Open The Debates!

Matt Gonzalez, vice-presidential candidate, speaking about the need for open debates where all major candidates running for president are allowed to present their case to the American public.

The Difficulty of Learning About Our Presidential Candidates

I hate to write another media bashing blurb, but it just must be done. You see, recently I decided that I needed to watch a bit of the mainstream news programs via their swanky new websites just to see what political coverage the majority of Americans are getting. I already know what I feel the important issues are this election, and which candidate is more inline with my political positions, but I also recognize that political races are not usually won on issues. They are more often won on personality and on small, memorable, political moments, consisting either of a gaffe (bad) or a well put policy point (good). Reading substantive articles or watching substantive news programs can not edify you on these essentials of American politics.
The first news program I watched was ABC's "This Week with George Stephanopoulos," the Stephanopoulos, who, most recently, was widely castigated for his petty questioning during a primary debate between Obama and Hillary. Mr. Stephanopolous conducted the interview decently, pushing Obama a bit on issues such as tax cuts - where he misrepresented Obama's tax plan as "raising taxes" when it is more a cut than anything else - and Vice Presidential nominee Palin's experience. Overal though, I was struck by how boring the show was. As is most often the case with the mainstream media, Mr. Stephanopoulos exhibited what can only be described as follow-up question phobia, and when he did ask a follow-up question, they were always on very mundane political points consisting of making Obama respond to charges coming from the McCain camp. Most of the time however, the interview consisted of giving Obama a platform on which to talk about what he wanted to talk about. Hardly any context was offered by Stephanopoulos. This guy gets paid to do this?
After watching Obama's tedious interview I switched over to CBS's venerable "Face the Nation" with Bob Shiefer to see how McCain did, or, more accurately, how well Mr. Shiefer asked questions. Once again I was board out of my mind by Shiefer's line of questioning. Shiefer had so many opportunities to get substantive information from McCain. I'm not asking him to hold the Senators feet to the fire - by now we know the American media establishment is unwilling and incapable of doing this. I just want to know a little more about the guy running for president. If I wanted to hear McCain's dry policy positions I would rather go to his website than have to sit through a half-hour of him awkwardly regurgitate them, with the misrepresentations and lies left unchallenged.
There is much talk about why the media is so inept in their political coverage. Some say it is a conspiracy; others say it is the institutional framework that leaves news programs beholden to corporate ad revenue. I don't believe there is a deliberate conspiracy. Such a theory of overt malfeasance would require much more evidence to back it up than what is present. I do think the corporate structure does not work well to create the sort of independent media most people agree we need. But even corporate control can't account for how much worse American newsmen are compared to their just as corporate compatriots in other media markets around the world.
I think that our news outlets are as bad as they are due to a combination of slowly eroding journalistic standards (American journalists obsession with access to politicians is an example of this that I have written about before) and slowly growing media consolidation, which creates a stiff media establishment lacking the motivation to fix itself.
What we are left with is a monopolized media market producing a product of poor quality, and until there is some real competition, there is very little reason to believe the monopoly will be shaken. Luckily there are alternative media options that are refreshingly independent. Just remember that you might want to check back on the ugly news networks, lest you forget how most voters choose their president.

The Surge

These days there appears to finally be consensus on the Iraq War. The mainstream media, politicians, and "sensible" voters all agree that the Iraq surge, much derided in the past as a Bush administration ploy to convince the public that with a little elbow grease and perseverance the horrible situation that we created in Iraq could be fixed, is working. Unfortunately, like most instances of American political consensus, the widespread belief that the surge achieved success is false and the American public is most probably in for a major disappointment - which is painless in comparison with what continued failure means for Iraq.
The surge has been successful politically in the U.S. due to it being so intuitive. The natural instinct in problem solving is to throw resources at the problem until it goes away, or in the case of Iraq, send more troops. Unfortunately, the war in Iraq is not a simple problem with a simple solution. The messy political situation, where different ethnic, tribal, religious, and class contingencies compete for power and security, is not the open war on the battlefield where superior troop numbers have an advantage, nor is it similar to the beginning of the occupation of Iraq, when American troops toppled one government only to be left short-staffed to deal with providing a new one.
Fortunately for all those supporting the surge, the factions - especially Sunni - within Iraq who were doing the majority of the fighting, began to contemplate a new strategy towards winning security in a destabilized country. Beginning before the surge but finally coming to fruition as American troop levels in Baghdad and other restive areas grew, Iraqi insurgents switched their allegiance against Al-Qaeda, and in reward were given money and weapons by the U.S.
But it wasn't only switching allegiances that have made Iraq less violent since the surge. The decline of multi-ethnic neighborhoods, due to ethnic cleansing, evidenced by millions of refuge and internally displaced Iraqis, is another sad hint at why the killing has abated for now.
But this lull in fighting is probably temporary. The current arrangement where the conflicting interests are bribed into passivity is built on an increasingly shaky political foundation. The Sunni tribes cooperating with the U.S. will only cooperate for as long as they are paid. They also expect to have political power in the Iraqi government, and security guarantees, something that the Shiite leadership clearly is hesitant to afford them. Only recently it was reported in The New York Times (here) that the Iraqi government is preparing a major offensive against Sunni groups, including the Sons of Iraq, the very group that Gen. Patreaus credited with helping to bring down violence in Iraq and which is supported monetarily by the U.S. These are signs that the days of cooperation might be coming to a close.
The truth that is not expressed in pithy statements like "the surge worked" is that the political powers in Iraq have yet to shift into place. The current period of calm has been a godsend, especially for Republicans and McCain, but tension is mounting. McCain's unwillingness to point out the flaws in his myth of the surge's success is dangerous to him politically, especially if the situation spoils before November. Obama also is far too reluctant to tell the truth about the surge - which it appears he knows due to his continued, though often timid, opposition to it. He is not helped by the simplistic "the surge has worked/is working" line constantly repeated in the media. Even newsmagazines that think highly of their product, like The Economist, repeat the false assessment - most recently when they derided Obama for "denying funds to the 'surge' that has worked so well" - though The Economist has failed time and again in their analysis of events.
The point of this piece is to clarify the actual situation in Iraq. It is never helpful to have delusions about real, ongoing issues, especially in an election such as this where Americans must asses the good judgment of candidates, with one supporting the fictionalized surge, and the other choosing not to pander by proclaiming false victory.

Land of the Free: Amy Goodman Arrested at the RNC

We knew that law enforcement has gone to unacceptable steps to protect the campaign convention pageants put on by the Democrats and Republicans, but this is absolutely ridiculous.

Kucinich Wakes Up A Mundane DNC

A New Campaign Approach

I don't think Barack Obama is running a very good campaign. The slogans and policy positions have not moved me. Ralph Nader's campaign, on the other hand, is full of policy and principle that I identify with, but I also do not think he is running the campaign he could be running. Ralph Nader, many times, seems to me to be preaching to the choir.
The problem is that both campaigns are not politicking as they should. They aren't finding something they really believe in and then selling that forcefully to the American public. They aren't putting the other side on the defensive, and when they are, they are not doing it in a constructive way that will chip away the opposition’s support.
Ralph Nader, to be sure, supports mostly majoritarian issues that Americans care about and support. The problem seems to be that he has adopted all of the left to center's dream list of policy, and is running on each piece equally. The one issue that he has pushed to the fore, in an attempt to justify his third-party run, is that of electoral reform. He wants to fix the way we run our democracy, an admirable and extremely important issue that needs far greater attention. The problem though is that in our current economic and geopolitical situation, there are other issues that, while in the long run less important than democracy promotion at home, for now are pressing to the majority of Americans.
Mr. Nader's continued focus on electoral reform is evidence of his focus on his core group of supporters, who, I would guess, care more about principles than political practicality. True, Nader's support in the general public is at a considerably high 6%, as shown by a CNN poll. But to get over 10% he will have to employ a technique other than what I would call Ron Paul politicking.
Ron Paul politicking is where a candidate, such as Ron Paul, has immense support with a core group of enthusiastic supporters galvanized by their candidates "perfect" policy platform. To many others, however, this messiah like candidates perfect ideology seems to be too good to be true, which in all likelihood is the case. Even if many of Ron Paul's positions could work wonders, his over the top cosmology and lack of focus makes everything seem a pipe dream and unattainable.
So what should Nader focus on if he wants to really push Democrats to act in the interest of this country? The good news is that he won't have to reach far to grasp the topic that could put both Democrats and Republicans on the defensive. One quite contrarian position that would throw those trying to pigeonhole Nader as a liberal extremist for a loop would be that of corporate reform. But Nader's corporate reform policy shouldn't be just the usual corporate bashing (which is deserved but off-putting to many voters due to the Ron Paul effect). No, Nader need only turn the issue on the Demo-Republicans by calling for greater support of owners, those who have stock in corporations and thus, in a capitalist economy, ought to be at the top of the command line.
The respected founder of The Vanguard Group, John Bogle, has written extensively about the creeping disenfranchisement of owners in our country. The management of companies - CEO's, CFO's, the board of directors - have waged war on the rights of owners to have a say in the companies they own, and owners have largely acquiesced when promised greater returns on their investments. The signs of management bamboozling those who they owe their jobs to are abundant - Enron, Tyco, WorldCom, the whole financial industry. Things like bad accounting are hostile actions against the owners of companies. The problem, as Bogle and also Nader has pointed out time and time again, is that absentee ownership has led not only to problems for owners but also severe problems in our economy. A system where no one is accountable until things really go bad and crimes are committed is very unstable. We have seen the effects of this in the latest financial industry bust.
As I have said before, Ralph Nader has talked often about corporate reform, specifically giving more responsibility and power to the owners of companies. But Ralph Nader could weaponize the issue, potentially driving a wedge in the business community, shocking the public out of their slumber by making them aware of how un-capitalist our country truly is, and proving that he is not an ideologue, just someone who knows what ails our country.
Now if Ralph Nader focused on this sort of corporate reform, and then coupled it with a promise to overhaul healthcare, while reminding the public that while he may be focusing on two issues, he has identified a lot of other problems that need fixing, I think we would see a whole new dynamic arise in the presidential race. Barack Obama could quickly adopt Ralph's positions once it is shown that the public is receptive, while McCain's policy would look almost as old as he looks. Instead of the usual situation of Democrats on the defensive (who started the debate on off-shore oil drilling? Republicans once again) they would be on the offensive, pushing the Republicans into the same corner they have been wallowing in for the last 28 years. The country would be immediately re-aligned to the left since in reality a capitalist economy cannot work without a healthy, strong, democratic government. Call me a dreamer, but I think that by focusing on two post-partisan but clearly leftwing issues we could see a dramatic shift in this election.

Russia-Georgia-US-EU-Oil

The political section of the Mainissue is back after a long vacation, and just in time too. As we all know by now, a lot has gone in the Caucuses in the last week or so. All the details of what took place to ignite the war between Russia and Georgia are still not sufficiently worked out, but at this point it appears that what happened was that Georgia decided to try and take back the rebellious enclave of South Ossettia as the worlds attention was focused on the opening night of the Olympics. Georgian forces quickly made headway into South Ossettia, a region where most of the people identify with Russia, but Russia, clearly very prepared for such a move by Georgia, quickly pushed the Georgians back and were soon entering Georgian territory.
Acquisations were flying between the politicians of both warring countries, each one accussing the other of starting the war along with war crimes which undoubtadly occurred. Russias quick response does suggest that they were preparing, prepared for, or in the process of starting, a war with Georgia. For the last couple of months Russia has been acting as if they had plans. The most notable indication that Russia was stepping up pressure in the region came with the handing out of Russian passports to the residents of South Ossettia, a move to claim the territory as Russian and lay the groundwork for future military action in protection of "Russian citizens" if events should escalate.
Georgia, and especially its president, Mikheil Saakashvili, on the other hand, were bellicose and overly enthusiastic to start a war that, without the support of Europe, the U.S., or NATO, was impossible for it to win. It is still unclear how Georgia could have made such a blunder. Insiders and pundits talk about possible encouragement and pressure coming from within the Bush administration as well as other neo-conservatives within the government. Military aid and training from the U.S. has been steadily increasing since the Clinton years, and this, along with Georgian participation in the Iraq War as, up until this war started, the third largest contingent in the "Coalition of the Willing" probably made the Georgians think they had more international support than they did.
While culpability for the war is still not clear - perhaps because both sides had much to do with starting it - there is very little doubt about the outcome. Russia unequivocally won the war militarily. They were also able to meet what was clearly their main objective: taking South Ossetia, once and for all, from Georgia. So far they have not succeeded in ousting Mr. Saakashvili; his popularity has recently been heightened though that could change soon enough.
Most importantly for Russia, they have managed to scare the U.S. and Europe. They have brought home the reality that the West has very little leverage in the region when push comes to shove. And this matters, since oil is involved.
What is interesting in the diplomatic response to the conflict is the differing approaches taken by Europe and the U.S. A little understanding of what is at stake is needed in order to fully appreciate why the U.S. and Europe are acting so differently. Europes largest energy provider is Russia. Over 1/4 of all natural gas brought into Europe comes from Russia. Geopolitically, such a situation where one country dominates the energy resources of another is not good. When that one country is Russia and its energy dependant is not one country but a whole region - Europe - than the problem is serious.
In the nineties the U.S. and Europe sought to fix this geopolitical problem on the horizon by courting the recent breakaway states of the former USSR. The plan was to build oil pipelines circumventing the then weak Euro-Asian goliath with an imperial past - Russia. Things got of to a good start as Russia was embroiled in social, political, and economic chaos. But when Russia got back on its feet, it began to rationilize its geopolitical energy policy. It became clear very quickly that the pipelines skirting the new Russian borders were not just an annoyance that gave Russia's past provences great favor in the West, they also threatened Russian energy hegemony. The EU's fractured foreign policy offered Russia an opening to break apart concensus by striking bilateral deals with EU member states, thus staveing off the eventual goal of a united EU policy towards Russia. To further delay, or hopefully end, EU plans to open up a compeating energy tap in Turkey, Russia also stepped up the pressure on surrounding countries eager to strike deals with the West. Georgia was a particularly enticing location to stop an oil pipeline, since years of ethnic strife in the region could quickly and easily be fanned to Russia's advantage. Thus the conflict in Georgia began, and the regions people's peace and security, whether they realize it or not, are casualities of this sad geopolitical struggle.
When the war began, the differing circumstances of the U.S. and Europe became clear in how their diplomats approached the problem. The U.S. took a combative stand against Russias actions, decrying it as illegal and warrenting international condemnation. Europe, for the most part, was more concilitory, trying to stop the war quickly but not push Russia too hard, and definitely not condemn it outright. The reasons for the differing approaches are obvious when one considers oil. The U.S. gets far less oil and no natural gas from Russia. Europe, as we have seen, is tethered to Russia for a large portion of its energy. Noticably, the UK took up the U.S.'s line of attack on Russia. Why? Because the UK, like the U.S., imports very little oil from Russia - very little oil at all for that matter thanks to the North Sea - and no natural gas. They can afford to be hard-asses.
Now if the U.S. and Europe were working in conjunction on this diplomatic action it could possibly be construed as a genius solution to getting Russia to back off, allowing NATO countries to have their cake and eat it too. The U.S. often did seem to be acting as Europes foil. Unfortunately, I do not think this was what was going on. Europe was acting out of its interests, the U.S and UK theirs. In the end, there is very little good news that has come out of the conflict - not even to mention the sad outcome for all those civilians involved in the conflict.
It is clear now that there is very little that Europe or the U.S. can do if Russia chooses to flex its military muscles, and Russias powerful position sitting atop large oil and gas reserves allows it a lot of flexibility.
What leverage does the U.S. and the EU have? Not much really. There is the possibility of withholding talks on Russian WTO (World Trade Organization) membership, though stalling negotiations once again could do more harm than good and put Europe in an awkward position. The U.S. has been sending supplies and troops to the region for a while. It could send more, though there aren't many to spare and the act would be provocative. There are probably enough there as is to convince Russia not to risk a larger war by entering Tblisi. The U.S. has also announced that it will end joint military exercises with Russian troops, a move without much consequence.
All and all the last weeks turmoil is another problem for the U.S., but more so for Europe. Moreover, it is another indictment of this administrations lackadaisical foreign policy. It was bad policy (or worse still if the administration actually encouraged Georgia) to not warn Georgia that during lean times such as these, U.S support, especially militarily, would not be forthcoming if a conflict developed. The conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan have sapped the U.S. military's ability to be a deterrent. The consequences of this are beginning to be clear.

Last Leg

So here I am, back home (in LA, so not quite) dealing with the effects of jet lag by writing the last mainissue travel edition blog entry at 4 in the morning. Its quiet and dark; a perfect atmosphere for remembering and reminiscing. First, though, before I reflect, I'll try and bring the blog up to date:

Berlin was our last stop on our European leg of the tour. We arrived by bus from Prague, not sure how we were going to get in touch with our hosts. We met a couple Canadian girls from our bus also in the same situation, so we offered each other advice on the formatting of German numbers and hung out at the bus station payphones, trying to reach our friends. It turned out that the two girls were from Canada and had also done Birthright a year before. After the phone ate around six euros we were able to get definite directions from Max - Regina, our host's, son - and so we parted from our friends with plans to meet at the Jewish museum sometime in the future, pending email confirmation.

Al and I were very excited about our luck of meeting people so early on our stay in Berlin. I know both of us had great expectations. Things, unfortunately, did not turn out as well as we planned. We got in contact with our friends easily enough - via email - but when it came time to meet we ran into one trouble after another. Al and I diligently waited outside of the Jewish museum for quite a while, both looking indifferently cool slumped along the wall reading, which turned out to be a problem since the girls did not see us (though I think they could have looked a bit harder). We then set up another meeting spot, but they didn't receive the email in time. In their follow-up email they suggested a place to meet, but we did not get that email until the next day. Finally both the girls and us figured it was not meant to be and gave up trying.

So the beginning of our trip in Berlin was a bit disappointing socially. This, while putting a bit of a damper on things, did not take away from our enjoyment of Berlin. We wandered around the streets, marveling at the vibrancy we saw about us, from the culturally diverse neighborhoods full of Donar Kebab shops to the late night coffee houses and outdoor bars. The city was alive; maybe it was just when we were there and the sun was shinning brightly and the sky was clear, or maybe it was always like that, I couldn't say. I do think though that the warm weather helped to bring people out onto the streets.

We were initiated into the jovial atmosphere of the city on our first full day in Berlin. We had heard the night before from Max and his friends that America's presidential contender, Barack Obama, was planning to speak to Berlin the following evening. We decided to go, not only to get a good look at Barack but also to see what the Germans made of him. I wrote about our time at the rally in another post that the interested reader can refer to for more details. We found the event to be a bit disappointing, but seeing the Berliners have such a good time with it - drinking beer and yelling slogans - and being a part of the whole show was a nice first introduction to the city and its people.

We were lucky to get to spend our time in Berlin staying at a tasteful and spacious apartment on the top story of a beautiful building situated in one of the most dynamic neighborhoods of Berlin. Our hosts, Klaus and Regina, were incredibly gracious and friendly. Luckily our first introduction with Klaus - him finding Al and I asleep in Regina's bed after we had quietly snuck into the apartment the night before - was not too off-putting and was soon got over (We went on to share a nice few bottles of wine with him). We enjoyed not only our hosts but also their hand-operated Italian cappuccino machine. We helped ourselves to a beautiful espresso and foam mostly every morning on Regina's deck overlooking Landwehrkanal (a canal) and the bustling neighborhood of Kreuzberg. I haven't found a coffee shop that could rival Regina's house in scenery or elegance.

We were kinda in the dumps after our miscarried meetings with our Canadian friends, but this was soon remedied through couchsurfing. I have to give Al the credit for this: he really pursued those I had already emailed on couchsurfing's website, setting up dates with many of them - though they didn't all work out.

Our first outing was to Volkspark where a number of couchsurfers were getting together to hang out and talk (I think that was the idea). Volkspark is a very beautiful piece of greenery in what was once East Berlin. It was across town, and we got there somewhat late, but we were able to meet a number of friendly people, and when the party at the park rapped up we followed two crazy married kiwis (people from New Zealand for those not in the know) to a club. We ended up heading home though after the group decided on a punk club across town.

The next day we met up with another couchsurfer gal from the UK, who in turn met up with a few other Americans, and we all headed to a beach bar on the Spree River called "White Trash", near a remaining piece of the Berlin Wall called the East Side Gallery. It was a pretty bizarre/cool place. I love hefeweizen so I had a good time.

We stayed there for a long time, talking to our new friends. One girl who was from Sacramento and was now living in Berlin, invited Al and I to her pub crawl (for free) that she led almost every night. I thought it was a great idea so I got her email. Sadly, this was to be another instance of hopes dashed, though this time I suspect that she ignored my email.

But Berlin had more to offer than a central valley dwelling Californian. We were lucky enough to have arrived in Berlin while a great exhibit was underway at the Pergamon Museum. The show, which was only traveling to three museums - The British Museum, The Louvre, and The Pergamon - was called "Babylon: Myth and Truth". It was a comprehensive showcase of all things from the ancient Mesopotamian city of Babylon, with extensive write-ups detailing even the smallest minutiae of daily life in the Biblical city. The "myth" section of the exhibit dealt with the stories and legends that the city of Babylon has spawned: the tales of evil and lasciviousness that have been passed down to us through the ages. This section was not as interesting as the "Truth" section, but together they both made for a great day at the museum.

On the final night of our stay in Berlin we made another trip to Museum Island (an island on which many of the largest museums are set) to take advantage of free admission Thursday. This time we went stoned, having scored a tiny bit of weed from some guys we met while playing ping-pong in the park. It turned out to be a really great night, our senses fully extended to take in all the art that the museum offered up. Luckily I was able to rid myself of all my giggles early on after Al bought for himself a faux East-German (GDR) officer's hat, which resembled a hat an S&M stripper might wear. I could really just focus on the 19th century art.

We were sad to leave Berlin, but I was also ready to continue on and meet my relatives in Israel. I didn't know what to expect: I knew it could be possibly very dull, with a lot of formalities and some guided touring around the country. But I was hopeful it wouldn't be so.

We arrived in Tel Aviv in the late afternoon and were picked up at the airport by my cousin Shani. She drove us to Afula where her parents live, a small town in the north of the country. We were greeted warmly by the whole family - Havov, Lia, Shani, Etay, Tali and her husband, who's name escapes me - and soon were around the table eating a delicious multi-course meal. We were informed of the plans for that night, or morning really, since we were going to be going with Etay to a rave lasting into the next day. Etay had planned the trip meticulously, anxiously awaiting our arrival at the airport to find out whether to get Al and I tickets for the highly coveted dance party in the Golan Heights. At the dinner party I also learned a bit about family history, all the way up to the recent wedding of Tali and her husband. After the large dinner we went to our bedroom to take a nap before our long night. Both Al and I had a hard time of it, and I finally gave up my attempt at some shut-eye and took a shower instead.

At around midnight we left the Rabkin house to go to Etay's apartment in the city of Afula. We hung out there for an hour or so, meeting Etay's friend Elad, before heading out towards the Golan Heights. I was a bit confused the whole drive, trying to place each left and right turn on the labyrinthine road network up to the Golan Heights into a coherent whole; I was unsuccessful. Etay, it seemed, was a bit confused too, and we arrived a bit late to our rave date - 3 in the morning. We got out of the car and into the surprisingly chilly weather and began the slow move to the entry of the party through thick crowds. Once inside all the misgivings we might have had as to the sanity of staying up this late were dispelled. Hundreds of tents were nestled in an expansive orchard of some sort of fruit or nut tree - no one was able to tell me what type of trees they were.

After a bit of confusion we were able to locate Etay's friend's tent, set our stuff down, have a few drinks and a light hummus snack, and then head off to the "dance floor," an outdoor arena with a large stage set in front of a geese pen. There we danced the dusk away and saw the sun rise, at which point we retired to the tent and slept until it became unbearably hot (around 9 o'clock).

After a morning dance under the cool rain of water misters we left the party for a swim in the Kinneret (Sea of Galilee). It was a beautiful day. We floated in the warm water of Israel's main water source, peering off to the other end of the large inland sea towards Jordon.

We were all hungry so before heading back to the Rabkin's house we stopped at a traditional Levantine restaurant, where we tried a large selection of salads and dips along with a large kebab plate, topped off with a desert and Turkish coffee.

Back at the Rabkin's we slept very soundly, only waking for our next meal, this time with my other relatives, Adik and Luba Kriger. After finishing yet another large meal we went with the Kriger's to their town of Ma'alot an hour or so up north.

The Kriger's lived in a nice complex inhabited mainly by Russian-Israeli's who came to Israel en mass after the fall of the USSR. The Kriger family came during this time - in 1991 - and wanting to leave the deteriorating circumstances of their homeland but not the culture, chose to live in a community of Russian-immigrants. People who came to the country in the 90’s from the former USSR populate much of the north of Israel.

Adik was excited from the beginning to show Al and I all that was possible in the short time we had, but was careful to find out where we had been before so as not to be redundant. Even if his English was shaky at times he always enthusiastically pointed out things of interest to us. We traveled all around with the family, from the ancient port of Akko to the religious sites on the Sea of Galilee. It was a nice change of pace to tour in a more leisurely manner, able to jump in a car to get to the next spot.

At night we had a great Russian meal of borscht and salmon, washed down with very good vodka with tomato juice (aka Bloody Mary's) and vodka straight. Later we went out on the town with Anna (my cousin) her fiancé and a few of their friends. After a bout of anxiety caused by our thinking that our flight back home was that night and not the following, we mellowed down and enjoyed our last night, drinking beer and talking with Anna's friends as the Mediterranean sea crashed along the coast only twenty feet from our spot perched on lush couches.

The next day we toured the Bahá'í Gardens in Haifa. Well, unfortunately, it was not quite a tour since they only let us walk through an itsy-bitsy section of the gardens secluded from the main terraced walkway. Nevertheless it was very interesting. From there we went up to the Lebanese-Israeli border to look around, and then headed back home where Adik and Luba had planned for us to have a light meal with their Mothers before heading to the airport.

Before lunch we met my relative Rosa - my grandmother's first-cousin - who was excited to talk politics with me. Anna was helpful enough to translate Rosa's Russian to me and visa-versa. Rosa began by asking me whether I was a socialist, and sensing where this was going I said no. She was happy, since, she said, she had lived socialism and hated it. She then delved into American presidential politics, telling me that she did not trust Obama and thought McCain best since he was more steadfast in his support for Israel. I gave her reasons why I thought Obama wasn't as bad as she made him out to be, but she was indignant. She had other strong things to say about the Palestinians, to which I objected, thinking the characterization unfair. The most difficult sort of political discussion must be ones involving a translator. Maybe that's why foreign affairs are always so messy.

Our stay at the Kriger home was concluded after watching a video of a trip my great-grandmother and great uncle took to Russia in 1960. It was an appropriate ending to my visit to Israel in which I met many relatives I had never met before and learned much about my mom's family's history.

The flight home was long but not all that bad, especially with lots of sleep, and we arrived in LA perfectly on time. After passport control, baggage claim, customs, and then one premature round of goodbyes done before Al went the wrong way to catch his flight back to SF, Al and I parted ways. It was the end of our summer jaunt through Israel and Europe.



I had traveled before but never have I had as good of a time as I did on this trip. I think the combination of traveling partner, being older and wiser, doing a variety of different things, and traveling in a less touristy way (at least for part of the trip) combined to make the trip what it was.

Most important, perhaps, was the reading material that I brought along with me. I can't imagine what it would have been like without it. My first book, "Black Lamb and Grey Falcon," vivified our journey through the Balkans, giving an appreciation for the place that would have been absolutely unattainable if I would have just relied on the Lonely Planet guide to give me a sense of the history and culture of the place. Next, Tony Judt's "Post War" gave me a better comprehension of the roots of the prosperity that became so conspicuous when we crossed from former Communist countries to the "West". My grasping - but still not totally understanding - the complex history of the continent was invaluably helped by "Post War". Furthermore, being able to place my surroundings in the historical continuum was not only enjoyable but also made the trip that much more meaningful.

My last read, Josephues' "The Jewish War," written in the 1st century, was entertaining and powerful as a historical work written from such a long time ago and referencing so many sites that still exist in and around Israel.



In reading so many historical tracts I, and Al, through osmosis I assume, began thinking about our trip in historical terms. Thus we came up with historicalesque "periods" to categorize our trip. So in conclusion, I will attempt to distill our trip down to six loose periods:

Semitic Period - This period was characterized by lots of traveling through the deserts - on a bus - being more social than I have been in years, and meeting more Jewish people than I have met since pre-school.

Greco Period - A short period but distinct in its chaotic and worried energy. Since it was the first stop on our month 'n more trip I think Al and I were both eager to get into traveling gear, and we probably overcompensated a bit. The chaotic nature of Athens did not help.

Tim Period - Ah the Tim period. At the beginning of the Tim period we met.... Tim, and subsequently a whole period bears his name. The Tim period was one in which we hung out with Tim from Australia almost exclusively, save for a short day with Delia and Tessa. We did everything with Tim: we traveled with Tim, we ate with Tim, we slept with Tim (platonically).

Post-Tim - Growing pains... Tim moves on, we move on, and we have to reorient ourselves towards the rest of the world.
It really wasn't that hard. We just thought it would be funny to name a period "post-Tim".
Tim still held a special place on our facebook friend list, but we were out and about. Al met a girl, I met some guys to talk politics with, and it was all good. Like the Tim period, in the Post-Tim period we were constantly on the move, though we slowed down just a bit to enjoy some nice cups of coffee and a good read/draw.

Sedentary Period - This period should probably officially only apply to Vienna and Berlin, but I think it well sums up the part of our trip following our departure from Zagreb. The pace slowed considerably, we spent many days at people’s houses, and we didn't travel long distances much. It was a pleasant lull, filled with a variety of small, but not overly ambitious sightseeing
Return to the Homeland with a 4-day stop in the Homeland (period) - We go back to Israel, visit relatives, go to a rave, see the site where Jesus was baptized, and then head back home to try and adjust to the time difference.


The End

Croatia, Austria, and The Czech Republic

Leaving Bosnia and Herzegovina it became clear that the distinctively rustic part of our travels were coming to an end. Since June 16 we had been traveling in poor countries, Greece being the most wealthy among them. Bosnia and Herzegovina appeared to be the poorest of them all, made that way by a recent history of brutal civil war. But now, from the capital city of the Republic Serbska, Banja Luca, we were heading towards the countries of the EU, with all of its modern rules and regulations, wealth and interconnectedness.

We were joined on our journey by a 21 year-old Russian Ph.D student, who had been living in Croatia studying Balkans politics and was soon leaving for New York to finish her schooling. From the description it might appear that she was a very interesting acquaintance, but she turned out to have a very abrasive personality. Even though I could tell from the beginning that she was hard to be around, I could do little as she slowly asserted control over mine and Al's travel plans from the moment we got off the bus in Zagreb, pulling us onto buses with the excuse of trying to help us find a hostel. I think part of the reason she took such an interest in us was because we told her we had been on Birthright to Israel. She, as it turned out, was Jewish as well. She called me 'her Jewish friend.'

She was not easy-going, nor did she have a sense of humor, and her presence began to ratchet up the stress. She was able, however, to find the hostel she was staying at, and the very friendly hostel attendant, thinking that we were all together in a group, tried to find us a space in the hostel although it was almost full. She offered Al and I a single bed to share for a discount, and we took it. The 'Russian reach around,' as we not-so-affectionately began to call our new co-traveller, was hungry, and so, not wanting to spend any more money or time than was needed with her, we steered her into going to McDonald's. Al was especially excited by the menu options, so much so that he went back for seconds on a milk-shake. This was to be the first of a number of stops at McDonald's that Al and I would make in the course of our travels in the more prosperous, and Americanized, EU Europe (Al loved the ice cream coffee drinks).

That night we managed to break free from the Russian and went out for drinks at an Irish bar with the hostel attendant, her boyfriend (the young part-owner of the hostel), their friend, and three English girls from the hostel. Over a Guinness the hostel attendant's boyfriend told us of how he got into the hostel business: He was trying to learn Japanese, and found out about a website that connects Japanese speakers with Croatian speakers so that they can teach each other their respective languages. He happened to get in contact with a Japanese man who was looking to start a hostel in Zagreb and wanted a Croatian to be his business partner. We were all happy to find out the history of our humble hostel.

The next day we toured around Zagreb a bit, planning our day out so that we could catch the overnight bus to Vienna at 11pm. We visited an old-masters art museum, rushing through most of it because we arrived right before closing time (it's not a good idea to plan much of anything in Europe on Sunday). We strolled down streets, observing the obviously Austrian inspired architecture in all of its flamboyant Baroqueness (it was nothing compared to Vienna though).

After a fulfilling pasta meal where we managed to spend almost all of our remaining Croatian kuna, we went back to our hostel, retrieved our bags, and headed to the bus depot. Just to make sure that we didn't leave Croatia with a single kuna needing usurious exchange, I suggested that we buy a snack for the bus ride. Unfortunately, we did not count on being charged for each piece of luggage on top of the ticket price, a practice common in the poorer Balkan regions but one which we thought we had left behind. So at the last minute I had to find an ATM, get charged a $5 transaction fee (a tariff that has added a considerable expense to our trip after months of travel) for money I was not going to be able to use, and pay the disgruntled bus driver.

But no matter: we were on our way, late at night, on a crowded little bus. Al easily dosed off on his neck pillow, but I was stuck sitting next to a beer drinking, cell phone talking Croatian, and wasn't able to sleep. When I finally managed to get a bit of sleep we arrived at the Slovenian EU border and were forced to debark at the checkpoint with a storm thundering around us. The process of passport checking took quite a while, but it was not without its entertainment: an old, apparently senile woman in front of me, tired of waiting in line, decided it best to just walk straight across the border. So after a hesitant start she picked up pace, and soon was waddling into Slovenia. A boarder guard and our bus driver chased her down, put her at the front of the line, and then once her passport was oked, walk her, legally this time, into Slovenia. Once there though, she tired of waiting for the others still on the other side, so she started back across the border, into Croatia, eliciting the same response from the border guard and bus driver.

At six in the morning we arrived in Vienna, lacking a map or any information on how to reach our Viennese host, Judith, because we weren't able to get her response email in time. We got on a U-Bahn and headed to the center of town. After a light nap under the awning of some impressive neo-classical building (still not sure what function the place had in imperial times) we went to a ritzy coffee shop where we ordered a cappuccino and small croissant, all coming to around 7 euro per person. At last - after spending a euro and a half on fifteen minutes of Internet - we found directions to Judith's house and headed her way.

Judith lived in what seemed to be a more working class, culturally diverse neighborhood. It was very nice, and offered easy access to very cheap Turkish food restaurants featuring the ubiquitous 'Donar Kebab'. Her apartment was also very close to light rail going towards a hub U-bahn station, but was also walking distance from many of the interesting cultural treats of Vienna.

Our stay with Judith turned out to be more than we could have hoped for. She was extremely hospitable, giving Al and I her bed - for which we repaid her in delicious fried egg breakfasts most mornings and a carbarnara pasta dinner - and when she was not busy with school work or preparing for her imminent departure to China for a year long study abroad program, she took us around the city, to swanky bars, coffee shops (where we tried a variety of famous Viennese pastries and deserts), an outdoor concert, a short film festival, a pay-what-you-like Indian restaurant, and a modern-art gallery. She introduced us to friends, and even was so kind as to talk politics with me, telling me about the recent electoral history of her country, the different parties, and the sometimes provincial and racist recalcitrance of her fellow Austrians.

Our stay in Vienna, for me, was marked by a lot of viewing and discussion of art. This, of course, is Al's forte, and he had a great time reflecting on a central and eastern European art history class he took a few years back, educating me on the importance of Egon Schiele and Gustav Klimpt - the few names that I remember. We also, coincidentally, ran into Al's friend Sean at the Secessionist's (a early 20th century Viennese art movement) art nuevo HQ, who we knew was going to be in Vienna but was a surprise to run into nonetheless. We followed him and his art class into a couple galleries, but Judith and I were fatigued by all the avant garde art we had seen that day (though John Currin's hilarious paintings did offer a respite from art theory) and so headed back home.

After a long week exploring Vienna we sadly packed our bags and headed to the edge of town, hoping to hitch a ride to Prague. The problem was that the Austrian drivers had other plans. Al and I sat on the corner of the autobahn - or whatever the Austrians call it - for around two and a half hours before we decided it was hopeless and headed first for the train station, but then, finding trains too expensive, for the bus station, where the 21 euro ticket was more to our liking.

We arrived in Prague late that night, and after much confusion as to the location of our hostel, got onto a subway train and soon arrived at our somewhat rundown, but perfectly decent hostel on the outskirts of town. It turned out that our hostel wasn't particularly fun - everyone kind of kept to themselves - although I did have quite a surprise when I walked into our room the first night to find two guys from the Canary Islands whom I had share a hostel room with before when my friend Molly and I visited London a year and a half ago.

Like our hostel though, Prague too was less interesting than other places we had been on our journey through Europe. It wasn't that it wasn't beautiful - it was - and it wasn't that it didn't have any interesting things to offer - it does- it was, I think, that Al and I were not in the mood to be tourists, and in Prague, there is no way one can not be a tourist. The city is swarming with people from all around the world, and while this may, in certain places, imbue a certain cosmopolitanism, in Prague, where the multiculturalism is due mostly to holiday makers, the crowds give the city a Disney Land feel (Disney World might be more accurate).

It wasn't that I actively disliked Prague; I didn't. In fact we did quite a few cool things. While the Franz Kafka museum was underwhelming, walking through Malá Strana below the Prague castle was very enjoyable. Along these same lines, seeing Pink Floyed's The Wall might have been mainly an opportunity to remember how incredible idiotic that film was, but seeing it at an open air theatre on an Island in the Vltava River as it sporadically rained was quite enjoyable (although not enjoyable enough to keep us there through the whole movie). We also met up with Sean again, who had been living there for a month and more, had some great beer at an artisan beer brewery, and had lots of reading time. So it wasn't bad; it just wasn't great, wasn't as interesting and authentic as the other places we had visited up to that point.

So after four days we left Prague on a mid-afternoon bus, heading to our final European destination: Berlin.

From Berlin,
Brett

In Berlin with Obama

Yesterday Al and I went down to the Victory Column in Berlin to hear Barack Obama speak to Berliners - and Europe - about the future of U.S.-Europe relations, whether or not he is elected president - although it sure would be a disappointment for all those people who came out to see him if he ends up losing.
I was not all that impressed by the speech. He didn't say much, choosing instead to paint a dramatic, if by now tired, picture of Euro-American relations as a partnership in the pursuit of greater freedom around the world, using the Berlin airlifts and the fall of communism as examples of the power of the trans-Atlantic partnership.
He did a fine job of working the crowed, one moment revving them up with pledges of support for tackling issue dear to most Germans such as nuclear disarmament and global warming, and the next calming them with less popular proposals such as expanding NATO commitments in Afghanistan with the help of German troops. I got the feeling that many who were there wanted to be moved by Obama, and tried very hard to get into it, but that there was very little that they could really latch on to and say 'this is the reason I support him over McCain; this is the issue that differentiates him.' On any close study of where Mr. Obama stands on many key principles, it is obvious how far apart Europe and the U.S. actually are. From the ethics of capital punishment to the reality of the American empire, there are very few issues that Americans and Europeans truly see eye to eye on. Mr. Obama's visit surly did not make this divide explicitly known to all the millions hearing him live and on television, but his presidency will.


Here Al and I are (inside the red circle) at the Obama rally. Obviously one of millions. This photo comes from the New York Times website here.

Americans Abroad

Al and I are not the only Americans eagerly anticipated in Berlin. Unbeknown to us, our trip in Berlin coincides with the arrival of another American a bit more famous than us. Tonight at 7 pm, Democratic presidential nominee Barack Obama will be speaking at the Victory Column in the center of Berlin to an estimated crowd of over 1 million people. If we get there 3 hours before, we will also be able to hear him speak, which for us holds a special interest since it will be a rare opportunity to be an outsider at an American presidential campaign speech. Regardless of my political proclivities, I am excited to witness what seems to be a historical event if for no other reason than it being the largest international presidential campaigning event in history.

From Berlin,
Brett

Bosnia and Herzegovina

I was negatively predisposed to Bosnia and Herzegovina by the time I spent in Serbia. The people I spoke to , especially Vlad who was originally from Sarajevo and was forced to leave during the war, and the book I had been reading introduced me to the awkward history of the country. I wish it were not so, but I travelled to our next stop in our Balkan tour with a complete set of biases.
But as we drove across the Bosnian country side at dusk it was hard to hold on to grudges. It was also hard to harbor anger towards people who had over the centuries, created for themselves such a bucolic home. Gazing across such a peaceful landscape as Northern Bosnia, it seemed incomprehensible that such a place could have nurtured the hatred that burst into war in the early nineties. I knew of course, that in fact this was one of many conflict flash points, that many of the people still living in the north of Bosnia, in what is officially - in all but international recognition - the separate nation of the Serbian Republic, still harbor animosity towards the others - Bosnian Muslims mostly. For reasons that were not readily apparent, especially from a quick drive through the place, I knew that the problems that started the first conflict have yet to be resolved, and this land could once again beget the worst of human cruelty. For now though, I decided, I would forget all of the human turmoil and just appreciate the natural and man made beauty of the place. It wasn't hard to do. I put on Chopin followed by an oriental sounding Kronos Quartet CD, and peered out the window:
We passed through a lively town on the crest of a hill. Children played basketball and soccer at a rundown but wholly functional schoolyard. Many other children lounged on the rafters encircling the yard and watched their peers play. We passed them by quickly and the children turned to watch us go.
Below their village, the hills tumbled away from us, mist rising from the contours of the landscape. The damp air and low light blended the greens, yellows, and blues of the countryside, softening contrasts and distinctions that would be present at midday. With such a view, and oriental music flitting in my ear, the mind can wonder and feel expansive. Shapes and ideas formed from the shadowy shapes of mountains, trees and houses until finally darkness obscured everything and brought the night sky into view. A crescent moon peered from behind foliage, reminding that we were leaving Christian Orthodox Serbia and were reaching Islamic Bosnia and Herzegovina.

We arrived at Sarajevo late that night. I worried about our chances of finding a hostel, but we were met at the bus by a man from a lonely planet approved hostel who drove us into the old city, past the massive, wall encircled construction site of the new U.S. embassy (you know you are in an important strategic spot when the U.S. builds such an immense embassy) to a couple of beds in dingy, but inexpensive, hostel.
Sarajevo was hot for the duration of our stay, only cooling off briefly for a few minutes of torrential rainfall. The weather worked perfectly with the way one is supposed to enjoy the city though: with oriental leisure. I, nor Al, could refuse this Ottoman contributed culture of long coffee breaks, and so we spent a good portion of our time sitting around by the Miljaha River bank, sipping on espresso's, Al usually writing or drawing in his journal while I read. We visited the old Turkish quarter of the city where tourists and locals alike stroll through cobblestone streets flanked by souvenir shops housed in original low roofed Turkish houses. We climbed to the top of a low hill in the north of the city, and took in the view of Sarajevo: the river snaking through a steep valley; grey buildings with brown roofs on either side; bristling with white minarets, many recently remodeled after the war, often with generous donations from oil-rich Saudi Arabia.
Our hostel turned out to be a very fun place. A group of English girls on their way to the Exit music festival in Novi Sad, Serbia arrived along with two Icelandic guys, another Englishman, and a Fin. The famous English congeniality - especially over a beer - made our stay very enjoyable.
Due to a tight budget we had been stingy when it came to food, but in Sarajevo we decided to splurge a little and eat out.; a very good choice as it turned out. Twice we went to a great traditional Bosnian restaurant (though our enthusiasm could have been a product of our other less than stellar meals).
After a few days spent lounging about in Sarajevo, we decided to go down to Mostar, a 2 1/2 hour train ride from Sarajevo. On our first attempt at getting to Mostar we found that there are only two trains a day leaving form Sarajevo to Mostar, one at 6 am and the other at 6 pm. After missing the first and not being prepared to take the second and stay over night, we decided on the 6 am train for the following day. So we woke early (so early) and, accompanied by two of the English girls, boarded a rickety train for Mostar.
Mostar was hard hit during the war. It was in the center of numerous battles between Croatians and Serbians, Serbians and Muslims, and Croatians and Muslim Bosnians. By the time the dust settled Mostar was in shambles, and the famous Ottoman built bridge, Stari Most, spanning the Neretva River was destroyed (by Croatian artillery). The city has come a long way since then, but many buildings still remain riddled with bullet holes. Even the skeletal remains of buildings still remain as reminders of the scourge of the inglorious ethnic conflicts of the past.
We stayed over night in Mostar, and in the morning head out on a hitchhiking journey we hoped would take us to the small city of Jajce in the north of Bosnia, and then eventually on to our final destination at Zalankovac in the Bosnian countryside.
Immediately after sticking out our thumb on the road to Mostar we were picked up by an affable guy our age from a town just below the junction leading to Jajce. We talked about music most of the time, and he was able to express his love of Balkans music and that he was in a band, even though he spoke somewhat bad English. At the junction we tried to hitch another ride, but we ran up against lots of competition from others with less baggage then us, so we decided to hitch a ride on a pay bus instead. After many ours of travelling, and one more hitch, we made it to Zalankovac, where we were given a place to stay for free thanks to couchsurfing.com and the eccentric owner of the "ecological park," Boro.
Boro started on his project to renovate his grandfathers mill into an ecological park twenty years ago. As he tells it, the townspeople thought he was crazy - the still call him crazy Boro, which I think is an appropriate name. They never thought he could attract tourists out to the middle-of-know-where in Bosnia. But he worked tirelessly, building bungalows and an interesting complex of log cabins along with a stage where he hosts an annual jazz festival. Many of his guests pay to stay at Zalankovac, but if you contact him he will put you up in a damp bedroom. One can't complain though when its free.
At this ecological retreat we met another American named Theresa. She was somewhere in her forties and had an interesting story to tell. She had been a very successful efficiency manager at almost all the major movie studies in LA. From this job she jumped into the tech sector right as the bubble was growing. She got involved in a start up that she hoped would fetch her a couple hundred million dollars when the company went public. Unfortunately, the tech bubble burst right before they were to go public, and her dreams of riches came to naught - though I think she was still quite wealthy. She decided to retreat from dot-com mania to Tahoe, where her and her apparently uber-cool race car driving boyfriend planned to build a mansion on the lake. Again her dreams were disappointed, this time not by the markets but by a neighbor, who sued them to stop them from cutting down some trees. The situation, by her accounts, got immensely litigious, until she couldn't take it any more and sold her half of the house to her bf, left her Porsche and once-a-night sushi dinners behind, and began a period of her life where she lived off the beneficence of others.
This is the stage at which we met her. To us she seemed a bit of a mooch, though she decided to describe her new life as a case of the universe providing. The funny thing was, that through all of her hippyish appearance - and she did appear quite the hippy - it was clear that she still had the LA bourgeois mentality. I guess the old adage is true: you can take Theresa out of LA, but you can't take LA out of Theresa.
At Boro's place we not only lounged about. On the second day we were there we helped to do some work like digging a hole for a water pipe and packing hay onto tractors. It was a taste of the Bosnian farming life and we enjoyed it, for the most part. Theresa, brought low by hay allergies, watched as me, Al, and a couple Bosnian youths loaded bails of hay from a piece of Boro's farmland onto a cart to be trucked away to waiting milk cows. After our work Boro took us to a patch of land he owns which he will be converting into an airstrip for small planes. He plans on having an aeronautics party some time soon, where friends of his will fly in from all parts of Europe.
Halfway back to Zalankovac from our farming stint, Boro's old car ran out of gas, so, as the sun set below the horizon, Al and I got out and pushed the car. Luckily much of the road to the gas station was downhill, so we were able to coast most of the way. That night I played chess with Boro's 14 year-old son, coincidentally named Alex, and beat him. I was very proud of that. The kid was quite good.
The next morning we said our goodbyes, packed our things, and headed to the road to hitch a ride to Jajce. The moment we were out on the road we were picked up by a guy who, while not going to Jajce, was going to Banja Luca, the capital of the Serbian Republic in Bosnia, and so we quickly decided to change our plans and head to Banja Luca instead, before taking a bus to Zagreb, Croatia. Our driver was not afraid of a little speed, especially on the curving roads heading down to Banja Luca. At times I felt the impulse to clutch the armrests tightly.
We arrived a little outside Banja Luca at around midday, and walked a very long 3 km into to town, searching for Internet, food, and the bus station. We found all three things, booked a ticket to Zagreb, and at around four thirty left for Croatia.

From Prague,
Brett

Tamo Daleko, Daleko od mora. Tamo ze selo, Tamo ze Serbiya.

I did not know what to expect from Serbia. A guide book can only tell you so much about a place, and it's usually restricted to descriptions of cultural monuments and directions on how to find them. For places like Paris, Rome, or London, where historical sites are carefully preserved with ample funds and great care to give the citizenry and tourist a grand view of each places past and present achievements, your Frommer's or Lonely Planet guide is quite useful. But Belgrade is different. Sure it has its own unique set of cultural sites, but unlike the aforementioned Western European capitals, Belgrade's attractions seem confused in their diversity - here an Austrian fortress, there a uniquely Serb orthodox church, and between a smattering of Turkish buildings - and sometimes dilapidated for lack of funds and by war. Museums in Serbia are not much more useful in helping one understand the country. Many I have visited are more repositories of information and artifacts, light on analysis and English language translations. If there is any visibly explicit clues that can hint at the mentality of the people in Serbia and inform about their history, they are most likely to be found in the street graffiti, skeletal remains of bombed out buildings, and the nonstop nightlife of Belgrade.

To attain a more filled out conception of modern Serbia one must go beyond these visible clues and talk to the people. On our somewhat short sojourn in Belgrade, we were lucky enough to do this. For me the political talks that we had were the most rewarding part of our stay in Serbia, for, as I have said before, the sites only tell part of the story of the region, and without a historical narrative - which is pretty much universally known by young and old alike - they are insipid and without life.

Very shortly after arriving in Belgrade we got our first taste of the political awareness that vivifies life in this city. We were lost late at night in the complex streets of Belgrade trying to find our hostel, and a young newly-graduated doctor offered to help us. On our short walk to our hostel he informed us that he was currently unemployed, unable to find a job as a doctor in Belgrade. He asked us where we were traveling and we told him where we had been and where we were going, adding that we had just crossed over from Montenegro that day. Noticing the perturbed expression that came over him I noted the recent split of Montenegro from Serbia. He responded tersely that he won't go to Montenegro anymore due to their insistence on independence. Later on our walk he added that being a doctor, he was not political, something I found hard to believe.

The next day we went out with a Serbian friend named Marina whom we met through couchsurfing.com. In her original email she made clear that she was not, like the doctor, politically minded, though over coffee she was able to explain the current and historical situation of Serbia much better than a similarly self-described "non-political" American could recount American politics and history.

After coffee we took a tram to Ada Ciganlija - a long island on the Sava river chock full of outdoor activities, bars and eateries - to see how Belgraders spend their free time in the Summer. As we lounged about drinking a beer on one of the many beaches that run along the island, Marina got a call from a friend who was going to a punk rock concert with other couchsurfers.

The other couchsurfers did not make it, but Marina's friends were there. Very quickly one of her friends, Nickola, struck up a lively political discussion with the purposefully incendiary remark that he "doesn't like America". I explained that I don't blame him, that I would probably have difficulty appreciating a country after being on the receiving end of its massive air bombardments only a few years prior. From this spirited beginning Nickola told of his coming of age experience during the NATO military campaign, how he and friends were "like kings" during those times when everything was chaos and no one was in charge. Another friend came and joined our discussion. He was the bassist for the band Give Me Your Lips - GYM for short - and also had much to say on the topic of Serbia, Kosovo, and his grandfather's fight against fascism as a partisan in WWII. Both Nickola and his friend explained how ridiculous it was that they should be so informed about politics, how it is the pathetic outcome of the chaotic dismemberment of Yugoslavia and how they wished they could live more normally: more apathetically.

At the same time they appreciated their first hand experience of history. They recounted their experience at Slobodan Milošović's funeral, how they were the youngest people there and how they relished the fact that he was dead and they were still living and moving on to a hopefully brighter future.

Al and I did more exploring the next day, saw some sites, but felt once against that we were unable to grasp at the essence of the city. We opened our Lonely Planet guide infrequently and only for the map. We did visit the Military Museum, a repository of weapons, with a modern annex dedicated to the recent fight against the "terrorist" KLA (Kosovo Liberation Army) and NATO. We saw pieces of a stealth bomber that was shot down in 1999, numerous bomb fragments including three pieces of highly-toxic depleted uranium munitions used against Serbia. Seeing a war from this perspective should be mandatory for all Americans.
The second hostel we stayed at featured a rotating retinue of overseers, and one of the nights we were there we met one very interesting older man who lived right above the hostel and was looking over it as a favor to the owner. He had been an engineer for a large and successful state-run construction company in the former-Yugoslavia. He had traveled all over the world, from Iraq to Mongolia, working on large projects. As Yugoslavia collapsed he witnessed the size of his construction projects shrink and shrink until the company went belly up. I could tell that this was very sad for him.
He was very knowledgeable about history and gave all those listening a very thorough introduction to Serbia. He despised Milošović for the corruption and doom he brought to the country, and saw the current situation in Serbia as worrying, especially since the same corruption as in Milošović's day was still, by his estimation, alive and well. Hearing the perspective of this man who had been through the ups and downs of Yugoslavia was especially interesting, though also quite sad, for things had fallen far from the old days. Still, he was about to receive his pension, though undoubtedly less than what he probably expected when he was younger and his company was, at least in appearance, thriving.

That same night we met up with other hostel guests along with two recently arrived Serbians from Australia and went out for a few beers. The two Serbians were both refuges. Vlad was born in Sarajevo, Bosnia and left the country as a refuge when he was 15. After finding the Serbia of Milošović hostile to their needs, his family was granted a pass to Australia, where he had lived for the last fifteen years. His friend Davor was originally from Croatia. His family, like many other Serbs, were pushed out of their homes and fled to Serbia, where they received the same rough treatment from Serbia and so also moved to Australia.

I talked to Davor most of the night. He was very political, and knew a great deal about the history of the former-Yugoslavia. He was the first person I have met that was a reader of the World Socialist Website, a definite plus in my book.

Davor was also passionately pro-Serb, especially when it came to Kosovo. He saw the situation as based on simple historical facts: Kosovo was Serbian and always had been. It holds a unique and important place in the Serbian national identity, being the place where in 1389 Stephen Lazar fought the Ottoman Empire and lost, condemning Serbia to over 500 years of occupation. Since the time of Sultan Murad's conquest of Kosovo and Serbia, the demographics of Kosovo have changed, with large numbers of Muslim Albanian's moving in and now calling it home. The conflict is rooted in problems very familiar to the situation in Israel. But in this case the United States along with a few other NATO countries decided that Kosovo was to be separated from Serbia, something that became a reality a few month ago.

While at this moment many Serbians seem resigned to the fact that, when it comes to such international disputes, they would rather commit to repairing fences with the rest of the world and eventually joining the EU, Davor believes that Serbian national identity will reawaken and Kosovo will come back to Serbia. More worrisome is his belief that the unsteady demographic balancing act holding parts of Bosnia and Croatia together - with Serbs, Croats, and Bosnians, living in reluctant peace - cannot continue forever, and eventually the Serbs will demand autonomy, which could quite possibly lead to more bloodshed.

It is hard to tell without more reading whether this analysis of the situation is accurate. It could be that, like the Jewish Diaspora's relationship to Israel, the Serb diaspora is more apocalyptic than those living in the region who are now, after years of deprivation, just looking for economic prosperity. We shall see.

Throughout our trip in the Balkans I have been reading a book written by Rebecca West in the 1930's called "Black Lamb and Grey Falcon" about her travels through the region. At the border between Serbia and Bosnia and Herzegovina I got to the section of the book where the title of the book is discussed. The Black Lamb, taken from a sacrificing ceremony for fertility Ms. West witnessed in Macedonia, symbolizes to West the disgusting mystical beliefs humans illogically hold in which they think that by destroying life in one form man can create life in another. The Grey Falcon imagery is taken from an ancient Serbian poem which describes the choice Stephen Lazar had to make at the Battle of Kosovo in 1389 of defeat to the Ottomans with heavenly glory or victory with temporal power and self rule.
The choice the Serbian Tsar Lazar made all those years ago at Kosovo was to be the sacrificed black lamb and to choose the heavenly glory offered by the gray falcon. Those choices, Ms. West comes to understand, are the scourge of those who wish to be good, and in the process sacrifice doing good. Those who hold up the goodness in life would rather be sacrificed for their goodness than to aim for victory which would allow the manifestation of goodness. It is in Yugoslavia, Serbia specifically, a place "which writes obscure things plain, which furnishes symbols for what the intellect has not yet formulated," where West is able to realize this indelible conflict in human existence that resonated severely in her time at the brink of the most destructive war in human history.
Today it seems that we - in the liberal community of the U.S. specifically - have forgotten how to think in the terms symbolized by the black lamb and grey falcon. We are caught in a despicable war in Iraq which has jaded many to the fundamental questions of goodness and what things are worth fighting for. In Serbia the question still lingers, even as many try and ignore it. The question of what the goodness worth fighting for is, who holds it, and which side is offering to work for its fulfillment still remains. Those we talked to on our short stay in Serbia are forced to deal with these questions as very few Americans ever are, and regardless of whether they choose to approach it nationalistically or otherwise, the fact that the questions still remain is important. As in Rebecca West's time, Serbia is still the place to go to grapple with the eternal problems of human existence.

From Sarajevo,
Brett

From Tirana to Belgrade

Tirana had its charm, but after a few days in this messy metropolis Tim, Al and I were wanting to move on. We had seen all the sights - which are conveniently located along the Bulevardi Deshmorel - walked through the trendy neighborhoods - mainly located in what was once the exclusive stomping grounds of Albania's communist party leaders - and marveled at the good to comically bad architecture of Albania's seething capital city.

One of the highlights was visiting the Albanian national art gallery. Housed in a stark communist era box of a building, the museum displays a narrow spectrum of art - often dimly lit - ranging from giant socialist realist paintings to ancient iconography, with not much in between save for a few sculptures. Nevertheless the museum was quite possibly the most entertaining museum I have been to. The paintings were characterized, for the most part, by each ones inclusion of at least one weapon - gun, knife, saber - a heroically poised male - usually with fist tightly clenched in an attempt to convey male virility and power - and Albania's famously foreboding national flag - see it here. Photography, unfortunately, was not allowed, but since the gift store offered no way to buy even a postcard of one of the socialist realist paintings, we had no choice but to take a few shots when no one was looking - this task our Australian friend Tim readily accepted. Hopefully I can get those photos from Tim sooner than later and put them up on the blog.

We had a few favorite socialist realist paintings. One was of a mother breast feeding her child, her knitting needles set aside, replaced by a large rifle which she rested upon her knee. She sat before a farmhouse with a red door emblazoned with the black double eagle crest of Albania. Behind the farmhouse a dark storm was gathering. We also enjoyed a large painting of a muscular man with a cape straddling a tank about to throw a grenade down its hatch.

After perusing the museums modern collection we went into the iconography section. I am not very interested in early iconography. It doesn't really do anything for me although I appreciate the skill that was involved in making it. What I did find interesting in this section of the museum was what was behind a large iconography piece: a set of seven panels outlining a "master plan" for the redevelopment of Tirana. Included was a large 3D map of what the new Tirana will look like, the skyline ripe with futuristic curved glass buildings. The project looks a long way off, though with China as the obvious model for redevelopment things could start rolling sooner than later. Now all Albania needs is an Olympics to really spur development, though from my experience in Albania I think we won't be seeing Tirana host the games for a long long while.

From Tirana we decided to head to Montenegro to get back to the beach and away from abject poverty. We got a bus from Tirana to the border city of Shkoder, and from Shkoder we got a taxi to the tourist hub of Bar in Montenegro.

Maybe it was just the changing climate, but very soon after crossing the border I began to notice that Montenegro seemed much more green and lush than Albania. Thick foliage hugged both sides of the road. We drove through tunnels of greenery, a light canopy of trees hanging low above us until we emerged from these forests and could see our surroundings: high craggy mountains dusted with snow.

From Bar we traveled to our final destination: Kotor, a small town on a fjord set below towering peaks. After walking around a bit trying to find a suitably inexpensive place to stay we were approached by Marko, a friendly man who spoke no English but was somehow able to communicate to us that he had a room for let in the old walled city of Kotor. Al's heart was set on a hostel that was a few euros cheaper though we had heard some bad things about it, but we all agreed that staying inside the walled city, at least for the first night, at 10 euros a person was the best idea. Al got his wish the next night; more on that to follow shortly.

Kotor is a beautiful city with small twisting streets, ancient orthodox churches, and hopping bars and clubs. Not only is Kotor beautiful but the people who live there are also very beautiful as well. This goes for Montenegro as a whole. The women are tall and shapely, and they are not shy about flaunting their figures. This can often be a good thing, though many girls can push the fashion envelope too far, and end up looking like prostitutes. This lascivious dress code was present in Albania as well, although I thought the girls were often more dolled up and weren't able to get away with it as well as Montenegrins could.

Our second day in Kotor we made the 2 km trip down the road to the youth hostel Al originally wanted to stay at. We found the place in a state of total disrepair, apparently in the midst of remodeling. The receptionist was happy to book us into a 3-bedroom dorm though. We went to our room and found it to be dirty, with unwashed sheets and a few half-finished beer bottles strewn on the table. I went down to talk to the boss and try to bring the price down to 8 euro from 10. He thought my complaints humorous and said that someone would be up to clean the room in half-an-hour.

Tim, Al, and I didn't want to wait around so we went down to the beach and hung about soaking up the sun - responsibly with sunscreen - for most of the day. When the sun was setting and the temperature lower we climbed to the fortress high above the old town of Kotor; a long, steep hike that was in the end rewarding for the view down on the town and across the fjord from the top was incredible.

Late at night we returned to our hostel with a bet on whether our room was cleaned while we were gone. I said that it wouldn't be, and Al, always the optimist, thought it would be. We had 1 euro riding on the professionalism of the hostel.

I won the bet and so went down to talk to the smiling manager who seemed to think it funny that we were still willing to stay at the hostel. I told him that we would at least like clean sheets to which he responded "You want sheets?.... OK" and he took me into his office where he gave me a stack of sheets a bid me farewell - still smiling.

The next day we caught a bus to Durmitor National Park in the north east of the country. The drive was very long, and half of it was on a cramped minibus, but on arrival we knew we had made the right decision in going. The high country of Montenegro is like a less populated version of the Swiss alps, with high alpine meadows filled with wildflowers, giant craggy peaks, and many translucent lakes.

Al and I camped for 3 euro each a night, while Tim stayed in a room. We met up the next morning for Turkish coffee and pastry, before starting a long hike into the heart of Durmitor NP. Our goal was an "ice cave" below an imposing peak that resembled half-dome in Yosemite. The trail took us through some incredibly rugged terrain. Al and I shared crime-scene puzzle stories we had learned while in Israel with Tim as we bouldered up to our destination, and Tim reciprocated with more outlandish puzzles of his own.

We eventually made it to the cave. After a bit of cajoling Al and I climbed down into the ice cave. We were joined by a group of Czech backpackers who were more prepared to get into the cave than we were. We took some pictures with giant stalactite and stalagmite ice sickles, climbed out of the cave, and began our long journey back to town. We rewarded ourselves with a meat meal before Al and I returned in the dusk to our camp ground.

The next day we boarded a bus at 11 bound for Belgrade. We arrived in Belgrade at 8:30 PM, exhausted by the trip and began our search for the Chillton Hostel. After having no luck finding the place we asked a man who happily walked with us to the hostel. He had just graduated from University as a doctor, but due to the state of things in Serbia, was unemployed. He asked where we had come from and we told him Montenegro, to which he responded that he doesn't go to Montenegro any more because they don't want to be part of Serbia so he doesn't see the point in "supporting their economy". Already it was apparent that in this part of the world politics is a fact of life and cannot be easily ignored.

At our hostel we were greeted by two stunning Serbian girls, offered shots of some sort of local spirit which we accepted and then shown our rooms. We showered and headed out to get some food at a fast food chicken joint. We were tired so we went to bed fairly early at around 1 - most people stay up and party in Belgrade, or at least that is what we have heard.

That's the update. Check back soon for more.

From Belgrade,

Brett

Video Report From Gjirokaster

Travel Writing Is Difficult (Especially in Albania)

I committed to updating this blog from halfway across the earth and so far I have failed at it. I have many excuses which I can't get into because time is running out on my 1 euro an hour Internet allotment (excuse number one: limited time).

So far the trip has been great. Israel was a jam packed week full of fun and friends. I could write much about our time there but I think I'll pass; its been too long since we've been there and many things have happened since that clutter the memory. I will start at Greece, because that is where Western Civilization began, as well as, coincidentally, our trip.

To me Greece trod awkwardly between developed Western Europe and the less developed Eastern half. It is an EU country, which can explain much of its developed air, but it also has a long, conflict riddled history that can explain why it is rough around the edges. It has fully exploited tourist traps, with fairly unfriendly attendants and high prices to boot, but also offers rustic towns untouched by culturally greedy tourists. Athens is an especially shocking mix of the two worlds of prosperity and recalcitrance. The streets are clogged to the breaking point, and the sky is a repulsive brown that brings the act of breathing to full consciousness. The interesting tourist spots, especially the acropolis, are far too crowded. Tourists stream up the side of the mountain to have a glimpse of the ancient monuments, but through all the mass of humanity the sense of wonder that I feel such monuments should command was lost.

We left Athens for Delphi, a more remote location, hoping that we might be able to escape to ancient ruins on a more human scale. Our camping experience at Delphi was quite nice, and our long walks to town through the semi-arid Grecian country side were enjoyable, but I still had the feeling that every experience was being created and conditioned for us tourists. So we left Athens and Delphi for the northern island of Corfu. The trip was long, but luckily we found a deal where we paid 55 euro for an overnight bus trip and one night at the famous (or infamous) Pink Palace Hostel, which included breakfast and dinner. We were greeted on our arrival at 7 in the morning with a shot of pink ouzo, a traditional Grecian spirit.

Corfu turned out to be quite nice though. The beaches were beautiful and we took full advantage of them. Both Al and I still felt a need to escape the manufactured landscapes of touristdom for the "true Greece" so we decided to take a hike. We set our sights on a tall mountain that towered over our hostel, and after several hours of navigating our way up windy country roads and through quaint towns we reached our goal; with no water. The weather was almost unbearably hot and I began to get nervous about our situation, but luckily we came across what appeared to be an abandoned hotel on top of the mountain which had a working faucet with running water.

Back at our hostel we ate dinner and met an Australian that was exactly like our friend Wade Orbelian - and they shared the same astrological sign too - and prepared for our early morning departure from Corfu to the seaside port of Saranda in Albania.

I knew that I liked Albania the moment we stepped off our small boat. For a week I had been used to feeling like a grudgingly welcomed tourist. All that changed in Albania. Immediately I got the sense that the people were excited to meet and talk to us, to help if we needed help. We walked with three other English speaking refuges from the Pink Palace to find an elusive tourist office supposedly located on the first floor of the city hall. Without street names and few English speakers the task is nearly impossible. So instead we called a hostel that one of our new travel buddies, Tim from Melbourne, Australia, had already booked. The Irish proprietor of the place was very accommodating, picking us up near where we were lost and taking us to her recently opened hostel.

After setting our bags aside Al, I and our two fellow travelers, Delia from Long Island and Tessa from Arizona, decided to travel to the ancient ruined city of Butrint, a half-hour from Saranda by bus.

Virgil claimed that Butrint was founded by refuges from Troy. This may or may not be true. What is known about the place is that it was inhabited by Greeks, Romans, Peasants and Venetians for over 2000 years. The place was completely antithetical to the tourist spots we had visited in Greece. Few tourists were present, it was hidden within a labyrinth of thick trees and foliage, and the ruins were remarkably intact. We wandered through the well labeled site for a few hours before heading back to Saranda to watch Eurocup football at a beach-front restaurant - the only way to watch soccer.

Our second day in Albania we alloted for a day trip to Gjirokaster, the birthplace of both Albania's most famous writer, Ismail Kadare, and its infamous communist dictator, Enver Hoxha. The old city's defining characteristic is the roofs of its houses, which are constructed with what appeared to be gray slate, giving the town a distinctly ominous look. Above the city sits a 14th century citadel completely open for exploration, though many dark recesses require some sort of light source in order to explore thoroughly. Me, Al and our new traveling buddy Tim (Tessa and Delia had to return back to Greece) climbed all around this stone monstrosity, down rickety wooden ladders, leaving time to stop by a hidden bar where we managed to somewhat communicate with the affable bartender.

One thing that must be mentioned is the state of transportation in Albania. Rail is basically non-existent so the main source of transportation is by bus, scooter, or Mercedes-Benz. The first two are straight forward, the last, not so much. We learned shortly after being in Albania that in the chaos of the 90's there was a full scale vehicle theft racket being run out of Albania which brought thousands of Benz's from Western Europe to the everyday-man of Albania.

If you can't get your hands on a Benz then you must settle for a bus or a forgon - small minibus - that can take you anywhere across the country, at a very slow pace. Due to the state of the roads in Albania, moving 40 km takes around 2 1/2, making every trip a long trip. Our drive from Saranda to Berat took around 6 1/2 hours, a long time on a 70's era bus with limited A/C. We made it though, arriving exhausted at Hotel Mangalemi, which turned out to be a great hotel. For around $16 a night we got a great room and a very nice breakfast. The food was traditional and delicious; though we made sure to stay away from more exotic meat varieties which included heart, brain, and spleen. The owner, Tomi, had purchased the building immediately after the fall of communism, beginning with a restaurant before expanding to include accommodations. It was clear from the way he and his family ran the place that entrepreneurial spirit and good taste were not all lost in the dreadful years of communism.

From Berat we traveled to Tirana, the capital of Albania. The south of the country where we had arrived is sparsely populated next to the north. It mostly consists of farmland. Driving on the decrepit road from Berat we began to see what lived-in Albania is like. Like in the south, small, often incomplete concrete buildings are scattered along the roadside, though in the north they are more densely packed in. Often the bottom floors feature a "Bar/Kafe" which serve various coffee drinks and alcohol. The top floors are where people live, their laundry strung across the side of the building often accompanied by a doll or stuffed animal dangling from a window - we think these strange dolls might be there to scare of birds, but we don't know. Across the country, seemingly randomly placed, are thousands of small (but sometimes large) domed concrete bunkers, holdovers from a period when the communist government was scared of a possible invasion and commanded the creation of this bizarre patchwork of defensive hideouts.

Aside from the "Bar/Kafe's" and bunkers, the roadsides are often littered with trash. Only in a few cities have we noticed any effort to clean up litter. Berat was mostly clean, and Tirana seems to have a methodical street cleaning operation going, employing older women with very long brooms. It seems though that in general there is a fairly indifferent attitude to the heaps of trash laying about Albania; something that will probably need to change if Albanians want to attract more than the intrepid tourist.

We arrived in Tirana at 3 PM. So far from what I can tell, Tirana is as strange as our guidebook says it is. We drove through the city - in a taxi we hired to find our hostel - along a wide street flanking a cemented river basin, its banks landscaped with grass. The tall housing complexes that loomed over us on our drive were all brightly colored with geometric patterns and shapes. After checking in at our hostel and trying to stay cool till nightfall, me, Al, Tim and two other Bay Area people we met at our hostel decided to go out and see what the nightlife in Tirana is all about. We walked to the section of town that was once reserved exclusively for communist party members, down streets with street lights planted in the ground as opposed to above our heads. These lights, which were reminiscent of swimming pool lights, had a classy look but were totally ineffectual at doing what they ought to: keep the streets lit. Instead they mainly brightened the bumpers of parked cars.

We searched the dark streets for a trendy bar, of which there were many. It was shocking how chic the bars were, and how sparsely peopled they were as well. A few had scattered groups of men, possibly with a woman or two but mostly without. We finally settled on a bar with a large projection screen placed in the street showing "The Mask of Zorro" with Albanian subtitles. We had a round of beers and stayed long enough to witness a power failure.

This morning I awoke to the loudest traffic noise I have ever heard. It comes in waves: it will be peaceful and quiet before traffic horns crescendo.

Today we will go visit the sights and I will report back hopefully sooner than later, depending on the availability of Internet.

From Tirana,
Brett