I had a good week at Nationals. As in, surreally good:
I won a shiny…
…fenced a team event as the “anchor” (though I was always the kid picked last for kickball). On the elevated finals strip, no less, though not a gold medal bout
…and even placed the highest I ever have (80th) in a large (150+) competition of mostly spry teenagers.
Additionally, querying and other networky/researchy things revolving around The Book™ are going better than expected. Don’t really feel like I can go into detail yet but it’s all very promising.
So why, when everything is coming up roses, does it all feel a little…wrong?
Part of it is straight-up homesickness. I lived out of a suitcase for half of June. I don’t usually travel this many places in quick succession. While the people I’ve met and events I’ve participated in have been wonderful, I’m unused to such rapid changes of place and I’m left disoriented.
Some of it is exhaustion – all that travel, plus full time job and Life that never stops on top of my seeming inability to get more than 6 hours sleep a night has taken a toll.
But more than anything else it’s my bad wiring.
I have anxiety and depression. I don’t like to dwell on it so I don’t talk about it very often. Due to my great good fortune in having decent mental health care they are mostly managed, most of the time.
But sometimes my brain just won’t let me have nice things, as it did towards the tail end of last week. It has this chemical rebellion that results in feelings that it’s all going to backfire any minute, or that it’s all luck and not the result of long hours of hard work.
As I type this I’m bouncing back, but it’s a long, slow bounce. The best I can do is rest, get back on a regular schedule and avoid caffeine like the plague (ask me about my celebratory slice of chocolate pie. No, best not). When I’m in such a state, rejoining the workaday world where I am not an [insert activity here] rockstar is paradoxically easier than enjoying my successes.
So: big girl panties yanked up, laundry done, early bed tonight.
Travel enriches us. It allows us to not only see new places but let go of assumptions and clichés about those places. And while I know there’s no way that one day in Belgrade makes me an authority on the city, it does give me some things to ponder.
Take Tito’s mausoleum.
This is in the middle of an extensive park.
Can’t really be a dictator without at least one self-aggrandizing statue of oneself. At least Tito’s is only life-size.
Contemporary news and culture taught me that all Communist dictators were oppressive monsters who kept their citizens in perpetual fear and despair. Our guide wasn’t a fan, but insisted that, like many things in Serbia, Tito’s legacy is “complicated”.
Yes—Tito was a dictator who ruthlessly sentenced political opponents to forced labor and constrained human rights when it suited him. Yet he is still held in some regard (by my guide, and I’m guessing she’s not alone based on the large crowds at the mausoleum) because he kept Yugoslavia together, kept the Russians out, and allowed open (by Eastern Bloc standards, at least) borders.
Within sight of the this secular shrine—actually, within sight of much of Belgrade—is the astonishing Orthodox cathedral of St. Sava.
Construction started in the 1930s and though interrupted by war, invasion, and politics, is still crawling towards completion. It’s among the largest Orthodox churches in the world, but it doesn’t need size to impress. I’d seen pictures of Orthodox iconography and frescoes, but nothing compares to the three-dimensional reality.
If I remember correctly St. Sava’s icons and frescoes are made using medieval materials and techniques. The reason we see more gold than blue here is because while lapis lazuli was expensive and rare hundreds of years ago, it really isn’t anymore. To show wealth/prestige gold is now the obvious way to go.
Gilt everywhere. Photo by Charlotte Dries.
Belgrade has been destroyed and rebuilt around 40(!) times in its long history, and much of the city center is still rebuilding after the wars of the 1990s that broke up Yugoslavia. Right across from a restored 19th century train station are the ruins of the Yugoslavian Ministry of Defense, bombed out by NATO.
Photo by Charlotte Dries.
I felt a little weird viewing it, though our guide pointed this out without any apparent ire (surprising [or not?] given that most of us were from NATO countries). I was even reluctant to include it in this post, but decided to leave it in because my reaction reveals some of the complicated facets of being a tourist. History is often a series of violent events, but I think the recentness of the violence got to me. The bombing was only 20 years ago, and even though this building was on the tour and the decision to leave it a ruin is deliberate I still felt like an ugly American enjoying a morbid thrill at Serbian expense.
After a very long day walking around Belgrade we walked a bit further to our one off-schedule stop: the Tesla Museum.
It was a leeetle underwhelming, but to be fair we were also quite rushed (when the boat leaves it leaves, whether you’re on it or not). It’s only about three rooms (or at least, that’s all we had access to) and we stepped in between English-language tours. They have his ashes, as well as the safe he used in his rooms at the Waldorf Astoria and some of his characteristic gloves and hats.
Of course Tesla’s urn looks like an atom.
The very safe from which the U.S. government took Tesla’s papers upon his death.
Not sure if these are reproductions or the genuine article, but Tesla was a natty (and germaphobic) sort.
As near as we could tell most of our fellow patrons spoke English but Serbians hold him in high regard as well – he appears on their 100 dinar note and every souvenir shop we passed had a Tesla-themed something. The museum itself emphasized his technical achievements to the point that even the gift shop has scientific monographs and collections of Tesla’s correspondence instead of magnets and coffee mugs.
What followed was a mad dash back to the boat in a very fast, very economical taxi. I left Belgrade intrigued, a bit uncomfortable, and thinking of some questions to ask.
This is my last post before I take a break from the blog. I’m not sure for how long. These take a long time to write and research (even the link dumps) and between the holidays coming up and a real need to make some headway on my book, something has to give. I hope you’ll check out the archives and/or join me on social media (Twitter | Facebook | Mastodon).
Our next stop was just that, a stop. Rousse, Bulgaria, is across the Danube from where we boarded the ship in Giurgiu, Romania. Think of Detroit’s physical relation to Windsor, Ontario. Our first view of Rousse was a bit confusing:
My traveling companions and I couldn’t figure out what the hell these were. A bit of digging reveals they may have been leftovers from an annual summer sand sculpture contest. All photos author’s own.
The excursion to Veliko Tarnovo started early (at least on this cruise line/itinerary). Most of the excursions did and justly so to accommodate the coach rides to and from plus a good chunk of sightseeing time. Double espressos were my friends throughout the trip. But said excursions are worth the early waking times. Every single one of these was interesting in some way, if only because I knew next to nothing about the histories of the places I’d be visiting. Happily the local guides are knowledgable and the coach rides provided ample time for crash courses.
Veliko Tarnovo was the capital of the 12th-14th century second Bulgarian empire. I didn’t know there was a first, so my notes say “read up on this”. The visit itself was a whirlwind of impressive hills and fortresses.
Everyone goes on about “the view from the top”—Tsarevets Fortress is pretty impressive from below.
The 1985 Monument of Assens celebrates the Tsars that created the second Bulgarian empire, and is visible from almost anywhere in the city. The characteristic architectural style is visible in the background: white stucco with red-tiled roofs.
By this time I’d developed a fascination with the buildings left over from communist days, if only because their aggressive simplicity stood out amongst the more traditional styles. Though, they also contained the occasional surprise: we stopped off at this ultra utilitarian hotel for coffee and banitsa to find the interior all red velvet and chandeliers.
See the lacy curtains and chandelier lights in the windows?
Then on to Arbanassi to get some early modern on. Some of the architecture here dates to the time of Ottoman rule (something else I want to read more about).
One of many among narrow cobblestone streets.
This cruise line was able to arrange a special performance of orthodox a capella chants at the Church of the Nativity.
No interior photography permitted but I did get this photo of the exterior. The flag belongs to our tour guide.
Hearing the old chants echo off the frescoed walls created one of those “you are there” time-travel type moments that remind you that these buildings aren’t just relics but real buildings where real people lived and worked and worshipped for centuries (and in some cases are still in use).
The finish of the day was a taste of rakia distilled from roses. It tasted the way roses smell (I can’t think of any other way to describe it). Rose oil is a prominent export of central Bulgaria, but I didn’t know you could distill it. This was my first of many encounters with the culture and products Balkan brewing during the trip.
The drive back to the boat was a blur: by then jet lag and general exhaustion was setting in. I got an early night and good thing too as the next day we had a day trip to some very tall, windy rocks.
And I never thought I would be, let alone that I’d enjoy it so.
Not me, not my boat, but you get the idea.
Some background: my mother and sister have been on several river cruises. Mom discovered a few years back that they’re an excellent way to see a lot of sights while only having to unpack once, all the while letting someone else organize the sightseeing.
Full disclosure: I appreciated my Mom’s love of cruising but was leery of it for myself. Given that the cruise line books all outside excursions and you stay on the boat, not on the physical lands you’re visiting, it always sounded a bit like a “canned” experience to me, sanitized and Americanized. Which isn’t bad but isn’t usually my thing: I prize “authenticity”* and being on the ground, moving among the locals with all the attendant currency, travel, food, and language challenges this implies.
But my Mom wanted to take a cruise with me, my sister, and our best friend for her 80th birthday, so her party, her rules. Besides, even a tightly controlled glimpse of Europe is better than no Europe, especially as I’d never visited any of the countries (Romania, Bulgaria, Serbia, Croatia, Hungary) on the itinerary. And given my recent burnout, letting someone else deal with the logistics (my sister with flight/cabin booking, the cruise line with everything else) had a ton of appeal.
Well, I was wrong about cruises.
You see a LOT. Yes, it’s a quick touchdown everywhere, but it’s more than enough to give you an idea of a region or city and if you want to see more, well, that’s an excuse for future travel. All passes and tickets are inclusive, so no waiting in line or figuring out when/if stuff is open/available. Turns out on a cruise you don’t actually spend a lot of time on the boat if you do all the activities offered.
And you see everything from a local perspective. All of our guides were from the country (and often the city) they guided us through and while knowledgable provided personal context beyond names, dates, and photo opportunities.
Mind, if you don’t want to go and do, shipboard life has its own charms. There was a small pool: not big enough for laps but warm as a bathtub which was exactly what my office-stiff and fencing-overworked self needed. The ship also kept a masseuse and hairdresser on board for those who crave a relaxing spa experience. Lounge areas offered books, newspapers, and the opportunity to just watch the world go by.
And then there’s the food.
All the clichés about abundant cruise food are true, but the food was also good and often included local specialties. One glass of wine per dinner, but the glass was constantly refilled by staff that were attentive to the point of near psychic anticipation. Breakfast and lunch were more casual, buffet deals but had just about anything one could want (smoked salmon and mackerel for breakfast! Hold your nose all you like but I love me some seafood and these paired wonderfully with scrambled eggs!)
Saying the views from the deck were “sweet” is a gross understatement.
Short version: the river cruise was a wonderful way to visit a lot of places in a short time with maximum physical convenience. I could focus on visiting with family and friends and resting, while sharing beautiful sights and interesting stories. Would I do a cruise again? Sure, if the company is good and there’s plenty to see.
Over the next few weeks my weekly posts will be about the trip, with plenty of pictures and historical context (because I took notes. And yes, for me taking notes IS vacation!)
*”Authenticity” or the lack thereof in the context of travel kicks off a whole separate discussion, which I’m willing to have if there’s sufficient interest. Having said this, everyone has their own travel preferences and standards for “real” so I won’t yuck on your yum if you won’t yuck on mine.
Sparing personal details, it’s been a rocky summer. Illness and money/day job-related stresses marred fun social and creative activities. Even writing and fencing became habits, and I grew (and remain) frustrated with both because I can’t get out of my own spiraling head to do them as well as I have in the past.
I’ve recovered physically and the money and day job stressors are resolving themselves but the pile-on was the mental equivalent of a broken leg, and like a broken limb the brain doesn’t just bounce back either.
I can’t remember the last time I had a proper vacation. Wait, yeah, I do: the Puerto Rico trip that inspired my vejigante post. A week of doing nothing save fencing, reading, and sightseeing.
Ten days in sunny (?) Bucharest through Budapest on a family river cruise down (up?) the Danube. I didn’t plan this (thank doG, because I can’t plan effectively at my best) but it comes along at the perfect time. Also, I don’t know much about any of the places I’m visiting, so I don’t have any expectations to be dashed. What is certain is that 1) I don’t have to plan much beyond “be on the boat by this time” and 2) I won’t be bored.
As such this blog will go silent for a couple of weeks. My social media likely will as well because most of my traveling companions don’t Tweet or Facebook. Watch this space on October 24th for tales of my trip.
I made one trip out of Prague for the book. It went…ok. If nothing else I learned what not to do next time.
When Emperor Rudolf kicked Dee and Kelley out of Prague his second in command William of Rozmberk gave them refuge in the southern town of Trebon. Most of Kelley’s alchemical successes and the infamous wife-swapping took place while they lived in Trebon Castle and a lot of the 16th century building remains. Of course I had to see it. I’d heard great things about the Czech Republic’s train system and it was only a 2 hour ride – what could go wrong?
Heh heh heh…
First off I severely overestimated my understanding of the train schedule. Prague to Trebon looks easy until I discovered I had to change trains: I had to know both my destination and my terminus, and ideally be able to pronounce both.
Which was my second mistake: I can’t speak Czech. It’s my own damn fault; save a few important words (Praha = Prague, knihy = book) I relied on everyone to speak English (ugly American, me).
My third bad assumption tied into the second: I was under the impression Trebon was a sizeable town and, therefore, full of English speakers. We got off the train to discover it was a one-taxi town – and the taxi driver spoke German.
The upshot was that we missed our first train and while we caught our second we were rushed and highly dependent on our phones’ ham-fisted Google translations.
So, yeah, not my finest travel moment.
I went on the only tour available in our short time-frame – Czech, with English handout. Though they didn’t permit interior photography (the Czech site has a nice photogallery) I got a handle on the smaller scale of a country palace. To my surprise the tour mentioned Dee and Kelley – there’s even a room set up as a makeshift alchemical lab.
Evidently there’s also a medieval-themed tavern named for Kelley on-site, but we didn’t have time to stop in. A mile sprint got us back to the station just in time to catch our ride back to Prague.
In lieu of Trebon Castle pix, have this one of the Rozmberk Palace in the Prague Castle complex. The Rozmberks scaled this one for grand city living.
The interior courtyard of Rozmberk Palace in Prague. It’s been a noble’s palace, school for unmarried noblewomen, and is currently the home of the Ministry of Internal Affairs.
