Crossing the Torugart Pass: Our First Day in Kyrgyzstanby Randi / October 2, 2017
If you’ve been a devoted reader of this here website, then you know that I ABSOLUTELY ADORE sleeping outside in the countryside and worrying 24/7 about bathroom access. Readers familiar with my simply outstanding time in Mongolia will be happy to know that there’s more of that coming. That’s right, our first night in Kyrgyzstan, discussed in the previous post about our entry into this country, was the first night of several back in the yurt camps of my youth. In addition to our first night booked with Kubat Tours, we had an eight-day tour of the country booked with the company NoviNomad, and I was so nervous that it would mirror our Mongolian adventure in more ways than the structure of our sleeping shelters. And while it did – it really did in a few ways – this experience was roughly 100 times better than that in Mongolia, so much so that we said many times “Kyrgyzstan is what Mongolia wishes it could be.” Such a catchy catchphrase right?
Hold on though, because we still had some serious trials and tribulations, especially in the early days. And I’ll be sharing all of them because as expected I wrote diary entries every day. To keep track of all the many things we did and so I don’t get confused with my notes, I’m going to keep the diary entries numbered according to the day of the tour – 1 to 8 – even though it started on our second day in Kyrgyzstan. Don’t be confused it’s okay.
DAY 1
“Maybe this time…I’ll be lucky”
After our night in Tash Rabat, we drove two hours to Naryn, the main city (town) in the Naryn region of Kyrgyzstan. I mean, if another town claimed the title from Naryn when the region is named after it I bet there’d be some dramaaaa. The driver dropped us at a guest house used by the NoviNomad tour company, where we were to meet our driver for the week, Alexandr. I’m spelling it like that because it’s the Russian version and they do that e-less business and it helps you do the accent right. A very Russian (gruff, imposing…not huggable) man came out and said his name was Sacha and he would be our driver for the next 8 days. We were like no our driver is named Alexandr I’m getting so good at saying it in a Russian accent don’t take that away from me! (It was important that we got our right driver because we didn’t pay the (exorbitant) extra price for a guide but were promised an English-speaking driver who could generally do both jobs.) Sacha was not amused and was like, ‘yeah, Sacha, Alexandr, same thing’. Both of us said ohhh riiiiight because we forgot that Sacha is the diminutive/informal/cutesey nickname for Alexandr. I DON’T GET IT EITHER BUT IT’S TRUE. (I then sang the relevant part from “The Great Comet” in my head literally the entire rest of the day: “Countess Natalya Ilyinichna Rostova” “You must call me Natasha”…”Sofia Alexandrovna Rostova” “You must call me Sonia”.) So Mr. I-Won’t-Make-Small-Talk-Or-Be-Warm-And-Jovial-But-It’s-Just-Because-I’m-Like-So-Russian-Not-Because-I’m-Rude packed our stuff in his SUV, where he had a case of water bottles (amazing already), and drove us the far, far distance of…across the street. Our first stop was the Naryn Museum – not wasting any time, just gasoline.
The Naryn museum had this reproduction of a yurt’s dining area, which really looks like all the dining yurt setups at every camp we’d see in Kyrgs except the table settings in real life are gorgeous and abundant
The staff at the museum was HELLA excited for our arrival, and the main lady brought us around and described every item of Kyrgyz history and culture in that small museum in Russian, and had Sacha translate (roughly). The rest of the staff – wayyy too many ladies considering how small and not busy it was – followed us around and offered us bowls of traditional Kyrgyz things that we’d seen on the yurt dinner table (like, weird dried cheese bits, and those Chinese restaurant crunchy noodles which are everywhere). Our own little private awkward tour. It was really nice though, and I could tell it was a very nice museum even if I was too distracted by how much I wanted to tell the ladies ‘you don’t have to be on your best behavior for me!’
Naryn city center
After the tour, we went to the city center for an art museum that was managed by an 8-year-old boy who let us in and turned the lights on. Not weird. It was a good museum, actually, which is quite something considering how sick of museums I am. We went to a cafe for lunch after, and I had my first tomato-cucumber salad of many because of course that’s all I’m going to be able to eat in Central Asia; why should that tradition of my Asian travels ever have to end? I also had a plate of grilled vegetables, the other thing I would come to have pretty much every day for the next month. But hey, it’s veggies!
After lunch, we saw the Naryn mosque, which is covered with pretty blue tiles. It’s a very quick stop because you generally just look from the front and that’s that.
Then we went to the marketplace in Naryn. We thought we’d have to buy our food for the next few days, until the next market stop, as we did on the tour of Mongolia. But it wasn’t clear how long we had to account for and what sorts of things we needed to get; Sacha was like ‘you should get fruit’ (to me) and then kind of told Z he wouldn’t need anything, just whatever he wanted. So confusing! We bought some fruit and Sacha bought a watermelon, and then we figured out from him that that night’s yurt camp would provide our dinner. We didn’t figure out for a few days that ALL our yurt camps and lodging would account for our food (except the meals in restaurants and stuff obviously) in big communal meals so we didn’t actually have to worry about anything! Already so different!
Sacha bought a watermelon and I was sooo excited to see if Kyrgyz watermelon was as good as Xinjiang watermelon. Spoiler: It was. We began our first long drive of the week, towards Song Kul Lake, way up in the mountains at 3000+ meters (almost 10000 feet!). Yes, our first night at Tash Rabat was just slightly higher, but we drove down to get to Naryn and now had to go back up. I’m so into elevation now. Song Kul is right smack in the middle of Kyrgyzstan, so we were already covering some serious ground. Fun fact: Song Kul is covered in snow 200 days of the year, and the SUMMER average temperature is 50 degrees. FAHRENHEIT. Shit’s cold. First, we would stop at a beautiful waterfall on the way. We parked at a random spot halfway up a mountain and hiked to the waterfall and it was beautiful! I was so happy: we had broken up a long drive with a hike, and I had fruit. Already better than I feared.
THERE IT IS I SEE IT
After we saw the waterfall, Sacha cut the watermelon and kept giving us piece after piece. It was amazing, probably because all the aspects of this excursion included my favorite thing (water, get it). I was so giddy on Day 1 being so much better than the last Day 1 of a country tour that the next half of the drive to Song Kul was like a punch to the gut. Like, it really was, considering it was full of watermelon and the roads starting getting scary. They were really windy, winding up and up around the mountain like those cliffside terrors in Italy (I did not look out the window) and then they started getting Mongolian – as in, no roads, just rocky terrain. It was really rough for a few hours as we maneuvered over rocks as we went higher and higher up a mountain, so that was something else. Don’t look down! Finally we got to a clearing and got out so Sacha could show us the small hills that were ancient gravesites, the likes of which are all over the country. It was interesting but not as great as the fact that the field was covered in edelweiss, and when Sacha informed us of this fact, he started singing “Edelweiss” to himself for like, a long time. Maybe we will get along, Gruff Russian, maybe we will become best friends indeed.
winding mountain roads
SUPER winding mountain roads
No roads, yes animals
Finally we got to our camp on Song Kul, although it wasn’t so much ‘on’ or ‘near’ Song Kul as it was ‘closer to that lake than any other lake in the world’. You couldn’t see it from the camp but we got a picture from the drive. The camp was pretty decent otherwise – there are REAL TOILETS in little wooden shacks! And there’s a sink – not a bucket sink, but a real sink piping out freezing cold water. The wooden toilet shack is actually two toilet stalls and two ‘shower’ stalls, which have basins and buckets of various sizes for doing bathing via buckets but hey if it works! Luxury!
Dinner was mix of the same vegetables as always now, plus a plate of kasha and rice. I was super pumped to get kasha; it’s actually a good protein source. It was an awkward as ass dinner though, because it was communal, as all future ones would be, and they tell you where to sit, and I was seated in the very center of a semi-circle. Z wasn’t feeling well so skipped it, so here I was in the middle of 30 some people just being weird and awkward and silent. The two groups on either side of me were both big tour groups, so they were very talkative among themselves but also very curious about me and just staring like hey what’s your deal? To get to my position I had to step on everyone already seated (you sit on the floor in the yurts) because the table was around the edge of the yurt. I also left early because hell if I was going to sit and be stared at any longer than I needed to and so upon leaving I also stepped on 15 people. Fun times.
After dinner, I asked if I could shower – I hadn’t since China, remember. The yurt people boiled some water and brought it into the stall for me. So inside this wooden stall is a basin of the boiled water, a tub of cold water, and various buckets and utensils for mixing the two and pouring over yourself. So, maybe in my eagerness to be ‘clean’ I didn’t think this through all the way. See, it was freezing outside. Remember I said last night that it was the coldest I’d ever been? Well, now let’s travel into an even colder region and then VOLUNTARILY BE WET. I was shaking-shivering even before I poured the water over myself the first time. I tried to shave my legs but they were so be-goosebumped that it was extremely painful and I couldn’t do it, it would have just resulted in the little bumps bleeding. I knowww! I used mostly boiling water and just didn’t stop shivering. The sink was outside the stalls, in the freezing wind, so I had to use that when I was done to brush my teeth and stuff. I have never been that cold in my life. As soon as I could, I ran back the 220 paces to our yurt (that’s right, the toilets were better here but farther! 220 paces!!) and flopped on my mattress with literally 15 blankets and quilts over me. We were luckily in what appeared to be a storage yurt, so the sides were filled with stacks of extra mattress pads, quilts, and blankets. I used everything I could carry. Getting in and out of that contraption for my nighttime peeing (right outside the yurt that’s right) required all my strength to lift it off of me, it was so hilarious, like a reverse princess and the pea. I could make another pee joke with that but I won’t. Anyway it barely worked. See, blankets and stuff keep warmth in, but they don’t generate warmth; you have to do that yourself with your body. So if one’s body, say, refuses to generate any heat to begin with, you’re just a cold fool under 4 mattress pads, 9 blankets, and 6 quilts. I shook all night. Man alive.
Day 2
“Into the woods and who can tell what’s waiting on the journey”
The next morning, I was in no mood. The car was locked and I was out of water, and the yurt owner people didn’t have any, and Sacha was nowhere to be found. Finally one of his guide friends told us he was still sleeping. LUCKY HIM. I was so tired and thirsty and miserableh. Someone got Sacha and he opened the car and I drank 2 liters right there in front of him. So, why were we up and he wasn’t? Well, today, Day 2, we would hike 10 kilometers (pretty long!) to our next yurt camp with a local Kyrgyz guide, giving Sacha the day off, plus most of tomorrow off while we did another long hike with the local guide to the next-next camp, where Sacha would be waiting. There were no roads or paths or anything so navigating around the mountains required local expertise, from someone born in this area. The local guide didn’t speak English, which really pissed me off at NoviNomad because they never told us this part. Luckily he spoke Russian (everyone does here) so we personally were fine but no one at NoviNomad knew that we knew any Russian (they don’t know that we know they know we know!) so they were okay with their tourists just not being able to communicate? FIE.
Luckily there was a dog.
The yurt people had him tied up (cryface) but I was told it’s because he’s a baby and there’s like not a fence or any sort of boundary because we are just out in the open so it’s until he learns not to run away? I wanted to take him. Oh but wait till tonight’s camp!
So we left our Song Kul yurt camp (bye toilets) and began our 10K trek to our next yurt camp in the jailoo of Kelemche. Jailoo is the name of the type of landscape, these sprawling summer pastures in the mountains that are used for cattle and all kinds of pasture activities, I don’t know. I know you’re probably like 10 kilometers is nothing hush your face, but it was mostly uphill! Ahhh! But it was pretty. OH so, this was supposed to be a horse trek to Kelemche jailoo, following by another even longer horse trek tomorrow from Kelemche to Kyzart village, our next destination. But after Mongolia we emailed NoviNomad and we were like NOPE CUT THE HORSES NO MORE HORSE RIDING WE WILL JUST WALK XOXO gossip girl. Luckily the very helpful Madina, who helped us plan everything, said that it was doable by foot, even though she didn’t really understand why we were so vehemently anti-horse riding all of a sudden. (Horse riding sucks.)
Our local guide was named Melis, I’m definitely not spelling it right but it sounded like that. He was pretty great except he was clearly amused by how slow we were compared to him. We didn’t grow up climbing these mountains like you did, MELIS! He rode a horse because he had no problem with them and put our day packs and water in the saddle bags (sorry horsie I’ll drink fast). And we just trudged behind him. Kind of hilarious.
Hiking uphill, the whole first half of the trek, was really difficult at this altitude, which made it harder than it would have been otherwise. At a particularly pretty stretch, we stopped for a picnic that Melis had packed us. It was nice but so funny: whole cucumbers, whole tomatoes, and boiled potatoes, plus bread and fruit. If I didn’t hate raw tomatoes beforehand, having to bite into them like handfruit (THEY’RE NOT FRUIT FOR HUMAN PURPOSES) did the trick. The nectarines and peaches he brought were superb. What is it about the fruit in this region! I’ve never really noticed a difference, even in tropical places, with quality of fruit before. While we ate, we saw our first other hikers of the entire day! We had seen a decent amount of horseback riders (not a ton – we were still in the middle of Kyrgyzstan – but a decent amount taking that into consideration) but here were our first fellow walkers. They were trudging with even more difficulty than we were, so I joked to Melis, “See we are not the slowest people out here!” Melis responded, “but they have their packs on.” Duuuuuude you’re not supposed to burn your clients like that! Gonna pretend the Russian was something else and I misunderstood.
i was planning to pee behind this rock but then this horseback tourist decided to sit on it for some deep thinking ughhhh white boys
i fucking hate this hat why does it refuse to reform into ANY other shape that doesn’t make me look like a cartoon rancher. ps i’m wearing like 4 shirts
The second half was slightly downhill, which was easier on the lungs but harder for me. Why? Because the path was all tiny little pebbles and rocks, and for some reason (seriously if anyone knows please tell me), whenever I step on little pebbles and rocks, I skid. Badly! I despise gravel paths! No matter how I walk or what shoes I wear or how I balance or how much I brace my core, I skid on all gravelly paths. It’s RIDICULOUS. I nearly fell every few steps and Z was like SERIOUSLY WHAT IS HAPPENING? Am I missing something very obvious about how to walk on these things? Did I fake illness that day in Necessary Human Skills school? Damn my love of sleep!
We got to our next camp a little after noon. It was, how do you say, ah yes, not nice. It was actually probably the most dilapidated and whack camp yet. We had nothing to do the rest of the day, no activities or anything, so I spent a lot of time taking inventory of our yurt. There were holes in the shelter covered over with clear plastic bags. There were ants everywhere because there wasn’t a real floor covering, just a bit of carpet but then mostly grass. A weird, heavy anchor swung down from the center hole, I’m sure to keep it standing but we’d never seen that in any of the previous yurts. It was a small yurt and the mattresses on the floor were positioned right around the anchor so I hit it A LOT, and it was f-ing heavy. Like, an anchor.
So I was complaining a lot about how gross this camp was, and Z got quiet and said, “Hey…were you a Girl Scout?” Um have we met? Hell no I wasn’t a Girl Scout, I wasn’t even a Brownie! I just went to all the Disney on Ice shows with the Brownie troop because I was friends with the leader’s kid! I have such great Disney souvenir cups from my Icees. Anyway, so no, not a Girl Scout. He then asked, “Wait, have you ever camped before?” Again, nice to meet you! No I haven’t camped, like in tents and stuff? With the ELEMENTS? f that noise! I never even had to go on the obligatory one-night-in-the-woods camping trip at overnight camp! Z got even quieter and then said, “I wish I knew that before this trip.”
Apparently the picnic wasn’t our actual lunch, because soon we were called to lunch in the food yurt with the family who lived there and a bunch of random shepherds. It was AWK. They were all speaking Kyrgyz to each other and we just kinda sat there. The food was good, some kind of yummy cabbage and potato filled crepe-y thing. I liked that everyone was given the same meal, like because of my veganism I made everyone skip meat for a meal. Yay! I think I heard them say that I eat a lot of watermelon though.
I was excited that the outhouse area, despite being up THE STEEPEST HILL EVER, had a real toilet inside. Unfortunately, the toilet was broken, so we were to use the regular out shithouse farther up the steep af hill. This hellshack was tied for first with worst campsite toilet I’d ever seen, so THAT wasn’t great! Luckily our yurt was at the end of the camp so I didn’t have to worry about anyone seeing me out there. Except a cow and a few dogs at night who were REALLY unhappy that I was in their space. Dudes.
But it was all okay, because my little Bearnutfriend was there.
DO YOU SEE THE ABSOLUTE BEAR NUTTERY OF THIS LITTLE BOY BEAR BUTTER??? OH MY GOD!!! I played with him the rest of the night. Little guy omg! One of the other tourists tied him up (MEAN!) because he was a biter – and I mean a real biter. He had little baby butter teeth so it didn’t really hurt but he didn’t really stop DID you you little nutter butter bear baby you! I LOVED HIM. I really wanted to take him home, so badly. But the little kids who lived there took good care of him.
Here I am saying, “Little bear baby! I thought we talked about biting! No biting silly button butter! We talked about this!”
And then here I am saying, “Oh I can’t stay mad at you little boopily bear baby you’re too cute here’s my hand again you can bite it”
Of course I untied this little bugger. And of course then he started biting my ankles, right through my HeatTech leggings (which don’t work anyway UNIQLO).
Near the camp was a natural spring that we could fill our water bottles with! We were really hesitant about whether it was actually safe to drink; Melis said it was but our soft Western tumnuses require different levels of safety than hardier folk. But despite actually seeing horses drinking from the same place, we did not get sick! Yippee! The water poured out superfast from a little spot above a creek and it was a fun adventure to try to fill the jugs without falling in the creek.
Dinner was another communal affair but with a more friendly tourist group tonight, a group of Swiss and Israelis. The Swiss girl closest to us who we chatted with called Israelis ‘Israelian’. LOVES IT! Dinner for me was the vegetable filling from lunch, plus – you know it – a cucumber-tomato salad. Do we ever expect anything different? I love the traditional Kyrgyz table setting, though. They have all been so lovely, with baskets of bread, baskets of the Chinese noodle jawns, plates of the Chinese noodle jawns but fried in sugar, bowls of apples, bowls of wrapped candies, plates upon plates of melons, and fancy little glass containers filled with assorted jams for tea (or bread, I guess, but I definitely became a convert to the whole putting-jam-in-your-tea thing. Well, I hate tea, but when I was forced to drink it. We’ll get there).
Guess what! I actually slept that night! It was still freezing, but we had a fire, and because the yurt was smaller than our storage yurt the night before, the fire actually heated the little space. Also we were like 1000 meters lower now. The stars were GLORIOUS. Not as incredible as that one night in Mongolia on the lake was, but still the second best I’ve ever seen. I noticed that every night I pee while looking at Orion’s belt; I’m just always oriented that way. WEIRD. Z told me I talk about peeing too much. Lol gurl please. I share literally every detail of what we do (mostly for me when my memory goes) and I just happen to spend most of my time peeing. You’d rather NOT read about a person’s bodily functions? HA!
Part 2 soon!
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A Quick Trip to A Classic Fave: Berlin, Germany
Fourteen months ago, we embarked upon the most insane adventure yet. About 10 months ago, we ended that trip with a short jaunt through one of our favorite cities, Berlin. That’s right people, this is the last post for our sabbatical adventure. After such exhilarating, exhausting travels, ending our nearly 4 months of being dirty and hungry (not really) (but kind of) in Berlin would be a relaxing treat for us. It’s a city we know well and love, one we didn’t have to frantically rush around in order to see all the big tourist attractions, and – most importantly – the one that would have all the vegan food I could want, including my first real vegan ice cream in almost 4 months. Yup, I went the entirety of last summer without good (non-fruit sorbet) ice cream (by the time we got to Berlin, it was fall). I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that this summer I’ve been more than making up for that nonsense, but that’s not what we’re here to talk about today. No, today we are pretty much going to be looking at pictures of all the junk I ate in 24 hours in Berlin. (If you want a tourism guide, go here: Berlin Travel Guide)
As I’m sure you read about, we had a lovely few days in Warsaw, Poland before we boarded our last train of the Big Eurasian Loop journey – one of the shortest and cleanest trains to boot. Love that German efficiency! We had a little room of 6 seats and only 2 other people in there with us. The train staff came around every hour or so with carts of beverages, including little water bottles which I would never decline when traveling.
When we arrived in Berlin, we took the U-Bahn to Friedrichshain, the epicenter of the vegan food takeover in the city. Since we’ve been to this city several times and didn’t need to be near the most museums or sites or anything, we decided to be near the vegan food. One of our best decisions.
We stayed at the Gold Hotel on Weserstrasse, a nice, clean, simple hotel with really comfy pillows (my #1 bed criterion) and very nice staff. But the best part, the defining reason for our decision? It was a 7 minute walk from Voner.
Voner, the famous vegan doner joint, is one of my all-times. It’s always great and it feels like one of the OG sources of new-age vegan awesomeness. We met two of our coolest friends, Josh and Emmeline, for lots and lots of faux-meat gorging.
We shared a plate of like nugget-type things, which were great, and it came with lots of fries and a side salad, which you know is my favorite thing. But the must-get at Voner is the classic wrap jawn.
all the major food groups
mannn I really want this right now
The Voner wrap/doner, oft copied but never surpassed, is a thing of beauty. The meat is perfect, there’s a decent amount of lettuce, and the sauces are killer. It’s pretty cheap and it’s extremely filling. Sigh, it was the loveliest first dinner back in Berlin and back in western Europe. The only thing that could top this is:
A SHITTONNE OF VEGAN ICE CREAM! Yes I was full to the brim of Voner but remember, I hadn’t had ice cream in almost FOUR MONTHS. We walked to the nearby Balaram Eis, which Josh assured us was the best in the biz, and I trust his judgment when it comes to these matters. It’s an entirely vegan ice cream shop! But unlike London’s version of the same sort of thing, Yorica (which I love), Balaram Eis (I love saying Balaram) isn’t trying to be on that ‘no refined sugar’ ‘no fat’ or whatever nonsense that just cannot fly with hard scoop ice cream. Balaram (isn’t that what the lost boys say in “Hook”? RUFIOOOOO) has endless offerings that are all rich and creamy and beyond delicious. Choosing two flavors to put in my cone took me about an hour.
Obviously I didn’t choose any of the fruit flavors because I’m not crazy (“and when you call her crazy, you’re just calling her in love! BALARAM!” who gets it anyone?). As is my wont, I got a chocolate based flavor and one with peanut butter. And we liked it and we loved it. And everything was good.
Except there were more enticing flavors taunting me from the display. So after I finished my cone, you know what I did?
THAT’S RIGHT I GOT MORE BITCHES! FORK YOUR RULES! DOWN WITH THE PATRIARCHY! ABOLISH ICE! Man, think about all the ice cream I didn’t eat all summer, and then try to argue that I wasn’t entitled to AT LEAST 4 scoops at Balaram. I was forking restrained when you think about it.
And then it was time for a lovely sleep, with a very full tumnus, the last sleep in a strange (but nice) bed, the last one before I’d be back in my own bed! Man alive I slept in some wacky places, and I’m happy I had those experiences (no really I am). But I was excited to get home (as long as our house-sitter left me some clean sheets…).
The next morning, we went to the truly cool bookstore Shakespeare & Sons because we are yuppie nerds who love bookstores (y’all do too, and are). We were greeted with this wonderful surprise inside the shop:
BAGELS! And vegan friendly ones to boot! What a treat. Good, NYC-style bagels are hard to find (/nonexistent) in London, so we were excited to find really great ones here. They were out of Tofutti, which is a shame because that was my first choice after so long without it (and it’s my usual order in NYC bagelries, which I was trying to recreate), but I can’t be mad that so many people apparently are ordering vegan cream cheese! Instead, I got hummus and tomato and avocado, which, yeah actually now that I think about it is my real first choice, duh, like I said, not crazy.
HOW GOOD DOES THIS LOOK DAMMIT NOW I WANT THIS WHY AM I WRITING THIS BEFORE I’VE COOKED DINNER
The bagels were so good – the closest we’ve found to NYC goodness outside the USA, in fact! – that we bought 8 or so to bring back to London with us. Hey, we were getting on a flight that night (the first plane since the one that originally took us to Helsinki at the start) so we no longer had to worry about buying stuff and carting it around in our bags for weeks or months to come! They had amazing flavors like rosemary whole wheat and everything and salt (salt is an amazing flavor). When we got to London, we kept two out and froze the rest. Guess what. I just found two in our freezer. Still. Since last fall. Wtf else is in there.
As it turns out, we did make one important touristic visit. During our day in Berlin before our nighttime flight home to London, we strolled all over the city, including down Karl Marx Allee, once considered the “Champs-Elysees of the GDR”, the German Democratic Republic (or East Germany, the socialist part). We stopped in the famous Cafe Sibylle, an institution in its time, and now home to a functioning little cafe as well as an exhibition to the GDR, honoring the events that happened in this neighborhood before the wall fell. Named after the GDR women’s magazine, Cafe Sibylle was the home of artists, intellectuals, and others who discussed culture and politics. It was closed for about a decade after German reunification but reopened in 2000s. Supporters and frequenters of the cafe said that the exhibition to local history made sure that the GDR was remembered for more than just the Stasi. It remembered the ideals of socialism while recognizing the faults of the GDR. Unfortunately, it looks like Cafe Sibylle shut its doors a few months ago in April in, of course, the capitalist sweep that turns meagerly profiting landmarks of its type into fancy clubs and lounges. Yet if my ability to read German news articles can be trusted – and it cannot, because all the German I know I learned from Nena and her 99 Luftballons – it looooks like the Cafe may be set to reopen soon, so I hope that is true and I hope more people go to explore its history.
OK onto happier things! Like two of my very much all-time favorite things: soft pretzels and carousels! In one picture! I do abrupt turnarounds like I’m Jody Sawyer at the end of Cooper Nielson’s debut ballet heyoooo.
Honestly the rest of the day was spent acquiring Manner, my very favorite non-ice cream treat, and other vegan chocolate that is hard to find outside Berlin. This quick trip was obviously in stark contrast to the rest of our trip (look through all these posts to start) but it was a silly, chill way to end nearly 4 months of constant movement, endless education, and lots of challenges. This journey was incredible, more than I can really describe, and I’m grateful for all of it. Yes, even Mongolia.
I leave you with the most beautiful sight: a huge bag of cheap Manner. The end.
Mostar, Bosnia & Herzegovina: The Bridge to Beat All Bridges
Early one morning after several days in Sarajevo, we took a rickety, smoke-filled train (again!) to the tiny town of Mostar, down in the Herzegovina region of the country. This route had even more beautiful views.
I know!
This is the reason for going to Mostar
Mostar is most famous because of its devastatingly beautiful bridge, Stari Most. Because of it, and because it’s a pleasant (now) little town, it is a very popular tourist stop. In the old city section and of course on the bridge, you’ll be caught in throngs of tourists, most of whom are over from Dubrovnik for the day. (It makes an easy day trip from there, which all the tour companies can seduce you with, but I recommend coming down from Sarajevo so you can see more of the country.)
I didn’t care about the crowds, because this site is so lovely and so historically interesting. Stari Most, or the Old Bridge, was built in the 16th century and was a marvel for its time, “the longest only single-span stone arch in the world” (so says my Rick Steves guidebook in an unattributed quote). The strong bridge stood up during the World Wars, becoming a lasting symbol of Herzegovina.
Despite having withstood so many foes, the 1990s war proved too much for the bridge. As bombing hit Mostar in 1993, the bridge suffered direct hits. Then one final shell hit, and the people watched as the symbol of their history and home collapsed into the Neretva River.
I didn’t care about the crowds, because this site is so lovely and so historically interesting. Stari Most, or the Old Bridge, was built in the 16th century and was a marvel for its time, “the longest only single-span stone arch in the world” (so says my Rick Steves guidebook in an unattributed quote). The strong bridge stood up during the World Wars, becoming a lasting symbol of Herzegovina.
Despite having withstood so many foes, the 1990s war proved too much for the bridge. As bombing hit Mostar in 1993, the bridge suffered direct hits. Then one final shell hit, and the people watched as the symbol of their history and home collapsed into the Neretva River.
The view from the bridge in Mostar (not to be confused with the play Scarlett Johansson won a Tony for #trivia)
Although the destruction of the bridge was strategic, as it cut off supplies for those living in the city, it really was a brutal symbolic devastation.
Thankfully, the bridge was reconstructed after the war. Stones from the original bridge were salvaged from the water (by divers from the Hungarian army) and used in the rebuilding. The rest was cut from the original quarry, and workers rebuilt using the same technology as used in the 16th century, to guarantee authenticity. It’s one of those rare cases where the reconstructed monument is just as impressive as the original would have been, but perhaps even more meaningful.
Thankfully, the bridge was reconstructed after the war. Stones from the original bridge were salvaged from the water (by divers from the Hungarian army) and used in the rebuilding. The rest was cut from the original quarry, and workers rebuilt using the same technology as used in the 16th century, to guarantee authenticity. It’s one of those rare cases where the reconstructed monument is just as impressive as the original would have been, but perhaps even more meaningful.
Walking around the old town, you’ll probably feel like you do in most heavily touristed European city centers, with vendors trying to hock whatever goods they can sell you with the town name written on them, and at least one gelato cart on every corner. (The good news – several of the carts had accidentally vegan fruit flavors! One English-speaking vendor even answered my “Does this flavor have milk in it?” with “No, all of our fruit flavors are made with water.” Pretty awesome. Just ask, though, because just a few yards away another vendor told me, “All ice cream has milk!” with a dumb look on her dumb face.)
As in Sarajevo, it’s worth paying for a short tour, because odds are your guide lived here during the war. I called Alma Elezovic (aelezovic@gmail.com), recommended in the Rick Steves guide, but she was busy so she sent her son Yaz. He was fantastic. He seriously spoke English better than I do, and spoke it with a perfect (and east coast?) American accent. I asked where he spent his time in America and he said he’s never been. Linguists, go study him. It was only 20 euro per person for more than 2 hours (which is all it takes to get around the old town), and included entry into a mosque.
As in Sarajevo, it’s worth paying for a short tour, because odds are your guide lived here during the war. I called Alma Elezovic (aelezovic@gmail.com), recommended in the Rick Steves guide, but she was busy so she sent her son Yaz. He was fantastic. He seriously spoke English better than I do, and spoke it with a perfect (and east coast?) American accent. I asked where he spent his time in America and he said he’s never been. Linguists, go study him. It was only 20 euro per person for more than 2 hours (which is all it takes to get around the old town), and included entry into a mosque.
The former front line of Mostar
This street was the front line during the war. Yaz said that on any day, bodies would fill the streets. Relatives were too scared of being gunned down by snipers to retrieve the bodies.
The future site of the Mostar Synagogue, on the former front line
This lot is the future home of the Mostar Synagogue. During the war, Jews acted as intermediaries, crossing the front line to transport supplies and information. As thanks for their heroism, the city offered to donate any piece of land the Jewish community wanted, and they chose this symbolic spot right on the former front line.
Doesn’t get old
Don’t try this!
You’ll probably see young men in bathing suits (*cough* Speedos *cough*) on Stari Most hustling tourists for money. They are soliciting donations to jump into the river, which is dangerous not only because of the height but because the temperature drops about 50 degrees from the bridge to the water. The divers will wet themselves first to reset their body temperature (and probably will again after they jump heyoooo!).
Outside the old town, you’ll see what is so prevalent around Bosnia-Herzegovina – the juxtaposition of the new, modern rebuilding and the decrepit, destroyed buildings from the war. It’s quite shocking to see such buildings next to each other, isn’t it?
The food isn’t great for vegans, but here’s a recap of what I ate.
It’s worth spending a night here so you can take your time, walk outside of the touristy center, and enjoy Mostar in the evening. We stayed at a lovely pension just a few minutes from the bridge, called Pansion Cardak. The woman who runs it, Suzana, is the nicest ever. The rooms (four in total) are clean, simple, and affordable.
I highly recommend that you fit a trip to Mostar into your itinerary. Stari Most is really so beautiful, and the interesting history of the small town is worth learning about. Mostar makes a great day trip from Dubrovnik, or better yet a stopover from Sarajevo to Dubrovnik or Montenegro.
It’s worth spending a night here so you can take your time, walk outside of the touristy center, and enjoy Mostar in the evening. We stayed at a lovely pension just a few minutes from the bridge, called Pansion Cardak. The woman who runs it, Suzana, is the nicest ever. The rooms (four in total) are clean, simple, and affordable.
I highly recommend that you fit a trip to Mostar into your itinerary. Stari Most is really so beautiful, and the interesting history of the small town is worth learning about. Mostar makes a great day trip from Dubrovnik, or better yet a stopover from Sarajevo to Dubrovnik or Montenegro.
One last view of Mostar, taken at dawn
