A Little Bit of Missouri in Turkey

Well, Beth arrived meaning that the Missourı delegatıon is now ready to kıck some ass here ın Istanbul. Sharıng the mutual frıend Jen Tıehen, the only tıme we had met prıor to thıs trıp was when she vısıted Jen at SLU and went to our fratenıty's Pigtaıls & Pedophıles party (a classy bunch we were). Naturally durıng that ıntroductıon back ın 2004 I was sportıng the old 'stache so I thought ıt was quıte proper that I gıve her a famılıar face at the aırport and sport one agaın. Here's a pıc dug up by Jenny T of the frat party cırca 2004: http://docs.google.com/Doc?id=dc4mzqcc_12dzrdpjhd&hl=en

And here's a pıc of us gettıng back to our Missouri roots ın some park ın İstanbul. Yes, some homeless man was rentıng hıs pellet gun for people to shoot ıt ın the park. Ingenıous.

Beth's arrıvals was not wıthout a lıttle mısfortune however. Wıth the cancellatıon of her fırst flıght, her baggage has stıll not arrıved 2 days later. We are told ıt ıs ın France. She has taken a page from my book and worn the same clothes for days--personally I thınk ıt ıs better to do thıs as ıt gıves your travel pıcture album a consıstent look.

Accomodatıon wıse we have one of the best vıews of the Aya Sophıa--that ıs ıf you actually lıve throught the nıght ın the frıgıd tent room we share wıth 15 people. Luxury lıvın!

Rıngıng ın NYE tonıght and headıng to the Cappadocıa regıon tomorrow. Talk later.

Kıckıng ass and takıng names,

Your boy

İstanbul

Ok, after almost 26 hours of continous traın travel, I fınally arrıved back ın Istanbul. I took a bıg gamble and booked the cheapest optıon, whıch was a 6 person sleeper car. Dreadıng beıng trapped ın a 5x8 traın car wıth 5 other people for such an extended perıod, I practıcally screamed when I found out I would have the whole damn car to myself. I dıdn't even have to grease the palm of the attendant. Spent the next 20 hours hangıng wıth some Romanıans ın the neıghborıng car and startıng and fınıshıng a book wrıtten by the author who wrote How Stella Got Her Groove Back and Waıtıng to Exhale. Yeah, the book selectıon at the last hostel was a bıt weak and although it ıs not quite my genre, it was stıll a tear-jerker all the same.
By luck, the Peace Corp crew I was hangıng wıth ın Bulgarıa was on a traın car that was eventually hooked to mıne somewhere on the journey and we arrıved ın Istanbul together. The cıty ıs packed wıth students and holıday makers enjoyıng theır break, so ıt should be a good place to rıde out the last of 08. Beth arrıves tomorrow and I wıll keep you updated on our adventures.

Pıcs have been updated ın the album!

Keeping it real,
Brosef

A Christmas Miracle

Santa is a man of many talents--giver, inspirer, jolly-maker, and now he can add one more to his repertoire: resurrector. Let me give you the backdrop. Two days before Christmas Eve, while already not happy about my solitary predicament in the town of Sibiu, I took out my IPOD to listen to tunes while I sent some emails. It failed to show any signs of life, even after I put it on a charge. Having seen my girl come back from the dead before (after a rainsoaking in the Amazon) I put her aside and tried to think happy thoughts instead of the proverbial kick in the nuts that the situation was giving me. I checked her absent pulse periodically over the next two days and slowly began to realize that she was gone forever and that my overnight train or bus to Istanbul the following day was going to be way more of a nightmare now and that crazy self sing-songing was going to be the new norm. It was all planned out--write a eulogy on the blog and tuck her into the backpack to wait for a proper burial down in the 'Zarks--what she would have wanted. Just as I was headed to the computer to write it, I thought I owed her one last try and Voila! She kicks back on. Oh sweet goodness you are back...Apparently Santa does know who has been good this year....




Alright, on to another news. Christmas Eve turned out suprisingly pleasant. In search of a decent place to treat myself to dinner I came across something so perfect and cliche that I had to do it--a Chinese restaurant. I have a deep level of respect for Chinese restauranteers for several reasons. One, is that they will be open hell or high water, holiday or hurricane. Two, is that they are the inventors (unresearched fact) of my favorite Sunday afternoon past-time: The All You Can Eat Buffet. Tell me that we are going to a Chinese buffet and later retract the promise and you will have lost a friend. Many people will attest to this fact. Lastly, my respect for Chinese restauranteers reached a pinnacle a few years ago when I was the guest of friend attending a woman's 30th birthday party in which the owner of the Chinese restaruant where event was held, allowed (and encouraged) a midget lap dance peformance DURING normal business hours, with John Q. Public and family gasping on in horror. These people just know business. Anways, while there I ended up being invited to sit with a young English couple that had stopped in the town--specifically searching out a Chinese restaurant as well. Needless to say we got along great. After dinner I returned to a hostel finally with some atmosphere--the local staff was distributing wine and beer and we had ourselves a merry little time. Woke up Christmas morning to more snow and lots of sunshine, which made hiking when some Finnish travelers around the nearby skiing mountain all the better. To top it off, we finished the day with some old-fashioned snow tubing.

Barnstorming it tomorrow outta Romanai, through Bulgaria, and hopefully eventually back into Turkey by the following day. I'm sure there will be some mishap along the way.

Creciun Ferecit!

Brian

Christmas in Transylvania

Took a painfully slow train from Veliko Tarnovo across the border into Romania. Luckily the only other passengers in the whole train carriage were Americans--mid-westerners at that. So the ride was spent in good company and I was fortunate to have fellow Couchsurfer picking me up that the station in the capital city Bucharest when I arrived. Spent the next two days crashing a couch and touring Bucharest. A definite highlight of the city was a late night out in downtown Bucharest in a situation that has become so familiar in my Balkan tour--a genre confused young generation dancing as enthusiastly to death metal as they do to music from the Little Mermaid. Ever see a long-haired metal head go from thrashing to forming a conga line around the bar? It happened, I saw it and loved it--it was about the 300th time I wished I had a videocamera on me at all times on this trip. Their lack of pretentions when it comes to musical enjoyment was appealing although I suspect their openness to all music comes not from eclectic tastes but rather a taste for anyone who will do a concert tour through Romania.

I soon found myself departing Bucharest on the 23rd for the Transylvanian town of Sibiu. No, this is not a Dracula-mania inspired tour, rather I heard the area is supposed to be beautiful, more so in wintertime. The bus ride there was pretty scenic, especially with the recent dusting of snow. I arrived to find the hostels vacant but the center city packed with ice-skating youths and strolling familys. It would have been a bit of a depressing place to ride out Christmas so I decided to skip town the next day and head to the city of Brasov. Just arrived via train and found a hostel with some other travelers and a bit of Christmas cheer.
Being away from home from during the holidays has not been ideal, especially when I know the fun I am missing with friends and family, which is only compounded when I get drunken emails from buddies like Robby Arthur telling me of the all great gatherings going on. Oh well, how can your ever know the sweetness of something unless you go without it?

And so, a very Merry Christmas to all and a safe holiday season--especially my boy Dave Tiehen in Iraq!

Woooaahhhh!
Count Quarnstrom

At Home in Veliko Tarnovo

Alright, trying to squeeze a few posts out here in the next couple days to get us all caught up. Recently spent 4 days in the beautiful Bulgarian town of Veliko Tarnovo. Spent my stay living in a guesthouse with a trio of genuine and interesting people--the ever-hospitable owners, Nick and Cathy, and the one other guest, Alejandro, a young Spanish traveler making his way around the country. Evenings were spent eating the sumptuous food Cathy prepared and drinking their stock of homemade Rakia, essentially moonshine. Alejandro would bust out the flamenco guitar and Nick and I would spin tales from the road. One big hippie family we were. Having taken on Alejandro as a protege (he would probably say the opposite), we would hit the town late night to see what we could fall into. Our first venture out proved fruitful when we extended invitiation for lunch and dinner the next day by seperate local parties. Although the former would later be unspokenly retracted, most likely when our half-truthing antics got out of hand. We did however spend the next evening's dinner in the company of a fun and diverse group of people, all except one being foreign to Veliko Tarnovo. 9 people, 6 different countries (none but me were native English speakers although all spoke it well, thankfully) and amazingly it seemed normal. The party could've lasted until Christmas but others were dispersing home for the holidays, Alejandro had to see about a girl, and I had to see about Romania.

Bulgaria proved to be a good decision to venture into. I'm gonna miss the plastic 2 Liters of beer that sell as cheap as water, the "Balken Red" hairdo's the old ladys wear and the dark clothed, crimped hair, knee-high boot look sported by the younger class that so reminds me of the Russian Barbie that I had er..my sisters had growing up. But, the road calls as it so often does and I was off.

More soon,
BQ

Crunch Time

The looming clouds of destitution have started to creep up on the sunshine that usually glows over my life. An almost year long outward flow of funds has created a situation forcing me to "get serious," at least temporarily and settle somewhere soon to help staunch the hemorrhaging finances. This revelation came to me when I realized that the only thing that seperates me from a homeless man is a passport. And I hear that even homeless men in Europe have passports so effectively there is no difference.

Now, I know there will be scant crocodile tears for my terrible misfortune, as a lot of people are feeling the squeeze, especially during this time of crisis in the U.S. A crisis I feel personally responsible for because I spent my "economic stimulus package" in foriegn markets. You can do as I like to do and contemplate the fact that as one of the most credit reliant countries in the world you would think that the mechanics of credit and lending would be a mandatory course in U.S. school curriculum. In place of courses on say, Trigonometry that we use so much? Personally, between preposterous abstinence-only sex education and the absence of a core class on lending finance, the conspiracy theorist in me smells something fishy between the baby formula selling and credit card companies and our dear Uncle Sam.....

Ok, back to the situation on hand. As much as I would like to shut-down this little experiment on the psychological effects of endless wandering on the sensitive soul, it must go on. At least for your sake. And so, I have decided to plant some roots, albeit very shallow ones, in Mother Ireland. Right after the tour with Beth through Turkey I am making the cross European jump to the greener and more inebriated pastures of Ireland. I will be meeting up with the Irish friends June, Niamh, & Niamh that Petro and I met in S.A. and I have been assured possible employment in Belfast or Dublin (nothing is set in stone so all ludicrous suggestions/opportunities are welcomed**keep in mind my working legal status may be a bit gray. Well, actually black). In my travels I have gathered that the two most universally in-demand jobs are grave digger and satellite dish installer, neither of which I currently aspire to. If all goes well I will be slinging pints and heavily accented profanity there for about 2 months before dusting off the pack and hitting the road again. South East Asia is on the spring radar, so put it on yours.

Well, the last week or so has been pretty stimulating. I more or less have been making the Peace Corp loop around Bulgaria and been hanging with some very fun and interesting characters. Overall, these volunteers are the face of a conscientious and intelligent America abroad and I hope the new govenment makes good a promise to increase funding for the organization. A big role call of thanks for letting me crash into their lives and couches:

Gergana, Tsveti, & Zach in Sofia

Martha in Silistra

Pete in General Toshevo

Theresa in Devnia

& James in Goliamo Gradishte (who let me make a guest appearance in his classroom so that I could lecture on the joys of sign languaging your way through life).

"now, the universal signal for 'eat shit' is...."

I am currently staying in the picturesque town of Veliko Tarnovo in a guest house run by a charming British couple who remind me alot of my Ecuadorian parents Tom and Mariela. Would love to stay and ring in Xmas with them but I want to dip into Romania for at least a week before high-tailing it back to Istanbul to meet up with Beth.

There has been a bit of noise on the Comments sections for a replay of the 2008 Numbers, so lets see if that can be addressed in a forthcoming post.

Your Tramp,

Brian

PS The long awaited resurgence of the Blog O' Petro has occurred. Check out the trials and tribulations of setting up shop in sunny San Diego, CA: www.whereispetro.blogspot.com

Sofia

Just checking in, although I have to admit I have been a bit lazy lately and procrastinating talking with you. I am off the hook a little though as some of it was illness induced, as there was about 24 hours of a mass exodus, inspired by a cause yet to be determined. A bit weird as I spent the last 2 months eating shady street food only to get sick on possibly something homemade.

The week in Sofia was spent with some touring, some internet catching up, and some hanging out with other Couchsurfers in Sofia. Just trying to get used to some of the idiosyncrasies of the Bulgarian people---their impossible to read Cyrillic writing, our mutual love of ketchup (they have Ketchup flavored Ruffles), their more serious facades, their fascination for Niagara Falls, and their nodding for "no" and shaking their head for "yes"--a communication crippling difference for a boy that relies oh so heavily on sign language and head signals for direction in his everyday life. Have resorted to holding a cardboard sign that says "yes" and "no" and having them point to it.....

Shaking things up a bit and jumping on a bus tomorrow for the town of Silistra, where I am to meet up with friend of my buddy Pat Crotty. She is a Peace Corp volunteer, so lets see if I can get myself involved in something altruistic for a change.

Yours,
BQ

The Train to Bulgaria

Alas, a border jump made fairly painless and uneventful with the benefit of a sleeper train. After spending the day in Istanbul, I boarded the train around 10pm and was ready to crash. This was not to happen without fielding a string of well-meaning but annoying questions from the Malaysian traveler I was sharing the cabin with. I tried to deter this seemingly endless game of "where have you been/what have you seen" by muttering something about my in a my recent stay in a Turkish psych ward.
After managing to fall asleep in a train teteering side to side so much I was sure it was going to derail, I got about 4 solid before spending 2 early morning hours getting processed out of Turkey and into Bulgaria. No exit tax and no visa fee--hooray!
When I arrived at the station in Sofia, Bulgaria I was shocked to see a pair of uncovered breasts staring out at me from the magazine rack in the station. Quicky, I took cover behind a column and waited for the morality police to come out, burn the kiosk and hang the vendor. After a few scared moments of anticipation, it dawned on me that I had made the geographic and cultural cross from the Middle East into Eastern Europe, where cheap vodka, casinos, and smut filled magazine racks would probably be more the norm. Along with these supposed luxuries, I was also gaining to need to start worrying about petty theft and scams, what neighborhoods I wandered into, and the frigid weather. No worries just yet however, as I was being taken under the wing of my old roommate Gergana, who lives and works in Sofia. I am currently crashing at the pad of her and her two roommates, and enjoying the domestic comforts of stable accomodations, being able to grocery shop and eat decent meals, and receive an immersion into Bulgarian life. As always hanging with Gergana is great and my residency with the trio of Bulgarians has produced almost more of a nightlife in my few nights here than in my whole Middle East trek. My personal highlight so far is when we attended a birthday celebration of a girl, whose party was made up entirely of Bulgarians and Romanians, save your favorite odd man out. At the height of the party a long pondered question was answered--can System of a Down's heavy metal anthem "Chop Suey" be socially danced to. Witnessing the answer made me appreciate my newly acquired presence in Eastern Europe and eager to get home to try out the hilarious dancing chops I saw at the party.

Well, weather wise, it is freckin' cold here. Somehow my eternal summer wanderings took a major wrong turn. Heavy apparrel and a liquid jacket are pretty much required before setting out here and I finally managed to get my hands on some suitable clothing today. Hashing out future plans at the moment. As always, you'll be informed.

Nazdrave,

BQ

Syria and Beyond

Spent the last few days in the northern Syrian cıty of Aleppo. The cıty ıtself was fairly interestıng but the couchsurfıng experience ıs what made the tıme worthwhıle (I apolıgıze ın advance for thıs post's grammar and typıng ırregularıtıes, especıally the lack of the dots ın the ''i''s as the Turkısh keyboards are kıllıng me!!) OK, where was I? Anyways, I ended up crashıng at the apartment of two young Syrıan doctors, who found tıme ın theır resıdencıes to show me some ıns and outs of Aleppo as well as provıde me wıth some ınsıght ınto daıly lıfe of Syrıans. I wıll defer on acknowledgıng theır names as durıng my stay they both spoke candıdly about the theır thoughts on the present Syrıan government, whıch accordıng to them does not hesısıtate to jaıl and torture those who do speak agaınst ıt (both of theır fathers had been tortured ın the past--one almost to death). Despıte the lack of many cıvıl lıbertıes, they ındıcated that lıfe there ıs stıll pretty comfortable for them, although both are plannıng on movıng abroad as soon as vısas are acquıred.

One of the more memorable days, myself and one of the two ventured up to hıs old unıversıty so he could pıck up some transcrıpts. The excursıon provıded us wıth the excuse to engage ın the unıversal past-tıme of scopıng babes on campus and dıscussıng the datıng rıtuals of our respectıve cultures. As Aleppo ıs a faırly conservatıve cıty, about half of the campus women were scarved and some were fully covered. I told hım I thought that the success rate of pursuıng of these type of gırls would be comparable to fıshıng wıthout a hook but he ındıcated to the contrary. He stated that ın the past, he has ''made ıt'' wıth far more ''covered gırls'' than the more pretentıous, western dressıng women. He ındıcated however, that the relatıonshıps were always ın utmost secrecy as most of the gırls would rather skıp straıght to the fun stuff, than be publıcly vıewed doıng relatıonshıp type actıvıtıes lıke dınıng or walkıng together, whıch would tarnısh theır reputatıon and jeopardıze theır marrıage hopes. I know what you are thınkıng, all fun and no work--the perfect scenarıo rıght? Well, don't book your tıcket to Syrıa just yet as the pıcture they paınted of the Syrıan matıng/datıng rıtual seems perpetually stuck ın the 5th grade. I dıd thınk ıt was funny however the the two guys, one Chrıstıan and one Muslım, both ın seperate ınstances, told me that the other's relıgıous group had the more morally casual gırls...

After two nıghts of Syrıan meals prepared by them, I decıded a lıttle ınjectıon of the fruıts of Amerıca was ın order and whıpped up some stovetop-made hamburgers (the fırst for one of them), taught them the drınkıng game ''Quarters'' and screened the pırated Wıll Ferrell movıe ''Stepbrothers.'' Both are now movıng to the States.

Reluctantly I departed theır company, I went ınto town to buy a bus tıcket for the journey ınto Turkey. At the offıce of one of the bus companıes, they offered me a spot ın a taxı across the border for the same prıce as the bus, whıch I eagerly agreed to. Wıth just me and the taxı drıver ın the car, we set off ımmedıately after he brıbed hıs way out of a parkıng tıcket. Wonderıng ıf we were goıng to pıck up other passengers as a ''prıvate taxı'' costs abot 7 tımes more than what I had paıd, I told hım I was not goıng to pay more than I already had. He acted ındıfferent about the money I began to wonder what the deal was. As ınsurance, I secretly copıed hıs passport ınfo and was plannıng to counter-threaten hım wıth a bluff about callıng the Syrıan polıce about the wıtnessed brıbe ıf he trıed to scam me when we arrıved. At the Syrıan sıde of the border, he bought three cartons of cıgarettes (he dıdnt smoke) at the Duty-Free and asked me to put them ın my bag. I refused but allowed hım to at least set them near me fıgurıng Syrıans weren't allowed to export cıgs ınto Turkey and that he was probably buyıng them for a relatıve (hence why he was takıng me wıth hım for so cheap). Although I began thınkıng of less benıgn reasons for why I was the ''token'' passenger as I saw money exchange hands wıth Syrıan offıcıals more than once ın unoffıcıals ways. Havıng the benefıt of prevıously readıng Mıdnıght Express and knowıng the accounts of the joys of Turkısh prısons, I made decısıon that ıf pressed by customs about them I was goıng to rısk pıssıng off the drıver and the almost free rıde by dısownıng the cartons of cıgs (or whatever was ınsıde). At the Turkısh border, the offıcers were extremely thorough ın the searches and seemed ınterested ın the cıgs, but luckıly I was too busy assıstıng another offıcer ın dumpıng out my backpack, and was able to avoıd the verbally statıng they were mıne. Once thru the border, the drıver dropped me at my desıred town and dıdnt charge me anthıng more. After thıs, I swore that from here on out I was goıng to take more conventıonal means of transport across borders ın the future. And wıth that promıse, I arrıved after a 15 hour bus rıde to Istanbul and booked passage on a sleeper traın for the overnıght journey to Sofıa, Bulgarıa set for tonıght. Only been ın Istanbul a couple hours but already know I am gonna love ıt when I return ın a few weeks.

Too old for thıs shıt,

Brıan

Lone Travelin'

Awoke early in Beirut with the goal of get north back into Syria and to the city of Aleppo before darkness fell. Although it happens often, there is a certain heightened level of stress associated with arriving to a new city in the nighttime, therefore I try to avoid it when possible. I set out early but the X Factor of the day was how long I was going to have to sit at the Syrian border for a new visa. Logically, you would think they could bypass the whole process of verifying with Damascus that I wasn't a spook, because they just did it less than 10 days ago when I crossed from Jordan. But alas, logical thinking has no place in many things I have encountered while traveling and this day was no exception. Expecting this, I had to arrive at the border using shared taxis, which would leave me there to my fate, as opposed to an ongoing bus that would not want to wait on me during the visa debacle. After experiencing the hassle of getting the exit stamp in Lebanon, I walked about a mile in the no-man's land between the borders and arrived to a mob scene in the arrival station of the Syrian side. It was chaos--a clash of anxious people and bureaucratic baloney. I was still feeling a bit sick and didn't want to cope with this predicament. Although aware that my status as the only Westerner at the border could probably bring me preferential treatment, I still attempted to join the so-called line in front of the immigration desk and act like a lunatic like all the other Tom, Dick, and Harrys there. With no end to the madness in sight, I thought about sitting on the ground and giving up, but I was keenly aware that all these guys would forever associate Americans with being puss*es, so I decided to tough it. Coping, I started repeating the line from Forrest Gump: Please God, make me a bird, to fly far far away from here..... I would have taken some pıcs of thıs pandemonıum but photos at mılıtary ınstallments are a bıg no no around here.
Luckily the guards, after repeatedly shouting menacing reprimands at the surging mass, pulled me aside and told me that they would fax my visa application to Damsacus and that, again, in 1,2, or 7 hours, they would probably approve my entry. After 3 hours they did, and I jumped on a bus to Aleppo, now to arrive well after dark. Luckily, a cool Syrian couchsurfer found time between his doctoral residency and exam studying to accomodate my last minute request and I now find myself comfortably situated in the city.

Recently I have fielded questions from family and a few friends about any possible incidents of lonliness while traveling on my own. I thought about this question while in Lebanon, sitting in the fetal position under the lone naked lightbulb in a sparsely furnished hotel room and after a good 10 minutes of conversely loudly with myself came out with the answer of, not in the least. But let me explain a few things. Yes, obviously I do miss family/friends back home and usually wish that they were here to experience some of these events with me. As a shared experience is far better than an experience on your own, however one on your own is better than none at all. I am also aware that from the outside it may seem a bit weird to travel alone but since my preceptions of what exactly is considered weird have been thrown off a bit since I started thinking sleeping and living in stranger's apartments is normal, I usually don't worry much about the issue. There is nothing wrong with that fact that your most trusted travel companion just happens to be the auto-timer on your camera...
Fortunately, most of this trip has been filled with shared experiences had with Petro, The Q's, The Schloegels, Amy Smith, Joe Clifford, and a host of other memorable people met along the way. And just after Xmas, Jen Tiehen's friend Beth Winkelmann, who has decided that she too wants a bit of adventure of her own, will be joining up with me for some travel in Turkey. Are you also hearing the call? You know how to reach me.



Pending I don't get side-tracked on a far flung idea, I am planning on transiting briefly through Turkey in the next few days and heading into Bulgaria to visit my old STL roommate, Gergana, who lives in Sofia, Bulgaria.

Flying solo,
BQ