Italian hand gesture accompanied by a few choice words in Italian. I didn't need to know her language to understand her.

Julian Alps

City streets hiking, around the lake hiking, up the hill to the castle hiking, down alpine roads hiking, and gorge hiking. My legs are stronger and more fit than they've been in a while. Last night before we picked up Dan (Ron's brother who is joining us for a few days) at the train station and had a late dinner, we hiked the Vintgar Gorge. It was a trail with extensive parts that were fastened to the cliff side and jutting out over the river.

Today we rented a car to drive through the Alps. It was a hair-raising drive over the Vrsich Pass and down the Soca River Valley. This was the location of some heavy battles during WWI. Ernest Hemingway drove ambulance in this area and wrote "Farewell to Arms" set in this area. It was an amazing drive. Because the roads were so narrow it was difficult to stop and get photos so just take my word for how breathtaking it was. The villages we came to were throwbacks in time with old stone facades, colorful window boxes and set almost on the road. In one town, three old women in headscarves and skirts sat outside the front door chatting -- looking like a photo from early 20th century Italy.

The chapel picture is a monument to Russian POWs (WWI) who died building the road over Vrsich Pass.

Lake Bled

The rain stopped today and it was beautiful day in Lake Bled (pronounced blade). Tito had his summer villa here which we tried to visit for its socialist realist murals. Unfortunately a conference was being held and they would not let us in. A gondola ride (wooden boats called pletnas) to the church on the island was fun. The boats are hand-built and rudderless, guided by an experienced oarsman.

Hayracks are a bit unusual and a source of some local pride. The churches are beautiful and a bit ornate inside -- Catholic with an eastern influence. Church bells seem to ring all the time or at odd hours -- last night at 9:20, for example. And the local dessert is kremna rezina -- a custard with a crispy crust on top and bottom.

Behind Doug is the Bled castle (1000 years old.) The church on the island can be seen over the bow of the pletna.

Train Ride

I love the days we spend a few hours on the train. This morning it was a train ride from Vienna to Villach, Austria and on to Lake Bled, Slovenia. It was through the Austrian Alps and into the Julian Alps, past castles and churches of all kinds. I couldn't get photos to share so I'll put one in of Doug and his nephew Marty ignoring the scenery. The poor guys had to get up too early in order to get to the train station in time to have one last round of Viennese pastries before we left that city behind.

The last 15 minutes of the train ride was on a little tourist train and we got off at a "station" that wasn't a station, just a stop at a little restaurant. It was raining so we asked about a taxi. There were none. We only had a kilometer to walk, which was good since it was raining enough to get pretty wet. We got our rain gear out and set off down the little mountain road through the village of Zasip. It's a beautiful village. People are friendly and helpful even though our English and German is of little help.

So here is the view from our balcony. You can see why I'm not complaining about the rain.

And another interesting thing . . . the woman who owns this place took our passports, then came back smiling. "Who is here from Iowa?" she asked. "My daughter was an exchange student in Iowa." So when Tina gets home from work tonight, she will come talk to me about Iowa!

Third Man

Marty and Doug wanted to ride the Vienna ferris wheel. But this isn't just any ferris wheel; it's the ferris wheel that was in the 1946 movie, The Third Man. The movie is based on a Somerset Maughm book, and features Orson Welles as the shadowy "third man" who was profiteering from the neediness of the Viennese people World War II.

After the heavy bombing of the city during the war, city officials rebuilt the ferris wheel quickly as a way to bolster morale. The movie used the ferris wheel to assist with the process.

If you are so inclined, you can have a candlelight dinner on the ferris wheel. It's a unique ferris wheel and provides a great view of the city.

Coffee, Stephansdom and Vienna

Coffee is good -- and never ask for coffee-to-go in Vienna. They'll shake their heads sadly at you. Coffee is meant to be sipped slowly. In a cafe. With friends.

For the record, there are 400 steps in the tower of Stephansdom and I got to the top slowly. The steps themselves aren't so bad. It's the narrow spiral and meeting people. The view is worth it, of course.

Now Doug and I are in the Schoenberg Museum. I'm listening to the atonal music while Doug is looking at all the exhibits of Schoenberg's handwritten music. One has to have an eclectic musician in your life in order to gain an appreciation for twentieth century 12-tone music. Over the years it has grown on me. They should do elevator music from these compositions.

Bremen and the family Pitz-Grewenig

Cold War relics turned into a park and nature center may not sound like a great tourist stop, but it is. We're in a little village near Bremen with Doug's high school friend, Michael Pitz, who showed us the short-range missile site from the Reagan years. It's in Barrien where we aimed these weapons toward the USSR back in the 1980s. The park is a much better use of the lush green northern German countryside.

Michael's wife Margaret Grewenig is a goldsmith who makes beautiful jewelry. Their son Moritz is a filmmaker who lives in Vienna. It was great that our visit to Bremen coincided. Moritz' girlfriend Katerine, a theater director, is also here. Michael teaches music and piano at the high school.