The Box of Many Things

I have greatly altered course in the last week. This was partly motivated by a desire to visit some friends. Mostly, though: why not? So I left my bike at Luana’s in Zurich and took the night train to Zagreb, Croatia.

The overall plan is to visit here and then Belgrade and Sofia, where some more awesome people live, for three-ish weeks. Then I’ll head back to Zurich and resume my voyage towards Vienna. Thus, I’ve had a markedly different experience already.

It seems that Zagreb is a city of markets. I, and other people at the hostel, have fed ourselves with produce just pulled from the ground (I’m sure there’s some exaggeration in that) and have browsed antique collections of remarkable diversity, such as an old Nazi passport next to an NYC Transit Police patch. Naturally. We’ve gotten so much from these that I’ve only just started on the restaurant scene, conveniently timed with Restaurant Week (I'm sure I'll have something to say about that later).

Meat downstairs

Fruit upstairs

And some plate ware down the road

Those reels contain the Berlin Olympics

There's also a market that I haven't gotten to where you could even buy old cars.

The energy is also noticeably different, though I’m still sorting out how. It’s chaotic and bustling, yet slow and peaceful. People talk to each other on public transport, and sometimes even provide a spare ticket if the controller steps onto the tram.

Provided anybody else is on board

Zagreb is colorful, both in terms of buildings and parks:

Comic book cafe

This (and the two previous) are actually a cemetery, that is used as a park. Interesting concept

and its people.

I think it'll be more fun to leave this out of context

In spite of all of this, the highlight is the hostel I am staying in: Mali Mrak. In a very rough translation (Igor, the owner, says it’s impossible to translate) it means cozy. But, importantly, there’s a much deeper sentiment than the simple connotation of a pleasant place to be. Just like that little paper sign on the staircase, it's a Box of Many Things. It is just like staying at a very good friend’s house, and almost serves as a destination in itself. Time really does seem to float away as we spend hours in the yard, sharing everything we have: stories, ideas, and of course food and wine.

Don't worry: the big bottle is water

:D

Part of the allure of the place is the owners’ emphasis on creating a communal atmosphere. You make yourself at home, and everybody buys a round. Travelers have contributed to the artwork and charms throughout the house, manifesting their connection to it. Through the people, trinkets, and experiences, it’s a little world of assorted oddities that make up something brilliant, just like the markets I’ve passed through. While I’ve loved plenty of the hostels that I’ve visited, this one has that energy that I hope to spread to others in due time.

A Taste of Home

I’ve come home this week!

Just kidding. But a visit with another friend is providing me with a small taste of being back with the family.

After a brilliant week of hiking and biking through the snow and rain of the Berner Oberland, I’ve gone back north to the countryside around Zurich (the Zuricher Oberland, actually). I’m now with my friend, Luana, who was an exchange student to my high school while I was a senior. We’ve since passed five years without seeing each other - the fact that so much time passes so quickly kind of scares me. Regardless, we have reunited at last!

What’s particularly nice about staying here is the fact that I’m with Luana’s family, a supremely affable clan that reminds me much of my own household. Even better, when I arrived last night her grandmother, from Italy, had prepared handmade lasagna, a true delicacy.

A visit like this is important to me because, while I find most of the travel life thrilling, I admit I do miss my family. This is especially so around now, which is birthday season. Mom sent me a couple of pictures from one of my brother’s celebrations, and I wished I could have been around for the Carpenter style birthday song, which I think everybody should feel once in their life. In general, too, I find my family a great bunch to be around, so I occasionally feel a soft spot for them when I’m away.

Thus, it’s been very nice to be with a family that reminds me so much of my own: welcoming, open, greatly entertaining, and very generous with food. They joked with me that I’ll have to bike even more to make up for their feeding me. It’s a lovely place to be, and I’m living Swiss culture firsthand. Perfect.

Another thing that I’ve noticed while visiting any friend is how easily we can pick right up from whenever we last saw each other. It may be a cliche, but there are some people that, no matter how long it’s been or how intermittent your contact has been, once you’re back together it’s as normal as can be. I feel like I’ve mentioned this countless times by now, but having people like this throughout your world is part of what makes it such a great place to be.You know you’ll always have somebody, somewhere with whom you can share your experiences. This holds true with friends in Philly or in DC, making everywhere a destination, and every departure a little sad. However, it’s comforting to know that, wherever you meet again in the future, you’ll still have that connection.

Now also keep in mind that some of the people you meet on the road can turn into lifelong friends. With this in mind, you’ll know that you’re almost always home.

Surrealism

I have poked around the concept of surrealism quite a bit lately. It surges into the fore of my mind quite frequently, especially when I look up from the cycle path to see something like this:

Rhine Valley, Germany

Or looking out the window while the train swings past this:

Interlaken, Switzerland

It feels impossible that people actually lead normal lives in places that exist on the edges of our dreams. What’s more, finally reaching them in real life just feels absurd. How could it be that so many factors have lined up, just so, to bring someone like me rolling through? How can a place take your breath away every time you step outside?

Or open your window, for that matter

Lauterbrunnen, Switzerland

Being alone most of the time seems to amplify this sensation, especially as I’ve been exploring the Lauterbrunnen valley. Apart from the improbability of my reaching this point, some moments feel rather strange when experiencing or reflecting upon them out of the context of the grand scheme of things.

I’ve realized since my last post about solitude that there are different kinds. There’s the sense of being alone with people around (also surreal in a unique way), and then here I’ve discovered being truly apart from people. On my hikes into the mountains towering above this town, I didn’t see another human for hours. Instead of the barrage of noise I’m accustomed to in cities, every sound reached me individually. My feet crunched the gravel, birds sang in the trees and raindrops softly patted the leaves. In the distance, the bells of feasting cows and goats tinkled like wind chimes and the rush of the valley’s numerous waterfalls provided a quiet white noise.

Nothing else.

It was meditative, but also eerie. As I looked down from the ridge the landscape felt frozen, painted. I was suspended in this unreal space. With only myself around, it was hard to grasp I was actually there.

It's like a green screen

And snow in May? No way.

When I do hike past life, it’s usually a herd of cows (though sometimes goats or sheep). Without fail, they make me feel like I’m in some strange version of Inception, as they all stop and stare at me with unnerving unison. Their clanging bells fall silent, and so does the rest of the valley. Much like in the movie, the subconscious (I’m not sure whose) becomes aware of something out of place.

Sheep, too

Though I’m writing this in the context of Lauterbrunnen, most of the trip has felt surreal in one way or another. Even the most mundane of experiences can seem odd. Of course, these unreal sensations wouldn’t be as strong if I were used to them. Maybe the cows wouldn’t even stare if they knew me. In the end, though, this has become one of those experiences I never could have accounted for. It’s a great perspective for exploring the major parts of our lives as well as those little moments that might otherwise seem insignificant.

Like being stopped by a cow train

Nowhere to Go

I’ve finally managed to (mostly) slow down again, though I still feel like I’m being carried along by a force far greater than my pedals. During the day I am so focused on what is happening that when I look back on the week, everything seems to have blurred together. That’s partly why I keep a notebook with me everywhere I go.

So, since my rush through the Netherlands and Belgium and the extensive Rhine (and Mosel) biking, I have been much more deliberate in my wandering. It’s been a very sensory experience, almost to the point of overload. While in between cities, it’s allowed me to stop and cherish certain spots that I might have otherwise blown past, intent on arriving wherever I planned on going.

This turned into not needing to arrive anywhere, but really just “being” wherever I am.

The morning after my last post, I moved on to Frankfurt, just up the River Main (pronounced “mine”). I was finally meeting a friend I’d met way back in Chile, but I had plenty of time until she finished work. I took it nice and slow, enjoying that magical cove and, next to downtown, taking in a group of elderly Turkish people dancing to techno. This was the second time I’d come across such a situation in as many days: riding around in Flörsheim I witnessed a number of older citizens drinking wine while playing on a playground. It’s tiny situations like these that I’ve happily begun noticing more often.

I spent four nights in Frankfurt. During the day I walked around the city and found some brilliant people-watching cafes and parks. My notebook is quickly filling with curious folks of whom I only have a snapshot of their lives, which is what makes them so intriguing. The best part, though, was hanging out with Andrea at night, where we uncovered some of the city’s culinary delights and got to catch up from two years and many thousands of miles.

Frankfurt itself didn’t turn out to be much of a sight-seeing place, but as Andrea confirmed, it struck me as a great place to live. It’s busy and lively, with a wide selection of hidden treasures tucked into the skyscrapers. It’s yet another place on my infinite “see again someday” list.

As it had been a whole two weeks since my last festival, it turned out to be time to witness the German variation of a day long beer party (though in reality, it’s several weeks). In Stuttgart we attended a milder version of Oktoberfest: the Volksfest. There were rides and food stands, but most importantly there were beer tents. Failing to gain admittance to the “better” ones, we made our way into the folksier venue, which I rather enjoyed because of how über-German it was. Half of the guys wore liederhosen and almost every girl had on a dienden, while the bands belted out proud anthems and pop songs with many rounds of “prost, Prost, PROST” (cheers). And we raised our glasses every time.

Liederhosen, tube socks and a guitar

One might assume that the next day (yesterday) did not seem like a great cycling day for me. Sure enough, I slept well later than I usually do here, but for some reason I felt it was time to move on. It’s something I just can’t understand.

Thus, as the weather was miserable (and mostly had been while I was in Germany), I decided to take the train to its southern border with Switzerland and then exit the EU for a bit.

One of my original goals when I expected to follow the Rhine all the way through was to see the Rhine Falls. As luck would have it, its location was the first reasonable place to stop on the way south. It took me over three hours just to go 30 kilometers because of the wind, and Schaffhausen was a ghost town (the tragedy of Sunday night in Europe). But I got to see them! Just before these ominous clouds let loose:

Soaked, I found the first available place, slept off the remnants of Saturday and set off this morning to a light drizzle and more heavy wind. The weather cycled through many moods every five minutes, with a blazing sun, pouring rain and a default to grey wind. I struggled my way into Zurich and took a set of trains into the Berner Oberland. It was expensive, but incredibly worthwhile, as I gazed upon surreally beautiful countryside while the train snaked up the mountains into the clouds. This was where I could most enjoy that sense of “being”, forgetting everything else and gazing in awe at everything through the panoramic windows (forgetting everything includes photos).

I’m now up in a mountain village, and even though a cold, almost freezing rain continues to hang just above, I don’t even mind because of the beauty that surrounds me. I’m not sure when I’ll leave, but that’s the beauty of not having anywhere to go.

This guy kind of sums it all up

Recharging

I noticed a week or so ago that I am never quite able to keep my electronics’ batteries fully charged. Then I decided that there was some level of symbolism in this, especially as I visited four cities in one week (Brussels, Gent, Antwerp, Maastricht). Further fueling this was my Koningsdag beer diet and then a 100 kilometer ride from Maastricht to Cologne, Germany. By the time I reached the Rhine river just a week ago, I felt drained.

Partly from the pressure from these guys

There's always energy for the border picture, though

As luck would have it, I’ve managed to have my own room for the past week. Not that it would matter too much, considering how heavily I’ve been sleeping anyway. Nonetheless, it was liberating just to be able to spread my stuff around the room (and hang dry my boxers in the window). The atmosphere was also perfect for reorganizing myself just as I thought everything had begun moving too quickly.

Like this

Or this

Just before everybody got out of work

Always under the Cathedral's watchful spires

Not pictured: guy creating bubbles

Moving only a short distance to Bonn (40km) further helped this, especially since the hostel concept ended up being wonderfully creative and very well executed.

I slept in here

Repurposing disused vehicles for a sleeping area like this seems brilliant to me.

While I think I still need to slow down somewhere, spending four nights in Cologne helped tremendously. I noticed that since arriving on the continent I’ve fallen away from spending a long time in a city like in England, which has detracted from the sense of leisure I originally had. Cologne allowed me to get back to this good pace. Even with only two nights in Bonn, I finally felt ready to take on the world again.

So I climbed a mountain

to a castle

This is probably why I thought it would be good to attempt riding 120 kilometers in one day. I survived, but was so fatigued when I arrived in Flörsheim (between Mainz and Frankfurt) that I hardly took off my shoes before crawling into bed. Even waking up this morning was arduous. But with a few cups of coffee I managed to gingerly get back on and pedal around this little wine village to enjoy some tasty Rieslings.

Good view for dinner, no?

Despite the scenery, delicious food (Germans eat well) and intriguing sleeping arrangements, my favorite parts of the past week have been, as usual, the people.

Among the most interesting were the bartender in Cologne who invited me to a rave that night since he knows how hard it is to go out as a lone traveler. Unfortunately I was falling asleep over the largest asparagus stalks I’ve ever seen, so I had to forgo German nightlife for the sake of my health.

Even more fascinating, though, were the two people I met yesterday. As one might expect, I got lost again, following the wrong river (the Mosel) for 25 kilometers before noticing it wasn’t the Rhine. Somehow I got myself to Mainz, where the Rhine and Main rivers intersect. Getting to Flörsheim, though, proved to be far more difficult than I’d anticipated.

Thankfully a very friendly German immediately recognized my lost traveler face and struck up a conversation. He soon offered to drive me over to make sure I found somewhere to stay, since he doubted the directions I’d found on Hostelworld.

To quell any parental fears: I evaluated him very closely before accepting. Sure enough, he really wanted to help, saying that in his travels so many people have been good to him that it’s only right he pays it forward. Another interesting point he made about it is that he feels privileged to be able to facilitate people’s epic journeys and to give them a good experience of the world. I wish him all the best when he attempts to cycle from Ushuaia to Alaska when he gets to it.

A point that Max, the Dutch trekker to Santiago, brought up last week was that, at least as travelers, when we start to really need something we will find it. This goes from bathrooms to food to beds. Most poignantly, I think it happens with people. One can see it as providence or chance, but it just seems to be a matter of opening up and looking around. There are great people everywhere, and all it seems to take is that initial greeting.

The Halfway Mark

I realized today that I have been touring Europe for two months now. Simultaneously I marvel at how quickly this has passed and how far away the beginning feels. Even as a week passes, I usually think “where did the days go” and “that place was really only two days ago?”. Instead, places occupy a nebulous sensation of people, weather, short stories and coffee and beer consumption. It reminds me of a Chilean friend’s explanation for measuring time: “I met you about four piscolas (pisco+cola) ago.” In the individual sense, it seems like a much more relevant measure.

Lifting my head from the wanderer’s mindset, where time is only vaguely relevant, is fairly disorienting. It’s also a bit frightening at this point now that I’ve reached what’s probably the halfway point of my trip (I don’t think the funds will last beyond Vienna). Living day by day, I hardly have to worry about stepping on that return flight, but once this creeps into my mind, it sends me into a panic. Should I start thinking about the after-trip already? Should I try to extend it? Or change it? I’m quick to let it go as I breathe in the spring air and watch the sun set behind Cologne’s massive cathedral. But now I suspect that’s going to pick at the back of my mind, growing larger as the end looms near.

To safeguard against this I’ve already devised some plans to relieve the stress. Pretty much all of them involve more traveling at some stage. I feel like it’s too early to quit this lifestyle. The people I’ve met along the way have reinforced this notion, and it seems like I could theoretically keep going in perpetuity. But that’s far beyond my scope at this point.

Here are some numbers for you:

Time in Europe: 8 weeks

Kilometers biked: 680
Kilometers needed to bike all the way to Vienna: ~2000. Better get going.

Countries visited: 4 (5 if you count Scotland, which is complicated)

Percentage over budget: 90%
Directly related - coffee consumed: unhealthy amounts
Percentage worth it: 99% (The price of the chocolate museum seemed a bit steep for only 1 free sample)

Articles of clothing where cycling has worn crotch holes: 2
Articles thrown out/still in use: 0/2

I think that covers the most important details thus far.