Photo Requests

Sorry for my lateness, but I noticed I have gotten a few photo requests in the last few blog posts. Here they are:


Me doing "warrior three" yoga pose in the marshmallow blue jacket in Vienna.



This is the historical district in Split: All those doors you see are stores, the old buildings intact, and store signs are prohibited to keep the appearance.


Ham-eating stray dogs in Trogir. Sorry, Brett, I did not get a picture of them wearing Old West style costumes. Next time...

So long, Croatia.

View from the bus (Dubrovnik to Split).

Friday, I woke up at 5 am. My bus was scheduled to leave at 8 am. I am mental, I know I am. Even with all this traveling, catching buses and trains nearly every other day, I am still obsessed with getting there on time and not rushing, and so I always leave myself plenty of time, most of which I end up spending sitting in the station, twiddling my thumbs, which just adds to my travel time. But I am calm and happy sitting in the station, twiddling my thumbs, knowing that I am there on time. I can't help it. I always wake up twenty times during the night making sure I don't oversleep. Sometimes I am glad that I am traveling solo because then other people aren't aware how crazy I really am. But now you know.

I woke up extra early because I wanted to shower, and then I had to pack because I had washed a bunch of clothes and half of them still weren't dry after two days. My room was a drafty 60 degrees, to the point where even the clothes I didn't wash were starting to feel cold and damp. And then I wanted to catch the 6:30 am bus to the station that came by my villa hourly. I couldn't handle taking the 7:30 which would allow me virtually no waiting time, and you know how I feel about that.

So there I was, with all my bags, some of my clothes still damp inside (yes, I had to wash them again later), sitting in the bus shelter, watching the sun come up, and my bus goes right ahead and passes me. The driver looked right at me. Maybe it was a mirage, so I waited for another ten minutes and nothing happened. So with my luggage, I decided to climb down the zillions of stairs to get into the main town, where there were other buses running more frequent. I was pretty calm about the whole thing, and feeling pretty proud of myself for not freaking out. Then again, I had given myself three hours.

So I hopped on another bus. "This goes to the bus station?" I asked the driver. He nodded. And so we rode along and we came to a stop where there were many buses, which I took to be the bus station. The driver watched me in his rearview mirror as I scrambled off. He drove off without saying a word. It was not the bus station. Bastard! He knew where I was going! What is with these bus drivers?

Sick of the bus, I started to walk, asking everyone if I was going the right way. Everyone I stopped along the route told me to go straight for 10 minutes, even if I had already walked for 10 minutes. When I finally got there, I was dismayed to find that nothing was open and my breakfast would be potato chips and Twix, which felt like a real low point. Because I am insane, despite all that mishap and folly, I still waited at the station for about 25 minutes.

I boarded the bus to go back to Split when suddenly I had that feeling, that twinge in my throat, that I was getting sick. It could go either way. That did not make me happy. With Dan meeting me in Budapest, this is not the time to be ill. As the bus drove along the edges of mountaintops, overlooking the shiny blue sea, I became sad because I could see that it was a beautiful day--it had been raining the last two--and I was going to spend all of it sitting in a bus or train.

I arrived at Split and I had about two and a half hours to kill before my train. The sun was scorching and I was overdressed in my corduroys and black sweater. I started to sweat. I started to feel nauseous. I was so hot but there were goose bumps on my arms. My bags might as well been filled with bricks. I walked to this restaurant I liked close by to the station and it was closed. None of the cooks had shown up, the guy at the door told me. No, there was nothing around that was any good.

So I trudged my way back to the main part of town, where I was harassed by people asking me if I needed to rent a room. They wouldn't leave me alone and I suddenly felt so ill, I just swatted them away like flies. "No, I don't need accommodations!" I huffed. One guy even came up to me twice, not believing me. "Are you sure?" "YES!"

I managed my way back to old Fife's. The waiter recognized me--I have been there three times in the last week and I tipped him very nicely last time--and he was talkative and happy to serve me. Funny how each time I go there they go from downright rude to sincerely nice. I ordered vegetable soup and some fish. No wine today since my stomach was flip-flopping from the bus ride. Instead I downed a mini-jug of water, and I felt a little better with a full stomach.

Then I sat outside on the bench, facing the water, letting the sun shine on me, knowing that this is the last time I will feel this sun and warmth for a long time. My hair is starting to grow out and my bangs are starting to get in my eyes all the time. Today, they formed one large curl. At that moment, I couldn't stop thinking about it, and so as I sat in the sun, I just smoothed out my hair out in annoyance and wondered what happened to the calm Yvonne of this morning.

Me and my curl in Split. Look at that thing!

I boarded the train to Zagreb which was actually a bus for the first few stops (don't ask, it happens to me all the time), and watched my last Croatian sunset through the window. Soon the outside became so dark I couldn't see a thing, but could feel the train tilting and winding through the curvy mountains. At one point, I peered intently outside and could make out white snow on the ground. It was official: I was going back to the tundra.

I arrived in Zagreb, weary, my legs and butt hurting for sitting so long. I had finished my book, my ipod died, I had spent the last two hours of the trip just sitting. I found my hostel where I am spending the night, which was sort of like deciding to find rest in the middle of a frat party. When I got there, there were a bunch of people sitting out front, drinking and screaming and laughing, which could be heard inside. The guy working there seemed ready to head out and join them. I crawled into bed at 11, listening to the party below, then woke up to drunken snores from all the guys sleeping in my room. I left at 6:30 am, while everything was still asleep, managing to bump into some random guy sleeping in the hallway and avoid the bloody tissue sitting on the counter in the bathroom. It felt like a surreal dream.

I managed to take the longest train from Zagreb to Budapest. I know you can get there in about 5 hours, my train took 7, stopping at every single town in the country of Hungary. I had nothing to do except sleep and write down Polish vocabulary. It was about 100 degrees in my train cabin but that only seemed to bother me. I wasn't feeling that sick anymore, but I didn't feel my best. When I arrived, my body ached, I smelled, I was hungry for real food. I was happy to be in Budapest.

I traveled a total of 932 kilometers, equivalent to 17 ½ hours total on a train or bus (plus waiting in the station), in about a day in a half. But it is all worth it. A glimpse at the city looked promising, and I am waiting patiently for Dan the man to arrive, which makes it all worth it in the end.

Zagreb at 6:30 this morning.



Lots of travel ain't pretty. At least the curl is gone.

Friends again.

Sarah and Tim from Split met up with me on my last night in Dubrovnik. They had just come from Mostar, which they said was nice but still looked war-torn. They talked about buildings scarred with bullets and many grave sites with the deaths dating in the 1990's. It sounded like the place was a little depressing now, but could be quite terrific in the summer. (I would have joined them but it just didn't fit in my schedule).

We had a lovely seafood dinner. Tim's risotto was in a black sauce, which looked kind of Halloween-y, but he thought it tasted good. Afterwards, we stopped for a drink at this place called Fresh, an obvious traveler's hang-out, and then headed to an Irish pub despite Tim's protests. We should have listened to him. Some guy played UB40 on a synthesizer, while this random girl writhed around to the music and two drunk guys danced with each other. It was really random. But it was great to see Tim and Sarah.

Tim has a few more traveling days and then will go live in France. Sarah is continuing her around-the-world trip and will be in New York the end of December. We plan to meet then.

Seafood dinner.



There's weird people in here. Is it Tim? Naahhh.

Wet stair-y place.

Who needs a stairmaster when you got these?

It’s a good thing that I practiced climbing all those bell towers. Dubrovnik is a city full of stairs. My villa where I am staying is perched on top of a mountainside among other similar-looking villas and there is a maze of stairs crisscrossing through them. It is all downhill going into the Old Town. Going back to the villa is not an inviting option.

It was pouring rain when I got here and when it tapered off, I walked down the stairs, streams of water coming down with me, and wandered around the old town of Dubrovnik. The city is next to the sea, completely enclosed in a very old fortress. Inside the fortress walls is a little white place, buildings and streets made of marble and limestone the same color as The White House. My first mission was finding something to eat and I wandered into a pizza place and sat alone until a couple from Australia waved me over and we had a nice meal together. They were doing some traveling of their own, hoping to settle in Scotland and work for a while, which they say is pretty common thing for Australians nowadays.

By the time we finished, the city was wet and dark, and so I decided to walk around some more and then see a concert by the Dubrovnik String Quartet in the very old St Saviour Church. The church was very small, the acoustics amazing and the foursome played by flickering candlelight, creating an enchanting vibe.

I headed back to the villa where I promptly got myself lost, where the rain promptly decided to fall even harder. Every staircase looked the same, every villa looked the same. Some streets were marked, some were not. I could not find any of the streets where I was on my now-soggy map. Making wrong turns meant that I had to walk up and down hundreds of stairs. It was a better workout than going to the gym. When I finally found the villa, after 40 minutes of stair-climbing, I was soaked and frustrated. I flipped on the television and stared at amazement at the blatant porn that was on regular tv.

The next day, I was looking forward to a full day, but I ran into a problem: It's called All Saint's Day, which is a big holiday here, which means that lots of things were closed. I wanted to walk on the castle walls. Closed. I wanted to see this exhibit on war photography. Closed. I took the chance and walked to the Museum of Modern Art to find it open where I saw a fascinating exhibit of the great photographers of the 20^th century. My favorite was the pictures of New York from the 1950's by Henri Cartier-Bresson, where I was able to pick out the vintage Times Square and Park Avenue with glee. My sister would like the dog images by Elliot Erwitt. My favorite being a tall, somber dog sitting in a parked car, looking very much like he is driving the vehicle.

I sat in a café and read and listened to an old man talk to himself. I don't know what he was saying, but it sounded loud. And soon enough it was just me and him in the café. I took that as a sign to leave.

I went to the Memorial Room of the Defenders of Dubrovnik, which commemorates the young people who died in the war against the Serbs in the early 1990's. The room was filled with photographers of about 200 men who had lost their lives in the resistance. It is hard to believe that the place where I am now was under siege less than 20 years ago. They showed footage of the war, the posh and beautiful streets where I walked the past two days littered with debris, statues and parts of the fortress broken, buildings completely destroyed by fire. They have done a great job restoring everything, so now you can't tell that anything happened here, but after seeing that, I walked through the town with a new perspective.

This place, filled with long tight alley ways, a million stairs, the impending walls would be a frightening place to be in war. I imagined people running through the streets, hiding in the nooks and crannies. The city was held hostage for over a year, and the residents lived here with limited water, electricity, food, and yet it somehow survived. I thought about Milos, the friendly owner of my villa, who told me when I first arrived that he has lived here all his life and he told me many reasons why it is a great place to live. I am sure that when a city goes through something like a war and makes it, you can't help but feel a sense of pride about the place where you live.

White city at night.


The Old Town.

Fortress by sea.

Lots of these guys here.

Noteworthy people.

I would be remiss if I didn't mention some of the great people I met at Split, including Teagan(sp?), engineer wanna-be photographer from Canada; Tim from England who is the type of guy who mispronounces a word and then deadpans, "Sorry, I haven't spoken English in a while" even though we have just conducted an entire conversation in English. He also has some anxiety about his beard which he is growing on a bet. He has one week to go. And then there's Sarah from Australia, who is taking a year off to travel around the world and seems to have been everywhere. She has inspired me on the possibilities of my next big trip.

Among some great dinners and conversation, we enjoyed three games of Uno, all three I sadly did not win.

Teagan and Sarah.

Me with bearded Tim.

Ham and cheese, please.

On the recommendation of nearly everyone I have spoken to about Croatia, I was planning to take a day trip to Hvar, one of the islands around here.

But I got discouraged. The girl who worked at the hostel said it would be dead. The guy at the tourist information place negged the idea as a day trip. The trip was long for one day, the ferry schedule random, the weather supposed to be beat, so I decided not to go.

The guy in the tourist information place recommended two day trips for me: a city of natural beauty or a city of culture. I told myself that if it was nice out, I would do the natural beauty, if it rained, culture. I was praying for sun. I woke up to rain.

The two girls in my room got up early to head to Hvar (they weren't plagued by all the concerns I had). I decided to go on a trip to Trogir, city of culture. Prior to heading out, I stopped in Split's farmer's market, which was a farmer's market like I have never seen. Rows and rows of tables were set up, filled with every kind of fruit and vegetable imaginable. The people who worked behind the tables were the ultimate sellers, talking up their product as customers walked by and yelling at other sellers, seemingly at the same time. I walked up and down the aisles, slowly and in awe, watching everyone scramble to pick out their food, and then having the sellers weigh them in these big old-fashioned scales and haggle a price. As I walked deeper into the market, I saw there were stores lined up selling all kinds of meat. Whole pigs and headless cows were hung on silver hooks from the ceiling, blood dripping on the floor. The butchers had large knives and chopped red meat when they weren't helping customers. Old women wearing babushkas sat near barrels filled with cabbage, which they filled into plastic bags. Old men with few teeth sat at tables covered with old bottles of Fanta filled with olive oil. There was honey and nuts and figs and sausages. Ladies walked around with their hands in their pockets, saying "cigarettes" below their breaths. I tried to take pictures of this colorful scene, but the people were giving me looks for lingering and not buying anything and I was afraid they might hurt me. It was a pretty rough crowd. I bought a banana.

Split's food market.

Old-fashioned scale.

Barrels of cabbage.

Meat, anyone?

I took the local bus to Trogir, which stopped every two seconds. It took forever to get there. According to my Lonely Planet guide, "there's a lot to see." I went to the famous cathedral and climbed up yet another clock tower. This one was particularly scary because the last few flights of stairs were like ladders that if you looked through, you saw all the way down to the bottom. Before entering, there was a sign that said "You're climbing on the bell tower on your own responsibility" which I took to mean "If you plummet to your death, it is your own responsibility." My legs were shaking when I got to the top.

Afterwards, I walked around town and after a short while, I felt like I had seen everything. Was this possible? I looked at my book again. "Many sights can be seen on a 15-minute walk around the island." How is this considered a lot to see? I swear, sometimes Lonely Planet is my best friend, sometimes I hate it.

I was hungry and looked for a place to eat. I have been having this problem in Croatia with restaurants. They are always empty and uninviting. At lunch time, the people are sitting in the cafes, places that serve coffee and nothing else. When do these people eat? I finally found a stand that looked to be selling some normal ham and cheese sandwiches. I picked out one and the woman put it on the grill.

"Would you like mayonnaise?" she asked me.

"Yes."

"Onions?"

"No."

"Cabbage?"

"No."

"Pickles?"

"No."

"Lettuce?"

"No."

"Tomatoes?"

"Well, alright."

"Eggs?" she said lifting up a half of a boiled egg.

"No."

"Ketchup?"

"No."

"Hot sauce?"

"No."

She shrugged her shoulders at me, looking at me like I was crazy, and handed me the ham, cheese, tomato and mayo sandwich. I ate it while waiting for the bus back, two stray dogs watched me the entire time. I gave them both some ham. It was grey and drizzly and cold.

I should have went to Hvar.

Me and the bell tower of Cathedral of St Lovro in Trogir.



It's a long way down.



View from the top.

Groundhog Day.

Ancient walls of Diocletian's Palace.

Yesterday was a beautiful day. Today was even better.

The moment I walked outside, I took off my puffer. Two minutes later, I took off my sweater. Walking around in just jeans and a t-shirt, I felt hot. The sun shined so brightly I squinted, but I could see that the sky was blue, the town was littered with tourists and everything was okay.

I walked around at random first, seeking out breakfast and the beach which wasn't as pretty as I thought it would. Finally, I got my hands on a guidebook, which gave me some direction and so I did a little walking tour of Diocletian Palace, which is like a mini-city within the city of Split. It is so neat because this palace was built by the Roman emperor Diocletian as his place of retirement. The remains of the palace still exist today, however, it is not a museum--rather, the town is built within it. So there are all these stores and apartments and cafes built into this ancient architecture. For example, there is this big formal entry way into the palace with columns and arches and there is a café right there where you can sit on the actual ancient steps around the square and have a cup of coffee while admiring the view. How cool is that?

After I did the tour, I wandered around looking for something to eat and found my way back to Fife's--the place I ate yesterday. I decided to order a very traditional dish, called pasticada, which I wasn't really sure what it was. I ordered it with white wine. The waiter sniffed.

"Pasticada with white wine?" he growled. "If you wish."

"Is red better?" I asked. He nodded vehemently.

"Okay, the red."

This meal was veal with so much brown broth, it might as well been soup. It came with little dumplings that you dipped in the sauce. The waiters came to check on me often to see if I liked it and to show me this snake-like fish in a bottle that they were giving this fisherman. When I didn't finish the meal, they were disappointed. It was good, but too much.

I was sleepy after that big meal, so I lied down on a park bench staring up at the palm tree against the blue sky and thought my life felt pretty great right now. I walked around the city and shopped, but it wasn't so much fun because everything was so nice and I don't have the money to spend. I did buy myself a bracelet. And some ice cream. I noticed the same guys as yesterday sitting on crates fishing by the shoreline. I saw the same group of old men sitting on the bench, drinking beer and heckling people who walked by. And I could understand their repetition. I merely wanted today to be a repeat of yesterday.

And so I decided to go and see the sunset again. I walked up the same path and sat in the same spot, and watched the sun go down. Since the sky was perfectly clear, it was a sunset that was more golden than pink. I stayed until the very end. No rushing anywhere this time.

I clapped when it was over, so happy to have experienced this beauty. Can I do this day again? Encore! Encore! Again! Again!

Statue of Gregorius of Nin.

Watching the sunset again.

Today's sunset.

Split's It.

Me in Zagreb.

Yesterday, I arrived in Zagreb at 3:30. All the stores closed at 3:00. As soon as I got there, the city was already shutting down. GUYS! It is Saturday, this is ridiculous! This meant that I couldn't go and purchase a guide book, and so I spent the rest of the afternoon wandering around places that appeared to be important--the big church, the main square, the street with the row of restaurants. I found a cake shop I really liked, ate a slice of pizza (while thinking to myself, Am I really in Croatia right now eating pizza?) and then I spent my evening in the hostel family room watching Bourne Identity with a group of English guys and two American lawyers. Today, I moved on to Split.

Zagreb, eh. Split, wow.

As my bus chugged along the mountainside, and I could see glimmer of the ocean, the off-white and orange buildings from the distance, I nearly burst into tears with happiness. I stepped off the bus and Split just smelled warm and salty and wonderful. I took off my puffer; it was about 70 degrees.

Looking for my hostel without a map, I saw palm trees and water and I was just madly in love with it all. Somehow the hostel appeared, it was so easy breezy along with everything else about this place, and so I shoved my things inside and went out to explore.

Having not eaten anything except potato chips, candy, cake and pizza for the last two days, I needed a proper meal and so I went to this placed called Fife's Café that the girl from the hostel recommended.

"They have really good fish, but terrible service," she warned. So I wasn't surprised when no one approached me for 20 minutes after I made numerous nods to the waiter. The bottom of the menu states, "The complaint book is at the front desk."

Finally, when it came time to order, everything I wanted--the mixed grilled fish and grilled vegetables--were no longer available. I ordered the fish the waiter recommended, which turned out to be one of those monster whole fishes--bones and eyes included--on a plate. Not something I would normally order, but you can't complain about fresh fish--or fresh bread, or potatoes, or a small carafe of white wine. I found myself getting a little antsy at times with the slow service and I would tell myself, almost in a yoga chant, "Relax, you have nowhere to go."

Afterwards, I climbed up a bunch of stairs to check out the view of the city, which then turned into this beautiful walking path, lined with fragrant trees, cactus shaped like octopuses and an array of wild flowers. Beyond that, cornflower blue ocean meets mountains meets cornflower blue sky. It was the first time I had seen the sun or blue skies in about two weeks, and I was just beaming, basking my face in the glow. The walk was quiet and I thought about how happy I was that I made the decision to come here. It reminded me that you are never stuck in life, you should never feel trapped, there are always other options awaiting you. I almost burst into tears again.

Today was the first day of daylight savings time. It was past 4 and the sun was already setting, so I found the perfect spot and sat down and watched. It was not a spectacular sunset. There were some clouds in the sky, so after a while, the sun merely hid behind the clouds lighting them from behind. I admired this quiet beauty for a while and then figured that it would not get better than this, so I started walking on the path. But then in a few minutes, I could see that the sun was starting to peek out, bright and pink and stunning, the clouds reflecting the pink tone, and I cursed myself for the second time today for not being patient. So I walked back to the original spot and watched the sunset until completion. "Relax, you have nowhere to go."

I walked back into town, found myself some gelato to top of this extraordinary day. Then I went back to the hostel where I talked to my Australian roommate Sarah and we agreed to go out for a drink. It was a quiet Sunday night, not too many people at the bar, but it was nice to sit and chat about our travels. After all, I have no other place to be.

Look, ma, no jacket!



City of Split.

I am going to eat you, scary fish.

Calm waters.

Clouds during sunset.