View over Shushi/Shusha

I still think there are things to clear in my mind. When I look through my notebook I find I have just put down words to describe what I see. Churches, mosques, doors in arches but the house is gone. Garbage. The first morning the clouds are passing by outside the window, it cleared after an hour or so and the path I’ve walked the night before became details rather that nighttime outlines. Yellow gas pipes, a meter and a half or two over the ground. Little alleys that ends by a cliff. Views are stunning down in the valley, clouds in the distance, hovering over the mountains past Steparnakert. Trees with bare branches, It will be green here in the summer. It will become beautiful.

Snow, loads. will I get out? back to Yerevan? I need a beer, feeling of being overwhelmed by all the information and again, the snow. The trash that litters the streets is covered, the ruins take more round shapes. I slept at Armens, the french man I met the day before on the marchutka, who had paid my ticket and showed me the way. Woke up to the cold bright morning. brilliant hospitality. A house full of books, warming only one room at a time, sitting and listening to Armens stories about how the politics have gone rotten. Education in Karabakh is just a word, not an institution it seems. Armen says, give us jobs, education and rights and we will have democracy.

We were to visit the hospital, 40 people working there. Armen knows the man who runs it and he though I would like to see it for photos. But it is not open, no one there. Armen gets fired up and tells me that they have a hospital for surgery, funded by money from French diaspora, though Shushi does not need surgery, they need basic medical expertise. We pass through parts of the city and there seems to be the same in many places, things are built, people hired but things are not working. With some exceptions of course and in fact the people I meet and spend some time with are all fantastically energetic and very positive. It is the environment that makes me confused. The ruins of houses, again. and the horror of the history. wars for hundreds of years.

I walked with Armen, walked alone later in the day, I climbed around in the ruins and as night falls over the snow and the street lights turned on i took refuge in the art center that has been built with diaspora money for the children in the area. I was there on and off in the three days I was in Shushi, to see the work and to meet the souls that glow in a remains of what is said to have been a great culture center in the Trans Caucasus.

I had to leave before I was quite finished with seeing Shushi, took a taxi in the morning, paying the local bread delivery man some dollars to get down to the bus stop. I want to come back, stay longer, meet more people, get a better understanding. Still confused, but at a distance. always possible to distance oneself as a member of the more fortunate few in the world with roots in northern Europe.

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Yerevan

After a day of photographing Yerevan and the spring that paied it a visit I got an early start, a wild taxidrive to the wrong part of town and then right and finally a lone minibus ride to the disputed region Nagorno-Karabach. I had a number to call once I got there but was warned that the phone might not work in the region, from political reasons. Hours and kilometers on roads that climbed up to the high mountains, snow, men in leather coats and leather hats and lots of cigarettes. I was quite happy in the bus, I fell alseep a few times and woke up every time to more astonishing sights. We crossed the border with no problem, though the border guard asked for my phone which I kindly refused to give him.

Once we arrived in Steparnakert, the capital, I got my visa sorted with the kind athorities at the foreign ministry and found a women that could lend me her phone, mine was obviously not working. The women that lend me the phone alredy knew the women I was meeting, small place this is.

Another small ride in a minibus, packed beyond sanity, people, legs, arms, bags in a big bundle and the a couple of more people got on the bus before we left town. One of the a french man who gave me his Karabach story and who obviously devoted his life to the region and to the town Shushi we were heading for. He told me Shushi used to be the third cultural capital of the trans-Caucasus, in the last century, but now only hosted some 3000 people which were not quite content with their situation, few jobs, little education, few rights.

He also knew the woman I had the number for and called her to announce my arrival and then promptly showed me the way to her work, a cultural center for young and old. From there on impressions have been many. I spent one night a guesthouse, got invited to stay elsewhere, switched, ended up with the french guy, got into trubble for that, or he did at least. Snow, massive snowfall, worries about the return trip, assurances about the splendid road conditions, my own impressions from looking out the window. You see I need to sort out my impressions before typing them down.

For now, I look forward to eat some of the preserved veggies, look at my pictures and climb into the bed and cver myself with three blankets. @+

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looking out from the exhibition

It is good then to have benefit of being in a country where most of the people are not affected by the same stress as my self. The cues are moving slowly, no matter what, the metro escalator is a cork that calls for a pause and a deep breath. It is just a matter of relaxing at this point and try to let the flashing peaks of stress die out into the mass of morningwarm bodies.

I have started taking lessons in Russian. Once a week I meet up with two of my students, a young girl and her grandmother, an elderly lady with more energy than the Duracell rabbit. I met the girl outside the sovjet block building, we take a dodgy elevator that smells from sewer and damp to the 7th floor where we meet Lea, my russian teacher. She has always prepared something to eat, some cheesebread or some cakes, some strong turkish coffee and some pumpkin. We spend a couple of hours by the dinnertable in the dark, heavily decorated living room, laughing at our mistakes (I teach her Swedish in return), looking up words and passing the notebooks around for help on spelling. She seems to me to be quite different from many other Georgians, she is not too strict on the roles of ost and guest and I feel quite at home. She used to be a professor at the academy, she plays the piano and the other week she gave me and her grand daughter a small concert in the living room. The grand piano desperatly needs tuning but the energy that transmitted through the room when her fingers ran over the keys was magic, it send shivers up my spine. Makes me love my russian, makes me want to have classes every day!

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On a small field, the size of a basketball field, divided in three along the long side, three teams of 8-12 year old were playing at the same time. Energy and happiness, mixed with a dose of anger over some foul play filled the air. We had a tour of a school they built about a year ago and it was already cracking up since the builders did not let the concrete dry out enough. Same goes for the mostpart of the 2400 dwellings in the camp and people are not quite fit to do much. There are no jobs and the men and women gets depressed, more so the men it seems and when alcohol gets involved thing start to rott from within. It might seem worse to me due to the cultural role of alcohol but clearly these people are very unhappy. For many of them it is the second time they are displaced one of the SIDA workers tells me.

It is a mean feeling to look out over the field of identical houses stretching for hundreds of meters in each direction. The drive back to Tblisi is one filled with reflections over the dilemma of displaced people from all over the world. One of the more traveled SIDA men tells me about the camps in Lebanon, outside Beirut where people have been living since 1948, still holdning on to the key to the house they once left behind. Still hoping to go back one day.

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I have been in Istanbul for a week, slowly moving down the list of things I have to care for before leaving the familiar, europe for the adenture of asia. I’m excited and just nervous enough to fully enjoy.

I have still some updates to do in my equipment. My cousin Nils Nyman gives me his full support and helps me with a new camera! I’m breathless, thank you!

Now onwards, my plan is the black sea, I have heard both good and bad about, give me your opinion please!

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happy

Friends, it has taken me a moment to settle here in Istanbul and to gather my thoughts. I have reached the end of my journey through Europe for this time around and I ready to head into Asia in a few days. This is where the adventure begins.

Just after a few days in Turkey I have been able to understand the it is quite a different country from what I had expected. Turkey is divided into two blocks, the European part, Thrace which is about 3% of the country and Anatolia in Asia which is some 97%. From what I understood, at least in this the European part, the former leader Ataturk is of fundamental importance to the people and their identity. This westernised leader claimed the country from the allied forces after the first world war and people say that without Ataturk, there would be no Turkey.

I really have felt the famous Turkish hospitality in small towns where people freely invites me to sit down for a cup of tea or at a
the gas station where I was invited to stay overnight and was later also treated to a dinner by the kind staff. I have met the smiling Turkish population with admiration and returning smiles. I have one question though. What happens to these people when they get behind the wheel of a truck. What once was a smiling world citizen becomes a brutal beast. Trust me on this one, it is crazy. The traffic in general is not a problem. But the trucks, they drive these beasts like there was no tomorrow. Several times on the route to Istanbul I found the only escape route was the ditch and so quite often.

I met up with a couple of Dutch bikers just before getting into Istanbul and we joined forces against the notorious traffic and the 8 lane highway. All was going well until the one Dutch biker in the lead goit tackled by a car at an exit and left laying on the ground while the driver took off without much more than a shrug of the shoulder. EDIT: vital information: the dutch biker is alive and kickin’ after the accident if still maybe a tad bit irritaded with the traffic!

This is the reality on the roads but this harsh environment is made up for by the life giving blessing of Turkish coffee and the grilled meat that is handed out for a small amount of money.

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albania keeps me smiling

A bit over four months on the bike I have lived over my budget and spent more times couch surfing and with friends than in the tent. Maybe is has not quite been the hardcore adventure that I had expected yet but it is still Europe and I realized how much I like to meet people from different cultures. And as I see it, I will have plenty of time to spend in my tent, better to enjoy the company while possible!

I do miss home ocationally and I really miss my friends always but on the whole I really do love this life, it makes sense to. I gain energy from all the brilliant people I met and I hope to bring that along all the way!

My bike is starting to show signs of wear, the gears do not work all that well anymore, putting too much force on 4-5-6 really makes the chain jump around and it is probably time to change the casset sometime soon. I found a place where I cound mend the bags that have ripped from the wear (already!). I stayed around to see the guy working.

mending

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This photo cries out for humorous remarks about the education system in Albania

The headline is quoted from the airport welcoming sign in Tirana. And I do belive it might be true, at least if your country of origin is Italy, England or Germany. The roads are littred with brand new luxury cars which becomes a bit strange in Europes poorest country. The roadsides on the other hand are littred with wrecks, it seems as Albania seconds as the car graveyard of Europe, is that how EU manages to stay so nice and clean?

I crossed the border in the North from Montenegro and was struck by the amount of trash lined up along the road, the holes in the road, the smell of rotten road kill and the briliantly happy and beautiful people. A bit of a culture chock. I stayed on the lowland all along the way and after Shkoder the road was better but also the amount of traffic grew. I tried to stay in the middle of the road to stay visible but my former hypothesis that it is all a matter of staying visible since no one wants to kill me had to be refurbished. Here I’m not sure that it is true, better to stay clear.

man looking out

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It has been a great trip from Sarajevo. I passed Mostar where I saw the old town and realized I had a some back problems. Camping that night proved extremely painful and after talking to my friend the doctor i decided to take a break at a hostel in Dubrovnik. Two nights there hanging out with some real fun Irish lads.

I continued along the coast to Kotor in Montenegro where i met a beautiful french family that treated me to a great dinner.

kotor

The Weather has been somewhat frustrating. I always knew that i would have some heavy rain and Maybe thunder. Everyday there has been some precipitaion clearing the muggy air.

Yesterday was a bit dodgy as the thunder blew in right over me as i climb up to a thousand meters. I helt quite small as the roaring sky was hanging on top of me. trying to calculate the risk of getting hit by a flash kept my mind busy and soon i was over and safe. Puh.

prsidents house

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I need to reflect over some of the things i have seen at this moment. After leaving Zagreb I stated to run into villages with great scares from the war, bombed houses, facades with holes from bullets – details of a war. One can imagine the horror that once ruled these towns and villages as the grenades rained over the houses. Moment of clarity.

At the same time i have never met as friendly, happy and open people as here. It seems everybody is smiling or are they just laughing at me and my fully loaded bike?

Talking to the older of the two sons in the family I realised his hunger for life, that he does not like to sleep but rather stays up long to read and wakes up early to work. He told me today, and i think it came at the right time when i was a bit down, that we should be happy for every day we have. I can see this, and hearing this from someone who have lived three and a half years of his life in a war, it makes more sense.

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