In 2004, I visited all 25 countries in Eastern Europe. You'll find the blog entries from that trip here. In 2008-2011, I returned to see what had changed since that time. With these two visits, five years apart, I accumulated enough material for my 750-page book, The Hidden Europe: What Eastern Europeans Can Teach Us.
This blog now has many excerpts from The Hidden Europe. But who the hell reads anymore? Just look at the best photos from Eastern Europe!
This map reflects how I define Eastern Europe. Eastern Europeans love to deny that they're in Eastern Europe. I tackle how and why I define Eastern Europe the way I do in the Introduction of The Hidden Europe.
But the main reason I'm feeling great is that so many Turkish men are really good looking.
No, I haven't become gay.
It's just that throughout my Eastern European voyage people have thought that I am Turkish.
Before I visited Turkey I just shrugged off that incorrect guess and simply revealed my Chilean/French origin. But now I wear that incorrect guess as a badge of honor. After all, Turkish men are hot!
You crave the dark, handsome man? Come to Turkey.
You prefer blondes? Maybe Scandinavia is a better fit.
For the first time in my trip, the good looking men outnumbered the good looking women. Eastern European is filled with attractive women, especially in the Baltics and Ukraine. But in Turkey good looking guys are abundant and women are, well, absent.
So I was strutting my stuff and feeling pretty Turkish, when a Turkish rug vendor stopped me and said, "Can I ask you something?"
"Where are from?" he asked.
"Guess," I said.
My smile vanished.
I guess I really don't look Turkish after all.
Speaking of smells, Istanbul attacks your senses.
I was in Istanbul during Ramadan, which this year lasts from October 15 to November 12. During this period Muslims fast, don't smoke or drink alcohol. At least during the day. During the night there's probably an orgy of cigarettes and food in every home as they try to make up for lost time.
I thought I'd see mellow version of Istanbul, but it still managed to assault my senses:
I was overwhelmed.
After traveling over 60 countries, I'd put Brazilians and the Irish on the short list of some of the nicest people around. But the Turks trounce them all. They are without a doubt, the warmest people I have ever met.
It was almost scary how nice they are. Many times I had to look around to make sure I wasn't on the Truman Show.
For example, I asked one guy where the Hagia Sofia Mosque was, and he said, "Let me take you there."
He took me on a 10 minute walk around the center, chatting the whole way. He owned a clothing store and liked relaxing near the mosques when he had free time. I was sure he would ask me for money at the end of his little tour. He dropped me off in front of the museum and said, "OK, here you are. I'll wait for you here when you come out."
"Um, that's OK. I'm fine. Thanks!"
"OK then! Bye bye!"
I felt bad. I was kinda cold to him at the end. I thought he wanted my money, but he never even hinted for it. A cynic may say that he really did want my money, but after meeting dozens of helpful Turks, I conclude that he was just a REALLY nice guy.
The Hagia Sofia was impressive. The Blue Mosque, which is right next door, was also spectacular.
But one of my favorites was the Basilica Cistern.
Built in the 6th century, during Istanbul's glory days, this cistern still works.
I left Istanbul via an overnight bus trip. What a difference between the Turkish buses and the Eastern European ones I had been taking for several months! This bus had comfortable reclining chairs, trays, a mo
vie (appropriately "Troy", with Brad Pitt), headphones, free food and drink, and (the real shocker) friendly bus drivers!
I arrived in the ancient Roman city of Ephesus. It is arguably the largest Roman ruin in the world and yet it's only half excavated. It's hard to imagine that 2,000 years ago the Aegean Sea filled the valley so ships could dock in Ephesus.
The Turkish government is now digging a channel to the sea. Soon visitors will be able to arrive once more by boat.
While Greek legend says that Amazons, the mythical female warriors, founded Ephesus, I think it's more likely that Androklos was responsible. On the other hand, the story on how he chose the site is a bit fishy.
Supposedly he consulted the Oracle at Delphia, who told him that a fish would show Androklos the place for a new colony and a boar would lead them to the future site of Ephesus. While preparing a fish dinner, along the shore of the Aegean, the fish jumped out of the pan. Startled, the cook caused a brush fire, which in turn startled a boar. Androklos followed the boar and eventually killed it. There became the site where Ephesus was built. The fact that there was a good harbor area, fertile land nearby, and a fresh-water stream available might have also helped.
It was exciting to walk in the footsteps of the impressive cast of characters who have walked through its streets. Here's some of them:
When I saw admiring the Celcus Library I learned that men haven't changed much. Next to the library was a brothel. An underground tunnel connected them. So men told their wives that they were "going to library" to "pull an all-nighter."
Technically they weren't lying, but...
The 7th wonder of the world in Ephesus sure looked nice back then.
But today, there's not much to see.
What little there is can be found in the British Museum, which Turkish tour guides are extremely bitter about.
In 1863 the British Museum sent John Turtle Wood, an architect, to search for the temple. Wood met with many obstacles. The region was infested with bandits. Workers were hard to find. His budget was too small. Oh, and he had no clue where the temple was located.
OK, c'mon it really wasn't easy. During his first season he was thrown from a horse, breaking his collar bone. Two years later he was stabbed within an inch of his heart during an assassination attempt upon the British Consul in Smyrna. And by his fifth year I'm sure he really missed the London weather.
Finally in 1869, at the bottom of a muddy twenty-foot deep test pit, his crew struck the base of the great temple. Wood then excavated the whole foundation removing 132,000 cubic yards of the swamp to leave a hole some 300 feet wide and 500 feet long. The remains of some of the sculptured portions were found and shipped the to British Museum.
The bus trip back wasn't as nice as the trip there:
1) There was one screaming child in the seat across from me.
2) When the child finally fell asleep from its screaming fit at midnight, the mother began talking loudly all night with the bus driver's assistant. You'd think she would exhausted from her child's tantrums, but I guess not.
I was surprised that not only nobody got pissed off for being rudely awakened and that they got so many takers. I really don't understand this. Do all Turkish people set their alarms at 2AM to get out of bed and have some tea and biscuits?
About two months ago a friend of mine in Microsoft asked me to help him on a project he was working on. While I was in Turkey we finalized the deal. I was to fly to Microsoft as soon as possible.
Therefore, my plan was to return to the US on Oct 29, shake off jet lag, read 5 months of mail, vote for a bunch of libertarian candidates on Nov 2, jump on a plane to Seattle on Nov 3, and start working for Microsoft on Nov 4.
Although it's not clear how long the consultant gig will last, I figured it was a good opportunity to get rained on for a few months in Seattle.
After a 12 hour bus ride, I jumped on a 15 hour plane flight to San Francisco (with a stop in New York). It was appropriate that I ended my trip in Istanbul, because it is the gateway to Eastern Europe.
It's always an emotional experience to go through passport control when I return to the United States, and after 5 months in Eastern Europe, this time was no different.
I smiled at the Passport Control Officer and said, "I love traveling, but when I return to the US I always want to kiss the ground."
"I know what you mean," he told me. "I wasn't born here, but I'll never go back to live in Argentina. I love America."
Yes, the United States has many flaws, but when you consider the alternatives, it's hard to beat.
I'll keep exploring, but America will always be my base camp.
Nearly everyone in the Balkans hates Albanians.
During all my travels I couldn’t find anyone who would say anything nice about the Albanians. People told me not to go to Albania. Among the insults people said about the about the Albanians is that they:
And that’s just for starters. Over a beer they would really let the insults fly.
Let’s just say that these Albanians won’t win any popularity contests.
And it wasn’t just Serbs making such slurs. Nearly every European confirmed their low opinion of Albanians. Nevertheless, Albania’s closest neighbors (Serbs, Montenegro, and Macedonia) leveled the harshest abuse. I didn’t visit Greece, but given their relations, I’m sure the Greeks would concur. It’s hard to find Europeans agreeing on anything, but it’s clear that they agree that Albanians and George Bush suck.
What’s more impressive is that most of those who dished out such derogatory statements didn’t qualify them by saying that “some Albanians are like this” or “most are like that.”
When I asked how prevalent such behaviors were, they emphasized that ALL Albanians are like this. It was nearly impossible to get anyone to concede that maybe one or two in this nation of 4 million could be different.
Wow. I had to meet them. It’s not everyday that you get to meet a nation of assholes.
Except France, of course.
People told me you could easily pick out an Albanian due to their distinctive facial structure. And all the men wore white caps. So I was on the lookout.
The Montenegrins told me that there were many Albanians in their border town of Ulcinj. In fact, the Albanians are causing lots of problems there, according to the Montenegrins. Be careful, they advised.
I clutched my wallet tightly as I walked through the streets of Ulcinj, Montenegro. I walked all the way to the beautiful beach that has a 500 year old fortress overlooking the sea. It’s a lovely beach and everyone looked pretty normal to me.
I raced back to my mini-bus that would take me to the dreaded Albania. Sadly, I didn’t spot any white hats along the way. I’ve always thought Albania, like Estonia, was a fictitious country, so maybe these Albanians really don’t exist.
I sat next to two nuns in a mini-bus. The flirtatious Albanian nun taught me her language. So much for the first stereotype that they’re all Muslims.
None of the men on the bus wore white hats. “Maybe they’re not Albanians,” I thought. But Montenegrins aren’t exactly banging down the doors to visit Albania. So I’m not sure what else they could be.
We stopped in Shkodra, Albania. Looming over the town is the impressive Rozafa Fortress, founded by the Illyrians.
Everything I did irritated my brusque bus driver, but when I said “fala nderit” (thank you) he broke out a wide smile. He helped me find the next minibus to Tirana, Albania’s capital.
I was about to board when I spotted an old man wearing a white cap. I had seen at least a couple of hundred people in Albania and I finally found one guy with a white cap. I wanted to run to him, kiss him, and get his autograph, but I had to go.
My next bus driver had piercing blue eyes and sandy blonde hair. When van was full, he turned on the radio and started blasting… Arabic music?
I quickly reminded myself that blonde and blue eye people can be Muslims too. But then I saw a Christian cross dangling over his rearview mirror.
The juxtaposition of these inputs baffled me. “Welcome to Albania,” I thought.
A common theme in the Balkans is their love to revisit history. Almost everyone I met was bursting to tell me their country’s story.
For example, when I was in Cetinje, Montenegro a tour guide sternly told me, with almost hatred in her voice: “For you Americans, history was yesterday, but for us we study hundreds of years of history. And not just our history, but world history.”
I told her, “You know, you’re right. I can’t even remember what I had for breakfast this morning.”
I liked how she ended the tour, “And do you know what Montenegrins were doing one year after Columbus discovered America in 1492?”
I almost blurted out, “Killing each other as usual?”
But she answered her own question, “We were making the first printing press in the Balkans, just 50 years after Gutenberg. Goodbye.”
She was implying that while Americans were still trying to get out of their diapers, Montenegrins were printing raunchy pornography.
I wanted to say, “So if you guys had such a head start over us, why are you such a puny and insignificant nation today?”
But I had to remember that these nationalistic folks have short fuses, so I dutifully awed and said, “Wow, can I be your friend, Ms. Bitchy Tour Guide?”
Despite being a bitter woman, she was right that the folks in the Balkans dwell on their history much more than Americans. Yet this is precisely one of their greatest problems. As a Canadian in the crowd later told me over lunch, “Folks in the Balkans spend so much time looking back. North Americans look forward.”
The guy from New Zealand added, “And we look upside down.”
We all laughed at that one.
However, each Balkan country is very selective in remembering its history. They only like to go back so far. They love to go back far enough to recall their glory days. They omit the years before they peaked and gloss over their eventual fall from glory.
They linger on that moment in history when they had a much larger chunk of territory than they control today. They either implicitly or explicitly say that they ought to have that territory back because it was once theirs. When you have at least eight countries in a small area all doing this, you inevitably get endless wars because they’re constantly feeling slighted that they aren’t the big bad asses they once were.
Every Balkan nation is guilty of this, including Albania.
The history of Albania is pretty lame. They’ve been second-class Europeans for a while. These poor folks have to go really far back before they can feel good about themselves.
How far back? Try the 4th century BC. You know you’re stretching when you have to go that far back. Yet nearly every Albanian I talked to would reminisce about their ancestors 2,400 years ago.
For example, I asked one Albanian what she thought of Montenegrins. “We do not have a big problem with them. After all, unlike the Serbs, they have Illyrian blood.”
Yeah, that makes sense to me too. Never mind that today’s Montenegrins are of Serbian descent. But since they’re living on Illyrian land, this woman feels good about them. Yeah, let’s all look at each other’s 2,400 year old blood before we figure out if we’re cool or not.
Why not look at our 60,000 year old blood, when we were all Africans?
I suppose she hates Italians, because after a few centuries of trading with the Greeks, the Illyrians fell to the Romans in 167 BC. Over the centuries the Illyrians were marginalized in just the southern part of their original country.
Albanians have one more brief glory period they are quick to recall: 1443 to 1468 when the amazing Skanderbeg held off the Turks from his castle for 25 years. Today most Albanians have at least one Skanderbeg icon in their house. After he died, the Turks swiftly overran the Albanians. From then on they remained one of the most backward countries in Europe.
Fast forward to 1913 when the Great Powers gave Kosovo, almost half of Albania, to Serbia. That led to today’s problems in Kosovo.
After WWII Enver Hoxha, the communist dictator, ran Albania for a whopping 40 years. His wacky dictatorship makes for some pretty bizarre history.
The roads to the capital were narrow and filled with potholes. Some of the main roads aren’t even paved. This didn’t surprise me, because until 15 years ago it was illegal for an Albanian to own a car.
But they seem to have made up for lost time. Tirana is a cesspool of carbon dioxide and honking horns. Snarled traffic in Tirana make California commutes look like joy rides.
Both the countryside and capital displays the rampant poverty in Albania. Decrepit houses, shabby clothing, and filth strewn throughout road testify to the living standards. The United Nations classifies Albania as the poorest country in Europe, and it shows.
I entered the 300 year old Et’hem Bey mosque in the city center. The Muslim near the entrance was incredibly gracious. He led me inside (after I took off my shoes) and softly explained the significant of the beautifully painted interior. There were a couple of guys in the mosque with white hats, but of the thousands of people milling about Tirana I rarely saw a white hat. Where are these guys with white hats all hiding?
Albanians are incredibly social. On Sunday night families would roam the streets and parks together. No matter how badly they spoke English they wanted to communicate with me. For example, I sat on a bench to take a break and four women (two mothers and their teenage daughters) started talking with me after I asked a simple question. The mother knew probably 20 English words, but she cheerfully tried to communicate with me for almost 30 minutes. She laughed often and clearly enjoyed the interaction. It was rare to find anyone who was not quick to smile and engage in friendly banter.
When I was leaving Tirana in the afternoon it hit me that 90% of the people on the streets were men. Presumably this is due to the Muslim tradition of making sure the woman stayed at home. Nevertheless, the girls in their 20s did go out at night and I almost never saw women who were covered up.
This found this country inscrutable. Consider the stereotypes and what I found:
I was very disappointed. I was eager to confront the horrible society that Albania is made out to be. It would have been so interesting if everything the country’s neighbors said were true. I was hoping it would be true so I searched to confirm the stereotypes, but I came out finding the opposite. This paradox perplexed me. Normally all stereotypes have at least some grain of truth in them, but I was struggling to find any in this case.
Of course, eventually I found examples of stereotypes. For instance, despite all their poverty, most of the cars on the street were Mercedes (granted, most were older models). A NY Times article mentioned this and said that they’re nearly all stolen vehicles, thereby confirming the theft stereotype. The NYT is right, because there’s no way for a country whose average wage is less than $100 a month can buy so many Mercedes.
Yet I met a Montenegrin who said that his Ford SUV was a stolen car that he bought for cheap. He explained that was the way many people in the Balkans (not just Albanians) get their cars.
Try this paradox: it seems the poorer the country, the more I spend on lodging. Relatively expensive Eastern European countries like Slovenia and the Czech Republic had a sophisticated hostel system that costs only $15 per night. Yet the poorest countries, like Belarus and Albania, didn’t have such hostel options, and foreigners pay double or triple the normal rate.
Another paradox: Albanians like to smoke on buses, but don’t like shoeless passengers. A smoking ticket collector pointed at my feet and pinched his nose to indicate that they stink (they didn’t), so I pointed at his cigarette and pinched my nose. He grinned, acknowledging his hypocrisy, and walked away.
Tirana wasn’t a great city. They’re building like crazy, so it should get better. I heard the national museum is wonderful, but it was closed on Monday. I also hear that the south of Albania has the most interesting sites, including many Roman ruins. But I was eager to pick up the pace after taking my time in Croatia and Montenegro.
September 25, 2004