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Anthony Korculanic - Croatia

Zagreb, Croatia


Anthony Korculanic
www.anthonykorculanic.com


permalink written by  Anthony Korculanic on January 15, 2007 from Zagreb, Croatia
from the travel blog: Croatia
tagged Anthony, Korculanic, AnthonyKorculanic and Croatia

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Good Stuff

Split, Croatia


I’m now writing this entry from my bus to Ancona, Italy. Lasts nights journey was long, tiresome and boring. We left around 9:00 and then had to watch the same stupid bus safety video three times; The first time in Hungarian, once in Italian and the third time in English.

The bus from Prague to Bratislava and then to Budapest was only seven hours and played movies through entire duration of the trip. Good movies too. Well they were in Czech but they had English subtitles. The bus to Bologna played “Wild Hogs” in Hungarian with no subtitles, so I just sat there listening to the gibberish spewing from Tim Allen’s mouth and laughing when everyone else did.

I really enjoyed Budapest. It was a beautiful city and I go back again if the opportunity came up. But it seems that the Hungarians’ taxes are wasted on employing 10,000 people doing the same job. Every time I entered the metro station I purchased a ticket for 270 Forint. Then you walk five feet to a machine that stamps your ticket or sometimes even punches a hole in it. Then you get on the metro. Next to every machine there would be anywhere from 2-10 guards next to each machine to make sure you don’t sneak by without paying. The guards can see you the entire time and you are no more than ten feet away from them at all times yet sometimes they still persisted to check my ticket anyways. Even though they watched me purchase it, then validate it. Once I had my metro ticket checked four times! One guard right after the other…
Metro tickets are a pain in the ass. That is why I’m still bitter about Prague. Don’t get me wrong, I had a great time in Prague, it was a gorgeous city. On my last day there I was cutting it really close to catching my bus. I hopped on the tram and was about to hop off when a man with a badge approached me asking for my ticket. I presented it to him but he wasn’t satisfied. Apparently the tickets are only good for 72 minutes at a time. Meaning the one I had would have expired about 5 minutes before he approached me. He demanded 700 koruns or he would call the police. All I had on me was 150 koruns. I pleaded with him telling him I have no money, I’m going to miss my bus. He asked if I had a credit card and I said yes and he took me to an ATM. I told him I don’t have enough money and that I won’t be able to eat for several days, but he was a heartless bastard. Before I handed over the cash to him I called the police over and had them check his ID and badge to make sure he wasn’t trying to scam me. The police said it was real but I can tell this embarrassed him. Serves him right, I barley caught my bus.

Anyways, back to Budapest. I had arranged to couch surf with someone when I arrived but they bailed on me at the last minute. So I arrived at late at night and was about to go sleep in a park but of course I got off at the wrong metro stop. I was out of money and there was not an ATM in sight so I started to walk to the park when I came across this little hole in the wall hostel named “Home Made Hostel”. They didn’t have a bed available that night but Jimmy, the Dutch guy at the front desk/living room, said I could have the employee bed because he had to stay up and let people in all night anyways.

Home Made Hostel was one of the coolest hostels I’ve stayed at. It was basically a large flat or apartment. There were several rooms and a kitchen and kitchen. I don’t believe this place could host more than 20 people at a time. It was great, small hostels mean small groups of people. Right away I got along with this English guy named Robbie Lang who ended up in Budapest by himself as well. We are the same age and were very similar so we went for a night on the town. This particular night ended around 5:00am after we checked out some local pubs and then gorged ourselves on McDonalds on the way back. Ironically Robbie looks uncannily like my friend in San Antonio, Tyler Bravin. I showed Robbie a picture of Tyler and he freaked out. He immediately called his dad to make sure he didn’t have some long lost twin or anything.
Separated at birth? You be the judge.

Right: Robbie Lang Left: Tyler Bravin


(yes he's drinking beer through a straw, he lost a bet)


I explored the city for a bit my first day there. Later in the afternoon I went to go check out St. Steven’s Basilica. I was standing in the square in front of it when all of a sudden 200 people of all ages sprang out of every nook and cranny, every street, every building, little kids seemed to popping out of the cracks between the coble stones and before I knew it, I was in the center of a massive water fight. Water balloons whizzed overhead and people acted as though they were hit by a hand grenade. Everyone had water pistols and water guns of all sizes. One kid who couldn’t have been older than 10 had a portable pressure washer strapped to his back. Before I knew it I was soaked from head to toe. Luckily a girl gave me one of her back up water pistols so I could defend myself. Whenever we ran out of ammunition we sprang for the numerous fountains and reloaded. This free for all lasted for about an hour before the Police showed up. There were only 2 of them and they tried to assert their authority, but they just ended up getting drenched by countless water balloons and buckets of slimy green fountain water. Then just as quickly as it had started, everyone disappeared. All that was left were a few people staying back to help clean up the broken balloon bits. I was talking to a group of Hungarians afterwards and they said there is this organization that organizes this kind of stuff every month. For example, they told me that last month they had a massive pillow fight.


Later the Hungarians I was with took me on a tour of the city.

They next day was pretty lazy and I woke up late. I didn’t want to do anything too extravagant because I had to catch the bus later that night. So I decided to hit up the Hungarian spa. It was this huge castle like building where you go in and there are hot tubs from warm to boiling hot. There were even pools with water so cold that your bones started to ache after being in them for 10 seconds. Some corridors led to saunas and therapeutic steam rooms. Outside in the courtyard there were largest pools I’ve ever seen. One was a normal pool and the other was just as large but it was a huge communal hot tub. There were crowds of old men dawning the most revealing Speedos playing some of the most intense games of chess I’ve ever witnessed. I made a couple friends while I was there. One American girl who was couch surfing and backpacking around Europe by herself as well and 2 Australian sisters doing the same.

I caught the bus and 12 hours later I was in Bologna, Italy where I had to wait a couple hours for the next bus to Ancona. Italy is an interesting country so far. It is home to the world’s worst drivers. It is next to impossible to cross the street without killed. You may have the green light to walk across but Italian drivers won’t stop. Not because they want to hit you, but because they’re all too busy honking at gesturing wildly at each other. It’s the most contagious form of road rage I’ve ever witnessed so heaven forbid a car switch lanes and pull out in front of another Italian driver even though there is more than enough room. We’re driving on an open country road and I’ve heard the bus driver honk about 30 times already. Italian’s seem to have a very short temper. I saw a man walking earlier and I could have sworn he was about to explode. He had ones of those pulsing veins on his forehead that grew larger with each step. I was afraid to actually walk in to the station because I could see people at the check in counters flailing their arms and arguing with the people behind the desk and then the attendants replying in the same manner, so I just chilled outside in the terminal. Oh, and Italians have no concept of waiting in line. We took a 30-minute break and I was standing in line to get a sandwich and I was bumped all the way to the back of the line. It’s like being back at my school cafeteria. Everyone is constantly screwing each other over. One man even cut in front of me twice. It took so long that I was unable to get anything to eat because it was time for the bus to leave. Aside from all the hostility, the Italian is everything I imagined it to be. There are these green and yellow rolling hills littered with Tuscan and Mediterranean style homes all with they’re own vineyards. It’s just like the movies.



I think one of my favorite things about traveling so far is not knowing anything. I swapped books in a hostel in Amsterdam and picked up a book by Bill Bryson called Neither Here Nor There where Bryson retraces his steps through a previous European trip he took in 1972 except this time he writes about the differences. One quote in particular really caught my attention because it is very easy for me to identify with.


“When I told my friends in London that I was going to travel around Europe and write a book about it, they said, “Oh, you must speak a lot of languages.”
“Why, no” I would reply with a certain pride, “only English,” and they would look at me as if I were foolish or crazy. But that’s the glory of foreign travel, as far as I’m concerned. I don’t want to know what people are talking about. I can’t think of anything that excites a greater sense of childlike wonder than to be in a country where you are ignorant of almost everything. Suddenly you are five years old again. You can’t read anything, you only have the most rudimentary sense of how things work, you can’t even reliably cross the street without endangering your life. Your whole existence becomes a series of interesting guesses.”


I also love talking to people from the different countries and hearing they’re opinion on Americans. It dawned on me that most people back home have no idea what’s going on outside the country. In fact most people don’t even have a passport. It’s sad really. Everyone in Europe has a passport. It seems as if everyone likes to travel here. So I encourage anyone who actually reads this to go get a passport (if you don’t already have one) and go see the world.

I’m out for now, I’m about ten minutes from the bus station and by the time I get around to actually posting this blog on the internet I will be in Split, Croatia.
Peace,
Patrick

Quick update: The bus dropped me off in Ancona, well near Ancona. It seems that I was the only passenger to Ancona so the closest they took me was about 18 km outside the city. I wandered around a little bit and asked strangers if they spoke English or Spanish. I had no luck. I ended up interrupting my dad’s beauty sleep in Hawaii to see if he could get on the internet and try and help me find the nearest bus station, but I wasn’t sure where I was in the first place. I ended up going to finding a small office across the street and asking for directions but no one there was able to help me either. Then the rain came. I was in this parking lot off a highway huddled up under my umbrella when a man pulled up and offered a ride. I was very grateful, but he was heading the opposite direction. Several minutes later an Italian woman who looked like she should be on the cover of Vogue magazine pulled up and asked me if I was all right. She spoke a few words of English and Spanish so our conversation was a mixture of the three. Her boyfriend came to meet her there and he spoke very good English and they were very helpful. They said that they would love to give me a ride but they were heading the opposite direction.

I walked a few kilometers to the town of Callefearete and found a bus that would take me to the port in Ancona. I was snug as can be in the bus when I noticed everyone else was paying and somehow I managed to walk by the driver without paying him. I didn’t have (and still don’t) have any money on me and I was not prepared to pay him. He kept eyeing me to make sure I didn’t get off the bus, and I couldn’t afford another stupid fine like in Prague. So I offered my seat to this older woman and when she got off I dashed off the train with her. I didn’t even bother trying to get on another bus. I was in Ancona though, so I just walked to the port from there (a good 5km). As I got closer there were two ports about 1 km apart. I obviously looked like I didn’t know what to do, and southern Italy is that last place you want to look like a helpless tourist. Then this shady looking fellow approached me. He looked like a gypsy so I started clenching my pockets. He had this big goofy grin on his face when he said, “Eh boi!” I was expecting him to beg for money but he didn’t. “You lookin’ for la fiera righ? It dat one.” He turned out to be a really nice guy and we shook hands and went our separate ways. So the moral of this update is that you just can’t judge a book by its cover. Italians aren’t as ruthless as I portrayed them to be earlier. Except one thing’s for certain, they still don’t know what the hell a line is.

So now I’m on the ferry to Split, which I’ll arrive to at 6:00 in the morning. I took a couple pictures but the weather was bad.



permalink written by  pathaley on July 22, 2008 from Split, Croatia
from the travel blog: Eurotrip
tagged Italy and Croatia

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Out of the Heat & Into the Darkness

Mostar, Bosnia and Herzegovina


Alas the lack of nutrition is beginning to take a toll on my health and all the walking is starting to take a serious toll on my right knee. I’m beginning to feel weak and I’m starting to get sick. I’m beginning to run out of money and Western Europe forced me to spend much more than I intended and now I’m very off budget for the rest of my trip. More often than not I get by with less than one meal a day. I can’t afford to eat out and easy to cook food in markets is hard to come across. When I’m feeling hungry I drink water until I’m full. I try not to eat until the evenings because if I eat early in the day I will just be hungry again later. It’s very hard to avoid buying some roasted corn or the various little things vendors on the street offer. Also now that my cash flow has become quite limited homesickness is beginning to set in. Fortunately I have the best mom in the world and her advice is comforting and very helpful. Usually I wake up with a better attitude anyways and nonetheless, Croatia is a beautiful country and Split is a gorgeous city. It’s hard to be in a bad mood when you’re in a place like this. Besides, I’ve come to terms with the fact that I under budgeted the entire trip. It’s not like I don’t have the money. I just didn’t want to spend that much. So I’ve managed to get over the whole thing and transfer over some more money.

The day I arrived I went and explored the city. It is very small so it is easy to see most of the city on foot. The water is a beautiful shade of dark blue and the water is calm because several islands protect Split from storms in the Adriatic Sea. There is a large sector of the city with these huge apartment complexes that were old communist housing blocks. Each building is the same and each room is exactly the same size. From the beach you can see the old ruins of the city that Diocletian was born in. During his reign he had a massive palace constructed in Split that still remains to this day. Over time a city grew around it and now people have built houses using the palace’s existing walls. Shops are on streets that used to be hallways and corridors. There are stairways that lead to nothing and numerous sphinx’s that were imported from Egypt two thousand years ago.

All around split there are ancient Roman and Greek structures that are still standing. They’re all in ruins of course, usually just bits of old stonewalls that don’t really amount to much. Glynn, the owner of the hostel I was staying at, told me that it isn’t uncommon for people to pick their potatoes and an old Roman gold coin pop out of the ground. Apparently Split (and I’m guessing most of Croatia) is a land developer’s worst nightmare. People will buy a piece of land and decide to build on it and it’s a 50% chance that they will discover an old Roman ruin beneath their land. When this happens an archaeologist has to come in, uncover the rest of the structure, map it out, make a plastic mold of it, then seal it with concrete. All this takes a very long time. So nine times out of ten when people find a structure they just build over it really quick, which is illegal and a shame.

While walking around the city I came across an interesting series of stairs and I wanted to see where they would lead me too. Eventually after what seemed like a thousand steps I was on top of a mountain that overlooked the harbor and bay outside of Split. My first reaction was to take a picture, but the pictures just don’t do it justice. Well I was pretty high up so naturally, being a male, my first reaction was to pee off it, then take the picture.

The next day Glynn and some of the other guests and I woke up early and drove about an hour and a half to Krka national park to go swim in the river, the views at the park were one of a kind. We went for a swim, played some Frisbee and worked on our tan, and/or sunburn. From the bridge I could see sail boats below making their way down the winding river below to the Adriatic Sea for a sail. Once we started walking through the park there were huge waterfalls that spilled into a dark blue and green river.

I took the ferry to Hvar with Rob and Sinead, an English couple I met back in Split. Hvar was nice but it got old really fast. I was unable to book a hostel, but when I got off the ferry these groups of women were renting out rooms in their apartments and I was able to get a room with them. The water is crystal clear and the port is filled with sailboats. The island reeks of wealthy people. They all cruise up to the docks in their huge $33 million yachts, step off and have a couple drinks and down a kilo of lobster and then disappear into the darkness. I can hear their snooty little laughs half a mile away. Hvar is the most expensive place in Croatia, followed by Dubrovnik. The best way to determine if the place is expensive or not is to check the price of ice cream, beer and a coke.


Mom and Dad, that could be you out there.

While waiting for the ferry to Korcula I met Abby and Hannah from Wales and Dean from Melbourne, Australia (which is better than Sydney). We became pretty good friends and managed to split the cost of a room in Korcula. Korcula was considerably cheaper and Hvar and much more laid back.

We were planning on leaving at 11:00am but we managed to catch a later ferry, so Dean, the girls and I went straight to the beach, forgetting our swim suits of course. Dean caught me in mid action pose…

Dubrovnik was okay but I wasn’t the biggest fan. It reeked of tourism so I bought a ticket to Bosnia the very next day. Don’t get me wrong, Dubrovnik was beautiful, but Croatia is expensive and hot. I’m glad that I got to see it before it joins the E.U. It will be a completely different country in the next five years. I figured out what has been making me sick here. It's a small shrub that is common throughout Croatia and many people get hay fever from it. Here's your fun Croatian fact too: Croatia does not allow Polish people to enter the country with food because the Poles flock to the beaches by the thousands, fill up miles of coastline and never spend a dime (or Kuna) because they bring enough food to feed their family for a week.

I arrived in Mostar, Bosnia today. It’s a very interesting city. Half of the buildings are in ruins and bombed out pieces of historical crap filled with memories and bullet holes. I grabbed a handful of dirt earlier and pulled out several machine gun rounds. The shops around the city even sell old combat knives that once belonged to fallen soldiers. There are cemeteries all over the city that are separated by the various religions. They all share one thing in common though, 1993. There isn’t a single gravestone that doesn’t say 1993. It’s an eerie feeling knowing that all these people died the same year. They were all innocent civilians too.

I saw a diving competition today as well. Every Sunday there is a large televised diving competition off the 25 meter high Stari Most bridge. I went down to the bridge and witnessed some gruesome belly flops.


I also saw my first gypsies too! They’re awful, lazy, dirty and disgusting; Everything I expected. They all drag their little kids around with them to help gain sympathy while they try to hustle everyone. Families will be sitting outside eating at a restaurant and the gypsies will come and beg them for money and just make a scene. They can be seen just about everywhere begging. They teach their kids to pick pocket and steal so when they come close I clench my pockets.

I apologize but as I've been moving farther east wi-fi and kebab stands are becoming more and more scarce. The only things found in abundance are gypsies, ice cream vendors, and cigarettes. I believe I am the ONLY person in Europe who doesn't smoke. I’ve decided not to visit Greece. They say that it’s the most expensive European Union country so I guess I’ll save it for another day. Tomorrow I’m going to buy a train ticket to Sarajevo and then possibly go to Montenegro after that. I'm just happy to finally be somewhere cheap.

Peace, love & positive vibes,
Patrick


permalink written by  pathaley on July 27, 2008 from Mostar, Bosnia and Herzegovina
from the travel blog: Eurotrip
tagged Croatia, Mostar, Bosnia, EasternEurope, Hvar, Split, Korcula, Dubrovnik, Gypsies and NoodleyPoodelyGreatGoodness

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Split!

Split, Croatia


The ferry arrived into Split at 7am, and it felt like we were in a cloud. The mist was so thick that you could barely see across the road, so I settled into a cafe. Later, having located the hostel which was within 50m of Diocletian's Palace and the centre of the town, it had cleared enough to see around the ancient buildings.

Split is a fascinating city, and for me the primary interest lay in the seamless juxtaposition of the old and the new. The centre of the town dates back 1,700 years, and many original walls and features survive. Interwoven with these, however, are the homes of many of the locals, making it very much a living city, despite also being a monument of antiquity. If you walk down one of the tiny streets it is quite likely that half a dozen different neighbours will be conversing across the street over your head. Having walked through the old part of the town, I ventured further out, into the big utilitarian flats of the east side, and then down into the richer villas of the south part, which was a kind of Croatian Beverly Hills. It really is a city of great inequality and difference.

Down on the promenade (which is an example of the modern reconstruction taking place), the last day of the Croatian Boat Show was in full swing. Not perhaps my normal way to spend an afternoon, but certainly a relaxing one, sitting in the sun and looking out onto the the Mediterranean. The boat show meant big yachts, rich Europeans and the music of Kanye West being pumped out across the promenade; again, an interesting contrast to the Roman walls behind.

The hostel I was staying at was fantastic, and it was good to be around other English-speakers again. (I even met a group of students from Connecticut!) It was, however, down a tiny , little back street and up a fairly wobbly flight of stairs; and opposite was a building that, if the signs were to be transliterated, was a less than reputable business. I am sure this was not the case, but such are the problems of trying to survive with an alphabet you only half understand.

My second day was more lazy - it was so hot that even though I tried several times to go for a walk, I failed in my efforts, so I eventually gave in and sat for most of the afternoon in different spots along the waterfront, exploring a couple of parks and new streets. I had to get to bed early as my ferry left the port at 7am the next day, and so I found myself again leaving a beautiful city behind and heading off into the unknown.

The unknown took the form of a lovely little ferry. The Croatian boats are preferable to the ones we use to cross the Channel in several ways, but most notable because they don't have wall-to-wall screaming, vomiting children. Most of the passengers were rich American couples, with a few Croatians thrown in. I ate a proper meal for the first time in days and even had breakfast with coffee and orange juice, overlooking the islands. The views from the boat were indescribable; every few minutes new mountainscapes and sea views would form on the horizon, dotted with villages, farms and churches. The journey was nine hours, but felt like half that, and I soon arrived into the port of Dubrovnik.


permalink written by  BenWH on April 5, 2009 from Split, Croatia
from the travel blog: Gap Year Odyssey
tagged Croatia

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The Pearl of the Adriatic

Dubrovnik, Croatia


I've spent the last three days in what is, without a doubt, the most beautiful city I have ever been to. Dubrovnik is exquisite in every way: clear blue waters, historical architecture, Mediterranean weather and a friendly and relaxed culture. And somehow, it is multidimensional, changing with your mood and what you do - whether you view it from above or walk within the ancient city, or even lie on a beach and look back towards it. At different times of day and with different weathers, the light quality alters so dramatically that everything appears beautiful in a new way. But what struck me first of all, when I arrived was the smell. Most cities, certainly most cities you are new to, smell different to you. Split smelled of fish and smoke, for instance - it is usually a negative quality in a place, even if it is a characterful one. In Dubrovnik, the air smells of salt and pine pollen, and combined with the heat and the heavy but pleasant pressure, I couldn't help but feel like I was back in New England.

When I arrived at the port, the family who runs the hostel was there to pick me up. The son drove me through the city, and, as we approached the hostel, he apologised for the round-about route we were taking - the old access, he said, was destroyed in the war. And I suddenly realise that he's talking about a war that happened in my lifetime. Indeed, later in my stay he explains how the very room we are sitting in was the home for his whole family for three years as they sheltered from the bombs.

It being too late to fully explore, I took a walk along the coastal path as the sun was setting, and was at once struck by the natural beauty of the place and the serene quality of the evening light. Even without a city here, this would surely be once of the most beautiful places on earth.

The next day I joined up with another guest at the hostel, a Californian girl, and we went to the Old City together. My description of the city will no doubt be inadequate, so I direct you to the photographs. We started be walking along the tiny streets and walkways; there are some ruins there, but mostly the place has been rebuilt since it was partly destroyed a decade and a half ago in the war. The people who live here clearly take great pride in their city, as they decorate it with beautiful plants, with the odd guillotine and plenty of cats for interest (see photographs!). After lunch, we walked the circumference of the walls, and managed to get some interesting, if somewhat daredevil, photo shots - the concept of health and safety clearly hasn't reached Croatia, as there were no bars or warning signs in sight, and consequently it's probably not the sort of place you'd want to take young children or rebellious teenagers, but in reality you'd have to be pretty set on personal injury to do yourself much damage.

I spent the remainder of the day again exploring the coastal path near the hostel, and found a private beach which I had all to myself to get some reading done. On the second day, when I returned there again, I managed to slice my foot fairly spectacularly on a rock in an attempt at swimming, and for some time couldn't work out why the water had turned crimson. I never did get to swim as the water is still fairly icy, and so the pedal damage was for nothing.

On the Thursday morning, myself and two of the American hostel guests were taken by the owner of the hostel to the top of the mountain overlooking the city. Before I came, I had decided this is a journey I would walk: a fairly foolish idea given the extreme heat and the length of the journey. Luckily, therefore, we were driven, and only had to walk the last 50 feet or so! The views from the top are breathtaking (and I think I can use that word non-metaphorically for the first time): on one side, the red-tiled roofs of the city hundreds of feet below and the calm Adriatic stretching into the horizon; on the other, a harsh rocky and mountainous landscape, where you can see not only Croatia, but in the distance both Montenegro and Bosnia Herzegovina. The hostel owner acted as our guide, explaining where the boundaries to Montenegro and Bosnia were and telling us stories about the war, in a brave attempt at English, interspersing his language with French and Italian words and phrases.

For my final full day here, two of us decided to visit Cavtat, a local fishing village and apparent favourite of visitors. The twenty minute bus ride offered stunning views over the cliffs to the sea, and when we got there we managed to find a tiny pier from where you could see the Dubrovnik city walls in the distance and the surrounding islands. The village itself was attractive, but nothing could compare to the city we had come from, and so after a couple of hours relaxing in the sun and some fish-viewing in the rock pools (during which I managed to overbalance and land in the water), we headed back.

I cannot possibly do justice to this city in this blog, and I am sure I will return here again and again. The only two things I could find lacking were good sandwich shops and sand, but I suppose if it had these, Dubrovnik would be infested by even more tourists than it already sees in the summer.

permalink written by  BenWH on April 7, 2009 from Dubrovnik, Croatia
from the travel blog: Gap Year Odyssey
tagged Croatia

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