LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth |
CAMP Out |
by Faz Jacobs (really) |
Balkans Diary: Ring Them Bells, We're in Dubrovnik! We're back from two weeks in Eastern Europe, visiting five countries, most of which used to be Yugoslavia. To follow along, you need a spanking brand new map. We started in Zagreb, Croatia, meeting thirty other tour members. Day One, a tall gray-haired fella saw Bonnie's Provincetown sweatshirt, pointed at the writing and said, "That's where all the queers go." Toto, we're not in Rehoboth anymore. I quickly turned away. My verbally reaming the guy a new orifice would not be constructive. Bonnie handled it beautifully. "I know," she said, smiling, "I'm one and that's why I go there." She proceeded to tell him and his stunned wife our life story. We shook off the insult (I admit it, it upset me) as there was much to see in Zagreb. My first note home, from a back street internet caf tells it well: Here in Zagreb (and that was hard to write as the Z is where theY should be on this computer keyboard). Fabulous oldcity (had to erase a z there) with Austrian-Hungarian architecture, bronze statues, squares, parks, open markets with meat, cheese and vegetable vendors, lots of outdoor dining, great beer, friendlz (damn) people. We are in a glorious old hotel, where the Orient Express used to stop. Streetcars everywhere, zoung (ugh) people in great clothes, and perfect weather. Mostlz (shit) the buildings are 19th centurz (you know what I mean). Off to cocktails on a terrace overlooking the main square and a Schnitzel dinner. Pivo! (thats the onlz word I know in Croatian and it means beer.) Faz...er...Fay Travelers Tip: Meals last two and half hours so you just relax and go with the slow flow. Zagreb is a laid-back but up and coming city. Next stop Sarajevo in Bosnia and Herzegovina (one country, two names). I knew it as a glorious Olympic City, ruined by the 1991-1995 war. The Eastern Orthodox Serbs fought the Roman Catholic CroATs (just some pronunciation help there), and then everybody turned on the Muslims. Ostensibly it's all over. Armed guards boarded our bus to check passports at the border. We then drove past horribly pock-marked buildings, abandoned homes without roofs and miles of rubble. The conflict ended a dozen years ago and much is still a mess. In the City, amid burned out high-rises (still) there are great signs of revival, but not enough to keep you from shaking your head and despairing over f-ing religious wars. We stood on the street corner where, if we'd been paying attention in 8th grade, we learned that Archduke Ferdinand was shot to start World War I. We saw buildings from the 1400s, the Turkish Bazaar, beautiful mosques, and dined on what looked to be a Sarajevian Nic-o-Boli. and Coke, which, along with Johnny Walker, is universal. Sarajevo was fascinating, with many lovely sights, but it made us sad. Meanwhile, Bonnie's grey-haired crony Dave, kept trying to be friends, introducing us to other folks on the tour, trying to make up for his opening gaffe. We began to feel like his pet lesbians. Next our bus headed to Mostar, the city known for its magnificent 16th century stone bridge. The bridge was bombed to bits in the war, but the government rebuilt it exactly as it was. Great photo ops. Lots of mosques. And a monument to a synagogue no longer in existence. Croatia had Nazis during the 1940s, too. As we boarded the bus to exit Bosnia, Dave and his wife made sure to sit behind their new homosexual buddies. We drove back into Croatia and the city of Dubrovnik, which means, for all you show queens, a quick chorus of Liza's "Ring Them Bells"...like Liza, we found the Balkans a ball. Dubrovnik is a medieval walled city, high above the Adriatic, with breathtaking scenery, white buildings and red tile roofs, pounding surf, people still living within the walled area and another contemporary city bustling just over the drawbridge outside. Within old Dubrovnik we saw elegant churches, statues, historic public buildings, coffee houses, restaurants and, well, of course, Polo, Benetton, etc. the place throbbed with tourists, residents and energy. Incredible seafood, too. Quiz: Name a resort city with fabulous restaurants, skyrocketing real estate prices, which has lost its in-town hardware store and pharmacy and is in danger of becoming a city of T-shirt shops, investors and tourists, with few full-time residents? Ta-da, not Reho but Dubrov-nik...our guide told us their sad, familiar tale. No Wal-Mart yet, but its probably on the way. Dubrovnik was shelled mercilessly in the 1990s but much has been repaired, re-sculpted and renovated... simply beautiful. Within the first week we got to know a wonderful group of Aussie travelers on our tour, taking delight in bashing George Bush together, comparing countries, tax codes and healthcare. After Croatia, our Australian friends would be off to a hiking vacationvery fit, those Aussies. We also met two lovely Canadian women who, we were happy to hear, really appreciate their government-run "socialized" medical system. Next up, a day trip to the Republic of Montenegro, the world's newest country (unless one cropped up last night in Africa), having seceded from Bosnia only recently. There, we toured the Bay of Kotor, a fjord with a deep bay surrounded by almost vertical granite mountain wallsa stunning sight. So too, was the walled city of Kotor. Historic buildings, skinny streets, outdoor dining, great pizza. Traveling to the gorgeous seaside town of Split (back in Croatia again) we came face to face with the Communist legacy. Young people, in designer clothes and glasses all seemed hip to the art of business and tourism, welcoming us and being helpful. Sadly, their commie era elders haven't adapted. The perfectly located hotel had utilitarian, politburo ambiance and a surly staff grunting at requests, serving expensive cocktails and resenting having to hand over one ice cube and a thimble of liquor. The dinner entre seemed made of the shoe leather Nikita Khruschev used in the 1950s to bang on the table at the U.N. But we had a great balcony to see the sea. Turned out we were directly over the Petrol station and woke up smelling like diesel (dykes?). But steps away, inside the walled city of Split we saw amazing Roman ruins, and spent time overlooking the sea, sailboats, cruise ships and georgeous mountains. My gaydar was down or else there just weren't any discernible lesbians in Croatia. Driving North on the coast that sound we heard was the dollar falling again against the Euro. It sunk to an historic low for the third day running but luckily we were still on Croatian kunas. I'm glad our accountant Larry was along, since in addition to computer keyboards transposing Y & Z, Croatian money transposes our decimal points and commas. 22,000 equals twenty two kunas (dollars) and 22.000 is something else entirely, leaving terrible room for souvenir purchase blunders. Our next two stops were Plitvice National Park, with dozens of cascading waterfalls and 16 sparklingly clear lakes and the upscale resort of Opatija on the Adriatic... heaven on earth....eating exquisite seafood and sipping wine along the sea. We rolled up our pants and walked into the Adriatic to our knees. Then came Lake Bled, at the foot of the Alps, with a castle high above the lake. Postcard material. Our Aussie friends walked around the lake one morning. "How long did it take?" we asked. Hearing they made it in an hour, Bonnie and I set off. By the time we made it halfway around, we remembered how fit those damn Aussies were. Two and a half hours later we dragged our sorry asses back to the hotel. I wouldn't say the food in that part of Croatia was awful, but either you had pork Schnitzel and boiled potatoes or pork Schnitzel and boiled potatoes. Excellent pivo, though. By this time, we'd been in so many hotels, I got up in the middle of the night, feeling my way to the bathroom and couldn't find the commode. It was like playing pin the tail on the donkey only it was put the tail on the toilet. I think I peed in the bidet. Ah, Venice. A water taxi took our group to our hotel on the Grand Canal. Venice is much more of a living city than I imagined, with narrow pedestrian streets and boat-filled canals. I'd always pictured the romantic classical buildings and crooning gondoliers. I didn't picture the advertising posters, motor boats carrying linens, beer and cucumbers and the sheer number of people residents and touristson the streets. Venice is famously sinking and Larry suggested it was from the volume of tourists. We toured the hot spots and in St. Marks Square Bonnie paid one Euro (by this time costing us $1.41) for pigeon food so they could flock all over her. I was nauseous. As I tried to take her picture a sharp clawed bird landed on my scalp. I shrieked, channeling Tippi Hedren in Hitchcock's The Birds. Bonnie celebrated her birthday in Venice, where we dined along the Grand Canal, toasted with Prosecci (sparking wine) and dined fabulously for a pretty Euro. Everything was magical. Even the rest of the folks on the tour, including Dave of "Queers go there" fame celebrated with Bonnie and some even gave her small birthday presents, including a Venetian glass letter opener, a rose, sinful candy and other lovely gestures. On our last night, we dined as a group, sitting with our friends from Down Under and the wonderful Canadian women we met, toasting to new friends and a splendid two weeks. Leaving dinner, Bonnie stopped big Dave, saying she hoped that the Q word was banished from his vocabulary. He thanked her for not getting in his face about it and helping him not to be embarrassed. In fact, he thanked her for saving the trip for him after his big goof. They bonded. Our water taxi came early and we were off, racing through Venice Bay to the airport. When my carry-on went through airport security I heard jabbering in animated English/Italian. A guard pulled me aside and I heard the word "knife." Uh-oh...visions of a Venetian prison cell. They searched me and then my bag. Aha! The damn Venetian letter opener. After much negotiation, Bonnie agreed to put the letter opener in her carry-on and walk back to check it. So home we came. We adored the trip. But I'm having something other than schnitzel tonight. And I'm glad to have my own my computer back. I was beginning to think of myself as Faz. But I could use a nice cold pivo. Fay Jacobs is the author of As I Lay Fryinga Rehoboth Beach Memoir and Fried & TrueTales from Rehoboth Beach. Contact her at www.fayjacobs.com. |
LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth, Vol. 17, No. 14 October 12, 2007 |