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Oct. 8th, 2007 02:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
namasteI’m back, with a body still on European time -- I woke up at 5 a.m. and it felt like I’d slept until nearly 11 a.m. -- and trying to ease back into my real world.
The world in Central Europe was amazing. It’s a place with both complex history and a confusing future, in some areas overrun by tourists and others where the culture hasn’t yet adapted to the potential of life beyond its borders, where the stores close at 5 p.m. on weekdays and noon on Saturdays. Sundays? Forget it. Souvenirs? I picked up some Slovakian pear brandy, called horushka, to give to a friend when I stopped at a grocery store -- called a potravini -- in one town.
Photos are up and posted at my smugmug account here if anyone wants to see. And there’s more info within for those who aren’t bored by now. And my too long thoughts on travel and adventure in general.
One of our tour guides, Ondrej, is a Slovakian who’s anxious to bring more people to his world, to let them see what’s there. Some of the locals in the small towns we passed through didn’t quite understand, though. One day he was marking the roads (Experience Plus, the company I bicycle toured with, uses chalk dust squirted out from old water bottles to mark the roads for turns -- that, and their wonderful young, local guides makes them one of the best touring companies, I’ve found) and as he passed through the many small towns, he’d talk to the people, tell them what was going on, that a group of American cyclists was going to be passing through.
He said one older woman looked at him and said: “Don’t they have anything to do at home?” And, mind you, this was in an area with some of the most beautiful scenery I’ve ever cycled through. Day after day topping the previous day.
By all means, go, if you have the chance. And if you go, get away from the cities. Leave the tourist groups behind. You don’t have to bicycle, as I did, but out in the countryside, you’ll find amazing people and incredible sites that will seep their way into your soul.
I wrote previously about the ride along the Dunajec River gorge that marked the border between Poland and Slovakia. But there are also the High Tatras mountains (luckily we cycled mostly around them, they top out at 2,600 meters -- or more than 7,000 feet), which were almost unknown to the outside world until the train came to Poprad, Slovakia in the 1800s. Through the communist days, they were known only to the Soviet Bloc countries as tourists from East Germany, Hungary and elsewhere came to hike and ski.
Then there are the Low Tatras. Riding through there, with the fall colors at their height, yellow leaves falling from trees as I climbed up and descended down -- scattering themselves around my wheels as I let go of the brakes and glided down hearing only myself, my bike and the leaves hitting the pavement -- I felt as if I’d ridden into something from Grimm’s Fairy Tales. The hills there are dark and ancient. There are valleys so narrow you could toss a ball from one side to the other, the water falling over rocks on its way to the sea somewhere below you, somewhere you can’t see and can only hear. It’s the forest primeval. It’s beyond time itself. These are hills and trees that have seen the world through centuries. Riding through, it feels as if they’re holding onto something secret, that they know something you don’t know. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the Big Bad Wolf and Little Red Riding Hood had stepped out from the trees.
There were nights spent at converted Communist-era ski lodges, and inside the confines of Spisska Kapitula, the “Slovakian Vatican” and part of a UNESCO-protected heritage site that was the center of religious education in Central Europe since the 13th century -- sleeping in a room that was used by generations of monks in their own time. And there was the beer. Wonderful, tasty beer that cost the equivalent of $1 for a tall half-liter glass -- riding up to your hotel after 40 miles of hills and then sitting there, surrounded by history and trees as you drank it all down.
And about the people from the U.S. .... there were nine people on the tour, people who made me feel like I’ve never been anywhere. People like Jack, the Hawaiian resident who has also lived in the interior of Alaska, who met his wife while trekking in Nepal, who told stories of traveling on the Trans Siberian railway ... and Harold and Carolyn who retired early so they could travel the world via bicycle tours, who previously had cycled from St. Petersburg, Russia, to Istanbul, Turkey and were now stringing together trips in the Czech Republic, through Slovakia and were next headed to Turkey for a tour before returning home to Utah.
There were Jim and Juli, who made everybody laugh (and led every sampling of horushka and slivovitza and any other locally produced brandy and schnapps) and have also traveled the world, and Eunice -- born in the U.S., raised in China, returned to the U.S. and retired from the NY subway system -- and George and Jane who were curious about everything and happy to talk to everyone.
And our two main leaders: Ondrej, the Slovakian whose father was a high mountain rescue leader in the High Tatras and whose mother was a tourist expert and whose family now leads all types of tours and hikes; and Girolamo, the Sicilian who always joked that he’d make sure the mafia took care of any problems, and who put his degrees -- art history and art restoration -- to work on the roads for us, making us smile as we rode up hills and over passes (12 to 20 kilometers at a time sometimes) with his little notes and drawings he’d put on the pavement.
So ... that’s in, in a very big nutshell. My advice to anyone thinking about going? Go. If you can’t afford Central Europe? That’s fine too. Travel. See new things -- even in your own town. Take a different route. Open your eyes to things you haven’t noticed before. Explore what you can, while you can.
While I was in Central Europe, my friend took a ride to a city park here, and wandered upon the dragon boat races. One of the boats was short handed, so she ended up crewing on the boat ... so you never know when you’ll get a chance to try something new, whether it’s travel, or writing, or listening to a new band or just joining in when someone says they need an extra person.
It’s not always easy, but it’s usually worthwhile.
Anyway, if you have any questions or comments, feel free to ask.
The world in Central Europe was amazing. It’s a place with both complex history and a confusing future, in some areas overrun by tourists and others where the culture hasn’t yet adapted to the potential of life beyond its borders, where the stores close at 5 p.m. on weekdays and noon on Saturdays. Sundays? Forget it. Souvenirs? I picked up some Slovakian pear brandy, called horushka, to give to a friend when I stopped at a grocery store -- called a potravini -- in one town.
Photos are up and posted at my smugmug account here if anyone wants to see. And there’s more info within for those who aren’t bored by now. And my too long thoughts on travel and adventure in general.
One of our tour guides, Ondrej, is a Slovakian who’s anxious to bring more people to his world, to let them see what’s there. Some of the locals in the small towns we passed through didn’t quite understand, though. One day he was marking the roads (Experience Plus, the company I bicycle toured with, uses chalk dust squirted out from old water bottles to mark the roads for turns -- that, and their wonderful young, local guides makes them one of the best touring companies, I’ve found) and as he passed through the many small towns, he’d talk to the people, tell them what was going on, that a group of American cyclists was going to be passing through.
He said one older woman looked at him and said: “Don’t they have anything to do at home?” And, mind you, this was in an area with some of the most beautiful scenery I’ve ever cycled through. Day after day topping the previous day.
By all means, go, if you have the chance. And if you go, get away from the cities. Leave the tourist groups behind. You don’t have to bicycle, as I did, but out in the countryside, you’ll find amazing people and incredible sites that will seep their way into your soul.
I wrote previously about the ride along the Dunajec River gorge that marked the border between Poland and Slovakia. But there are also the High Tatras mountains (luckily we cycled mostly around them, they top out at 2,600 meters -- or more than 7,000 feet), which were almost unknown to the outside world until the train came to Poprad, Slovakia in the 1800s. Through the communist days, they were known only to the Soviet Bloc countries as tourists from East Germany, Hungary and elsewhere came to hike and ski.
Then there are the Low Tatras. Riding through there, with the fall colors at their height, yellow leaves falling from trees as I climbed up and descended down -- scattering themselves around my wheels as I let go of the brakes and glided down hearing only myself, my bike and the leaves hitting the pavement -- I felt as if I’d ridden into something from Grimm’s Fairy Tales. The hills there are dark and ancient. There are valleys so narrow you could toss a ball from one side to the other, the water falling over rocks on its way to the sea somewhere below you, somewhere you can’t see and can only hear. It’s the forest primeval. It’s beyond time itself. These are hills and trees that have seen the world through centuries. Riding through, it feels as if they’re holding onto something secret, that they know something you don’t know. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the Big Bad Wolf and Little Red Riding Hood had stepped out from the trees.
There were nights spent at converted Communist-era ski lodges, and inside the confines of Spisska Kapitula, the “Slovakian Vatican” and part of a UNESCO-protected heritage site that was the center of religious education in Central Europe since the 13th century -- sleeping in a room that was used by generations of monks in their own time. And there was the beer. Wonderful, tasty beer that cost the equivalent of $1 for a tall half-liter glass -- riding up to your hotel after 40 miles of hills and then sitting there, surrounded by history and trees as you drank it all down.
And about the people from the U.S. .... there were nine people on the tour, people who made me feel like I’ve never been anywhere. People like Jack, the Hawaiian resident who has also lived in the interior of Alaska, who met his wife while trekking in Nepal, who told stories of traveling on the Trans Siberian railway ... and Harold and Carolyn who retired early so they could travel the world via bicycle tours, who previously had cycled from St. Petersburg, Russia, to Istanbul, Turkey and were now stringing together trips in the Czech Republic, through Slovakia and were next headed to Turkey for a tour before returning home to Utah.
There were Jim and Juli, who made everybody laugh (and led every sampling of horushka and slivovitza and any other locally produced brandy and schnapps) and have also traveled the world, and Eunice -- born in the U.S., raised in China, returned to the U.S. and retired from the NY subway system -- and George and Jane who were curious about everything and happy to talk to everyone.
And our two main leaders: Ondrej, the Slovakian whose father was a high mountain rescue leader in the High Tatras and whose mother was a tourist expert and whose family now leads all types of tours and hikes; and Girolamo, the Sicilian who always joked that he’d make sure the mafia took care of any problems, and who put his degrees -- art history and art restoration -- to work on the roads for us, making us smile as we rode up hills and over passes (12 to 20 kilometers at a time sometimes) with his little notes and drawings he’d put on the pavement.
So ... that’s in, in a very big nutshell. My advice to anyone thinking about going? Go. If you can’t afford Central Europe? That’s fine too. Travel. See new things -- even in your own town. Take a different route. Open your eyes to things you haven’t noticed before. Explore what you can, while you can.
While I was in Central Europe, my friend took a ride to a city park here, and wandered upon the dragon boat races. One of the boats was short handed, so she ended up crewing on the boat ... so you never know when you’ll get a chance to try something new, whether it’s travel, or writing, or listening to a new band or just joining in when someone says they need an extra person.
It’s not always easy, but it’s usually worthwhile.
Anyway, if you have any questions or comments, feel free to ask.
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Date: 2007-10-11 07:12 pm (UTC)