Football (and by football I mean soccer)

Local sporting events are a great way to get a feel for a community. While in Albania I had the opportunity to go to a local football (soccer) match with a guy from the hostel I stayed at in Saranda. We caught the minibus and headed to the neighboring town.
The pitch was not the best I've seen (a mess of dirt with patches of grass) and quite frankly neither was the match. But then it's small town Albania - what do you expect?
We arrived as the spectators began to gather. That's when I noticed it . . . I was the only woman there. Even though I've been abroad now for almost 2 months, I still sometimes thinking like an American. It had not even occurred to me that there wouldn't be any other women, but there definitely were not. Once again I was ever so slightly out of place. I have developed quite a nack for it.
It was great though because there was that familiarity you always have with soccer games. Whether you're in the rural areas of Equador or Thailand, the major fields of Italy or Brazil, or the club fields out at Benbrook, TX you'll be able to find people playing soccer. The pitch may be made of grass, dirt, turf, clay, or concrete. The goal may be real or just marked by trees, hats or shoes. But there is that continuity about it that makes it one of the greatest sports, if for no other reason than its universality.
Spectators cheer, chant, and cuss with passion whether it's a game of 10 year olds or the World Cup. The match between teams of neighboring cities or towns will always be a grudge match. No matter what country you're in, soccer is one of those international languages that crosses bounds.

I Hate Snakes

Travel days never cease to be dramatic, and yesterday was no different. After I made the 7 am bus, I was on my way to Ulcinj to catch a bus crossing the border into Albania. Research in different books and websites had told me to "cross the border in the morning" because "public transport within Albania thins out as the afternoon goes on." When I got near the border, I found out that wasn't exactly accurate information.
In reality there is 1 bus across the border. That's it - 1. And it leaves at 6 am. Seriously? 6 am? At least give me a chance to catch it.
I ended up negotiating a ride with this guy driving across the border. He, his wife, and daughter were going shopping for a new dress for the daughter, and things are cheaper in Albania. So off the four of us went for an exciting ride of singing along to some awesome Montenegro pop hits.
Crossing the border went smoothly, and they dropped me in Shkodra where I hopped on a minibus headed to Tirana (the capital and my goal for the day). Apparently 90% of Albania's roads are under construction so it was quite a jaw-rattling ride. I even got air several times as we plowed through pot holes.
When we finally made it unscathed to Tirana, the driver dropped me off and pointed me toward the city center as he drove off. Loaded up with all my bags I set off across town just as the rain started. (It was kind of ironic after my morning experience. The Lord and I had a good laugh at His sense of humor.)
30 minutes later and soaking wet, I arrived at the hostel to find that it was actually closed. No, I'm not kidding.
Luckily I had a second hostel looked up so I gave myself a little pep talk (I think I mentioned before that one of the downfalls of traveling alone is that there's no one to take over if you have a breakdown so you don't get that luxury) and set off across town in the other direction.
Another twenty minutes put me and all my now wet (despite all my best efforts) bags at the other hostel. The reception guy laughed when he saw my drowned rat appearance but welcomed me in.
I dropped my bags and went to make a cup of hot chocolate and email parents of my safe arrival before I hit the shower and got changed. While on the computer I decided to see if anyone had a fun facebook post because I needed a pick-me-up. I found this: (sorry, I cannot get it to link so you'll have to copy/paste)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uqg3Pg2M9WU

Yeah. If you know me, you know I jumped. Big. And the hot chocolate that I was sipping on went all down my shirt and in my lap. I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. So now soaking wet AND covered in hot chocolate I went upstairs to take a shower deciding that I had had enough of that day. I hate snakes, and I hate that I jump and scary things.

Our God who holds back the Rain

The first thing I notice when I woke up this morning was that it was not raining. That is very good news when a long day of travel starting with a 20 minute walk to the bus station awaits you. Clock check: 0510. My internal clocknow knows when it's a travel day and tends to wake me up early. Since I didn't need to be up till 0600, I decided to snooze in bed.
While I was laying in bed, I heard it - the pitter patter of rain drops on the tile roof.
Clock check: 0558. Times flies when you're snoozing. I decided I may as well get up and get ready, hoping the rain would let up. It didn't. Inf
fact it kept on steadily until it began to get heavier. I packed and brushed my teeth. Then there was thunder. Oh joy.
Clock check: 0625. Well hmmm . . . Maybe wait and take a later bus, see if it'll stop? Just as I was thinking this, I thought of the God that I serve. He is bigger than any storm and has faithfully been with me through this whole trip. I began to pray that He would stop the rain as I finished getting ready and packing up.
Window check: definately an all out downpour. Clock check: 0647. Not giving up yet, I continued to pray while I bagged everything up: camera in it's case in a grocery bag, bag over the backpack, bag over the front pack, purse over the shoulder and tied up in a bag. You get the idea. I looked like the homeless bag lady.
It was still raining as I got ready to head out. I looked longingly at the umbrella by the door but decided that stealing was not the answer. If I'm going to step out in faith, I actually have to take the step.
And so I did, right out into the rainy courtyard. But as I passed out into the street, the rain stopped. I kid you not. There was a spattering of rain every now and then and a wind that tried to blow me away. For the most part though, my bags and I arrived dry and intact. Bought my ticket and stood under the terminal covering to wait for the bus as the deluge started up again. I thought to myself, how great is our God to can call forth the rain and hold it back.

Death by Billy Goat Headbutt

Doug and I parted ways this morning as I headed down south into Montenegro. I am in Kotor Bay where the water cuts inland quite a bit. When I arrived, it was actually sunny (thank you for prayers) so I dropped my bags and headed out to explore.
I hiked up to the fortress above the old city and to the ridge line behind it. Everything was lush and green from the rain, with a lovely old stone and grass path most of the way like what I imagine in Ireland.
The trip up was serene as I ascended out of the city, away from the noise. I even saw some mountain goats up on a hillside. I thought it was so quaint . . . at the time.
From the top I could see across the bay (which is more like a fjord cut back into the mountains) over the mountains on the other side and out to the sea. Stunning!
I had a wonderful quiet time and watched the sun sink into the horizon before it was time to head down. That was when the excitement started.
As I switch backed my way down, one bend in the path put me almost face to face with the mountain goats, no longer way off on the hillside. And now there were like 30 of them spread along the trail, above and below. We eyed each other for a while and then the ones near me began to stand up. At this point my brain was filing through all the animal responses I know -- look big, look small, fight back, back away, kick them in the nose, use a stern voice -- and finally registered that I do not know the appropriate response to goats.
Unsure as to whether or not they were tame (no bells or markings), I decided to try to slowly make my way around them. Only problem with that is it meant getting off the trail, and well . . . I'm not a mountain goat so that posed it's own problem.
Then I noticed the female and small goats gathering behind the billy goats, with their rather large horns. I thought to myself, "Of all the things I've done in my life, this is not how I would plan to go out." I could just picture the headlines "Death by Billy Goat Head Butt." Fabulous.
I decided to try to make shepherd noises, whatever those are. Definately did not work. I later realized it was probably because I was making the "tut tut" noise. I have obviously been around too many camels on this trip.
So as I normally do when all else fails, I started to sing -- if not for them, then at least to calm my . . . well, I wouldn't say fear. Maybe just slight trepidation. And anyway, music calms the savage beast, right? As these were OBVIOUSLY savage goats.
I'm not sure if they were soothed or just trying to get away because it sounded that bad, but eventually they started to move and the stand-off was over. No head butts today.
The next few days will be travel down through Montenegro and Albania as I head to Greece. This is a less touristy part of the world and English is not as common. Pray that border crossings will go smoothly, buses will be on time and that I will be able to communicate with drivers as I'm not sure the exact route. Should be an adventure.

A War Torn Land

The past few days Doug and I have taken a slight detour up to Bosnia/Herzegovina (BH). I did not mention this before we went (sorry Mom) because I didn't want to cause any undue worry.
That said, it was a sobering experience. It sets quite the tone for your stay when the FAQs on the door at your hostel include information about landmines. Apparently they think approximately 4% of BH still has landmines. Most of these areas have been found and clearly marked somehow, but they advise you not to go off trails or roads. Don't go exploring. Got it.
We stayed in a little town named Mostar. It was hit very hard during the war -- first attacked by Serbian forces who pulled out after intervention by the international community. The city was then left under defense of the allied Bosnian and Croatian armies. Unfortunately fighting soon broke out between these formerly allied troops and even more blood was shed.
Unlike other areas that were also affected by the war (such as Dubrovnik), in Mostar they have not rebuilt due to continuing hostility and lack of funds. This makes for a very interesting landscape. Several of the buildings are falling down and have bullet holes all over.



We visited this bank that was bombed during the war so badly that it was abandoned. Once abandoned, it became a sniper nest because it was one of the tallest buildings in the area.


You go in, and the building is just totally destroyed.






The ground is covered in rubble, mostly glass and bullet shells.



It was like in a movie where the offices are abandoned with papers strewn all over the ground.



When I try to understand what really happened here and what is still going on, I get lost in the complexities of Bosnians, Serbs, Croats, Muslims, Orthodox, and Catholics. More than anything, I become aware of just how much I don't know about what goes on in the world. And although I may not yet understand the root of this hostility that is centuries old, places that have previously been only headlines to me are now becoming real. That at least is a step in the right direction.

Americans and their Bright T-shirts

I've read through several books during the trip. One was The Kite Runner, a great book. I cried all the way through. Normally that wouldn't be a problem, except that I read it during a bus trip. On a public bus. Yeah.
It wasn't just a few tears, but the kind of crying where your nose starts running and you need a tissue. I looked pathetic. But that is beside the point.
In the book, the main character mentions that while he was growing up, he could always tell the American tourists because of their bright t-shirts. This struck me as an odd comment so I started to watch. Upon further examination I realized that it's true.
This morning was was a perfect example. As we got dressed at the hostel, every other girl in my room changed into their almost all black outfits while I chose which of my brightly colored t-shirts I would wear today.
It didn't matter too much because it is now freezing (well, not quite but it's cold and raining which feels freezing) so my bright t-shirt was under layers of fleece and rain jacket. But nevertheless all you have to do is go into your local Gap or Old Navy to see that we do like our bright colors and patterns.
I do not yet understand why this is (if you have any ideas please share), but I have excepted it: I am an American. I like brightly colored clothes.
It ranks right up there with: I am an American. I like cold beverages (that means more than a lone piece of ice). But that is another story.
By the way, please pray that the cold and rain will leave me alone for a little while. I need a few more sunny days as I head down to the beautiful beaches in Greece. Just 3 weeks left from tomorrow!

The Chestnut Festival

One of the great things about exploring new places is experiencing the quirky things that give each place its own distinct personality. Several days ago Doug and I went to the local 35th annual chestnut festival in northern Croatia. You don't get much more quirky than the little local festivals, especially when it is celebrating a nut.
Apparently the area is known for having large chestnuts (no, I'm not kidding), and they celebrate it during harvest time every year. And may I say, it was quite the party.
There were of course roasted chestnuts galore.


I learned that although I appreciate the smell of roasted chestnuts when I'm walking by them on the street, I do not like to eat them. They are difficult and messy to peel and have a very weird texture.


Still, the cute guys with their mannies kept offering them to me, trying to convince me I would like them.


Not only that, but there was a wide variety of desserts all in . . . you guessed it, chestnut flavor. The taste was interesting.


There was local music, which apparently includes some very cool accordion music. Let me tell you, these guys were rocking out.



To complete the festival atmosphere there were even balloon-making clowns. Don't worry, I resisted the urge to get a hat made, but it as tempting.




Happy Chestnut Festival!