The Weekend Rambler

Run Through Kosovo

February 10, 2019

The bus from Belgrade arrived in dark Priština late in the evening, snow drearily falling as I exit the bus and make my way to the hotel.

(In actuality, the route was much more direct but Google refuses to believe that such a route exists.)

No restaurants are open, only a little shop with a sign written that it closes at 22:00. The time is 22:30, but the lights are on so I open the door. A slouched over bald man with a wispy grey goatee peers up at me through glossy eyes from his phone. “Hello. Are you open?” I say, as he hurriedly stands up.

“Yes, my friend, open uh, 45 more minutes. What you need? Beer?”

“We’ll get to that. Got any ajvar?” Ajvar is my favorite spreadable eggplant and pepper goo that I discovered on my first journey to the Balkans.

“Of course.” He hands me a bottle of ajvar. “Bread?” he hands me a bag filled with bread. “Beer?” He takes out a 2-liter bottle of local beer.

“Maybe that’s too much.”

“Come on. In Balkans, if only have one beer is no worth.”

“Alrighty then, let’s do it.” He rings up all my goodies for a total of only around 3 Euros, and when I tell him I am from American he raises his thumb in approval.

“Welcome.”

Kosovo is where I have received the most welcome as in American in Europe. Generally, being American in Europe is more of a novelty for many Europeans. People instantly give me a smirk and ask about trump or about how many guns I have. It feels more like my existence is a bit of a joke for a lot of them. But for Kosovo, America has heavily aided the country since its independence. Take a walk down Bill Klinton street, marvel at the statue of Bill Clinton and countless American flags while being monitored by American security guards throughout the capital. From this perspective, Priština is one of the strangest capitals in Europe. This, along with their bizarre monument of the National Library which looks like cubes covered in fishnet.

Priština is not an overwhelmingly gorgeous city, but much like Serbia, Priština is rather real. You can see the growing pains that the city is experiencing, along with the changes that come from being the youngest nation in Europe. Though I must say, there is much more to do than in Podgorica, the capital of Montenegro. There is a cute old town with mosques and small shops reminiscent of the Ottoman old town in Skopje.

The city can be seen in several hours, so most of my day was spent in cafes reading and people watching, which is always a pleasure. Kosovars are more ethnically Albanian than Serbian, which lends them a great deal of hospitality from their Albanian culture. They are much quicker to smile than Serbs, and in general, have a much warmer approach to life. Kosovars also seem to act like a part of Albania rather than Serbia, as well. There are more Albanian flags than Kosovar flags flying, and there is a monumental statue of Albania’s national hero, Skanderbeg, in the main city square.

Priština is still in its development stages, so I head to Prizren in the South of Kosovo for a little day trip.

Reachable in only about an hour and a half, Prizren is considered the cultural capital of Kosovo. With the oldest mosque in the country and a beautiful old town, the city is worth a visit for a day. I spent the time wandering the old Ottoman town with its old bridge and countless mosques. Prizren also has an excellent cafe culture, so most of my day was filling myself with cheap coffees and people watching.

Above the city lies the fortress, which has stood to protect the city for centuries. From the top is the famous view of the cities red roofs, and I made it to the top just in time for the call to prayer.

Eventually, when I felt that I had wandered the city enough and filled myself with too many coffees, I hopped on the bus back to Priština. I had a jar of ajvar to finish, and meanwhile I tried to find some couchsurfers to spend the evening with. Thirty minutes later I was meeting up with Alexis, a bearded Parisian traveling back from his friends wedding in Russia. We meet in front of the Skanderbeg statue with a local, Shend, who takes us to a popping local pub for some beers. The entire place is packed, but we don’t mind because its full of life and suited political figures. Alexis goes to buy beers and Shend introduces me to his cousin, who works for an American NGO, and her boyfriend who works as a professor in Maryland. I feel as though I am drinking with the upper echelon of Kosovar culture, and once again thank the couchsurfing gods for such luck.

Alexis and I hit it off pretty quickly, as we have both studied the same thing and both feel that the educations we took are a little bit antiquated. Neither of us really know what we are doing, but we both know that we love to travel. Rather than go straight to college, Alexis took a five year gap year hitchhiking and working around Europe and South America before settling back in Paris to take his education. It appears I have found a kindred spirit far away from home in a packed bar in Priština.

Shend works for an American company in the IT department, which seems to be a pretty good setup. Working for an American company in a developing country has some perks, such as allowing Shend and his cousin to travel around Europe much more than the average Kosovar. They are knowledgeable and articulate, something I have noticed in a lot of Serbs and Kosovars alike. Here we spent much of the night until the bar kicked us out, discussing politics, music, and culture of the Balkans and Kosovo.

Nobody seems to know about the Monster festival I am going to in Bulgaria, and more importantly, no one seems to care. Why am I the only one so interested in this? Regardless, we set out of the bar early in the morning, I bid farewell to Shend and Alexis, and grab a couple hours of sleep before my next leg of the journey.

The time has finally come to go to Bulgaria. It has taken me on a week and a half long journey through three countries, and now I find that my destination is soon approaching. Next, a bus to Skopje and then to Sofia to meet with my couchsurfer and eventually the monsters.

Skopje is rather easy to get to from Priština. Buses leave often and only take about two hours. Snow falls down in fat clumps, and I am glad that I am leaving early in the morning. My head hurts a bit from all of the Kosovar hospitality, but its nothing a little bus nap won’t fix. Two hours later we arrive in Skopje, a city I visited last Spring, and I was excited to see what the city had to offer in the snow. With a five hour wait before my bus to Sofia, I took a stroll through the tundra to the sculpture encrusted downtown. I was especially excited to see how the city has changed since last Spring.

The city is still covered in nonsense sculptures and plastic buildings, and I even notice some new buildings and statues. Northern Macedonia is preparing to be signed into NATO, so the capital is continually being built up and given “class”. I reflect on something Shend had brought up the night before. He told me that he liked Priština, because, “it’s ugly, but at least it’s honest. Skopje is so fake.”

I can’t help but agree with him. The city is so absurdly designed, it can only bring joy in its sheer nonsense. But I like the city, I like how weird it is. I like the London-style double-decker buses built by the Chinese that parade around the streets. I like thousands of random sculptures and statues. I like thin, classical buildings that serve no purpose other than imposing an image of Macedonian strength. I only wish that all of this money could have been spent developing the country’s infrastructure or education. Or at least, some more original architecture.

But Skopje is still a very weird, beautiful city. Especially in these fat blobs of snow.

After a fresh ginger beer and some kebab, it is time to go to Sofia. Finally, the monsters are coming my way.

Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, and subscribe if you feel. Monsters coming soon!
Black Snow of Serbia

February 9, 2019

The sun is setting as I land in Niš, far in Southern Serbia near the Bulgarian border. I expect grey looking people, angry and a bit brutish. I leave the airplane with my best ‘Don’t mess with me cause I’m another Eastern European but my country’s even shitter than yours so don’t fight me” look. But that face quickly disappeared when the middle-aged woman with cat-eye glasses stamped my passport with a smile and welcomed me.

Niš lives under a fog of burning coal and wood, lined with streets of dark slushy snow that will never be cleaned. Yet still, this is the city where Constantine the Great was born. This is a city that has seen many important Roman figures come through. This is also a city where the Ottomans squashed a massive Serbian rebellion and made a tower out of skeletons as punishment. Niš is not the prettiest city, but the history of this region is some of the richest in this part of Europe.

I arrive at night and instantly want to go out to meet some locals. I can not remember ever meeting a Serb so this will be a fun night for me. I grab some pljeskavica, Serbia’s answer to the hamburger, and meet up at a bar with a group of Slovakians. Their English is abhorrent, yet they ask as many questions as possible through their thick accents. They are here on vacation from Bratislava since prices are lower here than in Slovakia (barely). We eventually run out of things to talk about with the English available, and run outside for another pljeskavica before I leave to meet with a couchsurfer across town.

I meet with Miloš, a filmmaker and perhaps the most famous person in town. It feels like I am being shown around town by a superstar, as everyone we meet seems to rush over and greet him enthusiastically. I say I like live music, so he takes me to a bar with two friends of his to hear “The Best Blues Band in Serbia”. Alrighty then.

I can say with certainty that this band had a pretty good hold over the concept of the Blues. The definitely had it. I was quite content but eventually, one of Miloš’ friends wishes to leave, so we do and grab some drinks elsewhere. Every bar in town seems to be too loud and crowded for any real conversation to occur, so I ask if we can go to a more quiet bar. Miloš takes me to a bar that feels like stepping into Grandma’s living room. Every room is covered in lace doilies and old nonsense knickknacks. Here the music is low, so we get to talking.

Miloš seems a bit reluctant to talk about himself and instead asks many questions of me. It is rare for me to be the one answering all the questions because usually, I feel like taking the role of the listener in a conversation with a stranger. But from what I can see, Miloš seems to travel a lot through Europe on different projects and shoots various forms of film. A bit of a local celebrity. I kick myself for not asking more, but I get the feeling it may take a few days to crack open this pistachio.

But I have other destinations in mind for this Serbian leg of the adventure. The next day, I plan to go to Belgrade, to see the capital of the Yugoslavian state. I ask Miloš the best way to get to Belgrade.

“Bus”

“How about train?”

“Takes longer. Two hours more, maybe.”

“But prettier.”

“No. Same.”

Against his advice, I take the train the next day to Belgrade, a five and a half hour journey through cold steppes of black and white snowy landscapes. The conductor seems to know everyone on the train, as he spends more time sitting drinking and chatting with a group of passengers than he does conducting (or whatever he does). The train is painfully slow and makes stops in sleepy concrete towns for passengers to take their smoking breaks. But I had my book, Convenience Store Woman, by Sayaka Murata, and plenty of music to pass the time on my journey to Belgrade.

I arrive in Belgrade, a cold city of run-down concrete buildings and the same black slushy snow filling Niš. People are somehow colder than they were down South, as the big city life has not softened any souls. The train station is painfully far from downtown Belgrade, and I can not seem to make the tram schedule make sense, so I walk the hour through the cold dark city towards the center. Yet I do not feel particularly at risk.

I am soon meeting with my couchsurfer, who is coming back from his village and will not be back for several more hours. I grab a pljeskavica and try to stay warm for a while, but luckily my couchsurfer, Marko, has left the key for me so that I can stay warm. I find the place and enter, flipping on the light which instantly breaks. Only one light, the kitchen, seems to work in the whole apartment, but luckily it is rather small. I sit and wait on the couch next to a small radiator, staying warm and reading my book for a while before Markos returns.

He opens the door, shakes my hand and hands me a can of beer. A proper Serbian wedding.

Marko formerly studied History, but he is now studying Archaeology. He is an avid hitchhiker, and has taken adventures across Europe as far West as Portugal and as far East as Georgia and Kurdish Turkey. We talk for a while and eventually Marko’s friend from Russia, Boris arrives. Boris is another couchsurfer who has been floating around the Balkans for a while finding work. We talk all night about random subjects, sharing a two big plastic two-liter bottles of beer. Eventually, as many parties go for me, I am the first to fall asleep rather pitifully on the couch.

I wake up, Marko has to go help a friend move apartments but Boris offers to go on a walk with me before going to do some work. He moves fast and talks quickly, but he has a good hold of the English language and is very curious about my job opportunities in Denmark post-graduation. I am mainly trying to avoid stepping in the numerous piles of dog poo covering the street, yet I tell him I have no idea what I am doing with my professional life.

“Not so good. But you are having time! This is very important building-” and he would trail off, giving me the history of this particular building or war monument. A lot of Belgrade is still torn up from the still recent war, which can be seen in blown out buildings across town.

Boris leaves eventually, and I am left alone to stroll up the pedestrian street and grab some coffees.

I like Serbia, not necessarily for its architecture but perhaps for its honesty. Belgrade and Niš were not pretty cities, but they were real. I respect places where people are just trying to live before anything else. As well, the food is amazing and the people are quite lovely. I sat for a while at a bar with a retired veteran, Jon, who bought all my drinks for the night. “Serbian hospitality,” he said. Some of the wounds from the conflict here are still rather fresh, but Jon seems to be looking up on life. He tells me about working abroad in Kazakhstan for a while, and how lovely the women are there. “Get yourself a Kazakh girl, man. Beautiful.”

Eventually, I politely leave and go back to Marko’s place, where he has been sleeping off a bad hangover for most of the afternoon. We talk for a few hours about adventures. He’s the kind of guy that could likely get along with anyone, quite charming and easy to laugh. Eventually, my tiredness makes me pass out at around 2 am, and Markos spends the night binge watching Vikings.

The next morning I decided to move on to the next destination, so I treat Markos to some Burek and yogurt before heading to the bus station. Snow is falling haphazardly and in little clumps, quickly icing over the street. I buy some provisions for my next journey, a six-hour bus ride South to the disputed territory of Kosovo, specifically the capital of Priština. Serbia still sees Kosovo as a part of its country, even though Kosovars are ethnically related to Albanians rather than Serbs. I am curious to see what lies at the other end of the border, and eagerly look out the window as we drive South through snowy fields and dark concrete villages out of Serbia.

Thank you so much for reading! Please like and subscribe if you feel, and feel free to comment if there’s something you liked or wish to change. See you soon!
In the Belly of the Habsburgs

February 8, 2019

Two years ago, I traveled to Romania with my friend and roommate from my Baltic Roadtrip, Šarūnas, where we stumbled upon a lone traveler that sparked my interests for future adventures. Deep in a frozen concrete slab alleyway, we came face to face with a lone Canadian woman, who stared right back at us and with a giggle asked, “Have we been following each other, or do we just end up in the same places? Because I’ve been seeing you two everywhere in this city.”

Šarūnas and I exchanged a smile, and I’m not sure which one of us posited this golden line (probably Šarūnas).

“Guess we should probably just hang out then…”

Together we sat, in the dusk of a cold January Bucharest day deep in the alleys of the pit of Nicolae Ceaușescu’s concrete Utopia, smoking shisha and sharing stories. Our new friend had just come from Sofia, Bulgaria, and told of a mystical pagan festival called ‘Surva’. I had first heard of Surva, a masquerade competition celebrating Balkan mysticism, in a National Geographic article. However, once our friend showed us videos of drunken vodka slinging monsters parading the streets with gigantic bells, I knew that one day I would have to visit this bizarre and ancient festival.

Two years later, I found myself about to make this expedition to Sofia to see where the drunk monsters dance. But since I like an adventure, I found a roundabout way to get to Sofia. In this case: on a flight from Billund to Vienna with Wizz Air.

I have somehow never been to Austria, even though it seems like one of the top European destinations for many tourists. It’s one of the ‘Big European Destinations’ on every American’s bucket list (Along with Rome, Paris, London, etc.), yet it has taken me five years of European living to make it here.

Home to incredible history and architecture, Vienna seems like the kind of city I would make an effort to go to. Yet alas, flights have always been too expensive until now. As well, I never had a reason to go other than for the pure delight of being in the old Habsburg capital. But after my time in Hong Kong, I now have a close friend to go visit in the city.

I arrive late and wander around downtown until my couchsurfing host is free to introduce me to the space I will be living in.

Vienna is a beautiful city by night, with lights illuminating the intricate beauty of the old capital.

As I walk up to my couchsurfer’s studio, piles of bricks with the Habsburg crest imprinted deeply on them line my way up the stairway. Up above me on the next floor, my couchsurfing host greets me with a smile, shuffling through the hall and pointing out the old elements of this 19th-century building. A retired journalist, native to the Atlas mountains of Morocco and later transplanted to Paris and then Vienna, Abdallah is the kind of couchsurfing host I dream about staying with. Well read, articulate, and a wonderful storyteller, I peer at his journalistic pictures of Morocco and finger through his extensive library as he tells me of his recent trip to Iran. I feel as though I have nothing interesting to posit to this man of extensive knowledge and adventure, yet still we step out into the cold for a late night pizza and glass of wine. He has lived such an interesting life, and I wonder if I will be eating pizza with a young wanderer fifty years from now.

The next day is full of exploring the city. I have missed European cities and architecture a bit, and realize how much I had missed Gothic architecture. Vienna reminds me a bit of Paris, from the era when Oligarchs wished to show off with intricate Rococo windowsills and cute cafes. This is how most of Vienna felt to me, beautiful but with not much going on behind all of it. Of course, going in the dead of winter was perhaps the worst time to visit the city, but in a way, it is also the best. If you are able to find a city beautiful at its worst, then it will be even better at its best. But for me, Vienna felt a bit like being inside of a giant skeleton. Everything is wonderfully clean, bleached, and beautiful; but there does not appear to be much blood running through the veins. Regardless, I was in town to visit a friend.

I met with Laurenz late in the evening next to the Vienna Technical University. After a warm hug and a quick chat, we head upstairs for a yoga lesson from the mother of one of Laurenz’ friends. For the next two hours, we sweat and cringe as our muscles pull and turn to mush. When we emerge from the yoga room, we’re disgusted by our rusty limbs and out-of-shape physique, but so relaxed. I have never done yoga for that long, yet it felt so right. Laurenz and I suite up and head out for a few beers.

I did not make many friends in Hong Kong, but those that I made are definitely worth keeping. Laurenz is a lot like me: not really certain what to do with this life, yet finding joy in things that can not necessarily support a living. We both love literature and the active pursuit of writing, and we talk a lot about some of the more intangible things in life, dreaming a bit together as we sip our beers. Some of Laurenz’ friends are in a bar elsewhere in town, so we pick up and move over there so I can meet some Viennese.

Most of the Viennese I’ve met have been quite kind. They remind me of Swedish people, in the sense that they are overwhelmingly kind yet driven by more material pleasures. Berliners often look like the city they live in: a bit grungy and with unshaven armpits. But Viennese have to keep up with their cities atmosphere, and most I have seen stay well dressed and mannered throughout the day, even after a few beers. Laurenz’ friends are in the business world, so of course, they find themselves living in this lifestyle. They are wonderful to talk to, especially since I do not find myself with people of this profession often.

The next day is spent very much in the same way, the way I wander any cold city. I walk until I get cold, stop in to read and warm up with a coffee, and reenter the city walking until it’s socially acceptable to find a bar for a more lively company. As it was Friday, I went to the Belvedere Palace late at night to enjoy free Friday nights at the museum. To be able to see The Kiss and other works of artistic antiquity for free was an amazing opportunity.

As I exit the museum, Abdallah texted me to see if I would like to join him and a friend for some wine. I hopped on the trolly and went straight for the bar, where I was greeted by Abdallah and his wonderfully animated friend, Mo, a Moroccan sociologist. They poured me a glass of wine and instantly began prodding me on matters from American politics to life in Europe. They seem genuinely curious, and often get into long debates with each other over little things the way old educated men do everywhere in the world. The prodding continued blissfully for the whole evening.

“What I am asking you, young man,” Mo’s body, leaning far over the table, straining his neck and large glasses to meet my gaze, “is simply, whether or not you have government supported healthcare in the United States.”

I would try my best to answer such heavy questions while Abdallah would stare out into the distance listening until he felt the need to chime in. They told me of Morocco during French colonialism, of life in current-day Morocco, and why they will probably never move back. The night continued in such a manner until Mo remembered he had to walk his dog and Abdallah had to run back to the studio to pick up a charger. At this moment, Laurenz pulled up to the bar and took me away for some traditional Austrian dinner.

Wiener Schnitzel, Dumplings with roasted meat, and local beer. Simple, hearty, and perfect for a cold Austrian evening. I only wish that I were on a mountaintop returning from a day on the slopes, to make these calories feel worth it.

I gorge myself regardless.

The next morning, Laurenz and I meet up near central Vienna for a nice brunch. Brunch is not a common treat in Hong Kong, and if it is, it is absurdly expensive and driven towards tourists. This, however, was a legitimate brunch for the hip Viennese masses. The restaurant is packed with Viennese families, couples, and friends, enjoying late brunch of omelets and French Toast. They are all wonderfully dressed and put-together, and I feel as though I am dining with beautiful otherworldly humans, ones with nice jobs and flats that can afford delicious brunches every weekend. This kind of bourgeois lifestyle could get addictive.

After breakfast, Laurenz and I walk around the flea market near the famous food market, Naschmarkt. It feels like a market that could have existed several centuries ago, with all of the sellers coming from far out destinations in the hinterlands of the great empire. Tan Albanians sell rugs, mustachioed Turks sell spices, Slovaks sell old Soviet paraphernalia, and I feel as though I am truly on the borderlands between Europe and the East. In a way, I am. Vienna served as the border between Europe and the Ottomans for quite a while, so it feels only natural that it still serves this same purpose. After perusing the market, Laurenz drives me to the airport for my flight East, deep into the old Empire.

Now, I find myself boarding a plane with cold looking Serbs, towards the South Serbian city of Niš. I have no expectations, no plans, only that I am going to a land that has been ruled by everybody at some point; one still repairing from centuries of conflict. But I truly will not know what I am getting into until I am there.

Thank you for reading! I hope you have been enjoying, and if there is anything you would like to change feel free to comment or send me a message. See you soon!
Long Train to Ella

January 18, 2019

In the old capital of Kandy, we sat in the train station with a hoard of other tourists waiting for the train.

Our destination was Ella, far away in the mountains among tea covered hills and Ayurvedic spa’s. The train trip from Kandy to Ella is regarded as one of the prettiest train rides in the world, and Ella is one of the most touristy stops in Sri Lanka, so riding this train looked a bit like riding a train in Germany rather than Sri Lanka. When the train arrived, hundreds of us tourists stuffed our way in, many standing. We stood next to the door, and a passing conductor whispered, “There are plenty of seats back in third class…” so we picked up our bags and sat in the back with the locals. For this, we were very grateful. The train would end up taking a good seven hours, and unlike a lot of the tourists in second class, we had a seat for the whole ride. Not only that, but we only spent about US$1.60 for our train ticket.

The train was painfully slow, running at a near walking pace through the mountains. But the view was so nice that I could not complain, and we did nothing else but stare out the window and let smooth mountain air run through our hair.

After the long journey, we arrived in the town of Ella, and when you look at the map you may think, “How was that short distance a seven-hour train ride? Because it’s Sri Lanka, sweet child.

We arrive and like a school bus filled with third graders visiting a chocolate factory, we and dozens of other tourists filed out of the train eager for our little field trip. Dreadlocks abound, and as we walked through the town I began to feel like I was more in Europe at a yoga retreat than Sri Lanka. If not Europe, than a tourist village in Phuket or Bali tailored specifically to Europeans. Chic cafes and yoga shops, little bars and the always packed Cafe Chill line the main street of Ella, and I feel that I am no longer in Sri Lanka, unfortunately. Luckily our homestay is a fair way out of the city, more rural and surrounded by locals and peacocks mewing in the distance. We also have a crushingly beautiful patio view. Sri Lanka is a very couple friendly place to visit, and it feels that a lot of the tourists here are on a honeymoon or couple’s retreat.

But while the tourists do annoy me, the nature of Ella makes the trip worth the long train and the chic cafes. Our first stop was the beautiful 9 arch bridge, which took us for a walk along the train tracks with beautiful views. The trains are so slow here that you can hear them coming from a few miles away, and have plenty of time to wander off the tracks before it arrives.

Walking up the hill from here, we climbed up little Adam’s peak to view the surroundings. There was an ice cream man at the top, along with some complaining tourists. But the views and stray dogs were nice.

We dined on more local foods, making sure to go to the sketchier restaurants in Ella. Cafe Chill is heavily blogged about, but the lines are huge and it seems a bit too over-priced for me. Anyways, I did not come to Sri Lanka to drink a mojito and eat a pizza. I came to eat delicious coconut curry and daal with roti or hoppers in a hole in the wall restaurant. I came to drink gigantic bottles of bubbly Lion Lager in a dark smokey bar with iron grates on the windows. That is the Sri Lanka I can easily fall in love with.

The next day I fell prey to a cold I had been fighting since leaving Hong Kong, and thus the day was spent wandering around the cafes of Ella, drinking juice and tea while reading. It was not a day that would give the nature of Ella justice, but I suppose I needed to settle down a bit for a day.

The next day we hopped on another bus, this one going back to Colombo. While my heart wanted to take the train, the ride would have taken a good part of nine hours to get back to Colombo. So we hopped on an old school bus to Bandarawela to catch a bus to Colombo. We arrived and hopped on an air-conditioned bus to Colombo which left as soon as we sat down. Then the bus caught on fire.

So we got on another bus. One that wasn’t on fire.

When choosing between an air-conditioned and non-air conditioned bus, I would say to go for the non-air conditioned one. The windows are always down, and the drivers drive like lunatics providing the bus with a constant breeze. They’re also a bit cheaper.

The ride took an exhausting sevenish hours, but we finally made it to Colombo and back to our hostel from the first night.

We stopped around the block for some rice and curry at a local hole in the wall, which seemed pretty amused to have Western customers. They gave us a heaping plate of rice with several delicious vegetarian curries, enough to stick to our ribs for a good few hours, and only for US$0.80. Sri Lankan food has the basic “curry” to it, but every meal I’ve had has left me in a happy tummy mood. Not once did I eat meat, and every meal left me perfectly satisfied and light with a perfect feeling of chili heat in my mouth. Not once did I get sick either, even though we ate at some more sketchy hole in the wall kind of places. My rule of thumb is, if a lot of locals are eating there, it’s probably pretty good. That’s kept me from getting sick in my entire five months of being in Asia and has given me the pleasure of tasting some amazing food. The food in Colombo was all wonderfully cheap and tasty, which is perhaps the best part of Colombo in my opinion.

The rest of Colombo is rather dusty and noisy. Diesel and red dirt fill the air like in every other Sri Lankan city, but to a higher degree. A day is all we needed to see the sights, of which we saw the National Museum and the Pettah Market.

Afterward, we didn’t have many other stops on our list. We wandered out to the sea, which has a train track running alongside it with a moderately faster-paced train. Here we enjoyed the sunset, breaking the heat of seaside city.

This is our last day of Sri Lanka, with a flight at 1:30 am heading out of Asia. I’m happy to be in Asia, but I will be happy to be back in Europe. I feel as though I need to remove myself momentarily from this land of exotic beauty and flavors so that I can enjoy them again anew. I take too much of Asia for granted at this point, and I need to remove myself so I can miss it and want to come back. Likewise, I miss being in Europe for the convenience, comfort, and cold. And, I wish to drink clean tap water again.

Sri Lanka is an amazing country, one deserving much more than the measly week we spent here. Mainly because travel takes so long. At least 2.5 of our 8 days were spent on a train or bus, even though the distances were so close. Along with that, this tiny island is packed full of wonderful colors and sights to see. The people are wonderfully polite and welcoming, and the food is nourishing and delicious. Sri Lanka feels like a perfect introduction to South Asian culture as a whole, and now I feel confident that a longer trip through India or Nepal would be easier with this experience under my belt. We stop in another shady bar for some beers with locals, grab our last heaping plate of rice and daal, and head to the airport for our red-eye to Dubai.

For no explainable reason, I have found Dubai a very interesting city. I think it’s because of the architecture, as I can remember looking at pictures of the Burj Khalifa as a teenager thinking, “Holy shit I need to see this.” With a five hour layover in Dubai, this was finally my chance. We hurriedly get our passports stamped, get in an argument with a taxi driver who frustratedly drops us off at the metro for way too much money, and sit on the metro on the way to the Burj Khalifa metro stop. As the sun rises, we exit the metro and come upon a scene straight out of Star Wars to see the majestically slender building light up under the soft glow of desert light.

Teenage Carter is a very happy little guy. Never have I seen a building so jaw-dropping. We grab a croissant and some juice at a convenience store and stand momentarily with our eyes wide and our mouths open in awe. This entire city is ridiculous in its magnitude, but beautiful in its sheer defiance towards the laws of gravity. Good job Dubai, for breaking through the sky.

And then we were off again, back to get our passports stamped and to sit on another plane. 8 hours later we were in Oslo, then Copenhagen, then by 2:30 am we were asleep in bed at home. It feels as though I have never left, even though I’ve been living out of the same backpack since the end of June when we first hitchhiked around Northern Poland and got lost in the Georgian mountains. I have seen such sights that I can not properly find words to describe, experienced kindness from strangers that I can never properly thank, and seen the world in a way that has only stoked the fire for an addiction to travel that I have been feeding continuously for the past five years. Now that I am back in Europe, my rambles shall continue in countries more familiar yet equally exotic, and ones were I shall continue to explore the limits of myself and the small, majestic world we call home.

Thank you for reading and for joining me through these amazing travels around Asia. While my chapter in that continent has momentarily come to a close, there are many more rambles to come. I hope that you will join me for the next one!
Cave Temples and Castle Rocks, Sri Lanka

January 15, 2019

After our long Kuala Lumpur Layover, Ivana and I arrive in Colombo, Sri Lanka pretty tired and sweaty at 23:30.

Once we got to Steps Backpacker’s Hostel, we fell asleep pretty instantly.

The next day, we got up fairly early to grab breakfast and head to the bus station for our ride out of Colombo. With only a week in Sri Lanka, every moment counts, and we made the executive decision not to spend too long in Colombo since there were other things to see in the beautiful country. The first stop: Dambulla, in the central part of the country about 4 hours away by bus. This bus was air-conditioned, but little vomit sized plastic bags hang abundantly from the windows. Not a good sign.

Luckily the road is rather straight, and the only thing that could make us sick would have been the appalling driving culture in Sri Lanka. It amazes me how easily the entire country has turned a two-lane highway into five invisible lines. Tuk Tuk’s and bikes drive on the edge of the lanes while the big cars drive near the line, then the crazy people pass into the invisible fifth lane when the adrenaline rush hits them. For us, coming off the high of Japanese order, it was terrifying. But for them, it is just their normal organized chaos no more scary than a bowl of breakfast cereal.

Dambulla is a dusty city, stretched out along a single road tailoring to the many buses that pass through here going towards one of the bigger Sri Lankan cities. Being such, it is not the prettiest city as it constantly smells of diesel exhaust and red dirt, but it is a city that houses some amazing antiquities nearby. We drop our bags off at our homestay and grab a rice and curry buffet nearby, having our first legitimate taste of Sri Lankan cuisine.

The main reason why tourists endure the dust and diesel in Dambulla is to see the nearby cave temple. Out front sits a gigantic golden Buddha, announcing the beginning of the walk up to the cave temples.

The complex houses several caves, some built during the 1st Millenia BCE and some earlier. The hike up takes a while, but at the top the rewarding views over the jungle make Sri Lanka feel like the largest place on Earth.

It was too dark to grab a good photo of the cave temples, but I have to say it felt pretty mystical.

Outside, we sat and watched the sun fall far away into the jungle.

The next day we awoke to breakfast from our homestay family. They were extremely welcoming and helpful, giving us tips to not get scammed in our time spent in Sri Lanka. All accommodations we stayed at in Sri Lanka featured amazing hosts, with the “Guest is God” mentality seen elsewhere in South Asia.

The goal for this day was to see Sigiriya rock, but first, we grabbed a tuk tuk to the outskirts of town to see Popham’s arboretum.

After the Second World War, a British Navy officer settled here in Dambulla, purchasing a portion of land to relax and retire. He began with a single mango tree, and soon notice endemic trees growing on his property. Rather than cull the new shoots, Popham nurtured them and after sixty years has created a thick forest of native species on his land. Now, Popham has returned to England, but the center is still run by steadfast volunteers wishing to nurture this amazing forest and keep it growing.

We wandered into the forest office, meeting with Mr. Jayantha, one of the leaders who offered to take us on a walk through the forest. Along the way, he showed us some bats living in the ceiling and some pictures of Loris that have recently come to live in the forest. This former landscape architect with blue lines around his otherwise dark irises showed us the intricacies of Sri Lankan flora, telling stories of how Britain ruined Sri Lanka while simultaneously picking a random leaf to tell us the health benefits of it. For his own health problems, Mr. Jayantha has found solace in the forest and in Sri Lanka’s traditional medicine, looking to cure his own ailments and breathe the fresh air of the forest.

Compared to the dust of Dambulla, the arboretum was a welcome change to clear our lungs and see the flora of Sri Lanka. Another tuk tuk ride took us to Pidurangala rock, right next to the more famous Sigiriya castle rock. Sigiriya is the old palace complex for the kings, built on top of a gigantic rock rising from the verdant forests. It is one of the most notable images of Sri Lanka, and thus attracts a lot of tourists and a steep entrance fee. However, Pidurangala offers a view of Sigiriya rock along with a walk through an ancient cave temple. As well, the entrance fee is only 500 rupees (~US$2) and far less touristy.

The hike is a bit steep with a bit of bouldering towards the top, but the views of Sigiriya and the forest were spectacular.

Peacocks mewed in the distance as we sat almost alone on the rock. Some cactus trees sat on the top, providing just enough shade for a bit of cloud watching.

As the sun began to fall, more tourists congregated on the rock face. We watched the sun fall, and retreated back down the rock and back to our home stay.

With the cave temples and the castle rock, our “Cultural” expedition of Sri Lanka was complete. With more time, we would have certainly gone North to see some other sites, but time is growing short and Sri Lanka’s gorgeous nature is calling us South. The next morning, we wake up early and hop on a bus to the old capital of Kandy. There, we wait for a train to whisk us through tea covered hills and misty mountains.

Thanks for reading, and please like or comment if you feel! There’s some more of beautiful Sri Lanka and more rambles coming soon, so stay tuned!