The evening we arrived in Athens, all we wanted was to do laundry and find cheap food to fill us up. There was a washing machine in the bathroom of the apartment we had rented and no dryer, which we are starting to realize the access or lack thereof of each of these is the norm. The knob and all the buttons on the washing machine were in Greek. I downloaded a new app on my phone that allows you to take pictures, highlight the word you want translated, and voila- you should be able to use a washing machine in any country! Wasn't quite so easy. The section titled "delay" had 4 options; 3, 6, 9, or 12 hours and there didn't seem to be a "now" option. I tried for 20 minutes to press different buttons, with no luck to avoid a delay. Micah took over, sitting on the edge of the bathtub with his phone in hand, googling the manual and translating it into English. After an hour, our Airbnb host messaged me to check that we made it ok. I responded and asked about the delay setting on the washer, which her reply was that she wasn't sure either but the English manual was hanging right above the washer. Within minutes, our clothes were spinning around and we were out the door to the closest grocery store to pick up fixings for a salad. We love eating traditional food wherever we are but tend to crave a thick, fresh salad after awhile.
Wednesday we were ready to switch into full tourist mode. It was our only full day in Athens and we wanted to visit all the typical sites one does. We did our research on how to avoid lines and cruise ships, and how to get the most bang for our buck. Our best option was to get to the Acropolis by 8am when it opens and an hour or two before the cruise shippers are elbowing their way through crowds and swinging their selfie sticks. Arrived at 8, in the gates by 830, and out by 1030. The crowd was definitely picking up by then, and we were happy to rush through and finish before it became more hectic.
As I had anticipated, the Acropolis was impressive. But we were also disappointed for a few reasons. We both regretted not knowing more Greek history, or remembering to download Rick Steve's audio tour before that morning. There was a short video we watched when we visited the Acropolis Museum after visiting the monuments, and it discussed the architectural specs of the Parthenon and the visual illusions created by the architects. There were intentional asymmetries in the building, and no straight lines; which bestows a subtle organic characteristic to a geometric structure. The outside columns were also constructed thicker in diameter, but placed closer to their neighboring columns. This was done because the corner columns would always have the bright backdrop of skylight which would make them appear thinner and closer together, compared to the center columns set against the darker background of the building walls. Therefore, the difference in size would compensate for the illusion caused by the differing backdrop. Amazing, right? Learning these details that weren't visible to the naked eye made the experience more valuable. But I wish we'd known those details as we were standing in front of the monuments; our fault, and lesson learned. There was a fair amount of construction taking place to make the ancient monuments more structurally sound and to rebuild damaged sections. We're appreciative that generations will continue to experience this history and would want it no other way, but a crane in the center of a 2500 year old monument deters from the view. Nonetheless, please enjoy our pictures that were strategically taken to avoid massive construction equipment and copious amounts of tourists.
Herodes Theatre, which hosts musical concerts and theatrical performances in the summer
The Parthenon
The Parthenon
The Parthenon to your left and The Erechthion to your right
View of The Temple of Olympian Zeus in the center, from the Acropolis
Looking at Athens from the Acropolis
As mentioned, we hit up the museum following the Acropolis. Worth the 5€ admission and we were pleased to see the authentic pieces versus the monuments themselves that are mostly replicas. We heard the Greek myths, and were most impressed/amused by that of Athena's birth; Zeus ate Metis after shacking up with her, because he feared that she would birth children more powerful than himself. Metis was already with child, and when Zeus was later hit in the head, Athena leapt from his head, fully grown and armed. Ouch. The museum had a no photography rule with the exception of one display, and there were multiple attendants in each section of the museum. They were constantly chasing people down and telling them "no photos" which entertained us. Please enjoy our photos from the museum.
Joking. We follow the rules.
Our next stop was the metro line and a quick ride north to the Central Market where we experienced a little deja-vu from Central America, with the traditional working markets where locals shop for their meats and produce. We didn't immediately find our street food lunch that we were in search of, but after splashing some fish blood onto our calves as we flip-flopped through the market a few times, we settled down at a sidewalk joint and had ourselves a couple of gyros.
Inside the central market.
On the left- the spices and bulk food (generally nuts or olives) available in the market. On the right- a boy and his gyro.
Our feet were starting to become sore and the intense sun was taking a toll on us, but we had a few more spots in mind. We rode the metro back to the Acropolis stop, popped in and out of the shops in the Anafiotika and Plaka neighborhoods, and began our walk towards the Temple of Olympian Zeus. We were able to get a decent enough sight line on the ruins by just walking by, so we skipped paying the entrance fee. The Panathenaic Stadium, home of the first modern day Olympics, was 1 km away so we planned that as our last stop. We grabbed the audio tour that came with the entrance price but didn't follow it well because as soon as we entered the stadium, Micah wanted to climb to the top of the bleachers. We saw the posters for each Olympic Games and a handful of Olympic torches in the museum under the bleachers before calling our self guided walking tour of Athens complete.
The Temple of Olympian Zeus.
The Panathenaic Stadium.
#1 in my book.
After a few hours to recover in our air conditioned rental, we set out to the streets for our last Greek meal. Apparently Europeans don't use Yelp, so Foursquare helped me locate a local restaurant a few blocks from home. The food was decent, wine was cheap, atmosphere was lovely, and there were three cats almost always in sight. One of which I snuck some of my fish to after the meal.
Micah ordered the pork skewer and I had the Swordfish skewer. And the dreaded watermelon dessert.
Thursday morning we laid low at the house, making breakfast from the food we contributed to the fridge and a few items that we assume were left behind from the previous residents. Our masterpiece was pita bread with pesto hummus, salad, a slice of tomato and a slice of ham, topped with a fried egg and cheese. With bags that seem to get slightly more heavy each time we throw them on (this time only by the weight of 1 magnet), we marched up hill to the metro station to catch a ride to the airport. With all of our public transit travel around Greece, we were feeling decent about mastering the system. Decent, but not superb. The cost for a 90 minute ticket was 1.4€, but there was an option to buy a 10€ ticket to the airport. When given the option without justification or explanation, we'll choose to save a few bucks. In the end, we disembarked our train a few stops shy of the airport after convincing ourselves that we were supposed to purchase the 10€ ticket. Our concern was that there would be an attendant at the airport and when you exited the train, you would be required to show your ticket. And there were threatening signs saying that the fee would be 200€ if you were without. There wasn't an attendant, and there were many travelers that snuck through the machine that was monitoring if you purchased the correct or the cheap ticket, but we felt good about our honesty and our monetary contribution to the Greek public transit system.
The flight from Athens to Sarajevo, Bosnia was mostly uneventful, minus a few things: we were delayed 30 minutes, and then sat on the plane for another 30 without any explanation; Turkish airlines served a full lunch on the 90 minute flight to Istanbul; people watching in the airport in Istanbul was top notch, as it truly is a melting pot of cultures; our flight from Istanbul to Sarajevo was also delayed, by 2 hours; Turkish airlines served a full dinner on the 2 hour flight to Sarajevo. Grabbed our bags, hit the ATM for the local currency of convertible marks, and jumped in a taxi. I showed the driver the address for our Airbnb, which to my non Bosnian eyes looked simply like a street name with no number. He asked for the number, I clumsily showed him the same map with the same address, and prayed that he would know. I had pinned the house on my map, which functions and tracks without internet, so I figured we could guide him towards the little red mark if he got lost. As he drove way past it, I became concerned that we would be sleeping on the streets that night. But he confidently drove up a narrow street, stopped the car and asked a question to two men who were smoking under a street lamp, and pointed us to a door.
Before we could even knock, a 55ish year old Bosnian lady threw open the door and greeted us with a hand shake and the words: "Naida mom." Naida, her daughter, was the gal I had been communicating with about the rental. As she showed us around our downstairs studio apartment, while smoking, we found out the only other English word she knew was "super." She mostly used this to reference restaurants, we think. Despite the language barrier, she chatted away, pointing in different directions, making gestures like she was eating food, and nodding at us like we understood her. We definitely understood about 4% of what she was saying, thanks to the Spanish similarities in the language. She offered us café, we said no thanks, so she brought us cherry juice. Our impression was that she invited us to join her on the terrace in the morning for café, but we have no idea if this was accurate; both mornings we strolled up to the terrace, at different times of the morning just in case, stood around and made a few noises for about 15 minutes, and then returned to our apartment sans café. My favorite interactions with Naida mom was when we walked back up to the house the next day. She was mowing the lawn, greeted us + other words, and then we went through our apartment to sit on the porch in the backyard. Five minutes later, I heard a "hello" and an item drop on the floor behind us. She was standing at our apartment window with her arms full of 12 plums that she had just picked off the tree. We ran over, picked up the plums that had rolled out of her hands, and she unloaded all the rest into my arms. She encouraged us to eat them, which we did and they were yummy. Five minutes later she came back with 4 apples. She stood on the back porch with us and I indicated that she could come sit by us under the shade if she wanted and she said "no no", made some kissy noises while pointing at us and smiling, and then left.
Friday we explored the old town of Sarajevo, Baščaršija. Our apartment was up high in the hills, which allowed for gorgeous views, but a steep descent towards the center of town. We spent hours strolling the walking streets, checking menus, and admiring touristy items- specifically the džezva. Džezva is a copper plated coffee set that includes a pot with a long neck, a sugar dish, 2-6 small ceramic cups inside copper cups, all on a round flat tray. We had first noticed these beautiful copper dishes in Greece, then in the airport in Istanbul. But in Sarajevo, there were multiple shops selling them on each street. We walked into one shop where two men were sitting in a corner, one meticulously etching a pot. The other man greeted us, walked behind the counter, and started pulling out variations of the dishes. We learned that the džezva was from Bosnia and that certain sets were completely handmade while other sets had parts imported. The pot that you boiled the water in was always handmade, but the sets with intricate detail included multiple pieces from China. If you wanted the intricate set fully handmade, it would take the creator 6 days to complete and cost you 240km, or $142. We are not serious coffee drinkers by any means and never even considered that set. However, another less intricate but silver plated 100% handmade set had caught both of our eyes. His price was 75km and we honestly decided we'd think about it and come back, both knowing we'd likely come back but that it was a bigger purchase than we planned to make. When he learned this, he kindly dropped his price to 60km, or $35. It only has two glasses to drink coffee from, but the next time you visit our home, ask and we'll serve you coffee the Bosnian way. Which he taught us. And we learned it’s different than the Turkish way and they'll be offended if you don't realize that.
The view of Sarajevo during our trek down the hill.
More street/alley views of Sarajevo.
Learning about the džezva and how to make Bosnian coffee.
Džezva options.
On the left- eating Burek for brunch. Traditional Eastern European dish of baked pastry dough with various options for filling; we sampled the pumpkin, meat, spinach, potato, and cheese options. On the right- Cathedral Church of the Nativity of the Thetokos.
We returned to our home on the hill, ate freshly picked plums, and watched the storm roll through. Once it had passed, we headed back to town where we caught two different parades, both with bands and one with three women dancing in a style similar to salsa, the other with a baton twirling drill team. We're unsure the reason for the parades, but Friday was the first night of the Sarajevo Film Festival, along with a 3 week long FoodCart festival also taking place. We chose a random traditional looking restaurant for dinner and ordered by pointing at the A-frame picture board on the sidewalk. I ordered the Ćevapi, the traditional Bosnian dish of grilled minced meat links made of lamb and beef mixed, served with onions and Bosnian pita; it was wonderful and I'll happily eat it again. Many people stopped next to us while we were eating and took pictures. We weren't sure if it was of the restaurant, the flag hanging outside the restaurant, or if they thought Micah was Mark Walhberg. Once we arrived home and google was available, we learned that the owner of the restaurant was a famous Bosnian soccer player who had a legendary career for the Turkish club Galatasaray SK.
The view, a few steps from our Sarajevo home.
Crossing the bridge.
Service at a local Mosque.
The parades.
Micah sampling the local beer and I tried the house red wine.
Another thing that google taught us that night was that we may have neglected an important step in renting a car internationally. We did not apply for our International Driver's Permit, a form you obtain from AAA that translates your national drivers license into 10 languages. It's inexpensive, but can take a few weeks to get and you can only apply for it in your home country. It's purpose is for border crossings and unfortunate encounters with international police officers, so they understand that you are a licensed driver. We were to pick up our rental car the next morning and suddenly realized that without this form, the rental company may not give us the keys. Our plan B was discussed, and I felt guilty for not learning about this form in my research. For the past 6 months, I'd been persuading Micah that the car rental would be a more flexible, adventurous way to visit the sites as opposed to a Eurorail pass. The rental car part of the trip was my thing, hence the guilt.
With packs again on our backs, no café, and a kiss on each cheek from Naida mom, we walked down the hill, praying we'd drive out of this town. Option B was to forfeit our lodgings in Banja Luka that night and stay the night in Sarajevo to catch the 6:45am train to Budapest. We arrived at our rental car pick up spot, told the Sixt representative who was working with other clients that we were there, and anxiously waited for 40 minutes. The young Bosnian gal, who happened to live in Iowa for 8 years, never asked to see our IDP and even stated that when she gets pulled over, she flashes her American passport and she's on her way. We secretly high-fived when she turned around, grabbed the keys to our tiny 4-door Dacia, and hit the road.
We plugged Banja Luka into our map, a town that was cradled in a valley between mountains we wanted to see and a good midway point to Budapest. Instantly, we were pleased we had rented a car. Driving out of the city wasn't too bad, minus the fact that locals drive 2x the speed limit and will pass anytime, anywhere. We did our research and learned what the shapes and the signs meant in Bosnia, and that our headlights need to be on at all times. Out of the city, we drove up into the mountains, covered thickly with small trees and foliage, and dotted with the occasional red roofed home. We got to a point where our navigation told us to turn left, and the road signs for Banja Luka indicated the same, so we turned left. The two lane paved road turned into a narrow gravel road with many potholes. There were few people in sight and an occasional herd of sheep. We were fully prepared for our tiny car, with very little horsepower, to not make it and cause us to turn back. But the little Bosnian beauty did just fine. We stopped for a bite in one of the larger towns we passed through, and made it to Banja Luka in 5 hours.
Our sweet ride for the next 6 weeks, meandering through the Bosnian countryside.
The road signs and the canyons.
After driving into the driveway of a residential home, and backing down a few streets, we finally found our rental apartment in Banja Luka. This one we had booked on booking.com, as opposed to most of the previous from Airbnb, and we now have to filter all rental searches with "has free parking." We hit the streets of Banja looking for dinner but instead found a protest in the small town's center. With a poster that read "Pravda Za Davida" and protesters holding signs with the picture of a young man on them, there was some speaking and some singing. Once we sat down for dinner, we consulted the internet. David was a local college student who had been found dead in March under suspicious circumstances, including a known bar fight that night and a text to a friend that read “if something happens to me tonight, it's because of ----“. The police refused to investigate his death and there are signs that they may have manipulated evidence. The protests have been taking place every night since; quite a sight to see that many loyal and determined people.
We slept well that night in comfortable beds with a strong AC unit and were ready to hit the road the following morning. Our next big honeymoon destination is Prague, where I look forward to exploring my family's history. We've decided to view our time between now and Prague as taking the scenic route. The next layover on our road trip is Budapest, the Paris of the east. Until then, nema vatre bez dima.
