I Never Went to Summer Camp

For the last four months, we've been camping. Well, that's not entirely true. Just about fifty percent of our nights have been spent in a tent. So, we've seen a fair share of campgrounds. Some of them reminded us of gated communities, others skewed toward retirement homes, all were perfectly lovely. But Camp Danica nearby to Lake Bohinj felt like summer camp - and since I never went to summer camp, it was a particular thrill.
There was a whole program of entertainment. Mondays were "Circus Workshop," where kids (and adults who pleased) could try their hand at juggling, stilt-walking, etc. Tuesdays brought a magic show with special guest assistant "Bear." Slovenians really do like bears. Wednesdays encouraged folk dancing, Thursdays were campfire stories, and so on and so forth. While there were a number of younger children there with their parents, the majority of the minor population consisted of scouts. All at once, over two dozen teenage boys and girls arrived in a bus that specified "Scouts" sans gender. At the dishwashing station, we heard two boys chastise another for forgetting his "necker" - - that's when we realized the troop was British.
An older contingent all seemed to be there to climb Mount Triglav, which popped out dramatically now and then in the grey, foggy scenery. The weather was mostly bleak, very cold and often rainy, but people remained in good spirits. So close to the Julian Alps and Slovenia's highest peak (Triglav), the campsite attracts a lot of guests that are using it as a jumping off point. The morning that we left, a handful of older men surveyed the paragliding conditions. In the evenings, campers about our age filled 'Allo 'Allo, the campsite pub. Never have I been in a bar where a customer asks for the remote control to turn the volume up on a nature documentary. The footage showed Slovenians climbing K2 and the viewers were captivated. Never, either, have I been at a bar where headlamps were the "it" accessory. I took mine off to be more civil only to find myself feeling like the only girl at the sleepover without pierced ears.
Where all this turns particularly Slovenian is the presence of the campground chickens. There were three of them, spotted when we first arrived and bid farewell when we left three days later. At first, we thought they belonged to the French family whose camper they lingered around most. "Oh, how French. They brought chickens so that they'd have fresh eggs!" I quipped. The family left and the birds remained. We still are partial to believing they were the property of a camper, but it's very possible that they were simply campground chickens. Hey, why not?
Luckily, you didn't need to chase the birdies around for fresh eggs. Parked near reception each morning was a bakery van. It sold bread, eggs and honey liquor. We only felt the first two were necessary for a well-balanced breakfast. Just one block away was the milk automat Merlin's already mentioned. Only in Slovenia would you feel like you were inside the pages of a Patagonia catalog, volunteering at a day care and vacationing on a farm at the same time - all on a campsite.

Beating the Heat in Olomouc

It was hot during our stay in Olomouc. Very, very hot - at least for early June. It seems too hot for the peonies and roses to be so fully in bloom, as they are. We visited the botanic garden's "rozarium," bizarrely - sovietly? - planted in cement blocks. Two people sat in the shade and this woman toured the grounds with her summer umbrella. Before and after the garden, we drank iced coffees, cobbled together with ice and espresso by some particularly game baristas who had only ever made an ice cream variety.
As we sat at an outdoor table, under an umbrella, we saw a little girl leading her mother down the sidewalk wearing only sunglasses, a tank top, bathing suit bottom and crocs. "What pool is she going to?" we wondered allowed, sweating. When finished with our lunch, we walked to the square and saw the little girl, now wearing even less (tank top in mom's hand) splashing around in one of Olomouc's six baroque fountains. We felt it was more appropriate to post a photo of some more clothed children (in a more modern fountain).
Near the outdoor market, which was half closing and half closed, a few men displayed the sad effects of trying to cool down with too many beers. They sat slumped up against the train station turned casino, which touted slot machines and air conditioning. This little boy led us in the more admirable route of ice cream consumption. I'm pretty sure he's spooning his cone with a lollipop.
I guess the cool kids prefer grape to grain in this city. Groups of two, three or four, ducked down into the cooler climates for a glass of white. All around Olomouc are "vinotekas," which are basically wine shops with a table or two and a tap. Moravian wine is big here and the wine shop/bars seem to attract the college aged crowd.
We decided to do the honorable thing and escape the heat by visiting a museum. The Archdiocesan Museum was a labyrinth, which we were directed through by seated older women in each and every room. They would put down their crosswords, stand and point us in the correct direction. The more suspicious or bored ones would follow us around as we checked out the impressive collection (which included this completely over-the-top bishop's carriage). It kept us out of the heat for a good long while...but we still envied that little girl in the fountain.

Bern, Noticed

Bern is not Switzerland's largest city (Zurich) or its most well known (arguably, Geneva), but it is the country's de facto capital. I'm not exactly sure what separates it from being its capital sans the "de facto," but I keep seeing it referred to that way. We haven't been to either of the other aforementioned cities, so there's no way to make a comparison or a stern statement about Bern's supremacy - but, I do think it probably deserves a little more notice than it currently gets.

On a Saturday morning, we planned to visit some museums. There's the apartment Einstein lived in when developing his theory of relativity. The are world class art museums. But with the weather and the city being so darn pretty, we just wound up wandering around. In the span of an hour, we saw teenagers brown bagging it at the Rosengarten, a juggling mime, an accordion player, 20-somethings advertising "FREE HUGS" and a quartet of yodelers who chose their street locations with acoustic savvy. We couldn't tell if this was just an average weekend for Bernies or if something special was infusing the goings on with festiveness. Either way, the city just oozed character.
We climbed up the highest cathedral in Switzerland to get a good look at the whole Saturday scene. Bern consistently ranks in the top 10 cities, worldwide, with the best standard of living. Looking down on this family naptime alongside the river Aare, I could believe it. Seriously, though, there's under 4% unemployment and over 73% of the population have a university degree or higher. Momma Switzerland must be proud. No wonder its her 'de facto' favorite.
Just our luck, a Saturday market stretched through half of the city's streets. Billed as a "Fruit, Vegetable and Flower Market," it also included dried meats, baked goods, tapenades, jams and lots of cheese. The cheese carts were odorrific and showcased French and Spanish prizes alongside the abundant Swiss selection. We decided to direct our eyes and noses toward the flora, where vendors gathered magnificent bouquets while making small talk.
It was second nature for them to just grab a sprig of this to compliment a bunch of that and hand over something luscious and beautiful to a happy customer. It's moments like this that make you wish you had a home with a table and a vase so that you could fill it (and the fridge) with all the market had to offer. People rode their bikes away with paper cones filled with lilacs strapped to the back or loaded apples into the carriage next to their baby. Some men napped in parked cars with the trunks popped open in anticipation of their wives' return with full arms.
Like everywhere else in Switzerland, the best views of the marketplace were most likely aerial. This little Swiss Mister seemed to have picked out exactly what he wanted most, while his booster chair/father shopped for asparagus. Spargeln (as its called in German, the language spoken in this region of Switzerland) has been everywhere. Between them and the lilacs, it definitely feels like we are at the height of Spring.
At the bus station, a man handed out balloons to anyone that would take them - and we watched in dismay as one, then another, then another were carelessly let go into the air. Some kid's weak grasp or teenager's boredom with holding onto the thing just choked a whale in an ocean somewhere. Such a shame. This woman waited for the next red cable car to arrive.

Pope Sighting #2

I'm not sure we're going to get any closer to the pope than this. Every Wednesday at 10:30am, there is a papal audience in St. Peter's Square. Tickets are free and available the day before at the bronze doors. The doors are found at the top of a grand, marble staircase right after the security checkpoint for the basilica. Two spear-wielding Swiss guards in orange and purple striped uniforms designed by Michelangelo stand at their entrance. I had assumed there would be a ticket office near the roped off staircase, but instead, I was directed to go on up and ask one of the Swiss guards for tickets. So, around the short maze of burgundy ropes I went and up the centuries old marble. For some reason, when I'm not sure if someone understands English, I speak like a robot. "Tickets for pope audience? Two?" He simply walked to a desk through the doors and came back with two blue pieces of paper - like the little girl and her mom are holding above. A tour group snapped my picture as I descended. It was all pretty bizarre.
We arrived at around 8:30am to get a good spot, defining "good" as close enough to the front for a good picture and close enough to the back to sneak out if we needed to. There were already quite a few people there and more steadily streamed in. There was a general buzz of excitement and, now and then, a children's choir could be heard over a loudspeaker. You could tell it was live because of the conductor's whispering and occasional page turn. Among the tunes sung was "Falling Slowly" from the movie Once - which was a little weird.
It was a very sunny morning and people came prepared for the campout. Sandwiches emerged from foil and bottles of water from purses. Some people brought books, others ipods, but the smartest accessories were shading devices. Like umbrellas...
...and hats.
Two hours and an entire issue of The New Yorker later, things really started to happen. Two brides and two grooms took their seats on stage, then a group of bishops, nuns and - as someone so sensitively shouted out behind us - "an Indian chief!" A rotund man in a tailed tuxedo, the Swiss guards and the much more intimidating Italian police all took their places as well. The excitement was really building and even as people jostled into position and pushed their way to secure a good view, moods remained light.

Pope Benedict arrived to shouts of "Papa!" in a very slow moving popemobile. It took him across the front of the stage, then down the far left aisle of the crowd, through the middle, up the side, down the center and then up the side again. He passed just a foot away from me three times in all and I can report that he is better looking in person. Nothing but astute commentary here on MerlinandRebecca.com.

The popemobile putted up a ramp onto the stage and he took his seat (in the shade) to begin the audience. Priests from different countries read from the scripture in various languages and the pope gave a lengthy address in Italian. We didn't wind up staying the entire time, taking an opportunity to duck out during an impromptu song from a visiting school group in the crowd. Apparently, the audience lasts around three hours, which would have made a sum of five hours spent in the sun. Our former-USSR-winter-pallor just wouldn't have survived.

Chisinau Aboveground

We've spent nine nights in Chisinau, the longest we've spent in one location since leaving New York. Despite that fact or maybe because of it, we still haven't been able to come up with our impressions of the place. Maybe having a more fleeting look at a city helps give it a perspective, maybe it's just a hard place to really pinpoint. It's not really a pretty city, having been destroyed during The Patriotic War and rebuilt in Soviet style. It doesn't feel particularly inviting, unless you're into casinos and nightclubs. Very simply, Chisinau has been 'home.'
On our second day here, Merlin's mac went kaput. So, we brought it into a service center and spent the next three days walking there to check on it and walking back home. (In the end, it was repaired and all charges were covered by his warranty - which was shocking). About a ten minute walk from the service place, we ran into this church being constructed and a gaggle of children in a playground, further was a lake with a beach and a man rocking his boat back and forth to break up ice around the dock. As we walked around some more, we heard the roar of a crowd, which we followed to find a soccer game in process. Our first futbol match the trip.
That particular day was perfect for rambling and we made our way through the awninged tunnel of this flower shop. As we approached, woman after woman would pop out from behind a door and welcome us inside. There were Valentine's Day bouquets on sale and some really beautiful roses. Their windows were opaque with condensation and they all wore some version of a furry wool vest over their outfits. I wondered if all the unsold flowers would wind up in nearby cemeteries.
On the main strip, there are more currency exchange places and banks than either of us ever thought possible in a single place, let alone on a single avenue. There's shopping galore, but only one of the stores had a name we recognized- Hugo Boss - though Mall Dova is filled with them: Swatch, Ecco, a shut down IStore and a Forever 18 (not 21, which is sort of suspect). Dotting the sidewalks are adds for 'beauty salons' which list cosmetic surgery procedures as opposed to the normal mani, pedi, highlights, etc. Our favorite one (not pictured) featured about ten allusions to a stripclub, including a pole, fluorescent lighting and even the "spotlight" of the operating table's overhead light.
Every time we've passed this government building, there's been a small protest. This was one of the livelier groupings. Usually, it was just a small cluster of fairly old people holding signs that read 'death to' something or someone we couldn't quite understand. A police officer always stood nearby looking somewhat bored. If we had spent two days in Chisinau, we probably would have inquired about the protest, but passing it every day made it just another part of the scenery.
Something we got used to in Ukraine was turning a corner and almost smacking into a bust jutting out of the side of a building. This skill came in handy on Tolstoy Street, which we turned onto every day on our way to the city center. We were usually running at a pretty high speed across toward Leo. Pedestrian walkways are marked with white lines in Chisinau, but it's still up to you to just start walking across and trust that the oncoming traffic will stop. It took us a few days to get good at this and neither of us can say we enjoy the thrill too much
Many of the streets here are named after dates (for example,31 August 1989 Street) and buildings often have a year prominently displayed in tribute to some event in Moldovan history. A lot of this is due to the fact that there was a massive wave of remaining things after the country's independence from the Soviet Union. I was going to use this picture as an example, citing the "1430" that was printed over and over again along this wall, but when I looked at it more closely, I realized that 1430 wasn't a date, it was a phone number, just like TaxiBus 1414 and Taxi 1406. But, hey, there's a kid in it. So, I posted anyway.

The First Day of the Rest of Their Lives

On the drive into Ivano-Frankivsk, through a tiny mountain village, we saw a cluster of large balloons, and a luxury sedan with tinted windows wrapped in white tulle. As we made our way slowly by, a family of four seemed to wave us in toward the festivities. I figured it was just a very well-signposted garage sale, but Merlin assumed it was a wedding. I think he was right - and sadly we didn't stop. Upon at our destination, though, we saw signs of nuptials all around again. Was this just a really big wedding?

Turns out, it was just a really big day for multiple weddings. All around town, (very) young couples posed by all the local sights. There were statues and sculptures scattered around and a fountain which you could stand under without getting wet. We thought it was a little strange that the bride was the one doing the pushing in this photo op, but we assume it was because she didn't want to get her dress dirty on a wrought iron swing. Or the dress didn't fit. It was quite a dress.Instead of dragging cans in back of the new couple's car, they dragged a whole other car! That's not actually true, but I wanted to find some way to include this fine example of something we've seen in each former Soviet country we've visited. In big cities, small towns, major highways, everywhere we go there are cars towing other cars with a rope. This great moment took place on a pedestrian walkway and, yes, the car being pulled is much larger than the one pulling. Merlin thinks it would be an excellent business opportunity to start a tow truck company in this part of Europe. Because, really, this is just so dangerous.

The center of town would have looked festive no matter what. There were carts selling toys, women making balloon animals and men renting out plastic cars for children to drive around. This miniature horse and cart was a big hit, much to the chagrin of the man leading it. All day long, we saw him walk back and forth with one kid or two or three. Between this and the princess-brides all around, these little girls must have been in heaven.
And the wistfully bookish girl had her little corner of the world, too...

Women dressed to the nines, possibly bridesmaids, walked around a big car-free space. It was most likely the first day of 2011 that the weather was suitable for seeing and being seen. The hats, scarves and mittens were mostly off. There was no ice or snow. It was a beautiful day for a wedding or three.

Then, there were the people just going along with their business as usual. The town was bustling with so many different types of energy, we felt like we'd landed in a carnival themed "Main Street Ukraine."

Kids On Sleds

Ever since the first snowfall in Riga, we've been noticing what I like to call "snowllers" - snow strollers a.k.a. sleds. Not only do they make perfect sense, but they seem like fun and look really adorable.
As you can see, children's snowsuits offer adequate tush padding to cushion any bumps the sled may encounter.
This child seemed a little to old to be pulled around. One of my biggest pet peeves is overgrown children in strollers. It seems like overgrown children on snowllers breeds the same level of laziness. Just look at the way she's reclining as her poor mother trudges along.
Tallinn's streets were extremely slippery, which was great for this chartreuse little guy, but not so much for the rest of us.
Now and then we'd see a sled that could be pushed instead of pulled. Generally, it afforded the child an opportunity to look up at something other than the back of their parent's legs. However, this sledder didn't look like she could see much of anything.

Charmed, I'm Sure

Viljandi is one of those towns that makes you struggle to find a word other than "charming" to describe it. The word implies everything that it is: small, attractive, storybookish (of course, it seems to mean something entirely different when applied to princes). The snow had let up just long enough for us to go out with our cameras, something we haven't done in days. "Let's go be charmed!" we thought, though neither of us said it aloud, because that would have been weird. A charming church next to a charming row of houses greeted us at the edge of, charmingly named, Castle Park.
The park was one snowy hill after another and we could see sled tracks from a day's worth of playing. Now and then, we'd catch a glimpse of a plastic saucer with two stuffed snowsuits on top. At the top of the largest hill, we discovered a magnificent view of Lake Viljandi and the town on its edge. Lakes automatically double a place's charm.
We ran down the hill to keep up with our sliding feet and discovered an arts center. Two people walked out carrying a handmade birdhouse, so we went in to investigate. There were musical instruments made out of gumdrops and gingerbread and a few tables putting away their crafts for sale. The place was swarming with children and a Santa-looking man in a sweater vest taught a group of them how to hand-dip candles. It was both charming and warming and after we had defrosted a bit and purchased a few small Christmas gifts, we set back out.
What makes a charming European town different than a charming American town? A castle, of course. We walked up an even steeper hill to explore some remnants we saw poking up in the distance. The Viljandi Castle Ruins were breathtaking in the snow. We walked through and around them, feeling sort of miniature amongst the huge walls, giant trees and cascades of snow. It was completely silent. The absence of sound and stark white blanket covering everything made me feel like I was anywhere and nowhere all at once.
It's amazing to think about the castle that used to be here and that these walls have been snowed on for centuries, perched up high on a hill overlooking Viljandi and its lake. I wish I could convey just how high we were and how the waves of snow sort of resembled the massive sand dunes of the Curonian Spit, but white on white on white just doesn't provide much photographic perspective. We lingered for as long as we could, which meant as long as our appendages could stand the cold, then made our way down the other side of the hill.
As we descended cautiously, finding a set of stairs mostly obscured by the snow, we saw a strip of red that emerged into a suspension bridge. Over the two hundred year old red bridge we walked, looking down at the steep drop below us. We imagined ourselves tackling the slope on a sled and were amazed that more children weren't daring to. A few feet over the bridge, we saw tracks that suggested otherwise. I have no doubt that Viljandi is just as charming in the springtime or summer or fall, but I was glad to be here in winter, when a good heaping dose of charm really gives a jolt of much needed warmth.