Summer has arrived. We've had some tremendous thunderstorms and a few days of really hot sun.
Yesterday, the STC France board held its annual planning meeting in our yard. For me, the whole STC thing is slowly leaving my system. I'm still on the board and will volunteer -- at least until next year's conference -- but after that, I'll let go completely. I think it was a good meeting although we left with lots of unfinished business. Next year's conference planning is well under way and we decided to have just one big meeting before that, a career day in October. Must remember that it should not conflict with WICE's Money Matters for Women conference.
Last year, in October, I think, Francine was starting a new painting and I fell in love with it and said I wanted to buy it for Paul's birthday (end of Dec.). We look at it and see a casbah. She finished the painting, but since it was one of a new series, she held on to it for the gallery exhibit. But then she got caught up in Anne Le Musical (just ended its successful run) and never quite completed the series. So, at last, she decided to have Paul's picture framed, let me buy it and I will lend it back to her whenever the exhibit happens. Anyway, the framing is absolutely perfect and the painting is beautiful. It's opposite the couch and as the light goes down at the end of the day, the blues become gray and the white stands out even more. (No, I'm not putting a picture of it up, for now.)
I'm trying to find time and patience to scan old photos, but it's boring, so I always manage to find something else to do.
On Facebook, I've been enjoying Dick's pictures of Anja's and his trip in the Rockies with the Model T.
Last weekend we all (Emma, Anne, Louis, Gwen, Paul and I) went down to Toulon for Paul's mother's birthday. She's 100 years old. Claire, Geoff and Charlotte came in from England. It was a great little family reunion. Claire, Geoff and Charlotte stayed the whole week, in fact, in the annex at Pierre and Gillette's. Pierre and Gillette came up to Verrières on Sunday for their annual check-ups and to be here when Nadine and the kids arrived from China. I got to see them all in Verrières on Friday, when I went to have lunch with my friend from KDS, Pascale.
Pascale has gotten a raw deal from KDS and the whole thing just makes me sick. Most of my KDS friends are now ex-KDS and from what I hear, the whole atmosphere has changed. I'm glad, again, that I left when I did. Even if I felt pressured into coming to the decision to leave and realized, too late, that it was a form of harrassment, I was in no condition to stay and fight.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Friday, June 12, 2009
Resumé des vacances en français
On est revenu de Monténégro. Je n'ai pas eu le courage de mettre en français toutes les entrées du blog au fur et à mesure. Voici un résumé :
Paris - Tubingen - Salzburg : La Prius roule vraiment très bien. Elle est confortable après des années de Prévia (qui n'était pas horrible, mais quand même...). En tout cas, il faisait beau et elle roulait si bien, sans avoir besoin de boire, alors au lieu de s'arrêter pour une petite visite à Strasbourg, nous nous sommes retrouvés le soir à Tübingen! On s'était arrêté à Horb, où Paul avait fait ses "classes" pendant son service militaire en '71, mais, à part le fait que c'est toujours une charmante petite ville, il n'y avait pas de quoi s'extasier. Tübingen est charmante, une petite ville universitaire presque entièrement piéton/vélos. Notre GPS nous indiquait un hôtel "Am Schoss" et nous trouvions ça charmant, près du château, mais dans le dédale de rues, il était difficile de nous frayer un chemin "auto". Les allemands sont très friands des asperges et j'ai mangé un menu asperge du début (soupe) jusqu'à la fin (mousse asperges/rhubarbe avec un coulis de framboise). Paul a eu du sanglier avec de la polenta. Nous étions tous les deux très contents. Le lendemain, autobahn vers Munich avec des travaux tout au tour de Munich, pour arriver tôt dans l'après-midi à Salzburg.
Salzburg : une vraie carte postale. Ou le modèle pour Disneyland. Très joli, très baroque. Le décor du film "Le son de la musique". Pour les amateurs de voitures anciennes, nous avons assister à un rallye. Plutôt, il y avait un rallye et où que nous nous promenâmes, nous rencontrions ces voitures. (Un Bescherelle serait le bienvenu, là, je crois.)
Salzburg-Zagreb : un peu d'autobahn, un peu de route de montagne au mois de mai. Les prairies sont toutes fleuries. Sans arrêt en Slovénie, nous sommes arrivés suffisamment tôt pour prendre le tram et nous promener dans la vieille ville quelques heures. Encore un menu asperges!
Zagreb-Dubrovnik : autoroute et route de montagne côtière en Croatie. C'est très joli, mais même le joli devient un peu monotone. Il faut voir cette côte depuis la mer. Les belles petites plages ne semblent accessible que depuis la mer. Sinon, c'est un peu la construction à la Côte d'Azur dans les années 60.
Dubrovnik : Arrivé en fin d'après-midi à Dubrovnik, on s'est laissé guidé par une dame qui nous a loué une chambre en haut de la ville avec une vue magnifique sur la vieille ville. Sauf que la vieille ville est tout blanc et propre avec les toits rouges tous neufs. Mais c'est à voir. Nous y avons passé la soirée et le lendemain matin à faire le tour des remparts, explorer les rues.
Dubrovnik-Herceg Novi : C'est un saut de puce de quelques kilomètres, mais on traverse des frontières. Croatie - Bosnie-Herzégovine - Croatie - Monténégro. L'agence Black Mountain se trouve à la gare routière, facile à trouver. De là, on nous a accompagné à notre appartement à mi-hauteur entre la route du bas et la route du haut. J'ai oublié de dire que tout est à la verticale. Il y a des escaliers entre la mer, la route du bas et la route du haut. Et notre appartement était encore au dernier étage de l'immeuble !
Herceg Novi - petite ballade de découverte. Nous sommes descendus à la mer, direction marina et le bureau principal de l'agence où nous nous sommes présentés à Hayley, l'épouse de Jack. Sa mère était là aussi et elle nous a raccompagné à mi-hauteur, dans la vielle ville, à la place de l'église où se trouve des restaurants et des cafés. Notre première surprise est le prix des repas. A deux, nous avons déjeuné pour environs 20 €. Ensuite, en rentrant chez nous, nous nous sommes arrêtés à un supermarché pour acheter de quoi faire nos petit-déjeuners et légers repas du soir. En tout, environs 11 €.
Le lendemain, nous nous sommes rendu dans le parc de Mt. Lovçen via la baie de Kotor; j'ai grimpé jusqu'au monument du grand poète du pays. Cette baie est magnifique. Alors mercredi, après un café le matin avec Jack (et son fils, Max, 2 ans et demi), nous avons faits une excursion en bateau. Ça a duré toute la journée : la baie, la petite église de Notre Dame de la Rocher au large de Perrast, la ville de Kotor (plus petite que Dubrovnik, mais tout aussi intéressante avec des constructions de toutes les époques depuis la renaissance) et enfin Perrast, une ville presque fantôme du 17è siècle.
Jeudi, une excursion en voiture vers le lac Skadar (Scutari), vers la frontière avec l'Albanie. C'est un paysage très sauvage, très beau. Vendredi, nous sommes restés en ville, à Herceg Novi, à visiter le château (herceg) qui n'est plus très neuf (novi). Il y avait des orages, tellement que Hayley a renoncé à monter déjeuner avec nous. Jack est venu et nous avons pu discuter un peu mieux de ce qu'ils ont déjà accompli et ce qu'ils veulent encore faire. C'est passionnant.
Samedi, il nous est venu l'étrange idée d'aller voir Mostar. On aurait pu faire une petite déviation sur le chemin de retour. Non, on en a fait une excursion de la journée. Il reste encore des traces de balles sur des maisons, mais la plupart des constructions sont soit réparées, soit plus récentes. Le fameux pont est tout neuf. La ville est une grande entreprise touristique : une rue principale qui mène au pont, un peu comme à Mont St. Michel, Lourdes, ou la rue de Steinkerque à Paris. Nous n'avons pas tardé sur place.
Dimanche, excursion au monastère d'Ostrag.
Lundi, promenade à pied dans Herceg Novi, en évitant la pluie.
Le retour : Départ le lendemain sous un déluge. Alors, à propos de ce départ. Notre chère Prius "mange" les cartes d'identité ! Oui ! Arrivé à la frontière, ma carte avait disparu. Alors, il est facile de toujours dire que Ellen perd tout, y compris sa tête. Nous sommes retournés en ville, mais la rue est devenue un torrent et il était dérisoire de penser trouver la carte qui serait tombée par terre. J'avais mon passeport, alors pas de souci pour sortir de Monténégro, mais là, arrivé encore au poste de frontière et c'est la carte de Paul qui avait disparue ! Lui, qui ne perd jamais rien. En cherchant, mon ongle a découvert une fente entre le compartiment où nous avons mis les papiers et la radio, au dessus. Nous sommes convaincus que nos cartes sont parties dans cette fente, mais démonter la voiture serait disproportionné -- et si elles n'y étaient pas....? Nous serions vraiment fous !
Il y a un ferry de Split à Ancone, en Italie, alors plutôt que de continuer sur la route côtière vers Trieste selon notre projet original, nous avons pris ce ferry. Mais nous disposions de quelques heures avant le départ pour découvrir Split.
Nous avions le projet de visiter un peu l'Italie du nord, mais après les prix bas de Monténégro, nous étions d'accord que l'Italie nous semblerait excessivement cher et qu'il serait dommage de finir les vacances avec cette impression. Nous avons pris l'autostrada pour ne le quitter qu'après Turin. Là nous avons pris la route de Mont Cénis. Nous avons eu le temps de nous promener à Chambéry avant le dîner et le lendemain, nous sommes rentrés à la maison.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
More on the Small World
When I came to France as a student on my spring sophomore semester abroad in 1970, I was given a choice to live with a family or live in a hotel-pension near our professor's home. She lived on rue des Carmes and the hotel was on Boulevard St. Germain, very nearby. A lot of students lived there, especially students at the nextdoor engineering school, Eyrolles. (ESTP, the private school, and the "Travaux Publics" for the Prefecture de Paris and Etat.) Three of us chose the hotel. Denise and I were roommates. Nancy had a small room to herself.
That's where I met Paul, future IPP (ingénieur de la préfecture de Paris, before it became the Ville de Paris). Most of the students stuck to their groups. The Sorbonne students, the engineering students, the student-tourists passing through, the older pensioners who had been living there forever. Paul seemed comfortable with all.
So, in 1968, he struck up a friendship with Richard (still refers to him as Richard, although all the correspondence from him is signed Dick) and Tanya and a couple from Switzerland... The list goes on. (Dick, Paul and Tanya correspond occasionally. I don't know if you knew her, or not. She comes up to Paris from time to time for training and we've been out to dinner. Get in touch with Paul, if interested; he's got her e-mail address.)
Once Paul and I got married and Christmas card duty got stuck on me, I was the one who wrote the cards. I kept up the exchange with Dick (Hey, that's the name I know him as), but the others were waylaid. Then came Compuserve! I had a Compuserve account and there were so few of us back then that it was like a facebook community, you could look up people, and Dick was there, so we started more regular communication, but eventually that petered out. Enter Facebook and here we are again.
Dick has been reflecting on his stay at the Pierwige, a pretty run-down hotel that has since been transformed into luxury apartments with a Barclays branch in what used to be the lobby. Via Google, he found someone else who had been there -- in 1970, my year! That's Ken.
So now Ken and I and Dick have a three-way e-mail chat going and I'm trying to get Paul to join. He really has the memory of the place. He was there the longest and he knew everyone.
Ken has retired to France and has a really nice blog. He puts more pictures in his and they are beautiful! (Terry, I think you would love reading this blog.) I love to take shots of flowers, too, so I am especially drawn to those. And he loves to cook! He also loves old cars -- well, so does Dick, so I imagine they'll be comparing their collections.
Ken very kindly read my blog and found STC. Guess what? Ken's a former tech writer! Small world!
That's where I met Paul, future IPP (ingénieur de la préfecture de Paris, before it became the Ville de Paris). Most of the students stuck to their groups. The Sorbonne students, the engineering students, the student-tourists passing through, the older pensioners who had been living there forever. Paul seemed comfortable with all.
So, in 1968, he struck up a friendship with Richard (still refers to him as Richard, although all the correspondence from him is signed Dick) and Tanya and a couple from Switzerland... The list goes on. (Dick, Paul and Tanya correspond occasionally. I don't know if you knew her, or not. She comes up to Paris from time to time for training and we've been out to dinner. Get in touch with Paul, if interested; he's got her e-mail address.)
Once Paul and I got married and Christmas card duty got stuck on me, I was the one who wrote the cards. I kept up the exchange with Dick (Hey, that's the name I know him as), but the others were waylaid. Then came Compuserve! I had a Compuserve account and there were so few of us back then that it was like a facebook community, you could look up people, and Dick was there, so we started more regular communication, but eventually that petered out. Enter Facebook and here we are again.
Dick has been reflecting on his stay at the Pierwige, a pretty run-down hotel that has since been transformed into luxury apartments with a Barclays branch in what used to be the lobby. Via Google, he found someone else who had been there -- in 1970, my year! That's Ken.
So now Ken and I and Dick have a three-way e-mail chat going and I'm trying to get Paul to join. He really has the memory of the place. He was there the longest and he knew everyone.
Ken has retired to France and has a really nice blog. He puts more pictures in his and they are beautiful! (Terry, I think you would love reading this blog.) I love to take shots of flowers, too, so I am especially drawn to those. And he loves to cook! He also loves old cars -- well, so does Dick, so I imagine they'll be comparing their collections.
Ken very kindly read my blog and found STC. Guess what? Ken's a former tech writer! Small world!
Saturday, June 6, 2009
End of the Journey
The Prius Ate Our IDs
This was on Tuesday, as we were leaving Montenegro. We put our IDs into the compartment beneath the radio. At the border station, my ID card was missing. It's me; I'm always misplacing things, etc., etc. It was raining cats and dogs, too. I had my passport, so it was not a catastrophe, just another panic situation -- me going crazy. We went back into Herceg Novi to where we had been parked, but by this time the street was a river and there was no chance a dropped card would have stuck to the pavement. We went to the agency because I thought I should declare the loss then and there, but the young woman on duty (neither Hayley nor Jack was in) called the police and said the consensus was that, since I had my passport, I should declare the loss back in France. So, off we went -- again. And I presented my passport; the border guard smiled and asked if we had gone back to the hotel and not had any luck...... The thing of it is, this time it was Paul's ID that was missing! I was not going to be alone in my craziness. As we searched all over the car, again, and stuck our hands into that compartment many times, my fingernail got caught at the very top. There's a tiny slit, and we figured that the cards must have slid into it. But the only way we're going to find out is to take the car to Toyota and see if they can dismantle the dashboard and I think the cost of that would be greater than just declaring the cards lost and replacing them. Besides, what if we had the dash dismantled and the cards weren't there; it would be confirmation that we're crazy, right?
Well after we intended to be on our way we finally set off up the coast once more. It rained off and on, but when it was "on" it was torrential. By the time we got up to Split, however, it had stopped. We followed the signs to take the highway up to Split, but the signs are up ahead of the highway being ready, so it's a real detour off the coast road and into the mountains, along the border with Bosnia. It's beautiful and was a welcome change of scenery.
We got to Split in plenty of time to buy ferry tickets and visit the town. The ferry docks are really at the foot of the old roman town, such a pleasant change from the Calais/Dover ferries that are in industrial zones. We got our tickets, parked in the boarding line (free parking!) and walked into Split to spend a couple of hours exploring. I think Paul was especially pleased because we got to see antique ruins. The cathedral, for example, is built in the old roman temple structure. The town is very well preserved. The alleys are so narrow, they could only handle pedestrian traffic -- no horses or carts.
The next morning we woke up with the Italian coast in sight. It took a bit of time to unload the ferry (but less than it had taken the night before to load -- we had quite a show watching the last of the trucks getting on board). We decided not to tarry, so we hit the autostrada and didn't get off until we decided not to take the Frejus tunnel after Turin, but rather go up through the Mount Cenis pass and on to Chambery. We had time for a pleasant stroll though Chambery before dinner. I didn't take any pictures, though, just looked. On Thursday, we continued on the smaller roads before finally getting back on the autoroute in Macon. We arrived home in the afternoon.
So, now we are home. It is Sunday, today, and when I get my hands on my voting card, I'll take my passport and go vote in the European elections.
This was on Tuesday, as we were leaving Montenegro. We put our IDs into the compartment beneath the radio. At the border station, my ID card was missing. It's me; I'm always misplacing things, etc., etc. It was raining cats and dogs, too. I had my passport, so it was not a catastrophe, just another panic situation -- me going crazy. We went back into Herceg Novi to where we had been parked, but by this time the street was a river and there was no chance a dropped card would have stuck to the pavement. We went to the agency because I thought I should declare the loss then and there, but the young woman on duty (neither Hayley nor Jack was in) called the police and said the consensus was that, since I had my passport, I should declare the loss back in France. So, off we went -- again. And I presented my passport; the border guard smiled and asked if we had gone back to the hotel and not had any luck...... The thing of it is, this time it was Paul's ID that was missing! I was not going to be alone in my craziness. As we searched all over the car, again, and stuck our hands into that compartment many times, my fingernail got caught at the very top. There's a tiny slit, and we figured that the cards must have slid into it. But the only way we're going to find out is to take the car to Toyota and see if they can dismantle the dashboard and I think the cost of that would be greater than just declaring the cards lost and replacing them. Besides, what if we had the dash dismantled and the cards weren't there; it would be confirmation that we're crazy, right?
Well after we intended to be on our way we finally set off up the coast once more. It rained off and on, but when it was "on" it was torrential. By the time we got up to Split, however, it had stopped. We followed the signs to take the highway up to Split, but the signs are up ahead of the highway being ready, so it's a real detour off the coast road and into the mountains, along the border with Bosnia. It's beautiful and was a welcome change of scenery.
We got to Split in plenty of time to buy ferry tickets and visit the town. The ferry docks are really at the foot of the old roman town, such a pleasant change from the Calais/Dover ferries that are in industrial zones. We got our tickets, parked in the boarding line (free parking!) and walked into Split to spend a couple of hours exploring. I think Paul was especially pleased because we got to see antique ruins. The cathedral, for example, is built in the old roman temple structure. The town is very well preserved. The alleys are so narrow, they could only handle pedestrian traffic -- no horses or carts.
The next morning we woke up with the Italian coast in sight. It took a bit of time to unload the ferry (but less than it had taken the night before to load -- we had quite a show watching the last of the trucks getting on board). We decided not to tarry, so we hit the autostrada and didn't get off until we decided not to take the Frejus tunnel after Turin, but rather go up through the Mount Cenis pass and on to Chambery. We had time for a pleasant stroll though Chambery before dinner. I didn't take any pictures, though, just looked. On Thursday, we continued on the smaller roads before finally getting back on the autoroute in Macon. We arrived home in the afternoon.
So, now we are home. It is Sunday, today, and when I get my hands on my voting card, I'll take my passport and go vote in the European elections.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Finishing up in Montenegro
Lunch in Mostar
On a whim, and perhaps because we weren't thinking straight, we decided to go to Mostar. This is something we had said we could do on our way up to Split on our way home; it's a little out of the way, but in the right direction. Instead, we decided to make a day trip of it. Jack had suggested we try the quiet little border crossing past the tomb of the Napoleonic War soldier, but we missed the turnoff to that and ended up at the big border crossing with the line. For once, however, I did not miss the turnoff to a small road that runs more or less parallel to the coast road and we had a beautiful view from there. In Croatia, the roads are in better shape than in Montenegro; you get the impression that EU funds have already been spent. Unfortunately, I misread the map again and we ended up down on the coast road just past Dubrovnic airport, but we managed to find another turn to get us to the Bosnia-Herzegovina border and to the scenic road up in the mountains. There are more signs of the recent war, here: homes abandonned, homes with shell shots not yet patched up. The closer to Mostar, the more traces there are.
We know of Mostar because of the bridge. This single-arch steep bridge symbolized the divided Christian and Moslem communities and when it was destroyed, it was considered the bottom of the war, so of course, when it was rebuilt, that symbolized the end of it all. This was just over 10 years ago -- that's all! Would we have made a detour to visit Mostar if there had not been a famous battle culminating in the destruction of the bridge? Maybe. The old bridge must have been a tourist must-see. Now, you get to see the new version of the old bridge. There's another, smaller, new "old" bridge, the "crooked bridge", which is said to have served as the model for
the larger bridge. We had lunch at a little restaurant with a view of the little bridge. After lunch, we walked a few meters farther and saw the famous bridge. We walked over it and it is very steep, so steep there are raised stones every step to brake you (or, I suppose in the old days, to brake a cart). It's interesting, but it is brand new, so the interest resides in the symbolism.
Probably Mostar had an productive economy before the war. You can see vacant factories and an industrial zone. It looks like Mostar's economy is only tourism. From where we managed to park the car down to the river, which is a beautiful river, was like walking up the rue de Steinkerque in Paris, the main street in Lourdes, the hill on Mont St. Michel. It was like running the gauntlet of souvenir sellers on the way to the Great Wall in China, or at an Egyptian temple. It always makes me uncomfortable. There's the constant call of people telling you look at their wares; you can't stop to look even if you think there might be something of interest because if you stop, you're hooked. And here, in particular, there's the constant reminder that the old bridge was destroyed. I don't thing events like that should be forgotten, but if you buy an image of the old bridge as it was, or what was left of it, will that help the communities get on with their lives? There were other souvenirs, too: chess sets, babouches, key chains and so on. Altogether too much. That being said, the town was full of tourists, so whatever I may think of such artificial souvenirs, it works. It's not yet the tourist season for foreigners, so most of the cars were local and we didn't hear many people speaking other languages. I did hear French, though, when a guided group stopped at the bridge.
As I said, this was a day trip -- about 350 km. round trip. We came back down the coast road. The sky was incredibly clearer than first time. The water was deep blue.
The Ostrag Monastery
Jack had suggested, in the notes he sent to us, that we should take a mini-bus up to Ostrag -- the drive is a bit difficult and we would get more information than if we went on our own. This is the only time we've been disappointed. The tour is not a Black Mountain tour; they simply sell tickets for the tour that another agency runs.
The mini-bus and driver were waiting for us when we walked up to the bus station a little before 6 a.m. The driver did not seem to recognize our tickets and did not seem to speak English, but I assured him that we had been told it was indeed Trend Travel that was taking us and that his bus said Trrnd Travel and Ostrag Monastery (in Cyrillic, but still I could read that). So, we got on and we picked up a woman at the other end of the town. She sat up front next to the driver so I thought she might be a guide, but she didn't say anything to us beyond hello. After crossing on
the ferry, we picked up another woman and her daughter and a Russian couple. The bus was full and we were on our way, but there didn't seem to be any guide at all. There was not any communication at all until we stopped at 8:30 for a cup of coffee. The daughter, a young woman in her late teens, early twenties, spoke a little English and we exchanged a few words, but not about the monastery.
The road had been all right up to the coffee stop. There were a couple of unpaved patches, but passing was still uneventful. From that point, however, the road is really narrow and in bad shape. There's a lot of traffic and passing is doable, of course, but not easy. Still, regular cars make the climb all the way up to the monastery. There are some stops along the way. There's the nun's monastery, with guest housing and a chapel, and another chapel with an outdoor baptism platform. Many people park down at these places and walk up to the monastery; it is a very steep climb up stairs through the woods.
We drove all the way up. We followed the crowd and went in, but after climbing and
climbing stairs in a tower, we stopped and went down. That, it turns out, was a mistake, because the chapel is at the top of the stairs. We knew there was supposed to be a chapel, but thought we had made a mistake by going up the tower. Here is where it would have been nice to be a bit guided. We looked at the books on sale (with icons and beads), but they weren't for tourists; they were meant for pilgrims, so there was nothing in English or French. Our driver had not said what time to be back, so we hung around the bus until everyone else showed up.
On the way down we stopped at the chapel where a bunch of young children were being baptized and then at the nuns' monastery. Back at the place where we had had our coffee earlier we had lunch and then it was time for the long drive back to Herceg Novi.
A Beach Day
We decided to stay an extra day in Herceg Novi and then take the ferry from Split to Ancuna in
Italy and from there just take the autostrada straight up towards Milan and then on to home. It
was a sort of folly to think that we'd want to tarry in Italy. Italy is a whole other trip. I think the sticker shock is what convinced us. In Montenegro everything costs about half of what we spend in France, maybe even more than half off. Italy is the same as France, maybe a little more.
Anyway, today was supposed to be a day to relax, go to the beach (not what I would really call a beach, but rather a concrete esplanade along the waterfront). We went to see the Roman mosaics from the 3rd century first. That's on the road to Kotor, in Risan, before you get to Perast.
There are two sites pointed out on the road, but Jack warned us that the prehistoric rock paintings were no longer visible, having been blacked out by kids who lit a fire in the cave. The signs to the Roman villa mosaics are poorly placed, but we stopped and asked our way. They are right next to the hospital, actually. It's not as vast as the 4th century villa in Sicily and the mosaics are not as elaborate or elegant, but they are still worthy of a visit. It just started raining on the way home and although we managed to get out again during a pause in the storm, it's been raining on and off all day. So, a relaxing day, yes. Beach day, no.
On a whim, and perhaps because we weren't thinking straight, we decided to go to Mostar. This is something we had said we could do on our way up to Split on our way home; it's a little out of the way, but in the right direction. Instead, we decided to make a day trip of it. Jack had suggested we try the quiet little border crossing past the tomb of the Napoleonic War soldier, but we missed the turnoff to that and ended up at the big border crossing with the line. For once, however, I did not miss the turnoff to a small road that runs more or less parallel to the coast road and we had a beautiful view from there. In Croatia, the roads are in better shape than in Montenegro; you get the impression that EU funds have already been spent. Unfortunately, I misread the map again and we ended up down on the coast road just past Dubrovnic airport, but we managed to find another turn to get us to the Bosnia-Herzegovina border and to the scenic road up in the mountains. There are more signs of the recent war, here: homes abandonned, homes with shell shots not yet patched up. The closer to Mostar, the more traces there are.
We know of Mostar because of the bridge. This single-arch steep bridge symbolized the divided Christian and Moslem communities and when it was destroyed, it was considered the bottom of the war, so of course, when it was rebuilt, that symbolized the end of it all. This was just over 10 years ago -- that's all! Would we have made a detour to visit Mostar if there had not been a famous battle culminating in the destruction of the bridge? Maybe. The old bridge must have been a tourist must-see. Now, you get to see the new version of the old bridge. There's another, smaller, new "old" bridge, the "crooked bridge", which is said to have served as the model for
the larger bridge. We had lunch at a little restaurant with a view of the little bridge. After lunch, we walked a few meters farther and saw the famous bridge. We walked over it and it is very steep, so steep there are raised stones every step to brake you (or, I suppose in the old days, to brake a cart). It's interesting, but it is brand new, so the interest resides in the symbolism.
Probably Mostar had an productive economy before the war. You can see vacant factories and an industrial zone. It looks like Mostar's economy is only tourism. From where we managed to park the car down to the river, which is a beautiful river, was like walking up the rue de Steinkerque in Paris, the main street in Lourdes, the hill on Mont St. Michel. It was like running the gauntlet of souvenir sellers on the way to the Great Wall in China, or at an Egyptian temple. It always makes me uncomfortable. There's the constant call of people telling you look at their wares; you can't stop to look even if you think there might be something of interest because if you stop, you're hooked. And here, in particular, there's the constant reminder that the old bridge was destroyed. I don't thing events like that should be forgotten, but if you buy an image of the old bridge as it was, or what was left of it, will that help the communities get on with their lives? There were other souvenirs, too: chess sets, babouches, key chains and so on. Altogether too much. That being said, the town was full of tourists, so whatever I may think of such artificial souvenirs, it works. It's not yet the tourist season for foreigners, so most of the cars were local and we didn't hear many people speaking other languages. I did hear French, though, when a guided group stopped at the bridge.
As I said, this was a day trip -- about 350 km. round trip. We came back down the coast road. The sky was incredibly clearer than first time. The water was deep blue.
The Ostrag Monastery
Jack had suggested, in the notes he sent to us, that we should take a mini-bus up to Ostrag -- the drive is a bit difficult and we would get more information than if we went on our own. This is the only time we've been disappointed. The tour is not a Black Mountain tour; they simply sell tickets for the tour that another agency runs.
The mini-bus and driver were waiting for us when we walked up to the bus station a little before 6 a.m. The driver did not seem to recognize our tickets and did not seem to speak English, but I assured him that we had been told it was indeed Trend Travel that was taking us and that his bus said Trrnd Travel and Ostrag Monastery (in Cyrillic, but still I could read that). So, we got on and we picked up a woman at the other end of the town. She sat up front next to the driver so I thought she might be a guide, but she didn't say anything to us beyond hello. After crossing on
the ferry, we picked up another woman and her daughter and a Russian couple. The bus was full and we were on our way, but there didn't seem to be any guide at all. There was not any communication at all until we stopped at 8:30 for a cup of coffee. The daughter, a young woman in her late teens, early twenties, spoke a little English and we exchanged a few words, but not about the monastery.
The road had been all right up to the coffee stop. There were a couple of unpaved patches, but passing was still uneventful. From that point, however, the road is really narrow and in bad shape. There's a lot of traffic and passing is doable, of course, but not easy. Still, regular cars make the climb all the way up to the monastery. There are some stops along the way. There's the nun's monastery, with guest housing and a chapel, and another chapel with an outdoor baptism platform. Many people park down at these places and walk up to the monastery; it is a very steep climb up stairs through the woods.
We drove all the way up. We followed the crowd and went in, but after climbing and
climbing stairs in a tower, we stopped and went down. That, it turns out, was a mistake, because the chapel is at the top of the stairs. We knew there was supposed to be a chapel, but thought we had made a mistake by going up the tower. Here is where it would have been nice to be a bit guided. We looked at the books on sale (with icons and beads), but they weren't for tourists; they were meant for pilgrims, so there was nothing in English or French. Our driver had not said what time to be back, so we hung around the bus until everyone else showed up.
On the way down we stopped at the chapel where a bunch of young children were being baptized and then at the nuns' monastery. Back at the place where we had had our coffee earlier we had lunch and then it was time for the long drive back to Herceg Novi.
A Beach Day
We decided to stay an extra day in Herceg Novi and then take the ferry from Split to Ancuna in
Italy and from there just take the autostrada straight up towards Milan and then on to home. It
was a sort of folly to think that we'd want to tarry in Italy. Italy is a whole other trip. I think the sticker shock is what convinced us. In Montenegro everything costs about half of what we spend in France, maybe even more than half off. Italy is the same as France, maybe a little more.
Anyway, today was supposed to be a day to relax, go to the beach (not what I would really call a beach, but rather a concrete esplanade along the waterfront). We went to see the Roman mosaics from the 3rd century first. That's on the road to Kotor, in Risan, before you get to Perast.
There are two sites pointed out on the road, but Jack warned us that the prehistoric rock paintings were no longer visible, having been blacked out by kids who lit a fire in the cave. The signs to the Roman villa mosaics are poorly placed, but we stopped and asked our way. They are right next to the hospital, actually. It's not as vast as the 4th century villa in Sicily and the mosaics are not as elaborate or elegant, but they are still worthy of a visit. It just started raining on the way home and although we managed to get out again during a pause in the storm, it's been raining on and off all day. So, a relaxing day, yes. Beach day, no.
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