Bloggin' Babin

Bishkek

2010-02-09T00:06:00.001-08:00

What do St. Petersburg, Nizhny Novgorod (Lower New City), Volgograd, and Bishkek have in common? They were all named after Soviet-era heroes: Leningrad, Gorky, Stalingrad, and Frunze, respectively. You’re probably thinking, “Okay, I’ve heard of the first three guys, but who on earth is Frunze?”

It seems clear that Mikhail Frunze knew exactly what he needed to do to get a city named after him. That is to say, be born in Kyrgyzstan, befriend Lenin, join the Bolsheviks, and lead many a Red Army campaign. But then he made the crucial mistake of crossing Stalin. To quote the Wikipedia entry on Mikhail Frunze:

Frunze died of chloroform poisoning during his surgery on 31 October 1925; the operation was considered very simple and routine even by the standards of medicine in existence at the time. It has therefore been speculated that Stalin arranged his death, but there is no hard evidence to support this.^[8] However, Frunze had been administrated a chloroform dose that many times exceeded the dose normally applied for narcosis.

Frunze was buried in the Kremlin Wall Necropolis. All four doctors who had operated on him (Martynov, Grekov, Rozanov and Get'e) died one by one in 1934.

Is there anything more conspiratorial than a controversial Halloween death?

Like Ulaanbaatar, there wasn’t much to Frunze at the onset of Soviet rule. Most would argue this was bad news for both those cities. Once you let the Soviet architects loose on a empty canvas, who really knew what you would end up with. In Frunze’s case: brilliant architecture. Khrushchev and his concrete abominations are eerily absent from the cityscape. Instead you have four and five story apartment blocks lining the wide boulevards and a box-shaped national museum that would rival the world’s greatest mausoleums. The only the missing is a metro. It is said that Frunze was never big enough to justify a metro system.

1991 brought with it the independence of Kyrgyzstan and the change of the capital from Frunze to Bishkek. Bishkek is an ancient hero who is rumored to be buried in the area. The Soviet footprint is still largely intact; you can stroll down Kyrgyz SSR street or get of the bus at the Soviet street stop. Four blocks away from the organization and tree-lined streets is the chaotic Osh Bazaar. It’s a magical place with succulent beef kebab and fragrant spices. All those exotic stories you heard about Central Asia probably came from places like Osh Bazaar.

What the tourists come for, however, are the mountains. Bishkek has a beautiful mountain backdrop, however not quite as nice as Almaty. The next post should detail my foray into said mountains.

Right Now in Baku

2010-02-04T21:30:00.001-08:00

Seen in Sofia

2010-02-01T03:51:00.002-08:00

Great ad in the train station

Soviet era "Weight Control" at the bazaar

Picking up some tickets

Lineup outside a butcher shop, I believe. If I didn't know any better, I'd think it was a bread line.

Istanbul

2010-01-28T05:25:00.001-08:00

Istanbul is Baku on some serious steroids. I was only there for about 36 hours, but I learned some valuable things about the city in that time:

Nobody ever seems to sleep.
There are more tourists roaming the city on any given day than there are in my hometown.
It must’ve been one bad ass place back in the Constantinople days
The no smoking indoors law actually works
Evidence of modernity is everywhere

The city’s reputation definitely precedes it. Ask almost anyone interested in the Turkic world who has been to Istanbul what they thought of the city and he or she will probably tell you that it’s the greatest city on earth. Those people have obviously not been to Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia….

Istanbul has a lot going for it: liberal society, great nightlife, cheap food and alcohol, and a ton of character. You could probably explore the city full-time for six months and still not discover all the little nooks and crannies. And the street food… plentiful and diverse. You could get anything from fish, to mussels, to cow intestines, to “wet burgers”.

But what does the city lack? The whole “popular tourist site” situation doesn’t help. The difference being that Istanbul tourists walk and take public transportation, while their counterparts in Cairo, for example, are mainly on air conditioned buses. Istanbul also lacks the “baladi-ness” of Cairo. Call it my warped sense of charm, but where were all the street cafes with sawdust on the floor? I blame the EU and their strict standards for that.

One thing I do know is that I would give almost anything to be able to be a spice trader in Istanbul in the days when it was the gateway between east and west.

She's a Beaut

2010-01-26T02:13:00.002-08:00

The prospective Lada. In all its Soviet glory.

Istanbul - Part 2

2010-01-20T00:31:00.003-08:00

Cafe Street

Fish Market

Asian-side Train Station

Istanbul

2010-01-20T00:25:00.002-08:00

Backgammon in the Park

Turkish Bazaar

Fisherman

More fisherman

2010

2010-01-08T05:57:00.004-08:00

Some new projects will be undertaken early this year in Baku, namely the procurement of a beat up Lada that we will attempt to fix (only after befriending a local Lada guru-mechanic that will lend us tools). We'll see how that goes.

Other things that need to get done:

an "old timey drinking spot" pub crawl dressed to the nines

a tour of the local brewery

more gourmet burgers

a trip out to the island of Nargin

a degustation menu

the list should continue to grow as new ideas arise...

Blogging regularity should also increase, provided the above projects actually get going. I also promise to catch up with all the travelling I have done lately, so look forward to posts on Kyrgyzstan, Tuscany, Turkey, Bulgaria, Macedonia, Albania, and Greece.

Happy new year!

Almaty

2009-12-06T11:23:00.001-08:00

“Almaty: where capitalist excess, a Soviet past, and natural beauty get together over a barrel of fermented mare’s milk.”

If I were the Kazakh tourism ministry, this would be the message I’d want to portray. There’s something for everyone in those nineteen words. Rich tourists can have that exotic vacation they’ve always dreamed about, Soviet “charm” hunters can marvel at the city planning, while nature lovers can spend days traversing the Tian’shen mountains. If only it was that simple…I may just have to apply to said ministry.

My love affair with Almaty’s natural beauty started the second I stepped out of the plane. Before me, at surprisingly close proximity, was the beautiful Tian’shen mountain range. It was a sunny early evening, so the light reflected perfectly off the snow-capped peaks. No question all planes are required to open their doors in the direction of the mountains.

Now the fun stuff. Kazakhstan is, on the surface, a post-Soviet success story. Its state budget is funded predominantly by oil and gas, shiny new cities (including the new capital, Astana) have sprung up out of nowhere, the country is set to chair the OSCE in 2010 despite horrendous human rights and democracy records, and it is now urging citizens to buy private planes and fly everywhere so as to make the roads safer.

Almaty, roughly translated as the city of apples, was the capital of Kazakhstan during the Soviet era. In the 90s, it was decided by President for Life, Nursultan Nazarbayev, that a new city with his architectural flare be created and made the new capital (a city you have to see to believe). In spite of this, Almaty still remains the country’s commercial and cultural capital. If it’s happening in Kazakhstan, chances are Almaty is where it’s going down.

The Soviet city planning becomes apparent after about five minutes of driving. Roads are wide, the grid system is in full effect, mammoth apartment blocks line the boulevards, and one giant former Intourist hotel (now named the Hotel Kazakhstan) towers over the city. I could go on about the derelict factories, cookie cutter bus stations, and statues, but I think you get the picture.

Once you get into the city centre (not that a traditional one actually exists), you start seeing buildings that don’t really fit in. Let’s call it “Nazarbayev’s Architectural Hand”…the not-so-invisible hand as seen in economics. The flashing signs, the odd looking tower on top of a hill that can be reached only by gondola, the national museum-cum-mosque. It never really ends.

What makes the city remarkable from an excessiveness standpoint is its remoteness. I mean this city is in the middle of nowhere, it’s closer to Beijing than Moscow, and yet it has fairly decent cultural representation in the form of restaurants. This means high transportation costs, which means every single brand name imaginable, which means outrageous prices for everything. I’ve never seen such an expensive city in the sense that there was no cheap alternative. Perfect for the rich tourist.

Next up on my review of post-Soviet cities, Bishkek: the little industrial town that could.

Kim Jong Illin'

2009-11-02T23:59:00.003-08:00

The highlight of the night was definitely when Colonel Qadaffi and I were able to convince two shop owners that we were in fact the leaders of our respective countries.

Kazbegi

2009-10-23T05:00:00.001-07:00

Mountain villages in the Caucasus are, if anything, a challenge to get to. In this region, reaching your destination is considered a success. Single track dirt roads are the norm. They hug cliffs, take you around wicked hairpin turns, and skirt streams. Timid drivers need not apply.

The road to Kazbegi is true to form. It rises north out of Tbilisi, sauntering through the foothills past rivers and shepherds herding sheep. You think to yourself, “This ain’t so bad. Maybe I could stop off at one of those kebab shops we keep passing. Driver!” Instead, I was stuck with sausages falling on my head from the storage rack above. I rectified the situation and then after a while of no aerial bombardment, the jolly guy sitting next to me remarked, “It looks like the sausages have fallen asleep.”

In an instant, the minibus starts its grueling ascent up over the pass. It starts with hairpin after hairpin as the road emerges from the tree line. You’re still travelling on asphalt at this point, but that is soon to end because the ski resort of Gudauri is fast approaching, at which point the pavement stops. Rumour is it that the president has a villa there and, therefore, has no reason to travel any further.

It is after the ski resort that things get remarkable. It isn’t snowing but there is a wall of snow as high as the minibus on either side of you. The road continues up to the pas, winding its way through a series of tunnels that I can only compare to the old tunnels of the railway grade above my parents’ house. Water drips from the ceiling, there are puddles and potholes everywhere, and it is pitch black!

Your escape from the tunnels leads you into a long valley that eventually ends in Kazbegi. The road is again asphalt and the scenery is spectacular.

Kazbegi itself is wedged in a rather narrow valley. One one side you have giant mountains, on the other side you have the granddaddy of them all: Mt. Kazbegi, which stands at some 5,000+ metres. Highlights in the city include going up yet another dirt road to a church that is perched on top of a hill overlooking the town and imagining what it would be like to continue further up the road to Russia. As fun as that would be, I think I’ll just leave it up to my imagination.

Protest Pictures

2009-10-22T05:56:00.003-07:00

Saakashvili is a marked man.

The huts in a row.

The sign speaks for itself. This is in front of parliament.

Opposition party supporters. They gave me some tea so I took a picture with the promise to announce their cause to the world.

I believe that gesture was in response to the question "What do you think of Saakashvili?"

Huts sponsored by GeoCell

Street Protests – Georgian Style

2009-10-22T01:24:00.001-07:00

Please note that this information is woefully out of date. Pretend, for a few minutes, that you are back in April 2009.

It’s the middle of what is now affectionately called “Protest Season” - a time of year when the opposition get together to protest maligned president Mikhail Saakashvili. It has been going on for so long that it become about as predictable as the winter flu. And it seems to be treated like one: it shows up, affects some people, and then eventually goes away.

The opposition has good reason to protest. It claims that the president has done nothing for the Georgian economy, he plunged the country into a war it could not win, and is generally not fit to lead a country. There was another guy, who recently descended from power. that fit the same mould. In fact, there is a street named after him in Tbilisi, Georgia’s capital.

What is fascinating about a Georgian protest is its permanence. The protesters are ready to block the main street for months on end using makeshift huts. Each hut is covered in thick plastic, has a number, and is sponsored by GeoCell (a Georgian mobile service provider). These huts are not big, maybe 6ft x 10ft, and provide only rudimentary accommodation to the dwellers (people who come from the countryside and have very little to do other than sit in their huts and drink tea/vodka).

Another interesting element is that a quick walk down the Main Street from the parliament building to freedom square (maybe 500 metres) will lead you past 7 or 8 different opposition parties. This has long been the bane of the Georgian opposition. They spend most of the year uniting against Saakashvili only to fall victim to the president’s divide and conquer strategy. Once the opposition starts disagreeing with each other, the protests fizzle out and plans for next year’s protest season begin.

Your Hometown Will Always Love You

2009-09-01T23:22:00.001-07:00

You could send millions to their deaths. You could engineer famines. You could set the modern standard for dictatorial brutality. And still your hometown would love you. Just ask Joe Stalin. His hometown in Georgia, aptly named “Gori”, adores the man like he could do no wrong. “He’s ours.” they say, "We have to support him.”

Any Soviet enthusiast (not sure how many there are out there) probably has Gori on his/her list of things to see. This is of course after Lenin’s tomb, Checkpoint Charlie, a functioning commune, and a Lada factory. When I heard the news that Gori had not only a Stalin museum, but that you could take a stroll down Stalin Avenue and step inside is private railway car, I said, “This I have to see.”

Gori sits roughly in the center of Georgia. It’s surrounded on all sides by hills covered in different types of vegetation. A river flows in from the mountains in the north (at least I think it’s from the north). It is like many other cities of its size around the world, except for one glaring exception: it was Stalin’s birthplace. Not too many people can be listed in the same breath as the former Soviet ruler. Unfortunately, it was bombed during the Russian-Georgian conflict last year, to which I remarked, “It’s a little late for payback, isn’t it?”

The museum is nothing short of surreal. Get caught giggling while the tour guide solemnly tells you that Stalin has been judged unfairly and you’ll be sent to the gulags. Make a comment about how fifteen years of history is magically omitted from the tour and get locked up eight stories below the earth. “In 1924, Stalin became General Secretary of the Communist Party. In 1939, he began the victorious struggle against the evil fascists.” Umm…five year plans? Purges? Anyone?

Asked why they continually neglect the negative aspects of Stalin’s infamous career, “No one has sent us any new material or books.” Fascinating stuff.

The glorious climax of the tour was a peak at how the man himself travelled the vast expanse of the Soviet Union. It was modest, in a word. Surprisingly modest. I suppose that doesn’t come as a surprise given the fact that he worked out of a cave-like room.

Josef Vissarionovich Dzhugashvili. A symbol of Soviet modesty. Well, except for all the statues and never-ending, voracious applauses to his speeches.

Naftalan

2009-08-31T22:58:00.002-07:00

The Tub

Naftalan - with its standard one tall Soviet apartment block

The Oil Bath Victims

Where the Oil Comes From

The Once Glorious Bus Station

Things You Can Bathe in Other than Water – Part 2

2009-08-30T21:27:00.001-07:00

Soon after we settled in to the sanatorium, the moment I had been waiting for since the day I showed up in Azerbaijan arrived. We could only go one at a time, so I was nominated to go first. A guy wearing green scrubs came into the room and ushered me to the bathing area.

The first thing he said after “Is this your first time?” was “Ok, take off your clothes and go into the next room.”

After a deep breath, off they went. I strolled into the adjoining room to see a bathtub in the middle of the room. It was stained a dark tan colour from the consistent contact with the oil. The guy told me to sit down in the tub and then he turned on the tap. Within seconds, oil started pouring out of this pipe about four inches in diameter. I was giddy like a child on his first visit to Disneyland.

I sat there, trying to relax, while the oil level moved up my chest to just below my neck. What a strange feeling. The oil has the colour and consistency of melted milk chocolate. In fact, if you didn’t know better, you’d assume you were bathing in milk chocolate. The oil was also surprisingly hot and possessed almost no smell. The guy said that they take the petrol out of the oil. One would hope that would substantially decrease its carcinogenic properties.

After ten minutes (you’re only allowed a maximum of ten minutes), the guy drained the tub. Unfortunately, the oil doesn’t really fall off your body the way you would hope. Drastic measure need to be taken instead. First, you sit up and the guy uses a long shoe horn to scrape the oil off your arms and back. Second, you stand up in the tub and hold on to some bars with your outstretched arms while the oil gets scraped off your legs. It’s a similar position to when the police ask you to stand against a wall so they can search you. On the second day when an older woman was cleaning me, she point to my nether regions and said, “That’s your business,” and handed me the shoehorn.

Once a majority of the heavy oil is off you, it’s shower time. You take a sponge and a bottle of shampoo and start scrubbing. It takes about thirty minutes to get it all off and you usually end up going through about half a bottle of shampoo. This, if anything, is the major deterrent against bathing in oil. Who wants to spend thirty minutes cleaning each time?

I can’t say I felt much different after the whole experience. Maybe a bit more relaxed. They told us not to go out in the sun for a couple of hours, so we just sat in the shade and played backgammon. What a life.

Things You Can Bathe in Other than Water – Part 1

2009-08-27T20:55:00.001-07:00

“Treasure. Bathtub. Treasure bath. I’m going to have a treasure bath!” –Roman Emperor in History of the World Part One.

I had a similar reaction as the emperor at the thought of a crude oil bath in the village of Naftalan. Seriously, how awesome is the idea of bathing in oil in perhaps the only country where it is possible? I’ll put it out there and say it takes awesomeness to a new level.

Ok, it sounds crazy and stupid. Any medical professional not trained in the Soviet Union is probably vehemently opposed to the idea. Soviet era doctors, on the other hand, preach the oil’s psoriasis-healing properties. In those days, people came to Naftalan from all over the Soviet Union on vacations from work to recuperate and to treat skin disorders. Such was the Soviet, and now post-Soviet, obsession with sanatoriums.

And thus my fascination with the idea of an old-timey, Soviet sanatorium. It’s one of those things I would never forgive myself for if I didn’t do it. Leaving India without driving a cycle rickshaw, for example, would’ve caused similar regret.

So off we (I actually managed to convince people to come with me) went to the little village of Naftalan, a 7 hour marshrutka (mini bus) ride from Baku. It’s a quaint little place caught in a time warp; like a mining town on the wrong end of a gold rush. You could tell the town had had its glory days. A large bus station stands deserted at the edge of town. I could imagine it being a hub of multiculturalism forty years ago.

Only one Soviet sanatorium remains today. As much as I would’ve loved to go there, my friends weren’t nearly as keen. We chose instead the brand new government-run place that offered us the equivalent of an assisted living package. Meals, oil baths, a place to sleep. It was the easiest 24 hours of my life.

Kazakhstan, and Other Countries You Probably Couldn't Find on a Map

2009-08-14T06:45:00.002-07:00

Only 36 hours away from realizing my dream of setting foot in Central Asia.

I hear the fermented horse milk is good this time of year.

A First for Everything

2009-08-01T09:39:00.002-07:00

This is not one of those "firsts" you want to experience. In fact, if you could avoid it your whole life, you would be doing well for yourself.

I'll start by saying that I'm currently moving apartments. They aren't far from each other, so I've made a couple of trips by bus carrying a large bag and a backpack.

On one such trip, I was standing at the bus stop with the big bag in my left hand and the backpack on my back. In my right hand was my mobile, which I was using to send an SMS to confirm evening plans. Within a few seconds, a taxi pulled up the same way taxis do all over the world. A guys opens the door, gets out, turns his back to the driver, and appears to be giving him money.

I look up to acknowledge the situation and then focus my attention back to my mobile. Then, in a flash, the guy who had been "giving money" to the driver, turns around, rips the phone out of my hand, and jumps in the car. The driver then pins it.

My first reaction was to grab the car and start running along side it, which I did (bag and all). I couldn't get much of a grip and didn't have a free hand to reach inside and try to grab the phone. Within seconds the car reached a speed that, had I chosen to continue hanging on and running, may have resulted in certain serious injury or death. It was at this moment that the guy in the passenger seat turned and shook his head as if to say, "Don't bother trying. You're going to get yourself killed."

So I let go. The car sped away and I was left with my arms in the air thinking, "What the hell just happened?" And while the adrenalin rush felt great, it soon dawned on me that I wasn't getting my phone back. Not that it matters because it's just a phone.

What's unfortunate is how it happened. It's the kind of event that makes you think twice everytime you pull out your phone, or anything else of value, in public. Even worse, it's things like this that make you resent where you are. I can tell you from experience that such resentment often means it's time to get out of dodge. Good thing I'm off to Kyrgyzstan in two weeks for a little vacation.

So there you have it: my first time having something stolen since I started living abroad.

Ljubljana

2009-07-14T20:48:00.001-07:00

Slovenia’s capital has to be one of my favourite cities. Not only is it surrounded by snowcapped peaks, but it has a cute little city centre that straddles a narrow creek. Both sides are so close to each other that any bridge crossing takes seconds. During the summer, there are endless outdoor cafes that made me a tad jealous I was there in the winter.

Overlooking the town is a castle on top of a hill. A “funicular”, which is present in every former Soviet capital with so much as a bump in its landscape, runs to the top. The big difference is that the cars boast the European Union engineering that their Caucasian counterparts most definitely lack. From the castle, Ljubljana and it’s alpine backdrop are in full view. It’s quite the sight on a clear day.

The city has all the great things about a European capital while adding a touch of the former east bloc and the Mediterranean. Just be writing that, I feel like I’m talking myself into living there one day. It may not be a bad idea….

Zagreb

2009-07-02T08:41:00.001-07:00

Zagreb is set beautifully in the foothills of the Alps. You have a world-class ski hill mere minutes away, spectacular vistas from certain parts of the city on clear days, and crisp mountain air. These are things even the Soviets couldn’t ruin. Perhaps it was because they were too busy erecting cookie-cutter apartment blocks. I remember taking one picture of three such monstrosities lined up along the river that could’ve been mistaken for almost any former Soviet capital. Greetings from Zagreb, or was it Kiev or Sofia?

The centre of town is quaint to say the least. Streetcars and trams run all over the place and cars are not allowed on some streets. The buildings are also beautifully restored. It’s like wondering around a more vibrant western European regional capital. But then you come across the old, still functioning former Soviet bazaar and remember what makes the Balkans so fascinating.

One story, albeit an unconventional one, sticks out at me. The National Football league playoffs were going and my favourite team was scheduled to play one of the nights I was in Zagreb. I couldn’t miss this game, so I spent almost the entire day searching for a place that would show it. Not surprisingly, no bar had any of the channels. About ten minutes before kickoff, we ended up in a casino (our last chance). To our delight, the game would be showing on the big screen. It was a happy moment.

Eger

2009-06-27T23:22:00.001-07:00

I decided to take my search for a plateful of meat to the Hungarian countryside. And what better place to go than to the heart of the wine producing region where they make a vintage affectionately known as “Bull’s Blood.” How on earth could anyone pass an opportunity like that up?

So off I went on the train. It was a short ride made all the more interesting because of the transition from “warm” Budapest to the frosty countryside. One minute you could see the colour of the grass and trees, the next it was a sea of white. Wherever Eger was, it was going to be cold.

Two things stand out about Eger: the wine and the awesome outdoor bath complex. I got my fill of both.

First up, the wine. It goes great with red meat (big surprise, eh?). If only I had more time, I would’ve spent a fair amount of time “taste testing” at the winery.

The real story from the trip was the baths. I met some Australians and a Brit just after getting of the train. Our conversation moved quickly to the idea of drinking a lot of wine and going to the bath. The next day, we were sitting in a 40 degree outdoor pool in an air temperature of –9 drinking champagne. It was the perfect way to spend New Year’s Eve day.

What made it that much better was the locals. They were popping champagne bottles every couple of minutes and truly having a good time. I can imagine that this kind of stuff happens all over Hungary on New Year’s Eve. All the more reason to go back…

Budapest

2009-06-16T10:52:00.001-07:00

Like meat? Go to Hungary. Want a taste of the Warsaw Pact with a little “glory days of the Austro-Hungarian empire” mixed in? Look no further than Budapest.

Hungary is an anomaly in Central Europe. Its people do not share ethnic roots with its neighbours, the food is entirely different (to the point that it’s actually flavourful), and the language is about as indecipherable as Mongolian.

As far as Budapest is concerned, you get the feeling that it once had a charm that I can compare only with modern-day Tbilisi; something I can only describe as a “unique cultural enclave.” Alas, a lot of that history has been swallowed up by EU health standards and development money. Gone are the days of the exotic markets and palancinka (thin pancakes) street vendors. In are exorbitantly expensive tourist restaurants and more souvenir shops that one cares to imagine. What I wouldn’t give to go back to Budapest circa 1925. You could probably smell the paprikash upon arrival.

I’ve heard people call Budapest a “grander version of Prague.” You only need to see the parliament, Andrazi Avenue, and the two magnificent train stations to realize this. But the city has something that Prague most certainly lacks: the most ornate and glorious bath house ever conceived. Once inside, you feel as though you are bathing the way the Austro-Hungarians kings intended.

What disappointed me most about Budapest was the lack of old-school goulash joints (the places where you could get a plateful of heavily paprika’d meat). This is what I had been dreaming of. I imagined entering from a side street through a non-descript door and being greeted by the sweet smell of roasted paprika. I would then sit down and be brought a plateful of meat and a jug of red wine without even asking for it. But I digress….

One final thing must not go unmentioned: the Museum of Terror. Like the Warsaw Uprising Museum, it is a chilling, yet fantastic look at life under Soviet oppression. The museum itself is located in the former KGB headquarters, so the underground cells can be seen up close. Perhaps the most provocative exhibit is the one that tries to re-create the smells of a prison cell.

Paprikash, anyone?

Vienna

2009-06-13T23:00:00.001-07:00

Two things about Vienna will stick with me for the rest of my life: bacon for breakfast the day we arrived and the selection of desserts at the plethora of charming coffee houses throughout the city. If you’re surprised that I only remember food, don’t be. It’s really the only reason I travel anymore.

Vienna was recently rated as the world’s second best city to live in and I can see why. The history, the architecture, the culture, the sweets, the transportation system, the multiculturalism. It’s all there in its magnificent glory. Some might call this too orderly and boring. And while that might be true, you shouldn’t really be going to Vienna for an exotic experience, should you?

What you should be going to Vienna for besides the culture vulture stuff I’ve never fully appreciated (museums, ballets, operas, etc.) is the appreciation that the Viennese have for the things they are good at. Chocolate. Austrians don’t mess around with that stuff. Classical music. When was the last time you heard a bad Austrian composer? Exactly. Coffee houses. Nothing short of legendary.

Let’s not mince words. When you’re walking around a Central European city at the end of December, your main goal is to stay warm. And what better way to do that than spending a majority of your time drinking espresso and eating cake in beautiful, high-ceilinged cafes. Austrians just do the whole cafe culture thing right. We mortals around the rest of the world don’t. That’s one thing I learned very quickly.

One point a want to stress is that when I say “cake,” I don’t mean the crap you find at the supermarket. Oh no. I’m talking cakes, torts, and strudels made with history and tradition in mind. The grand daddy of this wonderful world of desserts is the Sacher Tort. Tourists actually line up for a slice of the stuff at the Hotel Sacher, where it was first made. I couldn’t bring myself to do that.

Vienna is one of those places I would go back to with a lot of money. And of course to pay homage to all those desserts I wasn’t able to try.

Christmas and New Years 2008

2009-06-13T07:01:00.001-07:00

I think it’s about time a regale you on my end of the year “get out of the country I’m in as fast as possible” adventure to Riga, Vienna, Budapest, Eger, Zagreb, and Ljubljana.

Enjoy.