Shlakiyah

Driving Facts

2008-01-03T08:03:00.000+01:00

The roadtrip with Shlakiyah to Esfahan is finished.

On two tons of petrol, we drove 21.000 kilometres through 15 different countries. Surprisingly all border crossings were nearly hassle free, and we didn’t pay any bribes to corrupted officials. The most expensive part of the trip was through Turkey where petrol costs about 1.75 EUR per litre. The cheapest was Iran, with petrol for 0.07 EUR per litre, and no expenditure on alcohol.

The trip was a gamble from the start, because nobody could tell how good Shlakiyah’s 15 year old engine really is. It proved a prize in a raffle. No breakdowns, no flat tires. All we had to do was to change the engine oil and a bulb. Congratulations to Toyota!
As for the music; the most listened was Johnny Cash, who fitted well on endless roads.

Surprise

2008-01-03T07:58:00.000+01:00

Upon return to Slovenia we got pleasantly surprised by a party thrown by Sonja. Thank you very much for inviting both captains and for a non-oriental breakfast. Similar scenario, though a bit more planned, followed a few days later. Thanks Klemen.

Noel Baba

2007-12-25T15:00:00.000+01:00

From Syria we drove towards the Balkans via Turkish Mediterranean. Turkey’s coastal drive was nearly 2000 kilometres long and was a succession of stunning panoramas, banana and citrus plantations, pine woods, dramatically sited Greco-Roman ruins, interspersed with resort towns that we successfully avoided. Weather was still fine and we could spend nearly three weeks in the coastal towns of Kizkalesi, Anamur, Cirali, Adrasan and Patara. There we could practice keyif, a Turkish art of quiet relaxation. Opportunities for it abound – playing backgammon and barbecuing on the beach, practicing December swimming, sipping red wine, etc. That’s keyif.

We unexpectedly found out that Santa Claus once lived here. According to the locals Patara was the birthplace of St Nicholas, the 4th century Byzantine bishop who later passed into legend as Santa Claus. I always thought he is Finnish, riding in a sleigh with his reindeers. No matter how, Merry Christmas!

Pictures of Syria

2007-11-30T20:09:00.000+01:00

Syrian reflexions

2007-11-23T13:02:00.000+01:00

We left Syria and are again in Turkey. Syria of course left a lot of impressions and here are some:

The first town we visited was Latakia on the coast, and it was not at all what I expected. Another muslim country I thought, and a very nondemocratic one again, this will surely be very conservative. I was wrong. Latakia is a rich and rather Christian part of Syria and on what is called "the American Street" we found expensive cars, bars and cafés filled with rich young people showing off the latest -not at all muslim - fashion.

And then we came to Aleppo, again a surprise. Because here were all the conservative muslims. Here we saw the most women with covered faces. But Aleppo also had the friendliest people that we met in Syria, maybe because there are not as much tourists here as in Damscus? The bazaar is relaxed and the sellers don´t hunt you down or try to tripple the price because you are a tourist. Another sign of a majority of local customers is what they sell. Less waterpipes and scarves and more sheepsheads and some kind of white, transparent gel that I still don´t know what it is.

People were - like almost everywhere we whent - extremely helpful and welcoming. Almost to much actually, I´m getting tired of explaining where I´m from and hearing about someones uncle in Sweden and so on... The Syrians speak very good english, even the juice seller on the street, and they are very quiet about politics. Much more than in Iran people seemed scared to talk about the president. The only thing they mentioned to us as a problem was the refugee situation. Some claim that more than two millon Iraqis are living in Syria, I think many of them on the street.

Golan Heights

2007-11-21T16:13:00.000+01:00

A big piece of Golan Heights in the south-west of Syria has been occupied by the Israelis in the 1967 war. To see how much land this involves, we drove down the road with Gefar and Ebba to Quneitra. It is a Syrian town that the Israelis systematically destroyed when they retreated from the 1973 ceasefire lines.
Far down the road, pass the UN checkpoint, we came to the ghost town of Quneitra, greeted as usual by an Hafez Assad statue. There we were stopped by a moustached security man in leather jacket and a Kalashnikov over his shoulder. One can see these men in front of every governmental building in the country. We got an official escort wearing Adidas training suit. He took us first to a hospital, then to an orthodox church, a school, and a mosque. The remains of the hospital have become an exhibit demonstrating the approach of Israeli soldiers. The sheet of metal attached to the building says ˝Golan Hospital. Destructed by Zionists and changed it to firing target˝. All buildings we saw have one thing in common. They are completely shelled and partially bulldozed, painted with odd graffiti in Cyrillic saying Chechnya. Our escort didn’t know the graffiti’s origins. I found comparison appropriate. Grozny must look the same; although Russians would not allow anyone see it.
On the Syrian front line, so close that one could see Israelis farming a field, I asked a lieutenant commanding the outpost if he thinks they will ever get an occupied land back. He said, God willing, the land beyond this town, from the heights of Mount Hermon boasting high-tech Israel’s radar stations down to the Sea of Galilee, is all supposed to be liberated one day.

There’s that man again

2007-11-21T16:06:00.000+01:00

In Syria, there’s one face that stares at you everywhere: that of the president, Basher Al-Assad. Every town and city across the country is filled with pictures in which the president appears slightly moustached, with or without sunglasses, with his doctor outfit or in the camouflage uniform of the Syrian army. However, the most frequent image is the one of his silhouette with sunglasses, in black or silver, sticked on car’s windscreens. Shlakiyah got one as well. When we drove from Aleppo to Hama we played a Basher game. The one who would notice him and say Basher first would gain a point. In the final score Anna won by two Bashers ahead of me. Despite the fact that we drove mainly on the highway, we caught sight of 146 Bashers.
And so will the face of his father stare, the late president Hafez Al-Assad, whose giant statues and busts appear at the gates of Syria’s towns and cities. It’s said that the idea of presidential adoration came back with Hafez after a visit to North Korea. Moreover there would be trios. Trios of Hafez and Basher: with the departed son Basil, or with Mahmoud Ahmedinejad, or with lately favourite head of Hizballah, Sheikh Hassan Nasrallah.

The Birds

2007-11-21T16:02:00.000+01:00

A few years ago, during sitting on my favourite balcony in Amman at Al Rashid, I noticed a flock of pigeons circling over the city roofs. They looked mysterious enough to get me interested in finding out more. I climbed some roofs back then and found out that training pigeons is one of the most famous hobbies in the Middle East. In Damascus it was time to climb a roof again. It was not as easy this time in view of the fact that it is now illegal to keep the birds due to the last bird flu epidemic. Nebir is a bird fancier for already thirty years. It is addictive, as smoking water pipes, he said. The pigeons owners buy their pets on a special bazaar open on Friday. A pigeon can cost anything between 15-150 EUR. Nebir’s most precious cock pigeon is oddly called the German. His feet are adorned by plastic jewellery. Nebir spends at least two hours a day on his roof. Sometimes more, if he has to treat or bath his pigeons in salty water. Luckily he has enough time for he is not married.

Ya Hussein

2007-11-21T15:55:00.000+01:00

The Umayyad mosque is one of the most remarkable buildings of Islam and the most important pilgrimage site in all of Syria. The absolute majority of pilgrims are Iranian. They are the first to be noticed in the old city. Hundreds of women in black chadors are filling up already overcrowded narrow lanes of the bazaar leading to the mosque, loudly haggling in Farsi over rather unusual material goods. But all of them here are after spiritual goods. The flocks of pilgrims visit the main praying hall first. There they would sit on the carpets and attend communal prayer with a mullah. Looking somewhat out of the place there is the shrine of John the Baptist. It is well lit with green neon lights, ornamented with plastic flowers, and supposedly contains his head. However, this is only one of several claimed places for the mentioned relic and unless the saint had multiple heads, the authenticity of cage’s content has to be questioned.

The other corner of the mosque contains even more holy shrine and a claimed head, this one allegedly belonging to Imam Hussein, the grandson of the Prophet Mohammed. He was martyred by the Umayyads at Kerbala, but whether or not his head ended up here is uncertain as well. Not for the pilgrims. I got caught in a stream towards his shrine, surrounded with fine metal, neon green. This is a place of deep mourning; pilgrims crying while simultaneously taking photos of the cage with their cell phones. While I was contemplating the procession in astonishment a guy walked up to me and started to talk in Farsi. I could understand only two questions. Where are you from? Muslim? While I was answering he was filming me with his movie camera.

Habibi

2007-11-21T15:51:00.000+01:00

The finest place to relax in Damascus is at Al Nawfara coffeehouse nestled under the stairs that leads to the Umayyad mosque. The place makes for an excellent setting for a Turkish coffee with cardamom along a water pipe. Or as we found out one afternoon it is also perfect for shooting an Iraqi music video. The song was as usual about habibi (=sweetheart) and there was a lot of fog.

Holy fools

2007-11-05T16:47:00.002+01:00

What would you think about a man who climbed a fourteen meter high marble pillar because he wanted to be closer to God, and then stayed there at the top for the next forty years? I think most people nowadays would consider him mad but if you lived 1500 years ago you might sit below the pillar to listen to his wisdom, together with hundreds of others.

S:t Simeon the stylite did exactly this, we saw what is left of his pillar and the amazing ruins of the basilicas that surround it. These were erected after his death to his glory.

We camped outside the sight and in the evening had chamomile tea with the local guards and a Spanish man on his way to Jerusalem – by foot! It seemed appropriate to meet this pilgrim in such a place, and I couldn’t avoid making a comparison between the two men and their quests. José walks on average 35-40 km per day, every day for the last six months. It does seem like a kind of punishment of the body in the attempt to find some deeper meaning in life.

Asking the Muslim guards if they think S:t Simeon was crazy they strongly promoted the opposite. “Simeon was very holy man, very good man! He wanted to be close to God, that’s why he sat on the pillar. Very many people came to listen to him.”
According to the book The Street Philosopher and the Holy Fool the Islamic society has a different approach to madness than the western. People with mental disorders are considered closer to God, a thought that might have been more common in the medieval west but is now long gone.

Trapped in no mans land

2007-11-05T16:47:00.001+01:00

We came to Syria! But not without some troubles first. Since Turkey is relatively expensive we decided to leave it a bit ahead of schedule. We exited Turkey through the very small border of Kassab on the 31st of October. Peter handed over his passport to the Syrians and got it stamped. For me it was not as easy, - we had forgotten something. After being scrutinized by the border police my passport was handed back without being stamped, my visa started on the first of November and was not valid yet.
So there we were, Peter only had single entry to Syria and had already officially entered, I couldn’t until the next day. So we took out our kitchen and cooked some spaghetti, played some cards, had coffee, smoked nargile with the men in uniform, who were very friendly, and went to sleep between the border posts.
Next morning the border police invited us for coffee before my visa was stamped and we could enter Syria after about eighteen hour in no mans land.

Who works in Urfa?

2007-11-05T16:40:00.000+01:00

Some delayed comments on Urfa: In Sanliurfa, besides holy fish and weird demonstrations, we saw some other things of interest. Walking the streets and the bazaar it was impossible not to notice all the kids and young people working. They are not only selling chewing gum and napkins on the street as they are everywhere east of Slovenia, here they seem more systematically put to labor. East of Turkey sure is Asia. We asked a local guy about the laws and he claimed there is no law about compulsory elementary school in Turkey – something that sounds very strange indeed. But even if school is compulsory and child labor is forbidden, it seems these things are not enforced in this very Kurdish part of the country.

The Beach

2007-10-30T18:39:00.000+01:00

We left Anatolia for the Mediterranean. What a change. Nights are warm again, mosquitoes greedy for a night company. The beaches south of Iskenderun are wild and empty. They could look Croatian if not for few minarets peering over olive trees. They are too out-of-the-way from major airports for tourists to occupy them. We didn’t mind. Hence we spent three nights on different beaches, swimming, reading and barbecuing. Short trip break after fasting in Iran and before entering the buzz of Syria.

Towed away in Sanlıurfa

2007-10-30T18:33:00.000+01:00

We have stayed three days in this city of Abraham, who according to the local legend was born in a cave not far from the famous fishponds. The true history might be well different. We came to Sanlıurfa to enjoy the quiet yard of the bazaar that is for a change not hectic and to celebrate my birthday in a more luxurious environment that Shlakiyah could offer.

When we woke up in the morning the street in front of our hotel was fenced with police tape. There were some cars parked behind and some motorcycles in front of Shlakiyah. We could not get out. Later streets were filled with police forces carrying a lot of tear gas guns. ˝We are preparing for the afternoon demonstrations.˝ ˝Against what? ˝ ˝Against PKK killing Turkish soldiers.˝ Shlakiyah got towed away from the parking on the street. Apparently it was considered a terrorist threat. We got it back for 40 EUR paid straight to police pockets. They were extremely arrogant. The officer in charge didn’t want to identify himself nor issue us a proof of payment. We wanted to complain but there is no tourist police in a place like Sanlıurfa. Tourism in Turkey is not always as presented in the Berlin fair.

Then we heard the demonstrations. Ridiculous! The only demonstrating were school kids who were probably ordered to join. It reminded us very much of the staged Qod’s day demonstrations in Iran. The locals couldn’t be bothered. Some people told me demonstrators are ignorant.

Tur Abdin

2007-10-25T12:10:00.000+02:00

Syriac Orthodox Church split from the Byzantine back in 451 due to different interpretations of the divine nature of Christ. Due to persecutions by the Byzantines the Suriani fled Antioch and retreated into obscure hills of the Tur Abdin between Midyat and Mardin. Monks in three hundred hidden monasteries successfully maintained the ancient liturgies in Aramaic, the language of Christ. Late Ottoman history annihilated thousands of Anatolian Suriani in a similar way as it did Armenians. Now there are only a few thousand left, plus few dozen monks and nuns in five remaining monasteries.
We visited two. Deir ez Zafferan and Mar Gabriel. They are completely restored and look new, though they were build in fifth century. The restorations are paid by Suriani diaspora, mainly living in Germany, Sweden, and Switzerland. Along with money the diaspora also sends their sons to attend classes in Aramaic liturgy, to help monks harvest pistachio trees, and to explain visitors that accepting Turks to EU would be a suicide.
One of the boys took us to a sanctuary hidden behind a small chapel. It was where Mar Gabriel, a great ascetic, punished his flesh to liberate his soul and to get closer to God. I tried it out. It is a narrow slit in the wall, where he would spend months standing up. As in From the Holy Mountain: ˝Mar Gabriel used to say no slave should sit or lie down in the presence of his master, and that as he was always in the presence of his Lord he should always stand up.˝ After the claustrophobic sightseeing the parish invited us for lunch and to camp in their gardens. Eating cold spaghetti in a Suriani monastery was an interesting travel experience.

Camping with the ancestors

2007-10-25T11:47:00.000+02:00

We drove into ancient Mesopotamia and reached the upper part of the Tigris river. Following a dirt road off the highway we came to the sandbanks and set camp there. The river was only about 20-30 meters wide here and on the other side was a hundred meter rock wall of red and grey sandstone, eroded by the water. A man picking up fishing nets quickly disappeared when we approached. We were alone except for the cows drinking on the other side, coming down a small pass in the rock wall. We made a barbecue and as the sun set we fed the fire with twisted branches and stared into the flames as people must have done here for thousands of years. The only thing spoiling the illusion of living the life of the first civilization was our yellow-striped aluminium chairs and the distant echo of the traffic reflected by the rock wall.

Southeastern Anatolia

2007-10-25T11:39:00.000+02:00

Driving in southeastern Anatolia is not as relaxed as in Iran due to recent events on the Turkish-Iraqi border. There has been an increased tension between the PKK and Turkish authorities. We experienced a lot of unpleasant military road checkpoints and rushed through as soon as possible. People here are mainly Kurds and very hospitable. Highlights of transiting the region were a visit to the Ishak Pasha palace accompanied by a first cold beer after Iran, swimming in Van lake, driving Shlakiyah in the crater of the inactive Nemrut volcano, barbecuing on the banks of Tigris river in Hasankeyf, and visiting Syrian orthodox monasteries in Tur Abdin.

Some photos from Iran

2007-10-25T11:12:00.001+02:00

Iran from a distance

2007-10-25T10:52:00.000+02:00

Looking back at the time in Iran – four weeks altogether, I realize that the deepest impression was made by all the people we met. The people of Iran must be it’s biggest tourism resource, they are extremely hospitable and helpful, I will mention some of them but (maybe paranoia) it could possibly be bad for them to be connected with this blog and therefore I have left out their full names and there are no photos.

First we met H. on the streets of Isfahan. He instantly asked us to go for a drink, then eventually invited us to his friends in the evenings that followed. It was very interesting to meet this crowd as they are very critical about the government, very non-religious and tries to live a western life as far as it is possible, they had vodka bottles in their kitchens and the girls instantly took of their hijab as soon as we came in. H. said that Islam is against happiness, “How can you forbid dancing” he said, “small children dance when they hear music, dancing is life!”

In Isfahan we also met Dr. T. he is equally friendly and equally against the government but deeply religious. His wife never took of her veil in front of Peter, even his daughter who seven years old had a scarf. Dr. T. drove us around to show all the monuments and holy places of Isfahan, for example the martyr cemetery where boys and men who died in the Iran-Iraq war are buried. He invited us to his house and we spent a night and several dinners with the family.

As we arrived in Shiraz we called a friend of a friend, Z. and she showed up with a rose for us and the news that she had taken two days off to show us Shiraz. Then followed a sightseeing frenzy that ended with us visiting more attractions in two days than we did in Isfahan in eight. Z. is also very Islamic and strictly kept the Ramadan fast, this means she didn’t even drink water during the day when we rushed through the hot and sunny gardens, museums and famous tombs of Shiraz. Z. makes half the money we do when working but she insisted on paying entrance fees and taxis. When we gave her a goodbye present she nearly cried.

I wish these people along with everyone else we met can make a brighter future in the multilayered Islamic Republic of Iran.

End of the Road

2007-10-15T20:33:00.000+02:00

The eastwards road ends for us in Shiraz. It took us more than 13.000 kilometres to drive here; now it’s time to turn back.
This is the south. The sky shines without a cloud. It’s still hot. Domes of the mosques that rise from the sea of countless mud roofs are adorned with pink and yellow flowers. In many of its city gardens cypresses shamelessly lean on palm trees full of dates; tangerines and pomegranates hang from the trees. Once, Shiraz has been famous for nightingales, poets, roses, and wine. The vineyards and famous grapes are replaced by fields of watermelons. The charm is long gone but is not forgotten in the poems of Hafez and Saadi.

Old Persia

2007-10-15T20:26:00.000+02:00

Driving south to Shiraz we explored old Achaemian Persia well known to ancient Greeks. A dirty road through obscure village of Pasargadae leads to Cyrus’s tomb, a giant marble sarcophagus, standing by itself, forgotten in the middle of the field. No ornament disturbs its peacefulness; I only wish it wouldn’t be enclosed in iron bars. The cliff of Nagsh-i-Rustam is struck by four cross tombs of the Achaemian kings, including Darius.

We spend the night in the park attached to Persepolis; the guard just let us in and offered us tea. We were alone with the ancient world. Persepolis was built about 512 BC by Darius and burnt to the ground by Alexander the Great some two hundreds year later. The most fascinating feature of the site is the decoration. Reliefs are surprisingly well preserved; their surfaces are smooth as silk.

Isfahan

2007-10-15T20:16:00.000+02:00

After three months of travelling we reached Isfahan. Dear old Isfahan!
We stayed a relaxed week. It’s easy to spend hours to admire different mosques, bridges. Persian architecture is at its finest here. One could explore city monuments for months without coming to the end of them. The centre is the square, a huge rectangle enclosed by arcades. The most magnificent buildings around the square were built 400 years ago by Shah Abbas. The domes of the mosques and the minarets are tiled in Safavid blue. There used to be the nicest teahouse overlooking the square. It’s only but a memory now. The government had closed it. Officially to prevent young people from smoking too many water pipes. We walked down to arched bridges, to find the rest of the old city teahouses. They are all gone. Puritanism took up again. Luckily, European style cafes opened up in well hidden alleys of Armenian quarter of Jolfa. Great places to hang out with friends.

Qods Day

2007-10-07T08:35:00.000+02:00

In Iran the last Friday of Ramadan is dedicated to Jerusalem (Qods in Farsi). In Homeini’s words (official English translation is extremely confusing): ˝[sic] Qods day is global day. It’s not allocated day to Qods. It’s opposition day of poors against of imperialism. Today is islam’s day & Qods’s day & expectation philosophy˝. Wise words short, it is a day to protest against Israeli occupation of the third holiest city of Islam.

It is Friday prayers. Several roads around the Imam Homeini square have been closed to traffic. Throughout the morning lines of mullahs, men, women in black, and children have been filling into a vast square. All around, loudspeakers cry sermons and martial music. In front of the Imam’s mosque thousands of men (the women are placed separately at the back of the square close to the bazaar) sit in rows on the ground. Under the podium a large banners proclaim the flaming slogans: ˝The US administration is an accomplice in Zionists crimes. America is the enemy of the mankind. Future belongs to Hezbollah, etc.˝ Now, before the main sermon, comes the warm-up. Large speakers denounce the criminals. ˝Down with Israel!. Down with America!˝

Unfortunately such demagogies do not help to reassure a dialogue of civilisations.

Postscript by Anna:
I would like to add that even if I agree with the protest against the occupation of the Palestinian territories I am shocked by the message of war and death, especially as children are holding posters about death and hatred without knowing it. It is also important to add that this demonstration has declined in popularity over the last years. According to the people we spoke to there used to be millions of participants. There are rumours that people from the villages are offered money and bus rides to the cities as well as food in exchange for taking part.

A young man said that he was forced to join during his military service. While the soldiers usually had to shave their heads, there was an exception a few weeks before demonstrations like this one, they were ordered to grow their hair in order to blend in and look like civilians.

I believe that the pictures shown in this post are not representative of the opinion of many Iranians, most people we meet are critical about the government of this country.

21 Ramadan

2007-10-07T08:33:00.000+02:00

We came to Iran during the Muslim holy month of Ramadan that constitutes one of the five pillars of Islam. In the theocracy fasting between sunrise and sunset is institutionalized on a stately level. This makes travelling more difficult as all the restaurants are closed during the day.

On the 21st day of Ramadan the city of Isfahan was shrouded in black. Various religious processions were gathering in front of numerous city mosques, led by turbaned Mullahs with long mantles. Dozens of men and women were crying. ˝A mourning procession,˝ a friend informed us. ˝For Hazrat Ali˝, ˝Prophet Mohammad son-in-law, shias’ first martyr˝ who died 1346 years ago. The noticed sadness was genuine. This is Shiite power, faith so strong that emotion for an Imam who was killed more than a thousand years ago is so of this day as if for a brother who had died yesterday.

Dr. Strangelove

2007-10-07T08:27:00.000+02:00

On the old road to Isfahan we passed a sleepy Natanz where we inspected a few centrifuges.

Five years ago an Iranian dissident group revealed that the government has built a secret uranium enrichment facility in Natanz without informing the UN International Atomic Energy Agency, IAEA. According to the agency Iran cold have 3000 centrifuges hooked up by now. Iran plans to scale up enrichment to 54000 centrifuges and says its nuclear aims are peaceful. The latter claims are disbelieved by many. However it should be noted that the IAEA has as yet found no conclusive evidence that Iran is running a nuclear weapon programme.
The centrifuges are spinning on. So what next? According to the Economist’s special report there could be at least two unhappy endings. In one, Iran ends up with nuclear weapons. In another, America and Israel attack Iran. This would have very dangerous and unpredictable consequences.

Let’s hope reconciliation can be reached soon. Time is short!

Holy Shrine

2007-10-02T12:15:00.001+02:00

Driving out of Tehran we noticed an odd site. It turned out to be a mausoleum of the founder of the Islamic republic, Ayatollah (sign of God) Homeini.

The interior, rather then exhibiting subtle calligraphy, is composed of a green cage that holds Homeini’s remains, current clergymen’s posters, neon lights in too many colours and steel girders, not to mention machine-made carpets. Outside, an enormous parking lot, where people camp, spread their plastic cloths and lay out their picnics, a bakery, a clinic, a bank, various shops, and different kebabis. In other words, a truly holy ˝Disneyland˝.

An Old Man of the Mountain

2007-10-02T12:08:00.000+02:00

Thousand years ago Hassan Sabah (An Old Man of the Mountain) built many well hidden fortresses in the Albroz mountains of northern Iran. His militant disciples were Shiite extremists of the Ismaili sect. Hassan would give selected men plenty of hashish, took them high to secret lush gardens that resembled the paradise, along with promises of eternal life in heaven should they have to sacrifice their own lives for the one of the victims (mainly Sunni men of note). The fictitious life of a young Fidai (the one ready to sacrifice) ibn Tahir is the core of the great Slovenian novel Alamut written by Vladimir Bartol.

Inspired by a novel I first visited the castle of Alamut six years ago. It was completely ruined. Revisiting the site was amazing. Last four years of excavations gave remarkable results. I guess I’ll have to come back again in few years to see the castle unveiled.

On the way to Tehran through the mountains we caught sight of Damavand, at 5610 metres the highest mountain in Iran. Its base camp proved to be a nice but cold camping ground.

From my prison of clothes:

2007-10-02T12:05:00.000+02:00

Iran in fantastic in most ways but there are obviously some problems for a tourist. Especially so for a female tourist. I will not be nuanced, I hate the Hijab (dress code for women). Besides the unpractical aspects, -it is still hot here- there is something horrible in the feeling of being forced to wear something. And not only because of this but in general as a woman I feel demoralized in the Islamic Republic. I can mention three reasons why:

-The presence of "the ghosts", that is the women in black Chador (tent). Sometimes they wear black gloves and a black, semi-transparent piece of cloth over their face. To me it signalizes that they should not be seen at all, hardly even exist, they are not even worth to be noticed, if they could they would turn invisible. How could any god ever create a beautiful female body and then mean it to be hidden as if it was something ugly and shameful? (note: I do not have to wear this, just cover hair, arms, legs and feet and not wear anything tight.)

-The feeling of always risking to be inappropriate. I am constantly aware of other people looking at me. What if my sleeves are too short, too much hair is sticking out under the scarf and so on. As if the sight of my body would offend people around me.

-The male behavior towards me. I am afraid to reach out my hand to men as shaking a womans hand (who is not your wife) is forbidden for a religious man. Some do shake my hand but sometimes they just stare at it as if I was presenting them with a snake or something.

But many people look at me with friendly smiles and they constantly make contact and are very concerned about us to like Iran. It is just that one hostile look outweighs the rest.

Iran Good?

2007-10-02T11:58:00.000+02:00

Crossing the border to Iran at Astara was hassle free. Not so much for Anna, who had initial difficulties with her Hijab, regarding Islamic dress code for women. Her clothes need to be loose fitting so as not to reveal any body shape. Further she must wear a headscarf at all times in public. The border officials somehow forgot to let us know about the recently introduced petrol rationings in Iran. We found this out only when we nearly run out before reaching Tehran. Therefore we are constrained to buy petrol on the black market at 500% extra, however still 0.5 $ per litre.

The Iranian government is not very popular at the moment (nevertheless Iranians themselves have always been extremely friendly). Over here it’s interesting to notice that the Iranian government official rhetoric is diametrically opposite to much heard American. ˝That carnivorous wolf is not of the type to enter negotiations. Isn’t America the axis of evil? Wasn’t refusing to talk to America a principle of the blessed Ayatollah Homeini?˝

The walls of the former US embassy are still home to some famous propaganda graffiti reflecting Islamic government stance against the US. Around there a young man approached us and started talking to us. He said he likes America very much, especially John Wayne and beautiful Marilyn Monroe. Moments later an old man approached us and started to talk in Farsi. He told a young man to ask us if we could kill George W. Bush. He walked away when we told him we don’t like American politics eighter.

Hallelujah

2007-09-21T19:21:00.000+02:00

We had THE Azerbaijani Touristic Experience. Or rather as non-touristic as it gets. Following the advice of the excellent Trailblazer guidebook (and my auntie Cecilia) we, still together with Adam and Will, headed up to Xinalik, again a mountain village high in the Caucasus. It was as beautiful as it was described and we settled in with a local family (six children, mother eight years older than me) in their kilim decorated guestroom.
Unfortunately the food was less sensational and after three meals of bread and home made sheep cheese (very sheepy) we longed even for the never ending kebabs. I was also tiring the boys by beating them in backgammon all the time.
Luckily we hiked up the mountain valley to see an "eternal flame", a leak of natural gas burning right out of the mountain. A man invited us for a picnic "-We'll make kebab". The following took place:
A riding man arrived with a live goat tied to the horse back. The goat was untied and within forty minutes it was freed of it's head, skinned, belly emptied (testicles, livers, heart, lungs, kidneys saved) and chopped into neat kebab pieces. These where fried on the stones heated by the eternal flame and offered to us. It was delicious. The flame is said to have been burning since the eighth century, 1300 years.

And yes, to Adams horror, I ate a testicle.

Mad Max 2

2007-09-21T18:28:00.000+02:00

Travelling around Baku is uncommon and has an apocalyptic touch. One can freely climb an old rusty oil derrick (some of them are dating back to the Nobel brothers epoch), smell the precious crude that enables the Son's presidency and dip a hand in a cold mud volcano.

Azeri Curiosities

2007-09-18T16:49:00.000+02:00

In what other country could you find sexy halva, ‘Happy Rabbit Babies’ butcher's shop, sheep’s leg tripod and in front of a Khan’s palace? A 19 year old stuffed wolf with light bulbs for eyes.

Central Azerbaijan isn’t Tuscany

2007-09-18T16:41:00.000+02:00

Driving to Lahic we picked up two road weary English hitchhikers, Adam and Will. The moments later we got stopped by a police for failing to recognise a roundabout that wasn’t there. After receiving a fine the mixture of playing a bit of Turkish music and using the phrase: ‘Come on this is not Armenia’ we got away with only a loss of a pair of apples. Next stop a nice drink in a central Azerbaijani restaurant; or as it turned out to be a brothel. Three hours and seven Aliyev posters we ended up in Lahic. The village offers a charming orchard to camp in, unique mountain characters, sheep kebabs, old cobbled streets, wooden balconies and several copper workshops.

Father and Son

2007-09-18T16:29:00.000+02:00

Driving through Azerbaijan is exotic, whereas on an African safari the objective is spotting the many varieties of wild animals, here it is the vast array of cult of personality posters of the father and son; former president Heydar Aliyev land his son, the current president of the ‘democratic republic of Azerbaijan’, Ilham Aliyev.
The posters come along with proverbs and collective wisdom such as:

I respect people who live in villages.
The man who charmed the entire world.

I am always with you! Azerbaijan, Azerbaijan, Azerbaijan,…

I will continue Heydar Aliyev politics!

Lenin Baba

2007-09-18T16:21:00.000+02:00

Azeri border officials proved extremely efficient after I told them that Armenian customs were extremely corrupt and inefficient. None the less our luggage was ransacked and a map of Yerevan and Russian flyer on the Armenian genocide seized. First town you come across in Azerbaijan is Balakan. The excellent guidebook suggested seeing a sad WW2 memorial with a decapitated unknown soldier and an eternal fire that went out. We were disappointed finding a new cable car running to the site with a new statue, possibly of Heyder Aliyev, still veiled at the moment. Luckily enough we found a sewn in half pink-granite Lenin statue that has been dumped in ex-industrial waste land.

Aragats

2007-09-08T10:16:00.001+02:00

Yerevan is hot. The only way to escape the heat is to drive up in the mountains. The closest is Aragats, the highest mountain in Armenia. The road from Yerevan winds 65km up and ends 3200m high at the cosmic ray institute and meteorological station. We found a perfect camping spot by the Kari Lich lake. Right away one of the meteorologists spotted us and invited us for a tea. We ended drinking pear brandy and sleeping at the station, only disturbed by the wolf who took a stroll in the neighbourhood. High altitude and hangover is not best hiking combination. No matter how, we reached the top of the 4000m high southern peak.

Armenian Apostolic Church

2007-09-08T10:09:00.000+02:00

Armenia was the first country to declare Christianity the state religion, and the church has been a pillar of its identity ever since. For that reason the major part of sightseeing in Armenia includes visits to 800 years old monasteries hidden in forests. Their roofs and facades covered in greenness; khatchkars (carved crosses) scattered all around like crumbs on a table. Once St Gregory the Illuminator, first catolicos of the Armenian Apostolic Church, has been imprisoned in a deep well (khor virap) for 12 years, where he was secretly fed by local women. The site is an important pilgrimage nowadays and it was a claustrophobic experience to climb 60m down the well on a metal ladder.

MiG

2007-09-08T10:00:00.000+02:00

Driving through the ‘beautiful’ mining town of Alaverdi to Sanahin we caught a sight of a MiG. Artem Mikoyan, a native of Sanahin, was the designer of the first Soviet jet fighter, and so an early MiG deserves a shrine outside of local school.

About Vodka

2007-09-08T09:59:00.000+02:00

I just want to say that we`ve been making alot of fun about the drinking habits of these countries, but in the bigger perspective it is of course mainly bad and tragic that people drink so much. It looks funny when a restaurant with nothing on the menu offer seven differnt vodkas or when someone pours you a drinking glas (as opposed to a shot glas) of booze at ten in the morning. But it is not funny really. We have seen so many people stumbling next to the highway or just sitting by the road all day long, apatic, drinking. It is a very horrible sign of the poverty in this area since it only creates more misery.

The intoxicated people are only men and at the houses we`ve been staying women are doing all kinds of heavy work, like carrying water and heating it up for the tourists as there is no running water in many places, while the husbands are out drinking. The effects are also (as you have seen) sometimes violent. I think this is a Soviet inheritance, even in Azerbaijan (muslim), which we just entered, it seems people drink. In some ways it will be nice to come to more muslim countries as poverty there does not take this expression.

Welcome to Armenia

2007-09-04T10:19:00.000+02:00

Entering Armenia with the Shlakiyah was not as easy as we thought. First we have to get Armenian papers stating that the car is ours, that we paid a road tax and a substitute for polluting the country. The later is odd because the roads are filled with old Kamaz trucks that exhaust so much black burned gas that if you drive behind them you better wear a respirator. Anyhow, since we didn’t bribe anyone, everybody else was skipping the line. We got all papers done in 3 hours after considerable yelling and payment of 75 USD.

It proved to be a very welcoming destination. When after a few glasses of late afternoon wine tasting we asked a cellarman if there is somewhere to park for the night; he simply took us to his house. A day later, when we found a tranquil lunch spot in the middle of a field overlooking Mt. Ararat, a watermelon guy drove past with his Volga oldtimer (built in 1956) only to bring us to his house he built with his own hands, where his wife and extended family and neighbours awaited. By no means has an Armenian taken the duties of a host to such an extreme. A table full of barbecue and vodka is provided, followed by loads of toasts that gradually become more and more emotional. Morning after is hard to leave, because breakfast is never ending. Neighbours then open their doors, encourage us to visit. We are not longer on the road but living within family structures.

Healthy in Borjomi

2007-09-04T10:12:00.000+02:00

Borjomi is an ex-elegant resort town down deep in Georgian woods. For the proper Borjomi experience we tried, as suggested, Joint-stock kompany sanatory Firuza.

In the sanatorium order fee of 7 EUR there are included following services:
Medical feeding. ?
Doctor’s consultation.
common analysis of blood. ?
Swilling of stomach, gau-bladder, intestine.
Paraphine application.
Medical massage.
I got myself only the latter, because I have a back problem from too much driving.

Across the road from the sanatorium is a Shemoikhede Genatsvale restaurant with a peculiar menu offering under different categories:

‘Cool breakfast’:
Boil sucking pig
Cows boiled tongue

‘Hot foods’:
Smoke rigs
Trout on a fire

‘Pastry’:
Mother’s bread

‘Tea, coffee’:
Sediment coffee
Coffee without sediment
Icw Cream

More food experiences

2007-09-04T09:51:00.000+02:00

In Kazbegi we found a home stay with a remarkable dining room. When sitting at the simple table on rackety benches you could at the same time admire a huge portrait of Stalin, an election poster of the president in office, Sakashvili, and a pair of gigantic deer horns. While sitting at this table one evening the master of the house came in, very drunk. He asked aggressively in Russian: Are you Muslim!? When we answered no he slapped a black, plastic bag on the table and ripped it open and revealed something square, about six centimeters high and semitransparent. What was it? Some old cheese? Some kind of strange sweet? When he had sliced and salted it and his wife had returned with a pile of peeled garlic cloves we realised the reason of his first question. It was a piece of lard, pork fat. Nothing else, just pure fat.

Eat! The man ordered. (The same man who previously told us about his time in the Soviet army at the Ural mountains. He said that when you spit, ice hit the ground and it was inconvenient to wear a mustache since it generated long pieces of ice hanging from your upper lip.) I dared one piece (indescribable) and Peter was smart enough to refuse. I suffered of stomach pains the next day.
In Kazbegi we also found a restaurant serving a very limited menu: Grilled, hard-to-chew pork, Khinkali (hybrid between Swedish kroppkakor and ravioli), kebab, salad and cheese pie. When we came they where out of the first two items, but they had a great selection of seven different vodkas!

Celebration

2007-09-04T09:44:00.000+02:00

Thanks for the champagne, Tina, Par, Cecilia, Micke!

Teaser

2007-09-03T16:58:00.000+02:00

We didn`t forget the blog, Shlakiyah didn`t break down, we didn`t drink more vodka with dangerous strangers (only a little bit). We are just having some internet problems and we are busy visiting 1000 year old churches in Armenia. Soon we`ll update on champagne luxury in Tbilisi, strange pork-fat and pigs-feet experiences aswell as on how much fruit is currently stored in the car.

Soviet mosaics

2007-08-28T11:59:00.000+02:00

Let the photos talk!

Georgian Military Highway

2007-08-28T11:53:00.000+02:00

There are few roads through the Caucasus. On the way to Kazbegi I experienced pleasure driving the so called ‘military highway’ that connects Tbilisi to the North Ossetian capital of Vladikavkaz in Russia. The road is less potholed than expected and offers roadside sheep fur hats shops, cow stables on every single bridge, many different pig promenades and astonishing collection of Soviet mosaic art. Due to Russian-Georgian disputes (they all blame it on Putin) the border is closed so the ‘highway’ is dead end, but Kazbegi is a great base for relaxing and hiking for a few days.

Soft boiled in Tbilisi

2007-08-23T09:26:00.000+02:00

Tbilisi (= Hot water) was founded in AD 452 and named after the sulphurous hot springs in which you can still bathe today. And so we did. The baths bear a resemblance to a pleasant Ottoman hamam with an irreplaceable Soviet touch. The thermal water of 70 degrees smells of rotten eggs. When I finally forced myself in I could only think about two things: first of how did an unfortunate man feel when a merciless chieftain cooked him; and second how some parts of my body are slowly getting soft boiled.

Man of Steel

2007-08-23T09:22:00.000+02:00

Gori seems just too appropriate a name for Stalin’s birthplace. But bad old Stalin is still revered here as a local boy made ‘good’. His huge statue stares out across Stalin square which leads up Stalin avenue to Stalin museum in front of which his original home is enclosed in a poor looking temple. We got a ‘light side of the moon’ tour of the place in a company of two nice Spanish girls and an Italian fascist who came to see the museum of the ‘great’ statesman with his kebab eating pit-bull dog.

Long live USSR

2007-08-23T09:17:00.000+02:00

From Kutaisi we hit the ‘road’ to northern Racha (120 km of potholed road took 7 driving hours). The road ended high in the mountains few kilometres from the Russian North Ossetia border in the dilapidated and very undesirable Soviet sanatorium (retreat), whose most important feature is a rare decaying silver statue of a seated Stalin. The sanatorium further offered a ping-pong table but unfortunately half of the ball was missing. You have already heard of the miserable breakfast served by never smiling canteen ladies.

Pizza from Hell

2007-08-23T09:04:00.000+02:00

The Georgian main source of nutrition is the Khachapuri, cheese pie. As this is nice the first and maybe second time it is extremely tiring the fifth. But the search for something else is oh so vain. The pizza visible on the picture is possibly the worst pizza ever. Instead of tomato sauce it has a layer of chopped dill (!) under the canned mushrooms and the topping of big lumps of mayonnaise (!) and ketchup! Another striking example of Georgian cuisine is the breakfast of cold spaghetti with nothing and a plate of watery porridge.

Caucasus

2007-08-23T08:57:00.000+02:00

We entered the Caucasus region starting in the Georgian coastal town of Batumi. The first days it seemed we also entered a madhouse. It is rather hard to drive as there are pigs and drunkards (hard to tell the difference sometimes) in the middle of the road everywhere. Vodka is the key word to this country.

After a rather depressing dinner the first evening we where walking home as the rain started to pour down. In a not very bright moment we decided to take shelter in one of the numerous “poker clubs”. We invested two euros in a pointless game of spinning fruits on a machine. As we were walking out, the owner (a scary guy with a four centimeter long, deep scar in his forehead and very Russian looks) stopped us. He pushed us into his small office and returned after five minutes with (no, not a weapon) a weird cake (rulltårta) and a bottle of vodka. With Peter’s stuttering Russian we toasted to love, brother nations and women. He soon went for another bottle and we were scared to refuse the never ending toasts. The night ended with instant coffee in another strange joint.
Two days later we drove to Kutaisi and, believe it or not, when we stopped at a gas station, the same guy, Georgy, showed up! After a few minutes we found ourselves in the same position as before, now joined by Georgy’s cousins, uncle and friends. They ordered a big feast in a private room of a restaurant (you could bring your own vodka and beer), again numerous toasts. This time the night ended less happy. After a visit to a dance palace, local dancing is very funny, the smallest of Georgy’s friends picked a fight with the band and all the guys joined. As we hid in our car the fight continued on the street until the police showed up. We now found out the probable reason of Georgy’s forehead scar. In Sweden police stop fights, here they simply beat up the participants. We returned to Georgy’s house (nowhere else to go in the middle of the night, we never had time to get a hotel) with the guys black and blue and bleeding from noses and knees.
From now on we avoid poker clubs.

Notice the bottles of champagne, vodka, wine, beer... on the table.

Kaçgar Dağı

2007-08-14T17:54:00.000+02:00

We escaped the rainy and lush landscapes of north eastern Turkey to Kaçgar mountains that form the northern section of Anatolian mountain chain. As we drove high up in the mountains on a horribly detoriated road, tea plantations gave way to pines in the higher altitudes. We escaped the humidity and enjoyed some beautiful walks.

Boğazkale

2007-08-10T18:38:00.000+02:00

After a no pleasant day spent in Ankara we drove 200 km east to Boğazkale. The guidebook suggests ‘it is a pleasant place to spend the night, with such noise as there is coming from honking geese, crowing cockerels and braying donkeys’. It was all true since we ended up staying in a garden full of apple trees and an ageing rooster with a sore throat (Deniz of Aşıkoğlu, thanks for your hospitality). The sleepy little village has one bakery, a few small shops and two çayhanes (tea houses). As we parked in front of a bakery, Shlakiyah's nazar,... drew Murat’s attention who promptly invited us to a çayhane. Soon after, we all ended up touring Hattuşa, which cover a hilltop to the south of the village. Hattuşa was once a capital of Hittites, a people who formed one of the eldest Anatolian civilizations, who conquered Babylon and signed world’s first peace treaty with the Egyptian pharaohs, over 3000 years ago. Today the ruins are spreading out over 6 km in length and comprise a few statues, walls, probably one of the oldest tunnels, and rock carvings. The whole site is strangely tranquil; due to its antiquity and absence of tourist crowds.

Kontrastverkan II

2007-08-10T18:33:00.000+02:00

Som ni markt ar vi alltsa i Asien nu, för tillfallet Trabzon pa Svartahavskusten i östra Turkiet, Anatolien. Det kanns pa nagot satt skönt att ha lamnat Balkan bakom sig.

Kontrasten mellan de manniskor vi mötte i Balkanlanderna och de vi pratar med har ar stor. Samma fattigdom finns har men Turkiet har, enligt The Economist, för narvarande en tillvaxt pa sju procent. Motsvarande siffra i Serbien bör vara mycket lagre. Folk gör business, de vet att de klarar sig och de ar oerhört vanliga (med prickar)(de flesta). Idag fick vi plastblommor i present nar vi fragade om priset. I Boğazkale bodde vi gratis sen vi bjudit varden pa ett glas vin. Nar vi tankade bjöd bensingubben in oss pa te. Ingen socialistisk misstanksamhet.

Samtalsamnena ar ocksa andra har. Pa Balkan gick det inte att prata om politik utan att folk drankte en i hatpropaganda. Alla hatar nagot grannfolk. Serberna hatar bosnierna och turkarna, macedonierna hatar grekerna som hatar dem tillbaka, albanerna hatar den grekiska minoriteten osv.
-Om Kosovo blir sjalvstandigt blir det ett nytt krig, viskade den serbiske gubben.
-Snart vill albanerna i Macedonien ha sjalvstandighet, da blir det krig, viskade den macedonske gubben.

Har, a andra sidan, gar det knappt att prata politik, i Turkiet finns inga politiska problem havdade var vard i İstanbul. Militaren har inget att saga till om, menade han. Det armeniska folkmordet eller kurderna kan man inte namna utan att bryta allvarligt mot konvensionen, ingen skulle erkanna nagot fel.

Över lag ar det alltsa skönare stil har. Relaxat. Valkomnande.

Ülgens

2007-08-10T18:26:00.000+02:00

During my previous visits to the city I used to stay on the European side of the Bosporus, in the şehir merkezi called Sultanahmet. This time for a change we stayed on the Asian side of the city in Yeni şehir as guests of Remzi and Sibel. Thank you very much for introducing us to huge variety of turkish delights and everyhing else! Thanks also goes to my dear friend Arda, who set us up all the way from Aachen. Enjoy the wedding in Tunis!

Balık

2007-08-07T16:32:00.000+02:00

Balık = fish. And not any fish but a minute-fresh one that we ate at the Golden Horn overlooking the Bosporus in? Yes İstanbul. The İstanbuli fish burger is bought right off the boat where men in silly uniforms are grilling fish filet, sweating like hell and proving a marvelous sence of balance as the waves are more than meter high. You have to fight with the hungry crowds to get hold of the half baguette filled with onions and fish from which you usually have to pick out a big strap of bones. After the first one we had to share yet another one.

Bling Bling!

2007-08-04T13:22:00.000+02:00

After travelling for a month I boiled over Anna's never-ending questions: ‘Älskling, what time is it?’ Therefore I bought her a ‘golden’ watch on Istanbul’s bazaar for equivalent of 3 euros.

In the Heavens Above

2007-08-04T13:05:00.000+02:00

We wanted to visit the Holy Mountain but only males are allowed entrance, because according to Dalrymple in the 11th century it came to the ears of the Byzantine Emperor that the monks were in the habit of debauching the daughters of the shepherds who came to the mountain to sell milk and wool. Therefore ıt was decreed that nothing female - no woman, no cow, no mare, no bitch - could step within its limits.

Hence we visited much more touristic Meteora, which is the second largest complex of Orthodox monasteries in Greece, second only to The Holy Mountain. 6 monasteries were built on rock pillars in the 16th century.

Kontrastverkan

2007-08-04T12:11:00.001+02:00

Vi har natt Asien, narmare bestamt İstanbul. Och vi bor ater i familj, hos föraldrar till en turkisk kompis. Fast den har gangen ar det extremt lyxigt istallet för fattigt. De bor i nagot slags USA-influerat höghusomrade som ar avsparrat av murar, för att komma in maste vi identifiera oss för en vakt. Innanför murarna bor ca tre tusen manniskor, det finns café och restaurang pa en liten ö mitt i en artificiell flod som rinner ner i ett lika artificiellt vattenfall. Graset ar exakt jamnt klippt, det finns flera pooler med turkost vatten, i lagenheten finns ett kylskap som rymmer tjugosex agg i dörren, tretton pa rad. Pa morgonen hanger tidningen och ett farskt bröd pa dörren, sedan kör man bilen genom sakerhetsgrindarna till jobbet. Har inne kan man leva och dö utan att nagonsin se verkligheten.

Beach

2007-08-04T12:04:00.000+02:00

We bought a yellow umbrella (parasoll) and got stranded in Greece for a few days. Wonderful but expensive, according to some Greeks the prices went up by more than a hundred percent since the euro was introduced. Capuccino is at least 3 euro, camping was 21 euro for the two of us, hence we stayed in a camp only one night, the rest we spent parked right on the beach - could be worse.

Himara

2007-08-04T11:45:00.000+02:00

In Albania I must recommend a drive along the coast between Vlore and Saranda. It is slower and ın worse condition than other Albanian roads, but the reward is the breathtaking landscape as you cross a mountain pass. When driving downhill we tried not to scream as a Mercedes-Benz, overtaking on a blind bend forced us to the edge of the unguarded 1000 m drop. Then in the middle of nowhere we reached Himara, an unspoiled village inhabited by a friendly Greek minority, with a pleasant beach bar. There are no tourist crowds in Himara. I guess Greek Ioannian coast looked like that decades ago.

Tirana

2007-08-01T12:34:00.000+02:00

Tirana is a strange place. Traffic is extremelly chaotic and every second building is Lavazho, i.e. car wash. The cheapest hotel (some fishy business with lightly dressed women downstairs was noticed) we found was 25 EUR a night, but lacking electricity and running water like the whole city itself. Street bars are full of electrical generators that enable fridges to cool expensive beers. However the city cordially welcomed George W. Bush, when he visited Albania in June. During the visit his watch got stolen. The video clip can be seen on YouTube.

Flora and Fauna in Albania

2007-08-01T11:48:00.001+02:00

In Albania bunkers grow like mushrooms everywhere.

And all kinds of animals inhabit the roads.

For example the main road by the coast from Tirana to the south of Albania. Transportation was the opposite of fast.

En glad liten bil till Cesar

2007-08-01T11:46:00.001+02:00

Apocalypse now!

2007-08-01T11:39:00.000+02:00

We forgot to mention that it's been HOT. We entered Macedonia in a haze, soon we found out it was fire smoke, all of Macedonia was on fire it seemed. I saw news about it in DN online, the fires were the biggest in years, especially in Bitola, exactly where we entered. All the forest was black or in flames.

Vad hande sen?

2007-07-25T17:38:00.000+02:00

Jag skriver det har pa svenska sa att de som eventuellt kan bli sarade av det inte forstar. Vi har nu rest genom alla de foredetta jugoslaviska republikerna, jag borjar sa sakta bli en riktig Balkanexpert. Man far saga att Jugoslavien och krigen lamnade mycket skit efter sig. Det ar val nastan sa langt bort fran Sverige man kan komma inom Europa men det ar enda svart att forsta att sadan fattigdom och odelaggelse fortfarande finns i denna varldsdel. Forutom Kosovo tror jag att sodra Serbien ar varst, hela samhallet har stannat upp, inget hander, ingen ser framat, alla ar bittra.

Den familj vi bott hos i Nis ar ett exempel som jag kunnat narstudera. Peter sa att deras liv stannade 1991 nar de flyttade tillbaka till Serbien fran Slovenien och det stammer. Bilen ar 17 ar gammal, stereon ar kopt innan -91, halva huset ar byggt da (den andra halvan star ofardig) hela livet star pa paus. Genom stora mutor har mamman och yngsta sonen (jamnarig med mig) fatt jobb, de tjanar omkring 100-150 euro i manaden var. Aldsta sonen ar ingenjor men kan inte fa jobb, pa 15 ar har han aldrig rest till havet eller nagonstans med sin flickvan, de har inte rad att gifta sig. Han ar trettio och maste be mamma om pengar for att kopa en kaffe. Anda vill familjen bjuda oss pa allt nar vi ar dar. Vi lyckades bjuda ut dem pa restaurang en kvall, sonerna var mycket generade och bortforklarade nar de bad att fa ta med kottet som blev over hem. (Vi fick grillkott nog for tolv personer, sallader, grillade svampar och chilis, tva flaskor vin, atta snapsar, tre ol, pannkakor mm for ca sexhundra kr.) Det var forsta gangen familjen gick ut tillsammans pa atta ar. Det ar ju sa man vill grata, fast saklart manga har det mycket varre och till exempel sitter med en badrumsvag pa gatan for att tjana en krona pa att vaga folk.

Vi hade i alla fall jattekul nar vi gick ut och drack ol med grabbarna pa kvallen.

Serbian pork extravaganza

2007-07-25T17:18:00.000+02:00

South of Serbia is famous for its extreme hospitality, beautiful women, plum brandy and pork. When you mix the first three abovementioned components into serious nightlife you always end up at world’s best pork takeaway in Nis.

Kosovo

2007-07-25T16:44:00.000+02:00

Even though we left Kosovo a few days ago I have to write something about my impressions from this strange place. In this area of ex-Yugoslavia, Kosovo seems like the most developed part. Pristina is full of new cafes and restaurants, streets are crowded with new big cars and everywhere you go you hear different languages. American, French, Slovakian, Swedish, Swiss, Finnish, the list goes on, there is military presence from almost every European country as well as American. On the other hand, if you round a corner, no pavement, no streetlight, only barbed wire. My Cesar salad lunch was the first west European food in a long time, served by a waiter who seemed extremely humble and nervous, I hope all these UN people are not acting like idiots, bossing people around. Like in Palestine it was a relief to leave, so much weapons and military trucks make you very tired.

In the army

2007-07-22T15:13:00.001+02:00

The safest night on this trip so far was spent in Kosovo two days ago. When arriving to the village of Gračanica we discovered Swedish UN forces to be guarding the Serbian monastery. Hej! I said to the somewhat surprised soldier Sophia on patrol outside the monastery gates. We could park in their camp and sleep right next to the KFOR trucks surrounded by barbed wire, nuns, chickens and old tractors.

The Swedes invited us to join the barbecue later in the evening and we spent a very nice night drinking Peter’s Croatian Travarica, singing snapsvisor and exchanging Kosovo impressions. Thanks!! To all the nice soldiers, hope you see this. Mattias, let us know when you pass Croatia on your beautiful new bike.

Grill master and his student.

Breakfast by the barrack, and guided tour with heavy security.

Gračanica monastery

2007-07-22T14:51:00.000+02:00

Kosovo is the cradle of the Serbian Orthodox Church and is dotted with some of its eldest monasteries. After the battle of Kosovo in 1389 when Serbs were defeated at Gazimestan by the advancing Ottoman Turks all of the frescoes in Gračanica monastery were de-eyed according to conqueror’s iconoclasm. ‘Those who wish to cut the heart from Serbians want to wipe them from this Earth. It is a battle that is not over yet’ said Orthodox Bishop on the 618th anniversary at the site of a battle that Serbs consider a heroic defeat suffered in the holy cause of defending Christian Europe from the Muslim Turks. The quote is taken from the periodical, published by the sisterhood of the Gračanica convent.

Montenegran mountains

2007-07-20T11:18:00.000+02:00

While the newspapers warned: "Serbia is turning into a desert, 43 degrees!" we spent some wonderful times up in the Durmitor mountains of Montenegro, swimming in fresh lakes and hiking in a pleasant temperature of about 25 C.

It was very beautiful and relaxing to stop for a few days and leave Shlakiyah in the camp. We also enjoyed some very nice local food and met Borat's brother who is Italian and speaks just like him, he was desperate to find "lamb cheese" the sheep version on the menu apparently didn't work.

We are now in Kosovo, more about that soon.

Srebrenica

2007-07-18T21:32:00.000+02:00

We visited the memorial of the massacre in Srebrenica two days after the 12th anniversary of the genocide. It was overwhelming to see the massive graveyard. 8372 people are buried there. We imagined a person standing by each stone - it would have been a huge crowd.

Janjetina

2007-07-18T21:25:00.000+02:00

The most significant road sign in Bosnia is pointing out janjetina. Every single village we passed in this country has at least one 'restaurant' serving roast lamb = janjetina. Usually it's just the whole beast on a skewer rotating over charcoals. Some more advanced establishments also serve more advanced janjetina, e.g. lamb on steam, lamb in milk, cooked smoked lamb, knuckle from lamb or cooked lamb's head.

Sarajevo by night

2007-07-18T21:22:00.001+02:00

We are also having some fun on this trip.

Driving far

2007-07-14T11:23:00.000+02:00

Within 24 hours from driving over the border to Bosnia we spotted at least fifty Swedish cars on the road. It is unbelievable how many there are. Mostly new Mercedes or Volvos. Swedish cars are by far the most common with foreign registration. While having dinner at a lakeside restaurant, five Swedish cars stopped in the parking lot, none of the passengers looked very Swedish though.

Bosnia and Herzegovina

2007-07-14T11:07:00.000+02:00

We entered BiH from Croatia Wednesday evening. This first day of the real travel was filled with bad impressions from the war still visible everywhere along the road. We drove from Senj on the Croatian coast to Bihač in Bosnia. Inland Croatia was the worst with empty and roof-less house-ruins in every village and shell marks on the walls of schools and churches. When we entered BiH it was a bit more hopefull, more reconstruction done but still bad. Some of the bombed houses looked even worse in contrast to the new pink and white buildings. We saw cemeteries with cloned white stones all dating from 1993-95 along the road. Two girls about forteen years of age went to put lilies on one of the graves, to a father or brother maybe.

This last picture shows the beautiful landscape aswell as the men who are demining it. Signs warned us to enter the fields, "Mines!" and a white scull.

Še pomnite Tovariši?

2007-07-13T20:25:00.000+02:00

Smrt fašizmu svoboda narodu!

Jajce, 29.11.1943

Last lunch on the coast

2007-07-13T20:21:00.000+02:00

"Girice", deep fried picerel, (friterade spigg typ). Mums!

Istrian Farewell

2007-07-09T18:27:00.000+02:00

We hit the road. Only 150 km south to the Croatian coast, where we got stuck in Novigrad-Cittanova for a week. A great get together with friends and loads of fun. Thanks for joining the party Bob, Cecilia, Micke, Cuk, Djamo, Sebo, Tomi, Murch, Tina, Pär, Nina, Sonja, and Klemen.

Short Cuts of Iran, - not so short

2007-06-29T22:01:00.000+02:00

Finally! Again.
Today I visited Iran. I was hoping for a brief visit.

We have our Iranian visas, I applied with Peters passport as well since there is no Iranian embassy in Slovenia. We have to get there before the 27Th of September, getting closer.

The embassy is far out on Lidingö, I got up half past six to get there before opening half past eight, on the way I took ugly visa-pictures. When arriving ten min before opening the embassy was already filled. 26 numbers ahead. Each number took on average 8 min, you cleaver mathematicians realize that I could enter the office around noon. My application took approximately 1 min. Then I waited, again. Receiving visa took as long as waiting to apply. All together 6,5 hours at the embassy. No lunch.

It was a bit like visiting the middle east. Everyone was very friendly and tried to help each other cut the line, thus 8 min between the numbers. You could hear people shouting Hadji! (to older men to show them respect, I think) and Mishkil! (which is "problem", I think?) Hadji is what you call someone who made the pilgrimage to Mecca. All the time when someones number was called he waved at the older men and shouted Hadji! to take them with them into the office in order to help. The system was suffering a bit.

Äntligen!

2007-06-27T23:22:00.000+02:00

Finally!
This Monday I took my drivers license, no hidden pride here.
The night before I was dreaming about driving non stop and when I sat in the car with the inspector I was dripping of sweat. After half an hour driving and at least seven min parking whilst swearing I was told I passed but that I should beware not to drive to slow and over-careful, else I might annoy the surrounding drivers.

Now I just have to get Iranian visa (at least three hours at the embassy), get travel insurance, cancel paper, clear out the apartment, pack, host a small farewell drink, work one day, lead a jewellery course one evening, get my digital TV going, buy Swedish books for half a year and some other minor things. Whatever, last weekend we threw a party for fifty people in a house without running water or electricity.

Guardianship manners

2007-06-12T09:00:00.000+02:00

I applied for a Syrian visa, they were most friendly at the embassy and I was most nervous for some reason. I don´t know why, nothing to be scared of. But why do they have to know the name of my father, whether I´ve been in Palestine or not and such things? I don´t like the Big Brother feeling. Getting worst around the world I guess. Like in Italy where you have to accept an agreement before you can use internet at internet cafés. You have to agree that they can check if you visit suspected websites, terror information and so on. Big Brother can see what you read, that is about as close as you get to not having freedom of thought isn´t it?

Well the Iranian embassy is to come, I so much wonder if I should cover my hair when I go there, it is Iranian grounds isn´t it?

Pausfågel

2007-06-12T08:41:00.000+02:00

The Tuscan poppies, much like the swedish ones.

Taste of European Byzantium

2007-05-27T09:18:00.000+02:00

Driving south to Tuscany we made a halt at Ravenna on the Adriatic coast. This is nearly the only place in Europe with the remnants of an old Byzantium. Besides it's pleasant and not overcrowded with tourists on a White Sneakers Tour that make Florence somehow straining.

From the Great Palace in Constantinople Justinian, probably the greatest o the Byzantine emperors, controlled an empire that ran from Italy, the Balkans, Turkey, the Middle East and the North African littoral. In 540 he conquered Ravenna, which became the seat of Byzantine government in Italy.

There are the great mosaics at Ravenna in its Basilica of San Vitale, which reminds me on the great Haghia Sophia, with the portraits of Justinian and his wife Theodora accompanied by their admirals, bishops, courtiers and eunuchs; the same intrigue-ridden court familiar from the written sources. The interesting thing about surviving corpus of Byzantine art is that away from these two isolated Ravenna panels its art is strictly non-secular. Across of a hundred ruined Byzantine churches in the Middle East the same smooth, resembling faces of the saints and apostles stare down like a gallery of mutes. Then came a surprise. A flock of tourists that were disturbing my intimacy with the mosaics metamorphosed into a choir. The silence and the coolness of San Vitale filled with beautiful Latin singing.

The mosaic of Empress Theodora is solemn and formal, with golden halo, crown and jewels, and a train of court ladies. She is almost depicted as a goddess. Theodora, posthumously ordained to a saint in the orthodox church, had a rather vivid life as evidenced in The Secret History written by Procopius: Brought up in a circus, as soon as she was old enough she joined the women on stage and became a courtesan. For she was not a flautist or a harpist; she was not even qualified to join the dancers; but she merely sold her attractions to anyone who came along, putting her whole body at his disposal... Later she used to tease her lovers by cracking dirty jokes and wiggling her hips suggestively and invited all who came her way, especially if they were still in their teens..

Buon appetito

2007-05-25T22:34:00.000+02:00

Uno,

due,

tre!

Survivers: Anna, Peter, Shlakiyah

2007-05-24T22:09:00.000+02:00

Italian holidays were short and sweet. Now we´re back in Stock and Ljubljana. And, most important; the drive was a complete success, no problems at all, Shlakiyah is running like an urverk, spinner som en katt, what do you say in English?

Italy was beautiful, of course, full of art, food and wine. Actually so full that you got dizzy, can you OD on renaissance and pasta?

We drove (or rather Peter did) from Trieste (boring) via Chioggia (cute and cheap) to Comacchio (I drove a bit!) were we spent the night on a poppy field. Continued to Ravenna (full of mosaics and nicely tourist-free), through Forli (they don´t sell food in Forli, only flowers) and into Tuscany and Florence. We slept the second night in a small monastery where my parents where supposed to be. Their efforts to make it to Florence deserves a whole new blog! Let´s say it included a thirty hour delay.

Florence was grand, David was grand, the Uffizi gallery was grand and the line-ups where very grand. It was wonderful!

We also got a chance to do some social anthropology in the field of, mainly German, camping-culture. Shlakiyah is petite in this context, among 100 000 euro caravans she is a joke. The culture includes such things as bringing your own seat-pillows when you go to a bar...

We continued to Siena after a few days but here the art-overdose became overwhelming, I couldn't go into the cathedral, the facade was enough. We went for beer and pizza.

San Gimignano was the final destination before we started the return. In this town everybody (maybe only half of the population?) was crazy about building towers in the 12th century. They built over seventy before one patrone (or something) decided no one could build taller than his tower, now about fifteen remains. I guess Freud would have something to say about the tower-obsession.

When passing through Florence on the way back we spent one night with a relative of Peters. Armeda is about seventy five and lives with her husband in a house with a garden full of roses and cherries, she stayed up until one drinking Chianti with us and talking about her illegal border-crossings during early Yugoslavian times.

I miss Italian coffee already, check this espresso!

Där små citroner gula...

2007-05-17T11:09:00.000+02:00

We are in Italy. And: we spent the first night ever sleeping in Shlakiyah! Waking up in the middle of a poppy field was very nice, mosquitos and freezing a bit was less nice. Pictures to come. Second night was spent among Polish nuns in a monastery, Shlakiyah is blessed on a parking place by the Holy Virgin. Now we will go see some art in Firenze.

Pimp My Ride

2007-05-07T13:34:00.000+02:00

Shlakiyah spent winter on Murch's farm in Sostanj. During this time she was ''pimped'' for the road trip.

Workshop team, made up of myself and Murch replaced an air filter, sparking plugs and rear drum brake segments. Further we rebuilt the interior from scratch. Shlakiyah is a custom "pimp", tailored to the personalities and interests of the owners. In our case we need a bed to sleep during travelling, cooking gear, and thick roof isolation to resist hot Anatolian sun.

Shlakiyah was manufactured by Toyota back in 1992 for the African market, hence her robust undercarriage had to be examined. Things look good and nothing will brake, inshallah.

The rest of the photos can be found here.

Watch out for the mouflon!

2007-04-29T14:26:00.000+02:00

Quote from Körkortsboken, (drivers licence theory book): "Mark the place and contact police if you hit: bear, wolf, moose, deer, lynx, wild boar, eagle or mouflon"! What the hell is a mouflon? How do I know if I hit a mouflon? Is this knowledge really neccesary for my driving licence?

(I found an explanation here)

Dreaming of Damascus

2007-04-28T16:50:00.000+02:00

Peter and I both read the book "From the Holy Mountain" by William Dalrymple, a travel diary from a trip around the christian monasterys in the middle east, some of them still operating since byzantine times. Inspired by this I want to go here! And I will, if we make it that far. The monastery stores an icon with the image of the virgin Mary, said to have been painted by the evangelist St Luke. What I find most fantastic is that both Muslims and Christians seem to believe in the power of this icon, they go there to ask for protection and help form Mary.

Syria is tempting in many ways but the very early development of the civilization seems to unfortunately have slowed down lately. Even if they were building temples when we were still trying to find out how to make up fire the way the society is organized is rather primitive nowadays in my opinion. Or what do you think about imprisoning people for three years claiming that they spread "false and exaggerated information", torturing some prisoners to death or introducing a law that frees a rapist from punishment if he offers to marry his victim.

Be Ready!

2007-04-25T15:25:00.000+02:00

I was never a scout.

Might have been good to practise some wild life for this travel. I found a site on scout-cooking, it´s in swedish but I´ll give you a translation of one of the recipies:

Chicken in the ground:
Make a fire, put 10-15 stones in it and burn for a few hours. Take a chicken, stuff it with one stone, wrap it in an old newspaper, cover with clay and bury it in a hole together with the hot stones. Cook for some hours.

Godness! I hope we don´t need to get down to this kind of basics, but all you scouts who tried it: Way to go!

On Food and Cooking on the Road*

2007-04-23T17:51:00.000+02:00

Planning what to bring is half the fun and even material for classic literature, (were do you stuff the butter?) Lisa provided the link for this, it´s well worth spending some time on reading it, hilarious.

I´m thinking about how to equip the kitchen for out door cooking. In order to keep the costs down and my spirits up we´ll have to do a lot of the cooking ourselves. Besides I long to be able to actually shop in those food markets you always see abroad with fresh, unidentifiable foods.

You can´t take everything though so here is a list of tools I think are indispensable in a primitive kitchen:
Gas-stove, small + big pot, small + big frying pan with lid, big knife, small knife, bread knife, cutting board, grater, mortar, whisk, wooden spoon, plastic bowl, spatula, scissors, wine opener, potato peeler, mocca boiler, and then of course things you need for eating like plates, cutlery and cups. I could make the list much longer but we really need to keep it basic.

If something crusial in your opinion is forgotten, please comment.

*Peter gave me this book, I will bring it on the road to dream about advanced cooking.

Testing testing

2007-04-19T17:07:00.000+02:00

So, I bought tickets from Stockholm to Trieste for the 15th of May, Peter will pick me up in Shlakiya and then we go for the first longer drive with her. Test drive will go to Tuscany and more specifically Florence were and around we will spend a few days. Hopefully Peter will have completed the bed inside Shlakiya and we´ll be able to sleep and cook in the car.

The aim of the test drive is to see if the car is working to our satisfaction and what we might need in terms of equipment. Well: Italy's mayor characteristics are wine and good food, things that we will probably miss during parts of the trip, so the drive is not only to practice.

Another thing, I hope eventually I will have a driving licence so I can actually drive a bit.

Preparation

2007-04-15T19:28:00.000+02:00

Ea preparation.

I beg you don't gaze with an evil eye, work and you will get one as well.