SKYDIVING OVER THE SWISS ALPS
We got up at 7 in the morning and had the complimentary Balmer’s breakfast specialty of musli with milk and jelly. Gathered in the driveway and piled in to a van that took us over to the divesite. Much like the van over to canyoning, the occupants of the van tried to deal with their fear and anxiety by exchanging hand signals, “yeah mans” and smiles whenever eye contact was made. It would seem that they were trying more to reaffirm in themselves a sense of confidence than the people whom they were ostensibly encouraging.
So we suited up in all blue jumpers and got a five minute lesson about the ways in which we’d have to position our bodies. Ben and I impatiently waited for five crews to go up from among our group before we and another girl were finally introduced to our tandem divers and brought on to the plane.
Once in the plane we were harnessed to our partners at several points on our hips and back, and our harness was tightened to a point bordering on danger for the future of the Frankel clan. Since Ben and I paid for DVDs detailing our experience, we each got a highly scripted interview.
**Interviewer spins with camera pointed toward sky before landing on my face, then dramatically coming in and out**
“So, you’re going skydiving. How do you feel?”
“Pretty good. I’m pretty psyched”
“You nervous? Skydiving is a very dangerous activity”
“No. not really. I’m attached to a professional. If I die, he dies.”
“Well, that’d normally be true but you’re diving with Hans; he’s suicidal. Most dangerous man in Switzerland”
“Well…”
“Let me check your straps and harnesses” **swings around to back** “these look pretty rusty, man, I don’t know.”
“That’s fine with me. I’ll take my chances”
“Anything to say to your parents?”
“Mom, I’m saying T’philat haderech”
“Alright, and we’re out.” Another spin and zoom in and out.
We boarded the plane. Each attached to the lap of their tandem pro. Ben and I sat across from each other on a four foot long bench, with the cameraman in between us. On the floor to the left was another girl and her partner. Two more cameramen were posted at the front and back. We were literally piled on top of each other in the tiny plane. The cameraman and I exchanged chauvinist jokes in the plane as we ascended over the mountainous landscape (great view).
Once we reached proper altitude the door was opened, allowing a fierce breeze in to the cockpit (the whole plane was the cockpit; it was so small). The cameraman in front climbs out on to the side of the plain and shortly after the girl on the floor rolls over the side. Then I’m instructed to dangle over the edge, arch my back, and with a 1…2…we’re out of the plane.
The first few seconds were just unreal…the feeling of accelerating at such a rapid rate. Then you get your bearings and you see the unbelievable landscape around you as you speed through the air at 200KM/h. Unreal. Look up to find the cameraman, whom you shoot some macho hand-signs and faces, making sure to look cool. If you remember to kick your legs back, then the instructor takes you for spins, which is crazy.
After what they say is 45 seconds and feels like 5, they pull the parachute, and you begin a more leisurely descent. Apart from a few turns and spins, the view is the main attraction of this phase of the dive. Eventually you hover over the ground for a little before touching down.
Ben and I hugged, got a little more interview, then crashed on their couch for a minute. They gave us a ride back to Balmer’s, where we slept for a few hours (drained from the intensity of the skydive). I highly recommend the activity; it feels very safe and it’s unparalleled fun.
Morning After and day before…
The night of canyoning was one of the more annoying nights ive had in a while. First of all, i was ridiculously sore. My neck was hurting and my left shoulder was still bummed from one of the rock slides. I woke up at around 2:30 to a chorus of snores from different bunkmates. The cacophony - consisting of farts, snores, coughs and moans - kept me up for about 20 minutes, and then i decided to take a walk and perhaps find somewhere outside to sleep. It was raining, so i sluggishly moved into the tv room where i layed down on a couch and tried to pass out. I probably wouldve succeeded, had it not been for one fly who kept landing on my face. So, I went back to the main room, charged my ipod (which was conveniently out of battery) and slept for a few hours before waking up at 7.
That day was mainly a day to recuperate from the day before, aswell as one for us to recharge for next days adventure. While Ari was reading the beatles book, which i recommend to everyone, i rented a bike and rode around interlaken. It was absolutely beautiful, especially the water, which is probably the bluest water i had ever seen. It looked like turquoise milk, but in a clean way. After riding, I went back and Ari and I went to the supermarket where we got our staples: cheese, bread and ham (sorry grandpa). Overall, very pleasant day.
That night, a lot of people from the hostel were drinking outside, when someone suggested that we play flipcup, a drinking game made famous by bronstein parties. This game was gigantic, with about 15 people to a side, and was unfortunately cut short because we were too loud. After the competition, I checked out the bar with ari, who had been playing cards with some swedes while i was playing flipcup. The bar was alright, nothing special. HOWEVER THERE WAS A GUY THERE WHO WAS LITTERALY 6 10, and was dancing with another guy (perhaps his life partner) who was like 5 6. strange but true. Anyway, ari and i made it an early night because both of us wanted to be energized for the following day, which ari will now discuss in detail.
What the F**k is Canyoning?
Tangent: I bleeped out fuck only because it’s a fucking title, and it’d be unbecoming to use a swearword in the title. I don’t give a fucking fuck about using the fucking f word in the blog.
Yesterday we booked an 8 hour canyoning trip for today, from which we’ve just returned. I’d be showering, reading or sleeping right now if there weren’t a lockout in our hostel from 10:30-16:30 (contributing to the overall problem in this hostel of having to be here or there by this or that time, as evidenced last night as well). So Ben and I involuntarily woke up every twenty minutes from 5:30 on, both of us so nervous that we’d sleep through our scheduled meeting time of 8:30. We made it, tired but glad not to have missed it.
In the parking lot of the hostel we were introduced to an Aussie with long orange hair and an orange strap of facial hair running from his bottom lip to his chin. After collecting our tickets he instructed us to get on the bus with an encouraging “Shoot it!”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means get on the bus and shut up.”
So I got on the bus and we drove for a few minutes over to the equipment compound, where we were spoken to briefly by a jacked New Zealander with short black hair.
(This is now Ben. Tip: Never assume anyone is australian. I asked maybe two or three of the guides where they were from and they were all aussies. Then, i asked another leader “So, do you have canyons like this in australia?” He darted his head back, stared at me, and replied through clenched teeth, “I duno, maybe you should ask some one from Australia. He was from new zealand.) Finally we were told exactly what canyoning was:
“OK, so we’re gonna do some jumps off of 10 meter waterfalls, slide or rapelle down some even taller ones, tramp through the forest and the river. Does that sound fun?”
**silence** It was too early to expect the kind of resounding, enthusiastic “YES!” that he must’ve been going for.
“if it doesn’t then you should come speak to one of us and we can work something out on a trip that might be more fun for you.”
**again silence**
We were issued wetsuit overalls, jackets, and booties; a life-jacket, helmet and harness. In order to identify us each helmet had a name tagged across the front. I knighted myself Sweetheart; Ben Speedy.
It was an extremely scenic hour long ride in the mountains, with a brief stop at a bakery for some post-canyoning munchies to supplement the complementary bread, cheese, beer and water that we were promised. We in the bus were amused by an old man inching along on a scooter up the steep mountain road. When we finally arrived, we geared up halfway then hiked 15 minutes over to the first waterfall. We geared up, careful to clip our carabiner to the side so as not to incur “biner wiener” while sliding.
“Alright, so we’re gonna do the highest jump of the entire trip first. Sorry, no warm up. One by one, we sprung off of one of the instructor’s shoes and a wet, slippery rock slightly to the right of the waterfall, so as to avoid the shallow water and rocks. My legs shaking, I was counted down for and then screamed the whole way down. That set a precedent for me of just doing it.
The water was refreshing and cold as ice, Charlie Murphy. A few more jumps and a little walking took us to our first slide. The way this works is that you lie on your back in a smooth chute of rock and make like the water, flowing rapidly down the chute and crashing in to the pool beneath.
Jumping might sound more difficult, because you have to will yourself to launch in to the air over a pool of water, the depth of which you don’t know. However, sliding requires you to maintain constant discipline, keeping form the whole time that you slide down, which can be as long as five or six seconds (at speeds reaching forty mph).
The pinnacle of difficulty was a few moves later, when we were told that we’d be doing a combination of jumping and sliding. Standing on the edge of the waterfall, we had to jump a couple metres forward and to the right, hit a smooth rock wall with our backs, then slide down the rock wall (sans water) in to the pool beneath. This was some real secret agent stuff.
Tangent: at each jump or slide that we’d be shitting our pants just to make it down on the regular way, our instructor was doing flips, back-flips and even once running horizontally on the wall of the canyon several steps before flipping in. A true acrobat in his field.
We jumped and slid our way to one perticularly big pool with a ten or eleven foot wall on the left, where we were told we would await the photographer. While waiting, we practiced doing forward flips off of the wall in to the water. It’s not as hard as it sounds: you just have to throw your head and arms forward and your body rotates without you even having to think about it. A couple of flips later, the photographer arrived, took her picture and we were off again.
The next stunt was to rappelle off of the face of an overhang in to the pool beneath. This entailed clipping in and sliding along until it was our turn to be lowered, then abruptly dropped.The least exciting of the modes of descent.
It was made up for, however, by the next few slides, which kicked up the intensity significantly. One was a totally vertical drop through an extremely narrow rock passage. Ben’s shoulder is prone to pop out of its socket, and so he has trouble with slides. As a result, he decided to jump this instead of sliding it. This necessitated the utmost of precision in order to squeeze between the faces of the rock-slide just before the water. Too concerned with the left, he neglected the right, almost heading it just before hitting the water. He emerged intact. For the next slide we held on to a rope and were lowered down a ways in to the waterfall until we got the signal from the instructor to let go and slide horrifyingly fast to the pool beneath. It’s a good thing that the waterfall was loud enough to drown out the groan of terror I was producing.
This took us to one more slide, followed by one more opportunity for some free-styling in to a relatively deep pool. A few of our friends tried their best to teach me, but I just couldn’t land a back-flip. So when it came time to photograph our best tricks, I played it conservative with a forward flip. Just a few crazy slides and jumps later, we met up with another group and hiked back together to the van. There we enjoyed the long-awaited cheese, beer, bread and water. Much to my sagrin and surprise, the cheese was not Swiss, but parmesan. Why would you ever serve parmesan to a bunch of tourists in Switzerland. Nonetheless, that was the best parmesan I’ve ever had (could be because I hadn’t eaten in eight hours).
We were dissapointed by the slideshow that followed deissuing our gear back at the equipment warehouse. Most of the shots were just a few fractions of a second from perfection. So Ben and I decided to order only one print, in which he and I are arm in arm making a funny face at each other. Though not an action shot, it’s pretty classic.
Went back to the hostel for some reading and sleep, and more importantly a shower, only to find that I was locked out of my room. Some good did come of it: I got a chance to blog, which is an immense pleasure for me. So what is canyoning? it’s more or less jumping, sliding, rappelling, and any combination/permutation thereon down waterfalls. What I think is the more important question is: who tests these feats of daredevilry?
Beer and Spoons: A Brilliant combination
Ben and I walked around the town a little bit after finally leaving the Internet cafe. Interlaken is a beautiful place to be, with the sight of the Alps bordering the town in almost all directions. Best of all, the shawarma is excellent here.
We eventually mozied back over to the hostel where we sat playing guitar for a while, until we were interrupted by a tall, stringy, muscular Quebec man whose name we’ve forgotten.
“I saw you have a guitar, so I am like OK I go there.”
“Dope. You wanna play?”
“Great. I love to sing. I only learn guitar so I can sing.”
And so on…We learned about him that he’s traveling alone for three months by Interrail (which had run out for him several weeks ago). Almost out of money already, he has only to make it back to Paris for his flight to Quebec by August 12th, by any means necessary. It fascinated Ben and I that he was traveling alone, because Ben and I both have plans to do some loner traveling before college. He left us to go chase after a girl he recognized so Ben and I decided to play some pool. A few rounds of typically competitive pool before our Quebec friend strolls in with his girl to play some ping pong.
Played some more pool, then listened to the Quebec man play a song on Ben’s guitar for his friend he’d met on the road who was leaving the hostel the next day. Finally, we decided to get some eats.
I suggested the nearby pizza place, where I was delighted to find that they had shawarma pizza. Ben was equally excited over a sign that advertised a competition: eat two 16 inch pizzas in under 30 minutes and they’re free, along with a drink. I managed to convince Ben that this would be an impossible feat after we asked and found out that only 2 of 22 people who ever tried the competition succeeded.
Ben ordered a burger with guacamole at the hostel restaurant, and I ate my pizza. During dinner we met a Belgian and two girls from Chicago that were sitting next to us at the same table. We got to drinking and playing some cards with the Belgian’s brother. A drunken game of BS got aggressive quickly, and so it was very fun. The Belgian won, incognito. While he got us another round, we found some spoons with which to play, of course, Spoons. If drunken BS got aggressive quickly, drunken spoons was a cock-fight.
Tangent: for all those who don’t know, spoons is a game in which you pass around cards from the dealer. You can pass the card or one from your four card hand. Once you manage to make a four of a kind, you grab a spoon from the middle (of which there are enough for all but one person). Everyone else frantically grabs spoons as well until the only person without a spoon, the ashamed loser, gets a letter. In some parts of the south instead of a letter they get tarred and feathered.
This was interrupted twice, as we had to move from place to place, because in this hostel various rooms close as it gets later until after 12,a t which point you’re allowed only to be in the noisy bar downstairs. Just a quick blog check-in before going to sleep. Will report tomorrow about the day’s activities.
Navigating the Treacherous Zagreb Train Station Successfully
After the movie Ben and I decided to split up: he wanted to return to the station to play guitar (our stuff was parked in a locker there), while I wanted to go to the Internet cafe. We planned to meet back up at 8. Around 7:45 I hear the annoying and familiar tone that the travelnokia makes when it turns off. I must’ve sat on it the wrong way. No problem, except that 40 minutes later when I’m lost on the wrong tram going the wrong way I can’t turn it back on to call Ben without the pin number (which he had with him). I manage to make it back by 8:45, only 15 minutes before our train was scheduled to leave.
OK, 15 minutes, it sounds like a lot of time, but in the Zagreb train station no amount of time is enough. This place was a total monkey-house; to expect exact punctuality would be unreasonable. As soon as I got there I found Ben in the lobby and we put our stuff down on the train.
Certain things have come to define our culinary habits in Europe. Among the times when this comes most to a head is on train rides, some of the food for which we have more or less ritualized. For the ride we purchased a few of the classics, chocolate covered tea-biscuits, chocolate bar with hazelnuts, juz de ananas (pineapple juice), and then one unorthodox addition: coconut covered chocolate-dipped wafers (turned out to be worth the risk). This morning we woke up in Munich (at which point i said a little prayer of thanks for escaping Croatia successfully), where we hurried off to another train to Bern, then Interlocken, arriving here nice and early in the afternoon.
Our hostel is more like a small community, composed of many lodgings, a few bars and a couple shops in addition to a restaurant/reception building. We’ve booked some cool activities for the next few days but more about that to follow.
Auf Weidersahen.
zrce is this crazy party beach in croatia, and so ari and i decided it would be fitting to go in our matching croatian bathing suits, which were WAYYY to short but whatever.
Batman is the Number One Movie of all Time on IMDB
IMDB is an online movie rating website, the ratings of which Ben and Alex (whom you might remember from Prague) hold as sacrosanct. Since it came out in the US, it had been climbing the ranks of IMDB until it plateaued at number one movie of all time. The excitement was infectious, so Ben and I decided to see it on the day that it came out in Croatia, a perfect activity for us to occupy ourselves with while we waited for our night train out of Zagreb.
We took the tram over to the Internet cafe where we found that there was a show at 3:00. So we grabbed some corn from one of the street peddlers of corn (a fantastic part of Croatia that we haven’t found anywhere else), and ran to catch a tram over to the same movie theatre at which we’d seen the Incredible Hulk only a week earlier.
Cool things about the movie theatre in Zagreb were that you could pick your seats when you bought your tickets, they didn’t care how much candy you brought with you, the theatres were huge and the seats big, comfortable and arranged such that no one is blocked, and, lastly (but most importantly) the tickets come out to only a few euro.
We decided to perform a social experiment on the woman selling us our movie snacks (because the slew of snacks we bought next door weren’t enough): we smiled almost non stop during the entire ordering process to see how she would react. After only a minute, she was giggling uncontrollably as she brought me my sandwich. Like yawns, smiles are quite infectious. Try it sometime.
As for the movie:
Heath ledger deserves the hype, his performance as the Joker was fantastic. He was truly a flawless villain, making the Joker the most memorable character of all from the movie. Two-face’s makeup detracted from the seriousness of the movie a little bit (the scene where his drink spills out of a hole in the bad side of his face is just plain asinine). Overall, it was fantastic. Gripping, exciting and serious. Yet, it’s not my number one movie of all time. I enjoyed it as much as I did the matrix.
additions
Ari has been doing a great job at blogging, but there are a few things that he left out.
Venice: One thing that really surprised, and kind of pathetically impressed me, was the “quality” of the begging in Venice. These beggers were dressed in black robes, which were loosely draped over their frames. Unlike new york beggers, who typically recline on building walls, smoking ciggeretes and drinking coffee, these women were always lying on the floor, usually feigning some sort of stomach illness. They were always situated in the most uncomfortable position possible. In front of them sat a small, ceramic mug, with a few small coins in it. However, whenever someone put any change in, the women would immedietly remove the cash and stash it in her clothing, as to look even more pitiful. It was quite a sight.
Zagreb: THE TRAIN STATION BLOWS. We had waited around 3 hours for a train to split, and we decided that we would make sure that we made the train by boarding it around 30 minutes early. The train we entered had a sign directly above it saying Split, and the time that it was leaving. (This was the time we expected.) However, what we didnt know was that the train we got on left quickly after we fell asleep and was replaced by a different train. Great thinking croatian train station workers. thank you. Even though our predicament sucked, i felt even worse for the people who put their bag on that train, left to get food, and then boarded the second train and left to split without their luggage. For them we mourn.
Cashiers in Croatia: Like the beggers in Venice, another somewhat unusual thing that caught my attention was the efficiency of the cashiers. I have never seen anyone work so hard to expedite such an insignificant task by only a few seconds. The minute i pulled up to the cashier, she grabbed the money out of my hand, and had the correct change in front of me before i could realize how hideous she was; and before i could say thank you, she was already on to the next customer.
People in Croatia: The young people in Zagreb were generally very amiable; the elders, on the other hand, having endured the harsh yoke of communism, have devoloped a callous indifference and bitterness towards tourists that i witnessed first hand:
Ben: Hi, excuse me? (How i greet everyone whom i ask for information. I actually also say excuse me hi.)
Person behind the counter at a bakery: Yes?
Ben: Where is the main train station?
Person behind the counter at a bakery: I dont care.
— end of interaction.
I actually experienced this twice.
People and Culture:
While in Croatia, Ari and I stuck out like sore, american, thumbs. Most croatians were very eastern european looking, with pale, hard, faces, usually engraved with a cold frown and forrowed brow. At the ocean’s shore, we encountered a few beached wales (morbidly obese men and women with no swimsuits). The people in croatia were either very skinny and strong or unbelievably fat.
Like the people, Croatian music was far different from anything that we regularly encountered in America. On this topic… MAJOR SHOUT OUT TO ZACHARY ZUCKERMAN, MY BELOVED COUSIN, WHO PUT ON AN UNBELIEVABLE ROCK PERFORMANCE JUST A FEW WEEKS AGO. HE PLAYS DRUM AND IS UNBELIEVABLE. TO LISTEN TO HIS SUMMER BAND, FOLLOW THIS LINK: http://www.dailymotion.com/relevance/search/gowanus (pick one of the first seven videos). Anyway, croatian music…basically it was almost as if klezmer had modernized, become electronic, and just declined very steeply. I dont really know how to explain croatian music, so i provided you a link of an example. http://youtube.com/watch?v=DS-6FpU3_yg.
The girls of Croatia were perhaps its crown jewels. I feel like the girls in croatia perfected the eastern european form. In prague, they were close, but something was just a little off. Not in croatia. And as Isaac, my old chem teacher would say, “OH IT’S GREAT” (english accent included).
Our health: Ari and I have been pretty sick since italy. I think we have broncitis, because that is what emma came home with after she left us. It kind of sucks, but i think we are on the rise. Ari has also been dealing with some stomach issues. Please, when you all attend shul this coming saturday, utter a mishaberach on his behalf.
Hope your summers are going well, and if possible, leave a comment about what you are doing. It could be a good way to catch up.
see you guys soon, for our trip ends in just over two weeks.
much love,.
ben
No…Sleep…TIL ZAGREB
So when I left off we were in an Internet cafe near our hostel planning out Switzerland. Shortly after completing our post we tried to run out on the bill, only to be hailed back to the cafe by a righteously indignant Croatian in broken English. There really was no reason to run out on the bill in the first place, as thanks to the exchange rate Internet only costs the equivalent of a few euro (yet another reason to check out Croatia at some point in your travels).
We decided to go take a breather at Pag City’s beach, which we hadn’t had the chance to check out yet. On the way over we stopped in a small booth to procure some balls. After careful scrutiny, we found a football and a volleyball that would suffice. More interesting, however, were the air soft guns, which were frighteningly realistic. One air soft assault rifle even featured a knife attached to the end of the barrel, so that you can air stab your victim in case the pellets aren’t enough. We ended up deciding against the football and volleyball when we discovered that they were 60 kuna, and not the 6 we thought we heard.
The beach was stunning. Crisp, clean, cold baby blue water ran out in between the mountainscapes on both sides. It lapped at the brown, small rock beach. Farther up from the waterline were a host of covered but unwalled bar/lounges in which to cool off and have a beer.
Took a walk along the length of the beach before throwing our stuff down and jumping in to the water, too hot to bear it any longer. A mix of refreshment and hypothermia set in as we splashed around in the frigid waters of the Adriatic Sea. When we’d had enough we left the water to dry off and warm up on the sun-toasted rocks. It was an extremely pleasant experience.
Finally we decided to go back and revise our Switzerland plans, which we did in the aforementioned Internet cafe. Sven didn’t hold any grudges, fortunately.
Pulled out one last meal from the food we’d bought the day before by supplementing it with some pasta then caught a 22:00 bus over to Zrche, the “party beach of Pag.” Coming off the bus you could already hear the club music from a few hundred metres away. We discovered that Zrche was an actual beach, composed of the same type of rock as Pag City beach.
At the farthest left was a huge club, mostly outdoor and with an island feel thanks to the woodtrim decor and the palm trees. Apart from the several bars were a couple of cat’s cradles twenty feet up, in which danced some home-grown Croatian beauties. Mid-Tequila-“shooter” a girl tall, trim, and beautiful black haired girl taps Ben on the shoulder and asks where he’s from. Quick to follow is her blonde friend, also tall, trim, and cute. They are enthralled by the fact that we are from New York, which we later discovered was the subject of their long-time obsession.
So Ben and I are chatting these girls up, taking some pictures with them and enjoying themselves when a forty year old looking male with his polo tucked in to his khaki shorts grabs my blond by the arm and shoves some frozen drink in her face. Perturbed, I maintain control. She introduces me to this man (apparently they knew each other, and were on a cruise together with some other friends). Turns out these other friends were one morbidly obese man (also in a polo and khaki shorts) and a pretty cool young cat with a blond-streaked mohawk in a sleeveless shirt.
So I bum some frozen drink off of the peanut gallery and return with the blond to Ben and Tanja (the black haired one). She asks Ben if he has a girlfriend, pointing to the colorful bracelet on his wrist that some friends of ours made him before leaving.
“Not during the summer, and you?”
“Yes, but he’s 5000 KM away right now.”
(She also things like, (to her friend) get away from him, he’s mine, and was constantly up against him and hugging him and touching him.)
(Aside to me) “Ari, if we don’t get with these girls I’m gonna be pissed”
“Word.”
A few minutes later I’m engaged in conversation with the blond when Ben tugs on my arm and tells me that he’s gonna go for a walk with the black haired girl. A minute later they return and Ben is smiling,
“Affirmative?” (Ari)
“Negative. She has a boyfriend, and she cares.” (Ben)
“WHAT A CUNT!!!! YOU CAN’T BE SERIOUS!!”
“I know.”
“We better inform that cunty bitch that that shit doesn’t go down in New York.”
“word.”
Have another tequila shooter then inform Tanja that what she did was not only very mean but not done in New York.
“Well it’s done in Croatia.”
I barge in and propose a solution, “How about you just buy us both drinks and we’ll call it even.”
“yea right.”
“alright peace.”
So Ben and I check out what else there is. We walk down sixty metres and find a sick electro dance club. This being more my thing than Ben’s, he wants to return to the previous club. So we grab a sandwich at the nearby sandwich bar, talk up some other Slovenians, and then I walk with Ben back to the first bar. But we split up so that I can return to the dance club, at which I dance for around an hour before I leave and miraculously find Ben very close by on the beach.
It’s around 2:45 and so we have to head off to the bus station so as to catch our 3:40 bus back to Pag (from which we had a 9 o clock train to Zagreb, at which we had plans to catch a night train over to Switzerland—a veritable task in the horrendously disorganized Zagreb train station—but we will deal with that in due time). So, thanks to some directions from a local bartender, we get back to a bus station. We found out, however, that we were at the wrong station for a bus to Pag. The same people who informed us of this offered us a €50 ride back to our hostel, “no way” So we get some more directions and finally find the proper bus station.
Victory was short lived as we found out that the next bus wasn’t at 3:40 but 5:50 (dooming us to a 2.5 hour wait). Ben passes out on a bench while I chew the fat with some Germans in a similar predicament in between trips to the nearby gas station to tend to my combination of a veracious appetite and veracious traveler’s diarrhea (just kidding, or am i?). The Germans had apparently been at Zrche since 4PM and were “quite drunk by 8 PM,” at which time there’s a three hour hiatus in the party at Zrche. Tired and drunk, they decided to try to catch a bus back to Zadar rather than wait around for the night-shift of clubbing. By the time they realized that there were no trains until 5:50 in the morning, they were too tired to return to Zrche and so they’d been waiting an absurdly long time even by the time we arrived.
When the bus to Pag finally did come (50 minutes earlier than we expected), we bid our farewells (I to the Germans and Ben to his beloved bench) and hopped on for a free 30 minute ride over to Pag. I stayed up so we wouldn’t miss our bus (i wasn’t tired anyway, still electrified from the Zrche electro). Our hostel was only a minute or two on foot from the bus station, but nevertheless we only had a couple hours to sleep before having to get up for the bus to Zagreb. In the morning we had just enough time to realize and correct that we hadn’t yet booked a hostel for Interlaken.
While Ben took care of that in the Internet cafe, I tried to procure some Tylenol PM. Finding the only pharmacy in the area, I asked “Tylenol PM?” “No.” “Something to help sleep” **make pillow with my hands and rest cheek on it** “here.” I paid forty kuna for something in Croatian; I’m still not really sure what it is. Ben has taken a good amount already, but I don’t have any trouble falling asleep in the comfortable, spacious sleeper carts.
(This is ben. For some reason, immediately after i took the three sleeping pills ari had gotten me, i thought that he couldve been playing a trick on me, and could have gotten me like erection pills or something like that. luckily he is a good friend and doesnt think like i do.)
Checking our bags on the bus to Zagreb was unusually complicated, thanks to the near-zero English spoken by the bus clerk. Still somewhat annoyed with me a few minutes later when he came by to collect our tickets, he was infuriated when we realized we didn’t have enough kuna for the tickets (which were seven times more expensive than any of the shorter distance buses we’d taken up to that point). Finally, after many clarifications and an embarrassing and frustrating session of him making fun of us to the very amused other patrons of the bus in Croatian, we finally came to the agreement that Ben and I would pay in euros.
Six hours of terribly uncomfortable in and out dozing we get to Zagreb, where we reserve beds on a night train to Munich (from which we would take a few more trains to Interlaken). Though we’d made it to Zagreb, ending the fourteen hour saga that began with our bus to Zrche, we had once more to try our luck at the Zagreb train station. This time, there would be no room for error.
the deal
So we left the cafe and walked around a while. Caught dinner at a local supermarket, gigantic do it yourself sub sandwiches. Should provide us with lunch today also. Were currently in the throws of planning for Switzerland, our next stop. Today we plan to head over to Zurche, the premier party beach of Pag. We’ll have to stay out until the morning buses back to the old city. Then later tonight we hope to head over to Zurich, Switzerland. It promises to be well beyond our means. Just for the hostel we’ll be spending most of if not all of our daily budget. Then on top of that we’ll want to be doing adventure sports and activities, which are infamously expensive as well. We may have to break the bank there, but at it’s happening later on in the trip.
Following Switzerland we plan to hit up the long-awaited Spain for partying in Barcelona, and even some scuba diving with a distant acquaintance of Ben’s in Mayorca, an island off of the western coast of Spain.
Pag, it’s a Croathing
Woke up at 11 and began to pack. Then I went to go ask about some laundry that the hostel-owner did for us. This turned in to a thirty minute ordeal of her explaining to me all of the permutations of buses that we could take from Zadar to Pag.
Finally, I managed to steer the conversation to the laundry and pointed out that one of my sweatshirts was missing. She told me to check the room once more and that she’d check the laundry room. We both returned empty-handed. Convinced that I was being had, I insisted that she look with me. 15 minutes of borderline arguing later she agrees.
“I usually don’t do laundry for guests. This is first time. You seemed so sweet. But I see I will never do it again. Look what problems you give me.”
“Look, I’m not blaming you. I just think maybe it got misplaced or something.”
“I never do this again.”
She comes in to our room and finds it within 30 seconds. “Do you feel like an idiot?” Humbled, I settled the bill and left after profusely apologizing to her and thanking her so much for having us in her “lovely hostel.”
This time, we caught that fucking bus as it was getting away, and didn’t just miss it. We even had time for a delicious shawarma from Nana (located right where the buses are in the Zadar bus station, highly recommend it if you’re ever there).
Hour and a half later I woke up and saw a sign for Pag, but figured that our stop was later. I was wrong. We got off one station later, and asked the information stand about the next bus back to Pag. Ben was bounced back and forth between the same two information stands until he gave up and we just waited. Forty minutes of guitar playing and brick breaker later we get on a bus Pagbound. We fail miserably to convince our bus driver to give us a free ride because we’d accidentally missed our stop and so we had to pay 30 kuna each to get back to Pag.
Finding our hostel was the easiest it’s ever been in this city. The streets and buildings are old school, but the place is very lively and the beach invigorates it. Our hostel room is nice, and the owner is a cool dude with a knack for juggling a soccer ball. I’ve been parked in this cafe blogging for a little too long now and so I must go experience the beach life of Pag. Shalom
when the rain went away
We left the Internet cafe after settling the massive two hour tab we’d accumulated. It was around sunset. First thing we saw coming out of the cafe was a group of people standing on the bank of the water.
Important side note: it’s occurred to me that I’ve failed to adequately explain the way that the beaches work in Zadar. Zadar is a coastal city, flush up against the Adriatic Sea. Where land meets sea in most places there’s a concrete wall, against which the sea slaps and splashes as it undulates with the tide. Metal ladders extending from the wall allow people to get in and out of the sea. There are sand beaches as well, but the default is actually these concrete walls.
They were being splashed by spray from the sea reaching heights of at least six feet above the wall or greater. The splash and the sunset and the people playing all added up to a stunning image.
Then we walked around town, set on finding a total dive in which to carry out our vision for the night: one shot for every place we’d visited. To save you the trouble of stringing the numbers together from our blog, that’d be Paris+Bruges+Amsterdam+Koln+Copenhagen+Prague+Avignon+San Remi+Nice+Verona+Padua+Venice+Zagreb+Zadar (14 each). Ended up hearing about a cheap bar from the tourist information stand but decided to go back to the hostel to change before going out.
As has been happening to us a humorously cruel amount, we got to the station just as the bus was pulling out. Waited another 20 minutes for the next one. Then changed, walked along the beach for a while and decided to stop in to a bar not 50 meters from our hostel.
We were greeted by blacklight, loud techno and a bald man in a checkered shirt. Stepped up to the bar and one of the tenders, cigarette in mouth, banged on the counter in front of us, “what you drink? what you drink?” In vein we tried to get the price for tequila shots, but ended up just ordering a round of em. Only after we’d already drained them did the other bartender lay down the salt and lemon. We signal for a refill. Reload.
Few rounds later we’re dying from laughter at the wacky antics of these bartenders. In between synchronised air-humping sessions they would pound drinks while they hopped side to side and swung their arms in circles. While one pushed himself up by the front and back counters and swung back and forth, the other climbed on top of the ice cream refrigerator and screamed. They were behaving at the utmost level of shag.
Finally they calmed down enough to ask us where we were from, to which we replied “New York,” earning us another round of tequila from the bald man and a round of llagers from the tenders. By the time we decided to leave, we’d each had six or seven drinks (nowhere near the 14 we set out for, but the night was young). We asked how much, and he told us just to give him 90 kuna (equivalent of 13 euro). Do the division and we had drinks at less than a euro each. They encouraged us to check out the nearby Mango Club and in case we didn’t see them before leaving, when we got back to the states throw one leg up on the bar and air-hump in synchronisation as we say in unison “We was in Guam Bar”
We ran (literally) over to the club and found that it was the emptiest, most pathetic display of broken we’d ever had the misfortune of setting foot in. So much so in fact that we had to ask the bartender to even be sure this was the Mango Bar, which had been so highly recommended by the disgruntled twosome of the Guam Bar. It was like the other bar only without such awesome tenders. We promptly returned to the Guam bar.
Had another drink then began talking to a Zagrebian who lives in Toronto. She offered to get us a cab to town, where we could see some real Zadar clubs. We agreed that she should call, but I was perturbed when she said that it would cost 100 kuna. I was convinced that she was scamming us, as she explained that because we were American the taxi drivers would overcharge. When the middle aged man in a trench coat finally did arrive, asking if anyone had called for a cab, we managed to argue him down to 80 kuna. I tried to get him to go to 50, but he wouldn’t take it.
He dropped us off at the Marascino Bar, which we were told was the classy and fun dance club of Zadar. Classy, I think was justified. The girls were very well dressed. However, fun dance club might’ve been an overstatement. Despite the live DJ playing some wicked good electro, NO ONE was dancing (save five or six guys dancing with each other in an act of collective abandonment of inhibition. That’s great except that they had no one to use their fantastic dance moves on). We talked to a few sets of girls, one of whom even included a Cliffside Park local (Yea that’s in Jersey, 30 minute from Tenafly. If you don’t know now you know, sucka.) Overall, nothing too interesting so we stepped outside for a second where we spotted the Jersey girl and her friends getting in to a car. Despite our best rhetorical efforts, they refused to give us a ride to our hostel.
We spoke to another set of girls nearby in the parking lot, only to find that they had plans to walk. Continued talking and decided to accompany them to the nearby Medusa Bar, which turned out to be quite empty. Literally, we were one of three sets of people in the entire bar. Rum and coke was good at least. Eventually we got the waiter to agree to give us a ride back to the hostel for one hundred kuna, and bid farewell to our friends.
Rain, Rain, Go AWAY!!
Our plans to hit the beach were retarded by the heavy rainfall that’s been on and off all day today. We’ve spent most of the day in and out of Internet cafes and our hostel. We thought that the Batman movie was coming out today, but we were disappointingly mistaken, leaving us few indoor activities. On the bright side, we had the chance to catch up on the blog. I can’t believe how sporadic the postings have become, and I promise (yes, I know, I’ve said this before, but I mean it this time) to try to keep y’all updated. It’s a lot of fun for us to write, so we hope it’s fun for you to read.
Darth Zadar
Ben woke me up at 9:45 and explained that we had to rush because our bus to Zadar was at 10:30. We waited five minutes for the bus but then thought better of it and hailed a cab. Turned out to be pretty cheap and got us there with time enough to get our tickets and a snack before the bus left. I slept for the first three hours of the four and a half hour bus ride. When I awoke we were in the mountains, about to drive over a narrow and winding road that hugged the mountainside. Ben and I passed the time by looking at the stunning mountainous views, playing brick-breaker on his blackberry (which has become somewhat of an obsession with us now and grounds for heavy competition) and discussing what we would do if the bus were to jerk suddenly, plummetting down the steep and jagged mountainside.
When we finally arrived in Zadar I got a shawarma and took care of the stuff while Ben went to tourist information. They didn’t give us a map but directed us to the street on which our hostel was located, or so they thought. It took us long enough to even find the street they told us about. We asked directions at least five times, each time struggling humorously with the extremely Croatian name of the street. When we finally did find the street it took a whole nother long enough of looking for number 41 on that street before we ducked in to an Internet cafe to charge the blackberry and call the hostel. Turned out that the hostel was on a completely different street in a completely different part of town but had the same name.
The hostel sent over a bald, middle aged, portly fellow in all red whose name I’ve forgotten. He was extremely friendly. Picked us up right at the Internet cafe, took our bags from us and threw them in his car, then instructed us to wait a little bit outside the parking lot of the cafe where the terrain was less rocky so that his car could make it out. At this point Ben and I were prepared to be robbed—he could’ve easily driven off with our bags in his car. Fortunately, he kept his word (just in case I’d been blocking the exit of the driveway while I waited for him). We discussed the usual things with him while he drove us over to the hostel. He promised us that “Girls in Zadar are famous among Croatians.”
We pulled in to a waterside house, past an unassuming white gate in to a sunbathed driveway. We were greeted by an amicable, old blond who showed us to our room. It was nice, small, and smelt slightly of mildew. She showed us the refrigerator and then the toilet, located behind a curtain, less than two yards from the bed. The shower was located outside (I froze my ass off last night).
Very pleased we paid her the price and then changed in preparation for some intense beach bumming. Ben didn’t have a bathing suit, so he went in underwear. We walked the length of the beach over to where we found a volleyball court and Ben played with some locals while I went to the bathroom. When I came back I joined them and Ben informed me that he had the game after next with a lanky, dark-skinned, long-haired local who seemed the Croatian equivalent of a surfer dude. Ben had to change, however, because when he sat down his boxers left little to the imagination. So we walked back to the room but when we got back Ben’s partner had already left. We continued to bump and set around for a while, until the games dissipated. Then we went back to the room and changed for the night.
Grabbed dinner at a nearby pizza and grill restaurant. We had intended to order the most American meal that we possibly could: burgers. But when the “burgers” finally did arrive we felt even more American than we had anticipated. These burgers came without buns, ketchup, lettuce or tomato. Rather, they were slabs of ground beef served on top of peas and carrots. We were even charged extra for ketchup! It’s time like that that we think fondly of the old red white and blue.
Walked along the beach for a while that night, talking to a few sets of travelers. One from Germany, one from Hungary. Somewhat interesting conversation, but I was more interested in the ocean so I remained somewhat silent (listening to the ocean more than the people we were talking to). Finally we turned in rather early, with the intention of hitting the beach very hard the next day.
How to miss your train twice in a row
Around 9:15 we got on the train and made up our beds in our sleeper compartment. We were sharing a room with an old German professor, a young and friendly Dutch girl, and a reticent, seemingly-young girl who we really didn’t learn anything about. I spent the first ten minutes on the train doing my favorite train activity (standing in the window with my face in the breeze) then went to sleep.
I was woken by Ben at 4:15 to prepare for our train transfer in Zagreb to Split. Turned out we wouldn’t be arriving in to Zagreb for another two hours after that, thanks to the delightfully efficient Croatian trains. I asked a friendly Brit standing in the hallway to wake me when we arrive in Zagreb, but it turned out not to be necessary. He got to chatting with these six British girls in the compartment next to us and sleep was no longer an option. We finally did arrive in Zagreb already twenty minutes late for our train to Split. This at least gave us time to grab a meal in the train station, change over some money, and grab tickets for the next train. Spent the next few hours in somewhat of a daze awaiting our train.
We got on to the train when we saw it arrive on the platform and passed out in our seats. We were woken up by a man in a blue jumper and his amused friends. They informed us that they had to clean the train. Confused, we got out of our seats to find the rest of the train was empty. We finally managed to communicate that we had wanted to go to Split and he pointed us in the direction of the track that we had gotten on to the train at. He walked with us across the tracks, only to find that the train we had intended to get on left ten minutes prior. That was just too much for us to handle. Apparently, while we were asleep, the train moved to the other end of the station, and another train replaced it then left Splitward. This was hands down the worst train station that we’ve ever passed through. If in your travels you should pass through Zagreb, please do take a leak on the wall of the station and think of us.
At that point we were left with the following ultimatum: arrive in Split at 23:00 or salvage the day in Zagreb. We decided on the latter, so I sat with the stuff and read while Ben went to an Internet cafe and booked us a place. Apparently according to Hostelworld.com (our hostel booking agent) everywhere was booked, but going down the list by phone Ben found us a couple of beds in the last hostel on the list, the Carpe Diem. I found out about some tourist information, but most things are closed on Monday in Zagreb so we had few options. Headed over to our hostel and found out just what a dope place it really was. At only 17.5 euro a night, we had a bunk-bed on the second floor. The walls were all strewn with graffiti from previous guests, giving the hostel and young and fun feel. We were greeted by a wiry, pale long-haired Zagreb-local who was eating lunch when we arrived. He took a good fifteen minutes to point out to us all of the great bars and clubs that we should check out before showing us to our room. We were very appreciative.
Changed and checked out our transportation options out of Zagreb on the house computer then headed in to town to get some grub and a feel for the city. With enough direction-getting we managed to make it over a movie theatre, at which we saw the Incredible Hulk. The movie theatre was extremely nice: plush seats, huge screen. Perhaps the seats were too plush, however, because Ben fell asleep not long in to the movie. I thought it was entertaining and good for what it was, but nothing more.
Headed back to the hostel to figure out our transportation plans and order dinner. The clerk explained to us that Split wasn’t a good destination, because it was much more touristy and old than we should be looking for. In it’s place he suggested Zadar, a beach town famous for good weather and the beach. A while later we were looking to order dinner, so I went to look for the clerk. He wasn’t at his desk, so I tried downstairs in the common room of the hostel. I found him and the clerk from earlier in the day sitting with an old and dirty looking man, each on their own couch. I was invited to sit and so I did. I found out that the old and dirty man was a Spaniard who’d stayed with them for a night on the couch and then never really left. He was paying very little, and had been there a week already. Reminiscent of “the guy” from half baked for more reasons than one.
For dinner we ended up going out. Went to a completely empty, somewhat upscale restaurant. Had some mediocre Dalmatian pasta and a salad. Ben, as per the recommendation of the waiter, had an “arugula salad,” lettuce with vinegar. With the annoying Croatian tunes blasting at full volume, the restaurant was an overall rip.
Then we went back to the hostel and decided to call it an early night because both of us were feeling a little sick. On the way in to bed we decided that it might be better to just take a bus to Zadar rather than get up for the 6:30 train.
