Climbing the family tree

A few years ago, my good friend Tara moved to Norway after meeting and falling in love with a young Norwegian man (they met at an animal rescue reserve in Bolivia of all places . . . I guess thats how love is sometimes). Anyway, so Tara moved to Norway, got her Masters degree and then a job working in human rights and has been living there for about four years. When I moved to Europe, we sent plenty of messages back and forth about visiting each other or meeting somewhere, but you know how these things go. As I planned my trip though, I decided that Norway isn't really that much out of the way when you are already planning on being in northern Europe and Russia, so I decided to make a detour. In the meantime, Tara was also planning the next stage of her life- law school. As I figured out the dates I would need to travel and decided that I would go home for my friend Nichole's wedding, I let Tara know- perfect, she would be leaving Norway the next week to move home to Colorado. This would be a crazy time, but I was always welcome to a spot on her couch.

My great-grandfather on my mothers side was Norwegian, which makes me 1/8 Norwegian. I have never felt particularly Norwegian as I have more Russian (1/4), Polish (1/4), German (1/4) and because of my curly red hair and freckles people often think that I am Scottish (1/16??) or Irish (0). My mom has always identified more with the Norwegian side of her family as she grew up a "Berg", but she has never visited Norway. When I told her about Tara's invitation she decided that she would meet me there for a week. My mom looked up info that she had about her grandfather's family including a genealogy that some aunt or cousin had put together from a family bible and a letter from her aunt talking about a visit to Norway about 30 years ago. We had a destination, we had the information, Norway ho!!!

Since Tara lives in a small (but very nice) apartment and with my mom coming, the whole sleeping on the floor thing wasn't really going to work. Luckily that Norwegian guy that she was with also had a lovely Norwegian family and his sister was going to be out of town for the week, so we could use her place, perfect! It was also nice to be out of the way since as I mentioned Tara and Tor were getting ready to move back to Denver also and they were packing up their place (including selling off some furniture-there's a funny story about selling their bed, but that's for Tara to tell).

Anyway, I arrived from Kiev and my mom arrived from America (first class on the first flight she tried, flying standby which I will talk more about when I get to the part about going home). Tara made dinner and we went to crash in our gorgeous apartment. The next day, we went on our family searching expedition. Based on the letter from my great-aunt Doris, we knew that we should go to the village of Prestfloss and look for the museum there. We took two buses from Oslo and arrived at the small village museum of the Sigdal and Eggdal valleys. After a few minutes of searching around we found the caretaker of the museum, Sigrid. We told her that we had good reason to believe that our family was from this area and that one of the houses in the museum was from our families farm. I have no idea how Aunt Dorris had found this information, but it turned out to be correct. Sigrid showed us around, including in the "Bergen farm house" a typical farm house from the 1750s donated to the museum by the family, and also a nice exhibit of musical instruments. When we sat down in the museum shop for some waffles and tea, Sigrid went and got "the book," a record of the family genealogies for all of the local farms. On the Bergen farm we found my great-great-great-grandmother Kari who left in 1854 for America with two young kids including Marte my great-great-grandmother. In the book we found that her brother had stayed on the farm and in fact his decedents still owned the farm to this day- we had cousins! Sigrid knew the family (of course) and so she called them up. The farm is run by a bachelor and his sister is married and lives nearby. This brother and sister are my 6th cousins (I think???). The sister's husband (former mayor and history teacher) came to the museum to drive us over to the farm and introduce us to the family. Maybe I'm just dreaming here, but I could see some family resemblance- the farmer looks uncannily like my grandfather- the same thin frame, the same features; they could be cousins. . .

One interesting thing for Americans traveling abroad is explaining to people the "Heinz 57" mix that many Americans are, especially after a few generations. In Albania, I got the question all the time "what is your origin- Albanian?" since one way that they could explain my presence in their country was that I was Albanian originally. When I would answer with my litany of origins they would be amazed. I don't think about my different backgrounds so much and I don't think that most Americans do anymore. This was the first time that I had gone searching for my roots; it was interesting, but I don't know if it made me feel more Norwegian. It was nice to be there with my mom, because she was excited about it and it was fun to see her so happy. And it is kind of cool to know I have family- somewhere out there.

I'm sorry

I don't actually know how many people read this blog except my parents (hi mom and dad!) and Chris's mom (hi Arlene!), but if I do have any other fans, then I'm sorry, becaus I have been a slacker lately. If you go by the blog hen you would think I'm still somewhere in Bulgaria even though I'm about 5 countries past that. I totally intended to get caught up when I was home, but between weddings and my gorgeous nieces and mahjong I got even more behind. I have a couple of long train journeys coming up (I'm in Russia by the way) so I willget to use that time to write. I WILL NOT be writing any "catch up posts" in which I try to cram three months of stuff into one entry, bit hopefully over the next few days I will have several posts ready for upload, hopefully even with pictures.

So, again, sorry for the back log. . .

Now entering the former USSR

I crossed into Moldova on an incredibly hot bus, which got better briefly when it started to rain- but then the windows were closed and it got hot again. I could tell immediately when we crossed the border as the road became worse. Heading into Moldova felt a little like coming home- I reminded me a lot of Albania. Similar in size to Albania, Moldova surpassed it a few years ago to become the poorest nation in Europe. Like Albania, Moldova has a large part of the population living abroad working and sending money home and Moldova also has many unfinished buildings. In Moldova I stayed with another RPCV with his HCN wife. I only stayed one night, and I imagine that Moldova has a lot of secret places, again like Albania, that could be explored, but I didn't have time. I needed to get to Kiev by August 3rd for my plane home . . . But I'm getting ahead of myself . . .

I took another incredibly hot bus over the Moldovan border to Odessa, Ukraine. I had to be careful about which bus I took as some of the hisses cross through Trans-Dniester an occasionally volatile break away region of Moldova. It is listed as another one of those "restricted zones" by Peace Corps, and even though I'm no longer a PCV and don't have to follow those rules, I had heard that sometimes foreigners are sometimes asked to pay heavy bribes to cross the border and I just really didn't want that trouble.

So I arrived in Odessa- my last chance for nice beach weather. Something has always seemed really romantic to me about Odessa and it didn't disappoint. It had everything I love in a city: walkable streets, nice parks, a beach and of course falafel. In the states, we are used to a lot of different kinds of food all the time. When people would ask me food I miss from home, my answer would be things like falafel, burritos and real (American) Chinese food. I always love the randomness of ethnic food available in different places. Budapest seemed to have a profusion of sushi places and Odessa had a really amazing falafel stand. The guy who owned the stand was not just a falafel stand owner, he was an artist. Each sandwich took about 10 minutes and was a whole process, but it was worth it. Anyway, as indicated earlier, I finally found a nice day and headed to the beach to swim in the Black Sea. The beach wasn't anything spectacular, but it was nice and wasn't too crowded and so I had a nice relaxing afternoon.

From Odessa I headed west to Ukrainian Ukraine (as opposed to Russian speaking Ukraine) to couchsurf with some PCVs in Lviv. One thing to know about trains in Ukraine- book ahead, especially in summer. I had originally thought that I would try to go to Crimea for a few days, but when I arrived in Odessa I found that Crimea was sold out two weeks in advance. So I headed west instead. When I got to Lviv, I found out that the night I wanted to go to Kiev was also sold out- problem since I had to arrive in Kiev, by a certain day to fly to Norway. No problem, as I could stay an extra night in Lviv and take a day train, which brings me to the second thing you should know about trains in Ukraine in the summer---- HOT!!!! And not in a good way.

Anyway, I arrived in Lviv and met Linnea and Kari, my PCV hosts. Linnea actually lives in a town about 45 minutes outside of Lviv, but came into town to meet me, have some American coffee and sushi and use the Internet, all things which can be done in Lviv, but not in her town. Things that can be done in her town, I found, included eating borsht, shopping in the pazar and swimming in the river. I spent a really relaxing few days with Linnea and one night in Kari's weird apartment attached to her school and then headed to Kiev for my last stop on this "Peace Corps couches" part of my trip.

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Dracula country

I arrived in Romania after a short overnight journey with my three down under friends and we went our separate ways. I decided that I didn't need to see Bucharest or Brasov again (even though it PROBABLY is the best city in the world) and so I headed to the adorable town of Sighisoara, which is the actual (maybe) birthplace of Vlad the Impaler (Dracula). Despite this, it is a lovely town with a citadel and old town square and nine towers on the city wall. I sat in the square people watching and reading and took what turned out to be a private walking tour led by two high school students that reminded me a lot of my kids in Albania. The tour was organized by a Christian charity (veritas.ro) that helps the people of the region and also runs a restaurant and a community center. Although obviously the tour is geared towards foreigners (it is in English) I thought it actually showed a great example of how a community could sustainably support the work of a charity. It also gave the kids something worthwhile to do in the summer and a chance for them to meet lots of people and practice English.

I had been in contact with some PCVs in Romania and had originally planned on going to the Danube river delta next. It turns out that because of all that rain keeping me from going to the beach, the delta area was flooded and not very accessible. I had gotten two responses from volunteers around the city of Iasi (pronounced yash) that turned out to be sitemates so I went to visit them. Jenn and Becca were awesome. We cooked Mexican food (my tortilla making skills coming in handy) and Jenn and I went into Iasi to shop and visit the botanic gardens there and make fun of Eastern European fashion. Of course since I wasn't near any sea, it was crazy hot and didn't rain. . . Iasi was also a perfect place to jump off to Moldova and Ukraine as it is right on the Moldovan border. I left Romania after too short a time, but the trip must go on!

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The hostel life

About half of my travel so far on this trip has been in "hostels". Hostels are loosely defined as private businesses that cater to budget travellers, youth and students for accommodation. The general picture that comes to my mind is a building with several large dorm rooms and some sort of shared kitchen, but I have found that hostels can vary widely. I have stayed in just about every type of hostel- from small, converted apartments with just a few rooms to large corporate affairs with a front desk and swimming pools (seriously, at a hostel in Florence!). My favorite places were probably somewhere in the middle- homey, but big enough that you don't feel like you are stepping on people and with enough people to have a wide variety, but not so many people that you can't seem to meet anyone.

I've met some really interesting people in hostels- from the guy writing his novel in Bulgaria to the many gap year Aussies and a few slightly odd ducks. Occasionally I've run into people again randomly, like the guy we met in Bosnia and then was in my hostel again in Kiev and the Norwegian guys from the hostel in Plovdiv who I played cards with halfway through Romania.

I was worried that I would be lonely or shy or bored travelling alone, and sometime I was. I've decided that I still do prefer to travel with someone (at least someone cool!) to travelling alone, but I have also found that I CAN travel solo. I have met a lot of people that are doing long trips, that make my round the world look like a mini break. I don't know if I could do it-after just a month on my own I was feeling ready for a break. We will have to wait and see how I feel in the middle of the longer (three month) trip later in the year.

Anyway, I have found he hostel life to be fascinating and I'm glad to have stayed in some really interesting places- and a few uncomfortable ones.

Tips for hostel travel- ear plugs and sleeping mask are a must when staying in dorm rooms (sometimes it seems like there is a snoring contest going on), talk to people- if you want to be alone you are staying in the wrong place, keep your belongings neat- the best way to lose something is have your stuff spread all over a dorm room, don't be afraid to cook in the kitchen but ask before you take any food that's no yours!

Happy travelling!

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Back in Bulgaria

After my short trip back to Albania, I returned to Bulgaria. Last year when I went to Istanbul and Romania, I went straight across Bulgaria three times and only stopped for a few minutes in the Sofia bus station, so I don't think you could say that I had "been to" Bulgaria. I had honestly heard mixed things about the country, but after my few days with the PCVs for the fourth, I knew I wanted to spend some good time there. When I arrived in Sofia, I got on the first possible train to Plovdiv, a sweet town in the central part of the country. Plovdiv has it all for an Eastern European city: Roman ruins, old mosques and churches, ottoman buildings, a pedestrian shopping district with street musicians filling the air with ambient music. Plovdiv was my first real stop without Alexi and I stayed in a hostel on my own for the first time. I will probably write a whole post later on hostels and "hostel culture," but for the moment I'll just say that traveling alone a different experience from traveling with someone or a group. I had to readjust to being by myself a lot and I had to start being brave and talking to strangers. I went to dinner with three British girls and wandered around the city by myself. When I am alone, I am less motivated to go to museums or things like that and more inclined just to wander the streets or sit and people watch.

After Plovdiv, I took the train to the Black Sea coast city of Burgas. I decided last minute to head to Burgas and I sent out a few last minute requests to PCVs that I had found online. I got a last minute response from Tyler, an RPCV living with his HCN (Host Country National) wife. It is not uncommon to find PCVs in relationships with and eventually married to HCNs. Tyler and his wife Stella were great. Even though it rained, preventing me from going to the beach (again!) we had a great time. They were super helpful with getting me a train ticket to my next stop, made me dinner and took me to watch a world cup match at a local bar. The day that I left, the sun finally came out and Tyler and I went for a walk on the beach.

My last stop in Bulgaria was the town of Veliko Turnivo. This town may be one of my favorite stops in the whole trip. First, I stayed in a great hostel. It was the perfect size- big enough to have a lot of people, but small enough to feel homey. Second, I met some really great people- particularly three girls (two Aussies and a Kiwi). And third, we went on the most random, fantastic tour.
When I arrived at the hostel I met Andy, another Kiwi who had come on vacation to Bulgaria a few summers ago and had been coming back ever since to work in the hostel in the high season. His job required him to be on call at night and take tourists out on tours to interesting places in the surrounding areas during the day. In return he got room and board for the summer. The tour was very unique. About an hours drive away from town is an abandoned Communist monument nicknamed "the UFO" called Buzludzha. This meeting hall/monument was built high on a hill in the early 80s. After the fall of communism in Bulgaria, it fell into disrepair and now is closed up and falling apart. The building is just a drab concrete circle from the outside, with a flying saucer like shape (hence the nickname). But inside, the meeting hall is filled with magnificent mosaics in the communist realism style, glorifying the worker and the communist party leadership. You can tell that when this building was built, it was fantastic. As it is now, it is a bit surreal. The surreal aspects were increased by the cloudy, foggy, creepy weather (which turned into a downpour) and the herd of wild horses hanging out outside the building. The crumbling roof didn't do much to keep out the rain and after a little while inside we were all soaked and freezing. As the rain let up, we walked outside into the dreamlike fog and the horses galloping by. On the front of the building someone had written in large red letters "FORGET YOUR PAST" in between the poems extolling the virtues of work and nationalism. Many Bulgarians of the right age (late 20s) will tell you that they remember going to this site when they were school children, but many others now don't even know that it exists and now only foreign tourists with a desire for something unusual come to visit. For many people in this part of the world, remembering the past is still very painful and I guess I don't blame them for trying to forget. The only problem with that is that when you truly forget your past, you are only doomed to repeat it.

56 hours for a Russian Visa

Travel tip: always allow extra time for visas. Lots of extra time. And expect that the embassy will be closed when you go to pick it up, it will cost more than you think and things will get lost in the mail.
. .

There are only two countries in my plan that required visas: Russia and China. Since I had residency in Albania, I decided to apply for the Russian visa before I left. I took my passport to the embassy in Tirana in April. I should have had a residency permit from the
Albanian government, but of course as things tend to go, I got my permit and found that it had the wrong picture on it, namely it had Amanda's picture on it. Now Amanda is a very nice person, but I don't think we actually look anything alike, so I had to send it back. This delayed the processing for a few weeks, so they only had a month to get my visa before I left. When I informed the lady at the embassy that I would be leaving the country on the 14th of June, she seemed unconcerned. The visa would get there when it got there and my ability to pick it up really had nothing to do with it. There is no such thing as express service.

The morning that Alexi and I left Albania, we stopped by the Russian embassy to see if my visa would be there for me to pick up. We found the door locked and the windows dark- the embassy was closed for some holiday . . . it didn't really matter anyway, when I was able to get online and call the embassy a few days later I was informed that my visa wasn't ready anyway. Call back in two weeks. Maybe it would be done by then. Maybe.

I started to strategize on how I would get the visa once it was done. One thing was sure, my passport had to get to Tirana. Because I was still traveling on my Peace Corps passport (I have two passports, I know, it's weird) that didn't necessarily mean that I had to be in Tirana, just my passport. Could I find someone to carry my passport back to Albania? Could I mail it? Once it was there, could someone else take it to the embassy for me? What documents might they need? I almost had a carrier (missed them by one day in Budapest) and I almost got the notarized documents and mailed it, but as I got closer to Albania again (Serbia, Bulgaria) I decided it would be easier and safer (although more time consuming and expensive) to just take the passport back myself. I had already made plans with the PCVs in Bulgaria to spend the fourth with them, so I planned my quick return to Shqiperia for after that. For resons that are beyond me, there is no direct bus service from Sofia to Tirana, so I had to go overnight to Skopje and then to Tirana (well, actually to Tetova and then to Tirana). I arrived in Tirana at 5pm, just in time to meet up with my friend Fraiser and watch a World Cup match. In the morning I headed to the embassy bright and early, got my visa and got right back on the bus to Skopje at 9am. 56 hours and I was back right where I started but with a permission to visit Russia stamped in my passport.

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