Swiss Family Grass

The short drive to Tallinn presented us with the opportunity to tour all three campgrounds located within the city. This is a luxury, as we are often left with just one choice. In this case, having one choice would probably have been a better option, as the pickings were slim. Our first stop guaranteed us a ‘parking space’ in a lot about two miles from city center. The second stop was near a local landmark, the TV Tower and left a lot to be desired. The restroom facilities looked worse than what I’d expect at a flop house. We only found one camper at that campground, and there’s some debate as to whether the person was an actual ‘camper’. The third option was located at the marina. Sounded promising at first, but turned out to be another parking lot. To make matters worse, the restroom facilities were located in a building far from the lot, and to get to the showers the security guard needed to draw me a map. Our conversation went something like this:

“Now to get to the showers, you’ll need to go here to this building, take the stairs to the second floor, then go left, go down the hall, make a right, then go left again, then you’ll see a door, then you’ll go…” Needless to say, I zoned out after about the third turn direction, and through the entire mapping exercise I was trying to avoid the disturbing smell coming from the man’s mouth. Next he moved on to plotting out a course for me to get to the bathrooms. I politely listened, holding my breath and trying not let any of the exhale he left hanging in the air get into my nostrils. When he started showing me on the map how to get to the chemical toilet, I had to draw the line. I thanked him for his time and told him that we were going to ‘look around’ a bit. I walked to the car and told Andy to, “Get in, we’re going to the first parking lot.” We drove back to the first stop, happy that we had indulged our curiosity and checked out all of the accommodation possibilities.

With four days until our ferry to Helsinki, Finland, we were certain that we would be able to tour Tallinn from end to end. And, that is just what we did. Tallinn proved to be one of the few stops during our travels that have so intrigued us that we visited day after day, without a break.
The city of Tallinn is charming and attractive. A true medieval town, Tallinn comes complete with cobblestone streets, authentic fifteenth and sixteenth century buildings, and restaurant hawkers dressed in traditional period costumes. Yet, the streets leading away from the touristy main square, while still medieval in style, weave through a modern, more hip city.

During our first day of exploring we rode our bicycles to Upper Town and visited the Russian Orthodox Church Alexander Nevsky Cathedral. Built directly opposite Tallinn’s parliament building, the cathedral is a prominent example of the Russification that occurred during the last years of the nineteenth century.

From the cathedral we passed through the Danish King’s Courtyard to the Old Town Wall. A total of nine tower walls remain, with three towers still connected by a covered walkway atop the wall. We climbed the winding staircase and worked our way up to each tower, dank air guiding our way. The towers were filled with the smell one expects a seven hundred year old structure to have, and when we reached the final tower our ascent was halted by a pigeon dive bombing Andy’s head. I’ve never seen Andy run so fast! He came flying down the stairs nearly as quickly as the pigeon, and the flailing arms and head shaking alerted me that our tour of the towers had come to an abrupt close.
We laughed in unison when we reached the street, mine a comedic laugh as I replayed the events and Andy’s a laugh riddled with nervous fear as he scanned the sidewalk for any other renegade pigeons.

On our way back to the campground we stopped at a grocery store to stock up and were surprised at the lack of selection. Shelves were nearly empty and the produce section looked like the final resting grounds for bruised fruit and battered vegetables. Meat and dairy cases were empty and not one baked good to be found. It was only after inquiring with a clerk that we found out the store was in the process of remodeling. For a moment, I thought we had stepped into an old news reel illustrating the plight of the Russian shopper. We settled on a box of milk, a few nectarines, and a bag of chips to hold us over until the next day.

The following day we rode back into the city and visited the Town Hall, a striking building with bell tower erected between 1371 and 1404. I gladly paid the small fee required to climb the tower, making it to the top in record time. A feat I would pay for later, as I spent two days walking like a cowboy who has just spent a week roaming the range on horseback.

In lieu of our recent fruitless outing to the grocery store, we decided to eat out that evening. Tour books and an endless flow of tourists hovering around Old Hansa were the deciding factors in our choice of eating establishment. We had read in our guide book not to be detoured by the slightly campy nature of Old Hansa; waiters and waitresses dressed in medieval garb, candlelit rooms, goblets for beverages the size of pitchers, and restrooms with a true ‘throne’ to seat ones bottom upon.

Instead, we were delighted to find that the gluttonous feast we were served was researched thoroughly and served up a generous portion of real medieval time dining. Our waiter thoughtfully offered to describe each item that lined our plates, and we listened earnestly as he went into great detail about the exotic looking food. The foreign and at the same time tasty results were surprisingly welcome. It was a dining experience known to the nobleman of medieval Tallinn and the traditionally Hanseatic influenced décor and surroundings made you feel as if you had just stepped into an episode of the television show Fantasy Island.

On our third day in Tallinn we decided to drive out of town to Paldiski. Originally a maritime stronghold established by Peter the Great, Paldiski true claim to fame came in 1939 when the town was handed over to the Russians, with town citizens being relocated in the process. Paldiski served as a Russian military base until 1994 and was considered a “closed town”. Surrounded by barbed wire, the town concealed nine Russian military units, ballistic rockets and nuclear warheads, and submarines. A building known as the ‘Soviet Pentagon’ served as a nuclear submarine training center and more than 16,000 soldiers called Paldiski home. The town was off limits to Estonians.

Driving through Paldiski gives one an strange feeling of entering a battleground after the war has been fought. Massive structures lie crumbling along the roadside and barracks appear bombed out. Bunkers loom ominously along the limestone cliffs, and the rare sight of a person strolling is the only indication that life still remains in this tiny town. Apparently two-thirds of the town’s inhabitants are Russian and for their part they occupy a ghost like center of town where decrepit concrete ‘project like’ housing is the only inhabitable shelter. Solemn faces guard those you see on the street and small child with scuffed knees playing what looked like a game of cowboys and Indians by himself was the only evidence that a youth population existed in Paldiski. Our tour was a morbid reminder of how life can be quite literally sucked from the soul of a people in an oppressive society.

Our final day in Tallinn started out rather uneventfully; that is until we realized that one of our bikes had been stolen. We waited three hours for the police to arrive to take a report, and during that time we contemplated whether to purchase a new bike or not. After weighing the pros and cons we decided that while an unexpected and costly expense, working with just one bike wasn’t going to cut it. Andy took a bus to a nearby bike shop while I continued to wait for the police.

I have to say, I think I took this particular stroke of bad luck in stride. Normally, I would obsess on why it had happened to us and what we could have done to prevent the thieves from targeting us. But, this time I was more pragmatic. What would we need to do to fix the problem? Thinking that way saved a lot of time and aggravation, and by noon we were both headed back into town on bikes for our last day of sightseeing. Andy in particular seemed quite content, as he had chosen a more practical touring bicycle this time around, leaving the hard pedaling to the people like me who had been convinced that mountain bikes with their smaller tires and weighty frame were the way to go.

On our final day in Tallinn we got lost on streets we’d rode before, seeing things we’d missed the first time around. We visited the City Museum and learned about the history of Tallinn through artfully crafted exhibits. Later, we stopped at Café Chocolaterie for mochas made with Estonian Kalev chocolate and shared a fresh berry tart. We rode past the Town Council Pharmacy, one of the world’s oldest continuous running pharmacies, serving as an apothecary since at least 1422. We stopped at a trendy bar for what was billed as Tallinn’s best Mojito and were pleasantly surprised with the result. We biked by the US Embassy, an unwelcoming building modified to include a bullet proof security checkpoint hastily attached to the original façade and warning passersby not to try to take any photographs. We left the Old Town and rode to Kadriorg Park, home to the Royal Palace and the recently opened Kumu Museum.

On Thursday’s the Kumu is open late and we wandered the visually stimulating seven floor building with energy, curious as to what lay behind each corner. The outside of the building is itself a piece of art, and we lingered after closing to watch clouds colored with the setting sun reflected in museum windows.

And we closed the day with an amazing sunset, looking across the Gulf of Finland tour our next stop, Helsinki.

If only the day had ended there. Instead, we returned to the campground to find that our new neighbors, a group of four twenty-something teachers from the Netherlands had their car broken into near the port after arriving from Helsinki the night before and had been robbed of their passports, clothing, and anything else the robbers could get their hands on. But, these men had youth and optimism on their side, and seemingly unfazed about the events of the prior evening they spent into the wee hours of the morning talking with us about the environment and world politics. It was refreshing to see young people driven by curiosity and seeking out knowledge about foreign lands, questioning any and all authority that might be about to sell them a bill of goods. Their outlook and perspective gives hope to jaded old souls such as me and lets me sleep a little easier at night, even if it is with one eye open, worried about waking to find yet another item of ours ripped off. But I must say, no theft incurred in Tallinn could have tarnished my image of the city. Tallinn is the jewel in the crown of Eastern Europe.

Early the next morning we boarded a Viking Line ship bound for Helsinki. The short three and a half hour journey provided just the time needed to start and finish the book Nickel and Dimed in America, a haunting non fiction book documenting the real life trials and tribulations of the author as she goes undercover in America’s minimum wage working world. While the book doesn’t make you feel, “Oh, the horror of living on minimum wage”, it does provide an insightful and at times thought provoking look at our system. The author puts forward heartfelt analysis of how people are ‘getting by’ in America and her study makes you wonder how the richest country in the world stands by and allows it’s working poor to be the constant victim of a capitalistic society; through a nearly non-existent medical care program to low income housing options that would stretch the pocketbooks of anyone lucky enough to be considered part of the working middle class.

Andy and I began to discuss the book (he had read it earlier during our trip) and our lively discussion came to a close only when the rocky coastline of fast approaching Helsinki harbor averted our attention. Tiny islands came into view and the similarity to the coastline of Maine is uncanny.

Charming red and yellow wood paneled houses rest on small rock islands, with only the sea’s pounding waves to remind us of their impermanence. Each little island viewed from the deck of the ferry liner offers a glimpse into how the Finnish live, and it isn’t until Helsinki comes into view that the pulse of Finland’s capital can be felt. The imposing Tuomiokirkko Cathedral that occupies Senate Square is a beacon for all ships entering the harbor.

Once dockside, the buzz of the local market can be felt and those disembarking often head right for Kauppatori, the bustling open air market a stone’s throw from where the ferries moor. For the patient and those willing not to let the smells of freshly grilled salmon tempt them, a short distance away the Kauppahalli market hall provides an nineteenth century setting for top-notch eateries.

We spent two days exploring Helsinki. This Scandinavian capital city is a pleasant place to get lost, with all the trappings of a big city elegantly laid out in a waterfront town. The Finnish are renowned designers of functional house wares and stops at the Helsinki Design Museum, the Design Forum, and iittala shops showcased goods that combat ‘throwawayism’. Decadence is left to the grandeur of the Esplanadi, with its tree lined parks dripping with late nineteenth century touches such as ornate fountains and classic trellised gazebos.

Deeper in the city, the grittiness of the urban center is felt with busy streets and a hurried pace. A dizzying array of shopping centers is only broken up by the occasional café or McDonalds (I stopped counting at five). Papers blow by in the streets and Helsinki’s down and out mill about in front of the central train station. Heading back toward the waterfront we stopped at the Stockmann Department Store, Europe’s largest department store. We closed the afternoon with a stop at a street side café in the Kaartin-Kaupunki neighborhood, watching well to do Fin’s leisurely amble by on a Sunday afternoon walk.

From Helsinki we drove to Turku, the former capital of Finland. Turku is situated along the Aura River, and developers maximized the riverfront by lining both sides with promenade like paths.

Turku feels old, but not in the normal sense. Instead of the usual medieval centers with cobblestone streets and crumbling castles, Turku feels rough around the edges, like a city that stopped growing in the 1960’s. Downtown is filled with streets arranged in grid form, with nondescript utilitarian buildings housing maze like shopping centers. The people are a mixture of youthful business types and tattered street people. Turku is a city where the energy is low, almost down to a dull hum; as if once stripped of its’ capital status (it lost the title to Helsinki in 1812) it never recovered from losing the honor.

With tourist guide in hand we wandered the riverfront, an admired the marine vessels that were tethered to the docks. Turku boasts the only remaining three mast wooden boat in the world, and that boat along with military ships and fishing rigs dot the river.

From the river we walked to the Market Square, a somewhat dreary open air market, with stalls weather worn and scattered in no particular order. Kauppahalli on the other hand is a Market Hall housed in a striking hundred year old brick building. Situated just one block from Market Square, Market Hall leaves a lasting impression, with fine woodworked stalls and eye catching displays of fish.

With less than perfect weather afoot, we decided to venture indoors. We visited the Turku Art Museum and viewed an exhibit of art by Alphonse Mucha. A master of Art Nouveau, Mucha’s works are theatrical and sumptuous. His study of the female form and face so complex that it captures detail even a photograph couldn’t provide. We were mesmerized by his work and felt lucky to have caught such an extensive collection housed in one museum.

From the museum we walked to the Tourist Office to find out if there were any local cinemas nearby, an ideal shelter from the ever worsening weather. With three within walking distance, we decided to catch a movie.

Back at the campsite was when I was struck by a rather simple realization; Turku isn’t a place you visit for big city life. Instead, Southwest Finland and the city of Turku is a gateway to the Turku Archipelago, with some 20,000 islands to visit. We are told that Finland is the land of islands, saunas, and the catch of the day. Life on the islands is slow paced and outdoor recreation fills the visitor’s time. Getting outdoors in the land of the midnight sun is the order of the day, and the Finnish take full advantage of the beautifully carved terrain. Lush green tree filled paths end to reveal stunning rocky coastline that beckons the adventurous in for a swim or a sail.

Unfortunately for us, the weather did not bring with it the desire to plunge into the chilly waters, and rain kept us van bound for most of our meals. One meal in particular always seems to get Petey’s begging mode going, and for this particular bacon and egg filled morning he stood at begging attention through the entire meal.

The drive back to Helsinki to catch a ferry to Stockholm, Sweden was filled with views of Finnish farmland and deep red hued barns. We saw many tractors cutting through knee high wheat and even saw one farmer trudging through the field in a horse drawn cart, freshly cut honey colored fields spraying out from behind. It was a lazy country drive, and had we not been on a perfectly paved highway, I would have thought I had stepped back into the 1950’s.

Back in Helsinki the city swelled with tourists making a mad dash to pick up last minute souvenirs before boarding one of the many ferry boats and cruise ships that line the harbor. We skirted all of the hustle and bustle by queuing up early for our ferry. We were first in line, and once on ship we left the confines of our little campervan for the cruise ship like atmosphere onboard. For the amazingly low price of 114 Euro we were able to book passage for two adults, one dog, and one campervan. And, the price included a cabin onboard. We couldn’t have come close to matching that price with the gas we would have required to drive to Sweden. So for one evening, we had all the luxuries of a cruise ship at our disposal. We even participated in and won a trivia contest at the pub onboard. Our prize was two drink coupons and a box of chocolates. Somehow the 114 Euro price just kept getting better and better.

The next morning as we pulled into Stockholm we instantly became entranced by the city. Built on fourteen islands, Stockholm is considered by many to be Scandinavia’s most beautiful capital.

One could easily spend a week or two exploring Sweden’s capital, and the overwhelming number of sights and museums warrants such a lengthy stopover. Some areas of Stockholm have all the commotion of the lively streets of New York City, while others have been painstakingly kept to look as they did in the romantic early 1900’s. The green belts that link Stockholm’s neighborhoods almost all follow the water, and a bike or walk through Stockholm is sure to arouse the senses with extraordinary landscapes unfolding right before your eyes.

Our first day of sightseeing was cut short as we got caught in a torrential downpour that left us soaked through to the bone and pedaling as quickly as possible back to the campground. The next day we ventured out again, taking time to really look at the city. We biked to the Stadshuset, an imposing town hall, built with more than eight million bricks. Inside, the Blue Room is where the Nobel Prize ceremonies are held each year. From this waterside icon we continued on to the more urban area of Norrmalm, a section of the city that feels oddly similar to Manhattan. Heading back toward the water again, we visited the Old Town, Gamla Stan. Cobblestone streets are lined with seventeenth and eighteenth century Renaissance buildings, and the shops and restaurants are touristy.

Day two brought a visit to the Vasa Museum. Housed within the museum walls is a nearly four hundred year old warship that sunk in Stockholm harbor on its’ maiden voyage in 1628.

The Vasa warship was raised almost completely intact in 1961, having been preserved by the harbor’s muddy bottom. The massive ship and its’ contents are on display in the museum and viewing decks provide a birds eye view into the ship. The museum provides a fascinating glimpse of seafaring life in the 1600’s and the exhibits address every question that pops into your head while you gaze at the daunting Vasa.

After the Vasa Museum we rode our bikes to the Nobel Museum, eager to learn what men and women have won the much sought after prize. Surprisingly, the Nobel Museum wasn’t what I expected; a rather simple museum, with a small display on the man himself, Alfred Nobel, and a few plain cabinets displaying belongings from prize recipients. Two rooms show films on a loop that are meant to give you insight into a Nobel prize winner’s mind, but instead leave you itching to get out of the theater due to the low budget production. I’d like to say that the museum simply lacked in luster what the Vasa had, but it really just didn’t cut it, more a lobby exhibit than a museum.

We ended our tour of Stockholm with a visit to the Royal Palace of Drottningholm. Located on Lovon Island, the palace and grounds are a spectacular retreat from the vast expanse that is Stockholm. Absolutely stunning scenery is interrupted only by breathtaking buildings. The Chinese Pavilion, a gift from King Adolf Fredrik to his queen is listed as a UNESCO site, and it was here that the court enjoyed country life. Others that can be found on the grounds include a lavishly decorated guards tent and hand painted Court Theatre. The stop was a perfect close to Stockholm, a royal city that never fails to astound.

Next we are off to Oslo, Norway, land of the Viking.

Leaving the Curonian Spit we had our first encounter with law enforcement. As I drove the narrow, two lane warped road toward the ferry, I noticed a small patrol car hidden behind pine trees. Before the officer could raise his red paddle my foot was reaching for the brakes. I pulled off the road some twenty feet from the officer and watched in the side view mirror as he walked toward the driver side window, eyeing the foreign plates as he approached. I rolled down my window and innocently looked the officer’s way. It became instantly apparent that this would be no usual traffic stop. The officer didn’t speak English and I don’t speak Lithuanian. Exchanged looks were replaced by my handing the officer a small pad and pen. He wrote the numbers sixty and seven five on the pad, pointing with force at the second number. Message received, I was speeding. I apologized profusely and a look of “what do we do next” crossed over both our faces. He looked like he knew he should give me a ticket, but the time involved in the process wasn’t worth the effort. He waved us on with his red paddle and a strong reminder that sixty kilometers was the maximum speed allowed.

With the cruise control set at sixty we began the long drive back to the car ferry. Or so we thought. Unbeknownst to us, we were actually on the road to Kaliningrad. About half a mile from where we were stopped by the patrolman we reached a border crossing. And, for the first time we had reached a border crossing that truly felt like a border crossing. High fences and thick concrete buildings announced the Lithuanian, Russian border. We looked at each other, still not aware of where we were and remarked, “I don’t remember having to go through a gate when we arrived. Do you?” Andy exited the van to ask a woman where we were. Her tearful response assured us that we were on the wrong road. Apparently she was waiting, without much success, for someone to cross from the Russian to the Lithuanian side. I hurriedly turned the van around, drove past the speed trap I had been snared by when driving in the opposite direction (going only sixty this time around), and made my way to the correct road.

During the drive to the car ferry Andy and I talked about some of the more perplexing things we noticed during our stay in Lithuania. People were giants. Men and woman were tall, really tall. Andy, coming in at six feet four was forced to look up at people we passed on the street. Women too seemed heads above. We both knew that many Lithuanians treat the sport of basketball like a form of religion. But, to have both the love of the sport and size needed to be successful at the game is a rare occurrence. Here, it seemed that forces collided and the country was producing an inordinate amount of tall people.

Next, the guide books had listed the water in the Baltic States as ‘unsavory’. Boy was that an understatement. The water flowing from the showers at the campground smelled of eggs, and the drinking water pouring from the taps had a brown tint.

We amused ourselves during the ‘now cruise controlled’ drive with these little tidbits and soon we were on the ferry again. After a quick stop for gas we were on the road heading northeast, toward the Hill of Crosses.

Driving to the Hill of Crosses, Lithuania’s countryside revealed wheat colored fields, old tractors lumbering along potholed roads and women wearing sun brimmed hats riding bicycles with baskets of wildflowers attached. I was reminded of driving through South Dakota, only the lackluster sky reminding me of our whereabouts. Most of our stay in Lithuania was greeted with grey, drab skies, and this drive was no exception.

When we reached the Hill of Crosses it was instantly apparent why this stop is high on the list of Lithuania’s ‘must sees’. As you approach the parking lot to this famous pilgrimage sight, a sea of crosses appears before you. All at once, a tangle of wood and land lays before you, with crosses the only common theme.

Depending on whose history you believe, the Hill of Crosses was either begun as a father’s desperate bid to cure his ill daughter, or as a memorial to warriors lost during a great battle. Stories of a pagan ritual site also abound. Regardless of its origin, the Hill of Crosses can be traced back to the fourteenth century. More recent history reminds us of how Communist Russia bulldozed the hill at least three times; an effort to stop pilgrims and locals from demonstrating their displeasure with the powers that made placing crosses on the hill an arrestable offense.

From a mound covered with 2000 crosses pre-independence to at last count over 400,000, the Hill of Crosses illustrates mans perseverance and above all else, mans faith. A visit in 1993 by Pope John Paul II made the Hill of Crosses famous the world over, and now license plates from all over the European Union (and one California camping van) can be seen on any given day throughout the parking lot.

The area once known as the ‘mound’ now encompasses a much larger land area. Crosses spill off the mound into a sea of faith inspired icons, spreading toward a recently built monastery and encroaching on adjoining farmland. These symbols of faith bear names of those who have passed, the needy, the ill and even victims of 9/11. Wooden platforms and dirt paths wind through the crosses, giving the curious a closer look at what inspired each cross. Hours or days spent meandering through the Hill of Crosses would not provide the time needed to read each cross. Instead, time is better spent wandering along the paths stopping to look at crosses that catch the eye.

From the Hill of Crosses we set a direct course for the Latvian border. We stopped at border store to spend the last of our Lithuanian Litas. Many of the small stores in former Soviet occupied nations provide a glimpse of what it must have been like to shop back in the pre-independence days. Selection is limited and most of the food is displayed behind a counter, with the assistance of a clerk needed to select and pay for the items. It’s an eerie reminder of how government policy dictated the public’s access.

When we approached the border crossing we had all our paperwork in hand. The border agent bore a striking resemblance to Saddam Hussein, and it was instantly apparent that this crossing was going to take some time. While he inspected our documents we could see two young agents inside the small booth playing computer solitaire on a pc that appeared to be from the late 80’s. After spending what seemed an eternity leafing through our passports, the agent handed our documents over to the young agent (think of the movie ‘Clerks’). The youthful agent took us our paperwork into the booth and we could hear laughing and broken English coming from inside. “Official document” we heard the young man saying, stifling giggles. After a few minutes the agent emerged from the booth and pointing at our vehicle registration stated that he had never seen paperwork that looked like that. He asked for more ‘substantial’ vehicle papers, as demonstrated by him miming a larger piece of paper. We provided a copy of our vehicle title stating the original was back in the safe, and he disappeared again. Within a few minutes he returned, our papers in hand and waved us through the border.

Latvia’s road proved just as bad as Lithuania’s, and we headed straight for the capital, Riga. As Riga’s skyline came into view, I for the first time had a vision of the states. It’s strange I know, but Riga reminded me a little of Boston. We approached from the river side and three bridges cross into the center of the city, with varied architecture on display. Old buildings stand next to shiny glass business offices, streets heavy with traffic crawl along the waterfront road, and the pulse of the city is busy.

After a failed attempt to find the city campground we crossed back over a bridge to find signs clearly marking where the campground lies, not a mile from the city. We settled in at the campground, which resembled a parking lot more than it did a campground. That evening was spent highlighting guide books as we planned our ‘invasion’ of the city the next day.

The following morning we loaded Petey into his trailer, mounted our bikes and drove the quick ten minute ride to city center. Along the way, as we were crossing the bridge Andy spotted yet another anti-Bush piece of art (notice I am no longer referring to them as graffiti?).

Arriving in Riga we went to the tourist office and picked up a walking guide to the city. My goal was to see as many of the art deco buildings as possible, and Andy was looking for a café to sample Latvian dumplings. On this particular day, we were both in luck.

Full of rich history and striking design, Riga has all the flavor of a big city steeped in Latvian culture. It’s a gem of a city, crowned by the aptly named Freedom Monument that rests smack dab in the middle of Riga’s greenbelt.

We walked through the Old Town, stopping in popular Liv Square to sample dumplings of three separate varieties. Much of the Old Town has been rebuilt to look as it did in the fifteenth through seventeenth centuries, and famous landmarks (such as the Town Square originally built in 1334) were rebuilt after being reduced to rubble during World War II. Some famous landmarks have been rebuilt as many as three times, reminders of Latvia’s turbulent and war torn past.

Passing by the guarded Freedom Monument (guards change on the hour from sunrise to sunset), we strolled through a stunning city park, where locals and tourists enjoyed the warm sunny weather. A small canal winds through the park, with pedal boats and rowboats making their way slowly along the water. Scattered throughout the park are polished marble stones, memorials to five people who were killed when Soviet Special Forces stormed the nearby Interior Ministry on January 20, 1991 eager to demonstrate their displeasure with Latvia’s recent moves toward independence.

North of the park in New Riga we visited Elizabetes Street, a small street famous for the Art Nouveau buildings that adorn it. Looking down, you miss all that makes Riga’s romantic style rich. Lift your head, and you are welcomed into an art world of facades, brilliant and profound.

Back in the Old Riga we wandered along the route outlined in our walking guide, taking occasional breaks to rest our tiring legs. We ended the day by riding our bikes through what is probably the largest market we have seen in Europe. The Central Market, dating back to the town’s founding in 1201 can now be found across from the train station (originally the market was located closer to the popular river trade routes). Housed in five enormous Zeppelin hangars, the Central Market is like a food and flea market super sized. Stalls spill out onto the streets and engulf neighboring streets. It’s a maze of shacks and umbrella covered stands that overwhelm the senses. Russian can be heard throughout the market, owing to the fact that 43.7% of the capital is Russian. It’s a people watcher’s dream.

We closed the day with a few beers back at the campground. Just as we were planning to head into the van for a night of ‘must see tv’, courtesy of our small dvd collection, we were approached by a gregarious and some might say obnoxious Swiss fellow. Well, that’s not exactly accurate. He had Swiss plates and has lived in Switzerland for most of his life, but ethnically he is German. His name escapes me now, it was Umondo or Umongous, or Andy thought maybe Humongous. For the purpose of this writing we’ll just call him ‘Bearded Man’, for the lengthy, shaggy hair that covered his face.

Bearded man pulled into the campground as the sun was making its’ daily slip out of the sky. He drove by our site, eyeing our van. After checking in at reception he walked not back to his car (as one usually does), but toward us. Halfway across the street he could be heard asking, “Is that two lazy Americans sitting there drinking beer?” Stunned, Andy and I looked at each other in disbelief. Next thing we knew, Bearded Man had sidled up to us and invited himself over for drinks. He brought a bottle of Four Roses Kentucky Bourbon and a chair and plopped himself down in our site as if we had known him for years. The next few hours were spent hearing all about Bearded Man’s travels, his soon to be ex-wife, and his disdain for politics. Probably one of the most interesting meetings of our trip, not soon will it leave my memory.

For a break from big city touring we headed next to Gauja Park. Latvia’s first National Park, Gauja is filled with colorful flora, crumbling castles, and too many pine trees to count. We only spent one night in the park, as the facilities left much to be desired. And, the water flowing from the taps actually surpassed the foulness of the water in Lithuania, leaving a scummy brown film on all our dishes.

We criss-crossed our way through the park, driving into the Gauja Valley bound for the town of Cesis. Cesis is known as a true ‘Latvian Town’. To us, Cesis looked somewhat like a Gold Rush town, the wide streets lined with wood and stone paneled buildings. Cesis is quaint and charming, as yet unspoiled by tourism. Storefronts are not yet strewn with souvenir items, and locals can be seen ducking into the local apothecary or café.

While in Cesis we visited a castle left for ruins in a local park and walked through an outdoor market where the lack of vendor booths left one wondering, “Is this really all there is to the city market?”

We tried in vain to find an entrance to the oldest brewery in Latvia, relegated to looking at the remains of the place from the far side of a chain link fence.

Even though it lacked in tourist driven sites, Cesis provided us with a glimpse of how Latvians go about their everyday business. We bought a toaster at a small electronics store for about nine dollars (I can’t tell you how much we have been craving toast lately). We exchanged Latvian Lats for Estonian Kroons at a local bank, and eyed the fare at a local café. It was noticeably like a Saturday at home, running errands in town. This stop, more than any other made us feel like people are pretty much the same wherever you go.

We left Cesis by mid afternoon. Andy made sandwiches while I drove and we drove until the road ended, literally. As we were making our way to the Estonian border suddenly the paved road dropped off, leaving us in a cloud of dust. After checking with a local who assured us we were on the right road, we plugged along on the rocky, dusty path for another fifteen miles, until we reached the border.

The border as it were, consisted of a wooden barrier across the road, with a small cabin of to the side. Not a soul was in sight. We waited, and after a few moments a brusque guard appeared and asked for our papers. He sifted through our documents for quite some time before attempting to converse with us. We labored to understand his English and he didn’t appear interested in our responses. Confusion set in and suddenly we were gathering more ‘original’ documents for our ‘friendly’ border agent. He disappeared into the cabin with our paperwork and when we saw him next he was handing us our documents saying, “I give you all papers”. Yes, he did return all of our papers to us, without the flashy red folder we had handed them to him in. Quick to weigh the option of questioning the agent as to the whereabouts of our nifty folder, or just take the loss and make a clean break across the border, we opted for the latter.

First stop in Estonia was the resort town of Parnu. Not like the traditional resort towns we are accustomed to back home, Parnu feels more like a quiet beach town. The beach is filled with bronzing bodies laying on white sand, with the Gulf of Riga the backdrop. Apparently Parnu is where Estonian’s visit for some much needed rest and relaxation. Mud baths are the spa service of choice and chic bars border the lovely new paved promenade that follows the coastline. Crossing through parklands from the beach one reaches the small town center of Parnu, its’ streets easily walked in ten minutes time.

We spent most of our time in Parnu at the campground, an ideal spot next to the Parnu River Estuary. We watched a film about 9/11 we downloaded from Google and read about our next stop, the capital Tallinn. And, one evening we walked through a weekend carnival, a reminder that the Baltics have quickly grasped western culture with a zest long ago lost in the states.

Tomorrow, we’re off to Tallinn.

Arriving in Dresden, the landscape hadn’t changed much. The countryside that we had been weaving through to reach our destination dropped off to reveal the bland, less than dynamic suburbs of Dresden.

At the campground we again realized how small the globe truly is when our neighbors turned out to be from Elk Grove. Our shock at their geographic closeness to where we live was only surpassed by the disbelief felt when we found out that the father of our neighbor ran the union Andy belongs to in San Francisco. “Small world” comments were exchanged all around, and we spent the better part of an hour talking with the fellow Californian’s about their travels.

In the morning we drove into central Dresden to visit the Zwinger Museum. Originally built as a royal palace, the Zwinger now houses fine art and scientific treasures. A sight to see, the buildings were actually rebuilt to their former glory after being carpet bombed at the end of the Second World War. We decided to focus our visit on the Mathematics and Physics Salon, where numerous globes, telescopes, and clocks are housed.

Andy and I were so entranced by the items on exhibit that we decided to spend the small amount needed to secure an audio guide. After donning our headphones we parted, each choosing our own path through the museum.

Dresden was meant to be a quick stop on out way to Poland, and within a few hours of visiting the museum we had crossed the Polish border. We drove for many hours that day, ending our journey in the town of Oswiecim, more commonly known as Auschwitz.

It has long been a goal of mine to visit the concentration camps of Eastern Europe. I don’t know if ‘goal’ is the right word, but I have always felt strongly that I should visit the site of the Auschwitz concentration camp and pay my respects. Our visit to Terezin only intensified this feeling.

Pulling off the main highway and onto the national country road that leads to Auschwitz is a strange experience. While the countryside doesn’t change much, the flavor of the towns do. Poland in general appears to have a deeply depressed economy, and the cities and towns reflect that. But, driving to Auschwitz felt different. My judgment may have been clouded by the impending visit, but I can say without hesitation that the feeling was post war gloominess. City outlines were grey and the people walking through the streets seemed somber at best. A tremendous hazy sky was splintered by bright pink and orange sun rays, the only sign that civilization is not so bleak.

We were astounded as we pulled in to the town of Oswiecim. Camping in town is relegated to one of two parking lots. Both charge a flat fee for a 24 hour stay, and we pulled into the lot exhausted from a long day of driving. We walked across the street from the lot to the museum and read all of the outdoor displays. After checking for the museum opening time we went back to the van to get a good nights’ sleep before what we predicted would be an emotionally and physically exhausting day. I had a restless sleep that night, the sounds of trains passing on nearby tracks an eerie reminder of where we were.

At 8:00 a.m. the next morning we walked to the State Museum in Oswiecim, the actual site of Auschwitz. The entire camp grounds have been turned into the museum and one can stroll the grounds freely. For the most part intact, Auschwitz looks like an old military base that has been preserved in time. Originally established as barracks for the Polish military, the Nazi’s took over the grounds in 1940 to house Polish prisoners. Numerous barracks remain, and when one enters the property it’s hard to imagine the horrific crimes that were perpetrated within its’ gates. However, one need only look at a grounds map or enter one of the buildings to be reminded of what took place here between 1940 and 1945.

Many of the buildings display items taken from victims as they arrived, shoes, suitcases, dishes. Mounds and mounds of possessions rest in perpetuity behind glass walls. Too many shoes to count, too many hairbrushes and combs to take in, too many suitcases to comprehend. And, a wall of hair shaved from the heads of the victims brings visions of lambs being led to sheering before slaughter. It’s all too real, and at the same time incomprehensible.

We later found out that the hair taken from prisoners (which included all body hair) was sold by the Nazi’s to factories in the Reich to be used for haircloth used by tailors to line clothing. Hair was removed not only from live victims, but also from the carcasses of those gassed in the gas chambers. Forensic studies conducted on samples retrieved from bales of haircloth found in the Reich showed trace levels of a type of cyanide consistent with a compound being used at the camp.

Walking toward the site where executions took place it was hard not to notice the boarded up windows of the block where medical and sterilization experimentation occurred on women. Looking up at a second floor window frame I quickly averted my gaze, only to be drawn to the window again, with a weighted sole feeling numb from the pain and horror I imagined took place in that building.

From the so called ‘Death Block’ we walked through several of the barracks containing National exhibits put together by nations eager to keep alive the memory of those of their citizenry persecuted in the camp. Then, we made our final stop at the provisional gas chamber and crematoria, where the Nazi’s first tested the use of gas on 600 Soviet prisoners of war and 250 infirmed prisoners in 1941.

After touring Auschwitz we walked back to the parking lot, packed the van and drove to Birkenau. Situated not five minutes from Auschwitz, Birkenau is less visited than Auschwitz, but where most of the mass killings took place. The moment our van crested the small overpass that leads from one site to the other our collective gasps assured us that we were staring down at a concentration camp. Unlike Auschwitz, Birkenau was a massive undertaking, a city of death. Set on over 400 acres, with more than seven miles of fence, Birkenau was the last stop for over 1.1 million Jews.

When you enter the gates of Birkenau, your eye is instantly drawn to the railway track that carves its’ way through the center of camp. Only after absorbing this does one look to the standing structures and the crumbled remains of 300 buildings. The grid like pattern of the camp appears calculated and demonstrates the Nazi’s need and ability to keep prisoners from communicating with each other; communicating the fate of those pulling into the camp by train who were not ‘lucky’ enough to be unloaded from the train at the ‘selection platform’. For those individuals were railed straight to the gas chambers at the back of the camp, told they were the ‘lucky’ ones and would be allowed to bathe before entering the camp. They were systematically exterminated. Literally railed to their deaths.

Under the burning sun we walked the entire camp. We saw barracks with three tiered bunks crowded from wall to wall in the women’s camp, viewed a small covered piled of silverware that remained where warehouses once stood housing possessions collected from victims (the Nazi’s later burned these buildings in an attempt to cover their crimes), and stared mouth agape at the collapsed ruins of the gas chambers and crematorium.

I told Andy that I needed to see one more place. A small pond where the ashes of those exterminated at Birkenau lies in an area of greenery, an anomaly amongst the cold ruins of the camp. I wanted to see the pond, to see first hand the gruesomeness of the crime, and to place a stone at the foot of the pond, showing my respect for the dead. On the map I spotted where the pond was and began trudging the overgrown weeds to get to it. As I approached the pond, still some fifty feet away, I noticed small spots of green moving all around my feet. Upon closer inspection I saw that the green items were actually little green frogs, hundreds of them. The frogs danced all round my feet, leaping in the direction of the pond. When I reached the waters edge frogs jumped into the pond, while others continued to hop along the perimeter of the pond. I know it sounds strange, but it seemed as if the frogs were there to welcome me, to thank me for visiting and remembering, and most of all for paying my respects. Instead of being a truly sorrowful experience, it was a fulfilling moment. I placed a small stone on a branch protruding from the pond and backed away as quickly as I had approached, a parade of frogs guiding me.

We left Birkenau changed people. We left disillusioned with humanity and discussing world peace. We left talking of the magnitude of the maniacal behavior exhibited by the captors and the totally disregard for life displayed. Most of all we left with diminished spirit.

Before leaving the town of Oswiecim we stopped in the actual town center at The Auschwitz Jewish Center. A center dedicated to the history of the town’s Jews and the Synagogue, it is interestingly enough funded in part by our own State Department and staffed by several young Americans. I looked at the photography exhibit displaying Jews during the early 1900’s, alive with love for the arts and community. To bear witness through photography to the pre-Holocaust town forever shaped how I will remember my visit to Auschwitz. The bustling streets, New Year’s parties and town markets featured in the photos so starkly contrasted with the death camps I had walked that day, that disbelief once again entered my mind. There was no way this could have happened, right? Maybe that’s what people who don’t think the Holocaust happened believe, even when faced with evidence to the contrary. That is why we must forever preserve the memory of those murdered; we must continue to face history.

From Auschwitz we drove to Krakow and were uninspired by the city. Even the popular town square, with a chain link fence snaking around Cloth Hall was unimpressive.

Krakow to Warsaw was a lengthy drive, where the landscape still continued to lack any stimulating design. Warsaw was worse. The city is riddled with thick black exhaust and grey concrete structures are boxlike and unorganized. The few striking buildings, and I do mean few, can be observed while driving through the city. We decided not to stop and continued on to the so called ‘Lake District of Poland.

Pulling into the lake area (Poland touts being the land of lakes, with over 9000 in all), it was too late to find a campground. We slept in a parking lot. The next morning we took in another grey sky and decided it was time to move on to Lithuania. We had just one more stop to make. We drove to the ‘Wolf’s Lair’, one of Hitler’s hideaways. A densely forested area of bunkers, the hidden military headquarters was built for an offensive against the Soviet Union in 1941. Site of an assassination attempt on Hitler, the Wolf’s Lair was visited many times by Hitler and his many guests, including Mussolini. An airstrip, hotel, and fortified bunkers litter the forest, and what remains today is crumbling concrete. Yet, the setting is strangely scenic. The forest drips with lush green foliage. Tall trees provide a natural shelter from the elements and you weave through damp forest on a picturesque path.

Oddly enough another frog reference comes in here. As you walk through the forest along the trail that leads to all of the bunker ruins, tiny brown frogs frantically criss-cross the path. Frogs scramble around, appearing to seek shelter from being squashed. Their movements are erratic and they leap in all directions. Some hop into the forest, others jump into small well camouflaged crevices on the trail. I couldn’t help but think that these brown frogs, with their hasty movements were a sign. Maybe they were the reincarnation of Nazi SS Officers, forever punished to roam the forest, a kind of purgatory to pay for their sins. It was so striking to me. First the frogs at Auschwitz, now the frogs at Hitler’s lair. I’m not usually one for signs, but the coincidence was too glaring to overlook.

By mid afternoon we passed through the Lithuanian border, making our way to the capital of Vilnius. We camped just outside the capital on Lake Galve, across from the village of Trakai.
Our first day of sightseeing was filled with the many flavors of Lithuania. But before our walking tour began, our eyes caught the site of yet another anti-Bush graffiti effort.

We visited three very distinct areas of the capital. First, we wandered through the Jewish Quarter and Ghettos. The neighborhoods that make up the quarter are lined with apartment topped storefront buildings. We ducked into the lobby of a building being renovated to take shelter from a downpour and were surprised when we saw the remains of an old building exterior preserved inside.

Apparently the redevelopment efforts have sparked some controversy, with one member of Parliament being particularly outspoken about his opposition. While many feel the reconstruction amounts to a tribute and ‘resurrection of lost culture’, MP Vytautas Sustauskas remarked that Lithuania would, “Be turned into slaves of the Jews.” His remarks ignited simmering anti-Semitic feelings and that mindset, coupled with the rising value of the land being developed has made the old ghetto area a hot topic.

We also saw the only remaining synagogue in Vilnius. Once regarded as the ‘Jerusalem of the North, Vilnius was at one time home to some 100 synagogues. The synagogue, built in 1894, survived only because the Nazi’s used it as a medical store.

By midday hunger had begun its’ ugly creep, and we ducked into a famous tea house to reenergize. The Skonis ir Kvapas specializes in teas from around the world, and the scrumptious desserts that accompany the liquid libation are an added treat.

From the ghetto we visited the Parliament area, known as Gedimino Prospektas. The streets that dissects the area is a wide, newly redeveloped promenade, with high end stores and the Small Theatre of Vilnius, where a striking sculpture caps its’ entry.

This area is also home to the KGB (or Genocide Museum), housed in the now Court of Appeals building. The building is an imposing structure, with stones engraved with the names of those tortured inside by the KGB lining the façade.

Lastly, we visited the very touristy area near Cathedral Square. Heavy restoration efforts and a sterile Old Town quarter make the area lack luster and we quickly returned to the van for the ride back to the campground.

That evening we took a paddle boat out on the lake and admired Trakai’s Peninsula Castle. We paddled away as the sun set on the lake, only the lights of a restaurant to guide us back to our campground.

As we left the next morning we stopped at the Paneriai Forest. Nazi’s marched more than 100,000 people (at least 75,00 of whom were Jewish) to their death in this forest. Starting in Vilnius, Jews and others persecuted by the Nazi’s walked with armed guard accompaniment to the forest, only to be shot in the head and dumped into mass graves. According to historical literature, Lithuanian accomplices did as much of the killings as the Einsatzkommando 9, an SS killing unit.

To get to the memorial site you walk along a nearly deserted road, empty except for a handful of ramshackle houses that sit across from busy railroad tracks. A little over a half mile down the road you come to a parking lot where a huge stone structure announces the entrance into the memorial grounds. From there you follow a paved trail as it winds it way through the forest, with intersecting paths leading to grassed over pits. Each pit is marked by a memorial, some describing in Lithuanian what occurred at the site.

After a slow and thought filled walk back to the van we left Vilnius and drove toward the Baltic Sea. Our destination was the Curonian Spit, a thin strip of sandy land that is bordered on one side by the Baltic and the other the Curonian Lagoon. We boarded a ferry for the short five minute crossing and then drove almost twenty-five miles toward the town of Nida, the most famous of the fishing villages on the Spit.

The campground is a short ten minute walk to the famous dunes of the spit. Dubbed the ‘Sahara of Lithuania’, the Parnidis Dune offer a view of nearby Kaliningrad, Russia. Mother nature will eventually have her way with the spit, as the dunes drift into the sea at an alarming three plus feet per year. Fourteen villages have been swallowed in the last three centuries, and tourists romping through the dunes could quickly make that number grow.

From the dunes we walked into town and admired the handsome fishing cottages that border the harbor. Brightly painted and complete with thatched roofs, the homes are a throwback to a bygone era.

Weathervanes dot the tiny village, and are actively sought by tourists as a keepsake and photo opportunity. The weathervanes were used to identify fishing boats and later became the known address for the homes of the town’s inhabitants. They are colorful and intricate, each work a piece of art.

Back at the campground we settled in for a night of reading and writing. We are eagerly reading about our next stops. Tomorrow we will make one last stop in Lithuania at the Hill of Crosses, and then our ‘Capital Connection’ continues when we drive to Riga, Latvia.

Waiting out the camera repair proved lengthy. We camped in Eschenz, a small Swiss village near the German border. Our campsite was on a plateau overlooking Lake Constance, near where the river Rhine feeds the lake. Our wait lasted five days, and we had five days of absolutely spectacular weather. Each night, as the town bell towers struck midnight, we waited and watched as an enormous blood orange moon crested the hills, casting a tremendous glow across the lake. For the most part we stayed at our site relishing the view. At one point a British couple moved in next to us. We shared an evening of wine and conversation of our travels. Also, our neighbor was kind enough to share a copy of Microsoft’s Autoroute for the laptop, assisting Andy and I with mapping out our travels on the computer. The timing was perfect, as our atlas has begun to show some wear, literally tearing free from its’ binding.

Every day we called the Olympus headquarters to find out if our camera was ready, and each day Herr Hartman told us it would be ready the next day. Finally, bright and early on July 19 we drove to pick up the camera.

From Olympus we drove to the Austrian border. It was here that we experienced our first border stop in Europe. The border official asked for our passports and green insurance card. I was actually kind of excited to show the small green piece of paper. We had to pay quite a bit of money for our international auto insurance policy, and to date not one person has asked to see it. We were waved across the border quickly and drove to the lakeside village of Hallstat.

Temperatures in Hallstat hovered in the high nineties. The heat was sweltering and we decided a visit to the Dachstein Giant Ice Cave was in order. Our only mistake was that we decided to ride our bikes to the aerial cable lift. We packed Petey into his trailer and began what we thought would be a short three mile bike ride from the campground to the lift. We had been told by the campground owner that the short ride was mostly flat, with only the last half mile a bit of a climb. That small climb turned into switchback after switchback, and each corner brought a new groan (from both mouth and body) as we looked up the road at the remainder of the climb. We made several stops, red faced and out of breath, and looking for a small patch of shade to shield us from the scathing sun. After what seemed like an eternity we rounded the last bend and arrived at the Dachstein lift.

We boarded the cable car and were rapidly whisked up the Schonbergalpe mountain, where an even more intense hike awaited us. Once you sign up for the cave tour at the gondola exit, you must rapidly make your way along a steep trail to the cave entrance. Sweat pouring from our brows we did our best to try to keep Petey cool by pouring water on his back, the view from the mountain and the door to the cave were our only impetus to continue the trek.

At the top of the trail we waited as a digital clock ticked away the minutes until our guided tour began. We quickly gobbled up two of the nectarines we had packed for our planned ‘leisurely’ lunch and then we saw a guide prop open the door to the cave. Within seconds of entering the ice cave the temperature dropped from ninety plus to thirty two. Andy and I quickly donned warmer clothing and within a few minutes decided that it was time to put Petey’s coat on too. To go from the sweltering heat to such chilly cold air was a shock to the system.

Inside, a system of tunnels is walked through to reach the extensive ice cave. Steps bring visitors into the many viewing areas, with names like King Arthur’s Cathedral, Grail Castle, and Ice Palace.

During the tour we climbed up and down narrow platforms and viewed tremendous blocks of ice that looked as if wide rivers had frozen in place. Ice spires and jagged ice in the shape of daggers loom at every corner. Throughout the year temperatures fluctuate throughout the cave, with the highest shift occurring near cave openings. Yet, the increase of ice in the winter months still exceeds the loss of ice during the summer months. While in the cave one traverses altitude differences of as much as two hundred feet, so by the time the tour finished, we were looking forward to boarding the cable car back to the Dachstein Banhoff.

After a quick downhill ride back to Hallstat Andy and I decided to take a dip in the lake. Our camping neighbors had warned us that the lake was ‘glacier’ cold, but we were willing to risk it. We both enjoyed the swim. The water temperature was warmest near the surface, with only your lower extremities feeling the frigid water beneath. But for our aching calves, it seemed the perfect prescription for muscle pain relief.

Later we toured the tiny town of Hallstat on bicycle. The homes and restaurants that border the lake are literally perched at waters edge. The dollhouse style architecture makes the town visibly appealing, while the vibe is funky. Seeing Hallstat and the towns that led up to our stop led me to say that Austria feels like a morphing of Switzerland and Berkeley. Strange, but true.

The following day we drove around the mountain range that had been our backdrop while in Hallstat. The limestone mountains are dramatic and appear to flow a river of rock from impressive top peaks to wide, colossal base.

Bound for Slovenia we entered onto the freeway only to be stopped some thirty minutes later. What we thought was routine weekend traffic turned out to be one of the worst delays of our travels. Apparently one of the tunnels we needed to pass through to get to Slovenia has a history of accidents, so traffic entering the tunnel is monitored. On this particular day, another accident had taken place. We sat on the freeway for over three hours. It seemed everyone was in the know but us. As soon as the cars came to a stop travelers pulled out chaise lounge chairs and coolers with snacks to wait out the delay. I even saw a woman lying on the freeway pavement sunbathing in a bikini! Andy and I passed the time playing gin and snacking on food from the pantry. With temperatures at an all time high we were glad to be in a campervan, having a cooling fan and ice cubes at our disposal.

By mid afternoon boredom and irritation set in and Andy decided that the traffic delay was a sign that we shouldn’t head south as we had planned. After much discussion and a little arguing we changed course and drove to Graz, Austria.

Graz proved to be a pleasant detour. First, the campground was situated adjacent to a huge waterpark. But, this was no traditional waterpark. Instead, the swimming pool at the campground was designed to look like a lake, complete with a loose stone bottom. It was the largest swimming pool we have ever seen, and the strangest too. The entire pool was fashioned out of stainless steel, with the smooth rounded stones making up the floor. The temperature was warm and we swam the night and next day away, happy to be far from the heat absorbing black tarmac of the highway.

We chose to walk the Old Town of Graz on a Sunday, when tourists would be at a minimum. Graz was listed as Europe’s City of Culture for 2003 and is Austria’s second largest city. Not surprisingly though, the Old Town is manageable by foot and makes for an enjoyable mid afternoon stroll. The brightly colored building facades draw the eye upward toward the towering buildings. Small boutiques and lively cafes fill the streets and alleys that maze through the Old Town. Speaking of alleys, anti-Bush sentiments are alive and well in Graz, as evidenced by the graffiti I found in an alleyway near the town hall.

After exploring the streets of the older region we crossed the river by bridge, stopping to admire Murinsel, the Island in the Mur. Touted as a new landmark of Graz and designed by New York artist Vito Acconci, the Murinsel is a meeting place resting in the river. Intended to look like a giant open mussel shell, the Murinsel is connected to the two shores of the river by narrow plank like walkways. The entire ‘sculpture’ is crafted from metal and is in stark contrast to the muddy, murky waters that flow beneath. Apparently a night viewing of the Murinsel is ideal, as the nightclub housed within radiates with ethereal lighting that brings the structure to life.

From the river we walked through Sackstrasse, a mile of art and antique dealers. Andy and I window shopped, gazing through the cluttered windows at war memorabilia and art deco lighting. Our budget and lack of space kept us from purchasing two boldly shaped art deco lamps.

Having now altered our plans to leave Croatia for another trip, we did decide to drive the three hours necessary to see Ljubljana, Slovenia. The capital of Slovenia, Ljubljana is a mesmerizing city, where the average age is a young thirty.

We arrived at the campground in Ljubljana relatively early in the day and were struck when we found out our neighbors were from San Francisco. Cliff and Sandy have been on the road for sixteen years. Yes, you read that right. The extremely liberal, free thinking, anti-war, couple left California in 1990 bound for a life on the road in Europe. They lived in the city for many years, later moving to Fairfax. Cliff retired at 42 after spending years managing pizza parlors and he and Sandy sold their house, invested the money and began their travels. They are traveling in a 1980 Volkswagen van they shipped over from the states. They have never used electricity while on the road, and don’t use a fridge. Sixteen years without a refrigerator…can you imagine?

Their van is still registered in Oregon, and through some creative networking they have managed to get their mail and essentials forwarded to them on the road. They do go to Washington, to the San Juan islands, every other year. Not completely free of their peaceful protest nature, they organize anti-war events or champion other causes close to their hearts when back in the states.

During the winter months Sandy and Cliff leave the road life, bound for warm climates. For many years they have wintered on Hydra, a Greek island near the Peloponnese. They told us many stories of their adventures, one of which included a time when they almost bought land in Norway during a stopover there. The price was right, but the fact that for two months in the winter the sun wouldn’t make an appearance left them rethinking their new home choice.

Our first day of scheduled sightseeing was delayed by a day filled with politically minded reading. Our peace minded anti-war activist neighbors provided us with several books that immediately peaked our interest and had us diving into the bindings. All totaled, Cliff and Sandy have a collection of over two hundred books in their van. Titles such as
‘Public Power In the Age of Empire’ and ‘War On Iraq What Team Bush Doesn’t Want you To Know’ as well as numerous essays by Noam Chomsky filled our day. We were reminded what prompted our trip in the first place, and recent news of events in Lebanon left us wondering if world peace will ever be an option.

The next day was a hot one. We packed ourselves and a muzzled Petey onto a city bus and headed for Ljubljana’s town center. We got off the bus at Tivoli Park and crossed the sprawling urban park bound for the Old Town.

The buildings that line the Old Town have both a Mediterranean and Baroque style and the town exerts a natural beauty not often felt in city’s of its’ size.

A huge daily general market lines the riverside pedestrianized street and we took advantage of the colorful awnings that shaded each stall, looking at tourist souvenirs and fresh produce stalls, a welcome respite from the burning sun.

We strolled both sides of the river, crossing the famous dragon bridge to reach the nineteenth century quarter, where most of the city’s museums are housed.

After getting our bearings in town center we hiked the steep hills climbing to the castle in the late afternoon. The castle now houses art exhibitions and nightly outdoor cinema events, and not much else unless you are willing to part with some cash to go up to the viewing tower. Supposedly the viewing tower affords spectacular views of the city. We would have been happy donors, had the viewing deck allowed dogs. Instead, we carefully navigated the steep grade back to the Old Town and caught a bus back to the campground. After a dip in the strangely ‘Las Vegas’ like swimming pool (and I use the term pool loosely here, it was more like a bar and night club dropped into a swimming grotto), we ate dinner and looked at the atlas, trying to plan our next stop.

We decided that the heat made southern travel unappealing and chose to focus our future travels on Northern, Eastern Europe. We looked at Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia, and all looked promising. By now, we were getting used to the fact that even some European Union countries were not yet totally on the Euro, so traveling to lands that required multiple currencies might not be such a hassle after all.

From Ljubljana we drove north, crossing the Austrian border and continuing until we reached the Czech Republic. At the border crossing into Austria was the first time we have had to actually hand over passports and stop and wait as our information was processed. The border agent eyed us suspiciously, especially Andy as his passport photo is incredibly grainy and dark. After a few minutes the agent stamped our passports, the first time they have been stamped in over a year of travel and let us through. We were beginning to realize that maybe the European Union’s borders were not as open as we had been led to believe. All through France, Portugal, and Spain we had never encountered an actual border crossing. Usually, a small sign on a bridge or the side of the road was the only indicator that we had passed from one country to another. Now, when we cross from country to country we reach a border maintained by the military, with checkpoints still in place. So much for ‘open borders’.

Crossing into the Czech Republic we were again stopped and passports stamped. Andy was most amused, as our passports began to look like the world travelers we felt we had grown to become. A short detour to a town recommended by Cliff and Sandy, Cesky Krumlov, resulted in our moving on to Prague. Cesky Krumlov is a Unesco World Heritage Site, but the overcrowded atmosphere by the murky river left us longing to move on to the excitement Prague had begun to stir inside us.

Arriving in Prague in the late evening during the high season is probably not a wise idea. On the outskirts of Prague in Troja, many homeowners have converted their fruit tree laden backyards to accommodate the flood of campers that arrive during July and August. Andy walked the streets in vain, coming back to the van after each stop to tell me that the campground was full. Nearing eleven o’clock we decided to try our look at a campground on the other side of town, on an island in the river Vltaba. We arrived at ten minutes to midnight and were wearily greeted by the campground manager. She agreed to let us in, and we were both surprised and pleased. We awoke the next morning feeling as if we had been trapped inside an oven, the van temperature quickly rising from the glaring sun, and ended up moving to a different campground on the island, seeking trees and the shade they provide from the heat.

By late afternoon the temperature had cooled a bit, due in part to a thunderstorm, and we road our bikes into Prague’s city center. Prague is probably the most visually striking city we have visited on this trip. The architecture is simply magnificent. You could walk the streets for weeks and not have enough time to take in the remarkable buildings that line the streets. I know that I have often described grand facades and moving architectural masterpieces in this travel log, but Prague takes the prize. Never have I been so transfixed on the architecture of a city. Prague is a must see for anyone intrigued by the artistic style of period architectural buildings.

Our first stop was in the Jewish Quarter, filled with synagogues, the most famous of which is Pinkus Temple. Kosher eating establishments line the streets and we stopped at a place called Bohemian Bagel to check our e-mail and sample a Czech bagel with cream cheese.

Next, we biked through the Staromestske namesti, the most famous of all Prague’s squares and took time to soak in all the surroundings. Many tourists filed into the square from small pedestrian side streets and the grandeur of the square could be seen in their faces as they made the final turn from alleyway to the Staromestske namesti.

As the sun set we walked across the Charles Bridge, a world famous bridge started in the fourteenth century and lined with massive statues, including some Jesuit propaganda pieces. During our walk we stopped to listen to the Original Prague Syncopated Orchestra, a band playing songs that would make any fan of Woody Allen movies proud. The authentic 1920’s early American jazz enticed many a tourist, and after listening for nearly an hour, Andy bought their cd, to liven up our traveling music collection.

The next morning we drove to Terezin, to the Thierrenstadt prison and concentration camp. We stopped at the Small Fortress, a fortification built in the 1700’s. Throughout history, the fortress was used to protect access routes, while in the 1800’s it served less as a fortress and more as a prison, including during World War I. However, it was during the occupation of Czech lands in 1939 that led to the Small Fortress’s occupation by the Prague Gestapo Police. From 1940 through 1945 the fortress housed prisoners of war and people resisting the Nazi regime. Many nationalities were held in Terezin including Russians, British, French, and many Central European groups.

In November 1941 the Nazi’s made the town of Terezin itself a Ghetto, a concentration camp for Jews. Within one year the town’s original population had to be removed to make room for the large number of Jews being brought there. Terezin became the Main Fortress, a town behind bars. Terezin’s concentration camp was originally established solely as a reception and transit station for Jews. What occurred at Terezin was in fact a carefully orchestrated Nazi propaganda campaign. The Nazi’s told the world that Terezin was actually a “self administered Jewish settlement territiory”, and went so far as to develop a ‘beautification’ campaign meant to dupe the international public and cover up the atrocities occurring in Terezin. In fact, famous Nazi propaganda footage was shot in Terezin , film and photos designed to prove to the world how well the Nazi’s were treating those imprisoned in the territory. And, accredited doctors and dignitaries visited to tour Terezin and bring reports back to their respective homeland that the Jews were, ‘okay’. Many of these high ranking people were fooled too.

Touring the Small Fortress we were able to see where prisoners were housed in the concentration camp. When we entered the barracks style buildings my heart sank. The mutli-level bunk beds brought back images I had seen as a child while studying history in school. Moderately sized rooms housed racks and racks of the rickety wooden bunks. Pictures of hundreds of emaciated concentration camp victims crammed into the makeshift beds filled my mind.

We walked the entire camp and viewed execution grounds, administrative buildings, solitary cells and areas where mass burials took place. I couldn’t bring myself to take one photo. I watched as individual tourists and large guided groups walk by pointing their cameras and shooting photographs of selected sites. For me, it was a place not to be recorded on film, but absorbed by the naked eye. The organization and precision with which the Nazi’s orchestrated their campaign against the Jews and others, and the level of deceit are all apparent, all the way down to the entrance gates with large black letters looming above stating, “Arbeicht Macht Frei” (Work Makes Free).

As we left the grounds we walked backed to the van in near silence, only uttering a few words about the dark clouds that had begun to fill the sky. Within moments of reaching the parking lot a downpour began of a magnitude I have not seen in years. It was as if the sky had parted and a river from the heavens began to flow onto us. We watched in astonishment as the roads began to swell with small lakes and people ran for cover.

We drove slowly in the rainstorm the short drive from the Small Fortress into Terezin town and visited the Ghetto Museum. The museum is probably one of the most informative I’ve visited. Exhibits clearly outline what occurred in Terezin and provide an exceptional description of Nazi propaganda and a brief history of other concentration camps, specifically Auschwitz. After visiting the Museum of the Ghetto, one can take a self guided tour of the town, with all of the sights during the occupation clearly delineated.

By late afternoon we were on the road again, destined for the German border. We planned to drive to Poland from the Czech Republic, but decided the efficient German Autobahn system would make for less travel time. As we approached the German border we noticed something that we have seen quite frequently at border towns. Typically, there are a number of flea market style booths selling garden gnomes, cigarettes, and other knick-knack items. And, we almost always see prostitutes. Usually the prostitutes begin to show up on the side of the road, sitting on buckets or chairs. Some flag cars down, but most sit by the highway bemused. Next, the string of prostitutes gives way to strip clubs, and then you reach the border. The Czech Republic border town of Cinovec had all the usual makings of border towns with which we were familiar, with a few added visuals. First, prostitutes were rather conspicuously mixed in with fruit vendors. Sometimes it was impossible to tell who was who. Women sat on both sides of the highway, some under sun umbrellas, hawking their wares. I would imagine it could become quite confusing for the customer. Next, as the road narrowed and we left the town and drove the last few miles to the border, the area becomes desolate. That is, until small shacks appear on the side of the road, real hillbilly style lean-to’s with barely clothes women dancing in doorways. Some of the women were standing in the shoulder of the road in just their underwear. It was really bizarre.

At the German border we were stopped and our passports stamped out of the Czech Republic and into Germany. We are going to spend a day or so in Dresden, visiting the palace Zwinger, now home to some of Dresden’s finest museums.