Uzbekistan part 2: Samarkand and plov

See here for Part 1 of my Uzbekistan trip

The Sunday after we arrived in Uzbekistan was what I had been looking forward to the most; a trip to Samarkand, a city along the former silk road which had been ruled by the Greeks (Alexander the Great), Persians (Jake Gyllenhaal), Turks (Gobble Gobble), and Mongols (Genghis Khan) over the past 2500 years.  With that "who's who" list of visitors, I figured I had to add my name.  The guys in the office arranged the train tickets and guide in Samarkand for us - all we had to do was go downstairs in the hotel and get in the taxi to the train station.  After a 2 hour train ride, our guide, Sukhrob picked us up and took us around the city.

Suhrob is a native Tajik (from Tajikistan, which is a country, duh), but also speaks Russian, Uzbek, Italian and English. It must come in handy for a guide to speak multiple languages, especially in this part of the world where many tourists don't speak English.  He said we could call him Sebastian...not because it's the Uzbek or Tajik version of his name, but simply because he likes it.  He didn't expect us to be able to pronounce Sukhrob.  I insisted on calling him by his name, because that's his name.  I don't really ask people to call me Voltron, even though I like the name.  Maybe I should start.  Anyway, Sebastian...oops, I mean Sukhrob is Muslim, like most of the country, but a relaxed one.  Since Uzbekistan was in the USSR, and the Soviet Union basically squashed their religious practices, people became much more relaxed in their practice of religion.  They consider themselves Muslim, but don't follow all of the rules.  For example, he eats bacon and drinks alcohol, two of life's most important indulgences, and his kids look forward to receiving gifts from Santa Claus every year.

I wonder if Donald Trump and his followers think a bacon-eating, beer-drinking, Santa-celebrating Muslim from Uzbekistan is a threat to US national security.

Sukhrob teaching me how to count money.  Trump would like it. 

One of the main industries of Uzbekistan is cotton.  In fact, they export the second largest amount of cotton of any country in the world.  Sukhrob and other locals told us about how they used to have "cotton picking camps" during harvesting periods when they were in school. The industry needed all the hands it could get, so the government "strongly encouraged" them to participate, allowing them to miss school.  At first I thought this was pretty cool and would be a lot of fun, and it would teach the kids how to appreciate this important industry.  But the idea of forced child labor is another story...imagine if we forced kids to skip school and go work in the tobacco fields or coal mines during peak season?  Oh wait...

During the day he took us to several fascinating sites around the city, which we wouldn't have managed without his help.  You definitely need a car and a guide in this city:

Registan - humongous buildings (Islam schools from the 1400s) in a humongouser square

Amir Temur Mausoleum, where their 14th century ruler (aka Tamerlane) is buried

The necropolis where the cousin of THE Muhammed in buried (he brought Islam to Uzbekistan in the 7th century)

Ulugh Beg observatory museum, the site of a 15th century astronomical observatory, which was destroyed by religious fanatics and re-discovered over 400 years later. 

We noticed that at every site there was a guy standing in the parking lot collecting money from every car.  I thought these were official parking lot attendants, but Sukhrob said that the guys just claim a lot and collect the money for themselves, in exchange for "looking after" your car.  If you pay them, they won't mess with your stuff.  The average amount he gave them was about 30 cents, so I guess it's a small price to pay...but still annoying when random dudes insist you give them money.

The most important thing that Sukhrob introduced me to was plov.  Plov is pilaf, or rice.  The food itself is pretty good: rice, lamb and sliced carrots, but you can also get deluxe versions with a boiled egg and a slice of horse sausage.  It's a pretty heavy dish, going back several hundred years, originally feeding the hungry soldiers in the cold winters. These days it's more of an institution, not just a meal.  Surely every family has their own recipe and tradition, and the neighboring countries also do something similar.

My first plov - so beautiful

It seems that every city has a Plov Center.  A Plov Center is not really a restaurant.  It's more like a canteen.  There is no menu. It's simply a place to eat plov, and only plov.  You go in and tell them how much plov you want, and if you want it with the extra garnishes.  There are huge cauldrons cooking tons of plov, sometimes in the open so the customers can see what their $2 will buy them.  It would be like if we had Mac and Cheese Centers around the US, which only served macaroni and cheese from huge vats.  I could go to the downtown Seattle "MaCC" (that's a catchy name, I should trademark it), and order a mac and cheese with a boiled egg and hot dog on the side.  That would be pretty awesome if I wasn't lactose intolerant.  At the plov center, they also give each table a large loaf of fresh bread, which was really tasty, despite the fact that everyone touches the loaf with their bare hands, including the waiter.  Someone at the table will instinctively tear the bread into pieces so everyone can share.  It reminded me of when I was a kid and we used to eat at the Old Spaghetti Factory.  I used to tear up the bread for my parents (ok, that's a lie...I was just tearing it up so I could eat it), and they'd yell at me for touching it with dirty hands.  And if I haven't said it already, plov is delicious.  You know it's authentic and a source of national pride when the locals actually eat it, and there's even a bit of a ceremony around it.  Let's be honest, nobody would eat at a Mac and Cheese Center.

Plov Center in Tashkent

You can take it to go

The deluxe version

You can buy bread on the side of the road, pre-touched by dirty hands

Plov is also prevalent in the big events in people's lives: the birth of a child, a wedding, or even a death.  Every new groom will host a plov party on the morning of their wedding, to invite their family and friends, including many who aren't invited to the actual wedding.  People come to enjoy a hearty meal (which will make them full for a week), say hello, then go about their day.  Sometimes plov parties can have 1500 people and start at 5am(!), though supposedly "they" are trying to encourage people to start after 7am, because, you know, that's more reasonable (I don't know who "they" are, but maybe there's some Plov Police, or maybe this is a topic that the local government actually discusses).  I just want to repeat: 1500 people eating plov at 5am!?!?

These guys enjoy their plov.  The just don't always show it. 

After an action packed weekend, we had to actually work.  Even the earthquake in Tajikstan which we felt in the office on Monday morning couldn't stop us. The guys in the office were super friendly and helpful.  They insisted on taking us to lunch and dinner every day. These guys have families at home, but they insisted on being the best possible hosts.  They'd take us on what they called a "quick lunch", but it required a 15 minute drive across town, a proper sit down meal, then a drive back, maybe including a stop at the market or bazaar.  If a "quick lunch" is 2 hours, a long lunch probably takes the whole week.  Then there was a short 2 or 3 hour dinner, when we were still full from lunch (especially after plov).  In short, it was amazing.  Basically we spent every waking hour with them, to the point that I really missed them during the next week when I was back in Warsaw.  Everyone spoke perfect English with me, or Russian with Inna, and Uzbek with each other.  They were warm, friendly, and treated us like long time friends. Plus they had a cool elevator in the office.  You could un-do a floor selection by pressing the button again!  What?!  How innovative! Ok, so that's not such a big deal, but really, I've never seen it before.  It's so simple, I wonder why it's not more common. With all of the wonderful experiences and people that we met in Uzbekistan, there's only one thing that they don't have: the joy of pressing all of the buttons in an elevator and running out giggling (don't pretend you've never done that before).

This isn't gonna end well...

Uzbekistan part 1: Money, money, money

December 4, 2015

When I first got to the hotel in Tashkent, I noticed two things: the ATM didn't have any money in it (because nobody uses it), and there was an exchange office in the hotel lobby.  As is usually the case when I travel abroad, I wanted to use the ATM rather than an exchange office, because I've been ripped off by several exchange offices because of their terrible rates or commission.  It seems like ATMs generally are safer bets.  But since the ATM didn't have any money in it, I had no choice. The exchange office had two employees, though I never saw anyone exchange money there...another sign that the rate would be bad, otherwise how could they pay the two employees?  I checked the online exchange rate and to my surprise, the rate offered by the exchange office was basically the same as the "market" rate, so I felt more comfortable with it.  I gave them $60 and they gave me two full stacks of 1000 som bills with a rubber band around them.  It was the first time I ever carried money in a rubber band!  I couldn't even figure out how to carry this money because it wouldn't fit in my pockets, let alone my wallet.  I tried stuffing them in my front pockets, but they stuck out like I was Richie Rich.  I felt like a 6 year old boy who just got his first allowance.  I wanted to take a picture with my bank roll, and then to immediately spend it because it was so fun to show off.  Little did I know that this "market" rate I got in the hotel was actually half the rate that you can get from the street. I assumed the ATM would be a better rate, but I was wrong.

I'm so rich!

The situation with the money is one of many fascinating experiences I had on my trip to Tashkent, Uzbekistan (ask me if you want to know more about how to exchange money there).  Not only did I learn how to quickly count my large stacks of money (and that they actually bring money in a bag when making large purchases), but I also learned more about the Central Asian history, and fell in love with the traditions surrounding their national food, plov.

When you have so much money, it's hard to count it #99problems

My journey to Tashkent went through Moscow, where I met up with Inna, my co-worker that was assigned to the project in Tashkent with me.  We had never met, but spent some time on the phone preparing for the site visit.  We agreed to spend the weekend in Tashkent in order to see some of the sights.  It was good for me to have her company because to tour around Uzbekistan generally requires someone who speaks Russian.

Like any flight to an "exotic" place, the etiquette on the plane wasn't exactly what I'm used to.  The guy next to me seemed friendly, and even overly so.  He kept touching my iPad screen while I was watching a movie.  I think he was trying to tell me that he enjoyed "Foxcather", but he didn't need to keep touching it.  Especially since his fingernails were filled with brown gunk.  The moment the plane landed (while still taxiing at a decent speed), half of the plane stood up to get their bags from the overhead bins.  I was too tired to worry, but noticed that either the flight attendants didn't care, or the passengers didn't care that the flight attendants told them to remain seated.  It was really late, clearing customs around 3am.  But the PwC driver still picked us up....can someone please nominate him for employee of the month?

Looks like Irish to me

A few years ago I met a guy from work who lived in Tashkent.  He doesn't live there anymore, but he introduced us virtually to one of his friends, Diyora.  Diyora was awesome and offered to take us around the city on our first day there.  She spoke perfect English, Russian and Uzbek, and was the perfect guide.  We visited the various markets and monuments, she showed us how to take a taxi from the street where you just wave down a car (old fashioned Uber), and introduced us to our first Uzbek meal - norin.  Norin is a salty noodle dish with horse meat.  It was actually pretty good, except after a while, it became too salty for me.  Or maybe too horsey. I laughed when I typed it in my phone and it auto-corrected as "boring".  It certainly was not boring.

I loved walking around the meat market

Norin, both salty and horsey

I don't want to know what this is

After Diyora left us to go to a wedding, we realized we were pretty worthless.  It almost seemed as if a higher power was trying to show us how to be terrible tourists.  The wifi in our hotel stopped working so we couldn't check things on the internet, so we decided to use a paper map to try to get around.  When we got to the TV Tower, it started raining and was super foggy, which would make going up the tower a waste of time, so we asked the driver to take us somewhere else.  He suggested a museum, but when we got there it was closed.  We drove in several circles while deciding what to do next, changing our mind a couple times and forcing him to make several U-turns.  I'm sure he loved that.  He drove us to yet another museum, which looked open, but was being guarded by police.  We ran through the rain to the door, but it was also closed.  Apparently the president was going there in the evening so it was closed to the public.  I wanted a picture of the site where the president would be in a short while, then was promptly yelled at by the police for taking one.  We ran through the rain again to find a metro entrance (the taxi left us), but didn't know where to go.  My phone wasn't connecting to 3G, so we couldn't look anything up. We got into the underground and had an idea but needed to call someone to figure out exactly how to get there.  But in order to use the phone, I needed to go outside of the metro station again.  Of course this meant I'd have to pay for another ride to go out and re-enter.  As we contemplated our next move, I took another picture of the metro platform, but got yelled at again by the security, and they forced me to delete it.  They take security very seriously because apparently there were a couple terrorist attacks by Muslim extremists in the early 2000s (seriously).  We noticed later at the airport and on the long distance trains they have security checks outside, inside and before boarding.  It's a bit of a hassle, but it was quick and was nice for both safety and if you needed assistance with anything.

You can buy anything at the open air markets

We finally got off the subway, at a big shopping center; the only thing we could think of that was both open and indoors. When we got out of the metro we saw that we were right back where we started: at the TV Tower. After an hour of bowling and air hockey (the only success we had without Diyora), we tried to get to a restaurant that a friend recommended.  But of course, the taxi drove past it 5 times without seeing it, until a security guard told us it was permanently closed.  So we ended up at another restaurant where we ate greasy, fatty soup and kebab.  Not a very satisfying end to the evening. To top it all off, the taxi driver who took us home didn't know how to get to our hotel, so we got lost.  We agreed then not go to anywhere in Uzbekistan without a local.

The metro token is plastic...it reminded me of Plinko!

Next up, Samarkand and plov. With locals.  

Family history lesson at Zippy's with Uncle Tony and Aunty May

January 17, 2016

The Funai sisters are something pretty incredible, and I'm lucky to be able to call them my family.  Lilly, Alice, and May; all lovable, hilarious, and as sweet as the desserts that come out of their kitchens.  And the fact that they had 5 brothers means they can surely put up with (and dish out) some crap.

You may have already read about Grandma Alice, my dad's mother who passed away in 2015 at the age of 97.  I wrote about her shortly after she passed, and my memories of her are still as vivid as ever.

Family Selfie at Grandma's memorial service

Aunty Lilly lives in Seattle; 104 and still as sassy as ever.  I saw her a few months ago and her personality still fills the room.  Her memory isn't what it used to be, but she still remembers enough to remind me to eat more cookies, in between bouts of giggling and what I can only describe as Aunty Lilly Sassiness.

Aunty Lilly selfie

And on my annual trip to Hawaii this year, I was able to visit Aunty May, the baby of the family, who along with her husband Tony, are going strong at 95 years young.

If Aunty May wants ice cream for dinner, Aunty May gets ice cream for dinner

My dad wanted me to ask Aunty May about her parents (dad's grandparents), since he is trying to put together some book on our family history.  It got me thinking that I never ask my family members about their life outside of the world I already know.  How many of us know how our parents met, or what our grandparents did for work, or what life was like for them when they were young (except for the "fact" that they had to walk to school up hill in the snow both ways)?

If there is one thing I know about Uncle Tony and Aunty May, it's that they love eating at Zippy's.  And why not, because it's a staple on Oahu, and they give a discount to senior citizens.  I called Aunty to make sure they were home before I stopped by, and sure enough, as she was hanging up the phone, I could hear Uncle in the background "Maybe he wants to go to Zippy's for dinner?" Yes, yes I do.

Even at 95, they are still pretty sharp, except that Aunty confused Portland and Poland for a minute.  But let's be honest, a lot of people do that.  When she answered the phone and I said "Hi Aunty, it's Tristan", I half-expected a "Who?" or an "And...?", but instead I got a "Ohh Tristan!  How are you!?  Are you in town?  Come on over!"  They certainly know how to make their family feel special.

Sure enough, after a short chat, we headed over to Zippy's (which they call their second home).  As we got into my rental car, I helped Aunty May into the back seat.  They move a little slower than they used to, but can still get to where they need to go.  As I was helping her, she said "I don't need help, go help Uncle!"  There's that Funai sister sass.  So I reached for Uncle and he promptly shooed me away.  Uncle has a beautiful bamboo cane that was made by his grandson, Andrew.  He walks a bit slow, tapping the cane into the pavement with every step, but still manages.  Combined with his deep, masculine voice, it's like a mix of a tall Yoda (the way he walks) and friendly Darth Vader (the way he talks).  I mean this in the best possible way of course.  When Uncle Tony talks, his voice makes you listen.

In the restaurant it took only about 5 minutes before they saw someone they knew; a guy from Japan who was in town visiting for the PGA golf tournament. Of course they would know some random guy from Japan eating at Zippy's.

Dinner was very educational.  I learned that their granddaughter (my cousin) Karen was pregnant, and that her sister Denise is working for some fashion designer in NYC.  No offense girls, that's awesome, but I probably could have found that out from social media (or you could have just told me!).  But that night I wanted to learn something I couldn't learn from any Facey or Tweety app.

My first question: How did you guys meet?  Aunty May blushed and said it was a secret.  Then she told me that Uncle Tony was her brother George's sergeant in the Army (the boys were in the 442nd together, a WWII regiment made up of mostly Japanese Americans). Uncle Tony never got sent overseas, but George fought in Europe and was captured and held as a POW for what could have been 3 years.  Apparently Uncle George never talked much about it, but since he and Tony had a special bond (since George introduced him to his sister and all), George told him about when he got captured: they heard some noises on the battle field and his superior ordered him to come check it with him.  So they went out, he heard a pop, the other guy dropped dead, and George got captured.  This was real life.

I asked Aunty May about her parents, and she told me about her dad, (Great)-Grandpa Funai, who was born in Japan.  His mother died when he was young and his dad re-married.  After the marriage, Grandpa Funai (as a kid) was sent to a Buddhist boarding school, which he hated.  So naturally he ran away when he was 5 years old, and was found on the streets by a guy named Funai.  This guy ended up adopting him, giving him the name Funai.  So my Great-Grandpa Funai wasn't even born a Funai; he was literally adopted off the street. I already knew about Grandma Funai (his wife), which my Grandma Alice told in her story about life in the interment camp during the War.  Grandma Funai (Alice and May's mom) took her own life in the camp, because it was too depressing and hopeless to live in a prison camp, detained by her own country, the United States of America, just for being of Japanese decent.  My Grandma wrote a short memoir about this, which breaks my heart every time I read it.  Not only for Grandma Funai, but because of the injustices that abounded at the time, and that my dad was born in such an awful place.  All while Tony, George, and many others were fighting for the country that turned its back on them.  Ok, so the internment camp story is for another time.

Similarly, Uncle Tony's dad was arrested the day after Pearl Harbor was bombed, since he was a prominent Japanese businessman living in Hawaii.  He wasn't sent to an internment camp (generally it didn't happen in Hawaii), but to an actual prison, just for having Japanese blood.  Apparently the FBI was following them all around, including Aunty May and Grandma Alice, as they found out later that the feds knew a lot about them. Since my family went through this back in the 1940s and even after the war, it really disturbs me how some ignorant people treat Muslims with this same suspicion and disrespect these days.

By the time we got to this part of the history lesson it was getting late, and we had to go home.  I could have stayed and talked with them for hours (or days), so I'll have to continue the stories next time.  But for a few hours on this Sunday evening, I did what I should have been doing for a long time already; finding out who my family is, and how I got to be here.  After all, everything that's happened in my family is reflected in their personalities and behavior, which inevitably led to my existence and influenced the person I am today.  I should have known this from watching the Star Wars movies, because that's exactly what happens there!

Thinking about this now made me realize something odd: Since Lilly, Alice, and May all lived in different places as long as I've known them, I don't think I've ever seen all three of them in the same place at the same time. I can only imagine that it was something special. 

More Turkey please: Efes and Pamukkale

Oct 19-25, 2015

I've always found DST confusing and annoying, and being in Turkey during the time change this year made it even more confusing.  Turkey, like Poland, was supposed to change the clocks back an hour on Sunday morning the day I flew back to Warsaw.  However, they recently decided to delay the time change by two weeks, but didn't tell me or my phone about it.   When I woke up on Sunday morning to go to the airport, my phone's "automatic" setting said 7:30 (wrongly), but Kevin's said 8:30.  My phone, and probably the phones of many others, changed incorrectly. To make things more confusing, I received a message that my flight time moved from 12:30 to 1:30pm, but it wasn't a "delay".  So really, I had no idea what time it was or when I should be at the airport.  The only thing I can think is that since Poland changed the time, but Turkey didn't, we had to leave one hour later from Turkey, in order to land at the originally scheduled 2pm Warsaw time.  It still hurts my head thinking about it.  BBC said that they delayed the time change so voters could have more daylight during their elections next week. WHAT? 

After 5 years in Poland, I finally got Kevin to come to Warsaw for a few days.  And I only had to promise him two things: 1. that he could wear sweat pants the entire time in Poland, and 2. I'd spend a week in Turkey with him.  That wasn't a hard decision.   

The last time I tried to get Kevin to come to Warsaw, he "forced" me to go to Italy instead.  I say "forced" because that trip was super amazing and I'm glad we went there.  You can read about the best pasta ever, Cinque Terre, and Venice.  

This time, he actually came to Warsaw.  After a chill weekend when he indeed did not change out of his sweat pants, I had to fulfill my end of the deal.  The plan was to spend 6 days in Turkey; a couple days in Ephesus and Pamukkale, then a weekend in Istanbul. If you don't know what Ephesus and Pamukkale are, join the club. I had no idea at the time Kevin suggested them.  Thank goodness for Google Images. 

In order to get some help and to possibly meet up, I contacted every single Turkish person I know in the world (3 whole people).  I told Kevin "don't worry, I have great friends there, they will show us around, take us to the best places, and they'll know what we can do in Ephesus and Pamukkale." Because, you know, it's a small country and it would be easy to meet them somewhere.  Well, that plan didn't work as we didn't get to see any of them.  Kevin thinks I have imaginary Turkish friends.  

First we flew to Istanbul, but bought a separate ticket to immediately take us to Izmir.  We had a 3 hour layover, which seemed necessary because of the silly "visa" process where you have to wait in line to pay $30 for a stamp.  The flight from Istanbul to Izmir was around $25 round trip, even though we bought the tickets only the week before.  It's almost a crime not to fly to Izmir when tickets are so cheap.  From the airport we hired a car service to take us to Selcuk, a town next to the ancient city of Ephesus.  The car service to Selcuk was $50, or the total prices of both of our flights!

We found an apartment on Airbnb in the center of Selcuk for a pretty good price, and the owner, Ali, was awesome.  Airbnb isn't free like Couch Surfing, and you don't sleep on someone's couch (though some Airbnbs offer that!), but if you have the right host, you can still get some personal connection, which is a great part of CS. Ali was everything we could ask for. Ali was awesome because:

- The apartment was in the center of Selcuk and looks out over the ruins of the ancient fortress

- He gave us pastries every morning for breakfast

- He planned our visit to Ephesus, arranging a taxi and loaning us a guide book from his shop (he owns a shop just down the street from the apartment)

- He gave us directions when we needed help and was always available to assist

- His brother and nephew also have shops on the same street, and they treated us like friends every time we walked by

- He invited us to sit in front of his shop and drink tea (or beer) with him every morning and night

- Ali is single, so ladies, let me know if you want the intro. 

With our host Ali

And if that wasn't enough, Ali's story became more impressive. One night when we were sitting in the dark on the shared balcony of the apartment building, a random dude in the shadows crept up and got something out of the closet.  I didn't notice him coming into the room until he closed the closet door, so I jumped and squealed a bit, like a small animal.  He was getting a jacket, and since he was moving slowly, and looked like he had done it before, I quickly decided that he wasn't a burglar or axe murderer.  He also wasn't carrying an axe. And he said hello, so that means he was nice.  

The next morning when we were leaving the apartment, the same guy was walking up the hill towards the apartment and saw us come outside.  He asked if we wanted breakfast.  He had something in his hand and offered it to us.  At first we thought he was a random dude trying to sell us stuff, then I recognized him from the night before. Still no axe, so that was a good sign.  Turns out this is the guy that was bringing breakfast to us every day, leaving it outside our door.  We asked Ali about him and Ali said that this guy used to be homeless and somehow they got to know each other. Ali started letting him stay in the apartment building since he had space (he owns the whole building) and they don't like to see anyone sleeping on the streets.  He didn't ask for anything in return, except that the guy doesn't bring any alcohol or drugs into the apartment, and that he would do some odd jobs for him once in a while.  Anyway, that was 20 years ago.  TWENTY.  And the guy is still there, bringing Ali's guests breakfast in the morning.  Basically Ali is a guardian to him, and the guy just goes about his business all day, staying out of trouble. 

On the last night, I bought a few things from Ali's store, La Tulip.  I spent more than I normally would on souvenirs (and things were more expensive than in Istanbul), but after a nice few days with Ali, it felt good to give money back to the local economy to help someone trying to make it in the world.  

After a visit into the town of Ephesus (Efes), an ancient Greek city from the 10th century BC, just a short cab ride away, we visited some other sites around Selcuk: St. John's Basilica (6th c.) and Isabey Mosque (14th c.).  But the climax (and biggest downer unfortunately) was the famed Temple of Artemis, one of the 7 Wonders of the Ancient World. It was literally a column and some foundational stones sitting in an open field.  I've always wondered who created this list of "Wonders" that don't even exist anymore (except the Pyramids)...how could the creator of this list know how Wonderful they actually were.  Maybe that's why they're called Wonders...because we wonder why they're on the list.

In Efes (Ephesus)

The Library in Efes

Old amphitheater

The World Famous Temple of Artemis

For food we obviously had a lot of kebab, lamb and ayran (not to be confused with Aryan).  Stray cats and dogs wandered all over the cozy streets of the compact city.  One cat even jumped on my chair while I ate and fell asleep on the space between my butt and the chair back.  I'm sure he was glad I wasn't eating a bean and cheese burrito.   

My sleepy cat friend

Lachmacun and pide

The weather was perfect - 75 degrees and sunny.  People were super friendly, always asking where we were from.  Of course, as usual, after we say "USA", they ask "But where are you FROMMMMM?" Oh, you meant where am I FROMMMMMM, not where I'm from?  I started saying "China" and "Poland" just to make it easier. 

The next item on the list was the 3 hour bus ride to Pamukkale, some hot springs which formed a bunch of white rock next to the ancient city of Hieropolis.  The rocks were gorgeous but unfortunately the water has been drying up over the last few years.  After a few hours exploring the area and eating, we headed back to Selcuk, and soon to Istanbul. 

Tourist in Pamukkale

Overlooking the town

 The weather in Istanbul wasn't amazing, as we spent a lot of the time walking, but looking for shelter at the same time.  One of our stops was Shake Shack, which I didn't expect in Turkey, but it was a wonderful find.  They even had a fried chicken sandwhich which is apparently not easy to get in NYC, with huge lines and limited availability.  So save yourself time and just go to Istanbul!  We ate one while on the way to dinner, because why not. If you ever go to Hamdi for dinner in Istanbul (on the Old Town side of the river), just remember that their appetizers look small when they show you the samples, but the actual dishes are much bigger...and it's especially hard to eat all of it after going to Shake Shack for an appetizer. 

During our time in Istanbul, we wandered around Old Town and all the main tourist spots, overeating at a reckless pace, while trying to stay dry.  On our last night, we had the most disappointing meal of the trip - not because the food was bad (it was pretty good), but because they seem like a big rip off.  The place is called Konak, and it's located on one of the main walking streets.  The menu lists prices for the various meats/skewers, so we thought we were paying this price for the meat.  However, the price was for 100 grams (though the menu didn't say this).  The waiter offered us options of 300, 400 or 500 grams, and since we figured 300 was the lowest, we took 300.  But little did we know, this was triple the price in the menu.  After we made a big hassle and complained, a manager gave us a discount, though we still paid more than we thought we would.  One guy was nicely trying to help, but the others were pretty scandalous.  Although this trickery ruined my meal, it couldn't ruin another great trip of history, culture and delicious food.  

Hagia Sophia

Istanbul tourists

The best landlord ever

December 18, 2015

5 years is a long time to live in one apartment.  And it's a lot of rent to pay to one landlord.  And if you're the landlord, it's great stress-free income, not having to find new tenants or lose income during any transition period.  So one might say I'm the best thing that happened to Janusz.  Too bad he doesn't see it that way.

I'll try not to get too angry while I write this, so I will try to remember some of the great times I had in this apartment along the way.  A few highlights:
- The neighborhood and my pirate's treasure chest key
- Parties
- More parties
- Falling asleep to the music from the Barbakan (even the super annoying guy who shouts rather than sings)
- Waking up to the sound of horses walking around
- The annual Catholic pilgrimage that meets at 5am at the church down the street, and the priest on a bullhorn scaring the crap out of me
- Accidentally walking into TV/movie sets on Krzywe Koło

I'll miss this view from my bedroom

My building

The apartment somehow became known as "Gratis Przekąski" ("Free Appetizers", the name based on one of our favorite bars which closed down), because people were coming over so often, eating, drinking, playing games or watching movies on any given weekend.  You can check in there on Facebook if you want.  People were so comfortable in the apartment that when somebody rang the doorbell, or asked me if they could get a glass or a plate or a drink, it surprised me. I got used to everyone making themselves at home. At a surprise birthday party the guys threw for me, they came into the apartment on Easter Monday morning, while I was half asleep, and started making breakfast and drinks while I stood there taking a long time to figure out what just happened and why there were 15 people in my apartment at 10am...they knew where all the dishes and utensils and cups were...I was very proud.  We've also had pub golf, Christmas parties, Halloween, Thanksgiving dinners, Spicy Girls dance rehearsal, and hung out at virtually every opportunity.  Of course this was fine for me, since I didn't have to leave my couch.

Surprise birthday breakfast 2013

Cramped but cozy Thanksgiving dinner 2011

I've gotten several good years out of this guy

Sometimes Santa likes to be on top

The funny part about it, and it's like this at all Polish parties, is that everyone hangs out in the kitchen, no matter what.  I tried putting food, music, movies, carnival games, strippers, and a small petting zoo (unrelated to the strippers) in the living room, but people still pack into the kitchen until I'd force them to go out (now I wish the thing about the strippers and farm animals was true).  You could say that my kitchen was one of the mostly highly populated spaces in Old Town, per square meter. I even had a party on the hottest day of the year, with at least 60 people (of which I only invited half) in 550 square feet.  20 of them were in the kitchen.  Others had to sit in the building stair well because it was too crowded and hot. Let's just say I never had that many people over again.

There's no point in fighting it...people will stay in the kitchen

Unless I force them into the other room for a picture - Halloween 2014

Pub Golf  2013 (?)

With all these parties, there was only one lady who complained...but she thankfully never called the police.  During my first party she yelled in Polish at me (I didn't understand a single word), then after she was done with her 20 second speech, she calmed down, smiled and said "Welcome to Warsaw".  Another time she knocked on the door angrily and explained "it's not the music or the loud talking...but the guy who is singing is terrible" (she was talking about Ken singing Karaoke).  And the best was when she borrowed a chair from me and put it back into my apartment during the evening when I was sleeping (naked)...I woke up with the chair in the kitchen and a plate of cookies on the table, and a head full of horrors about what she looked at (and did) when she came in and saw me.

Ugly sweater Xmas party 2014

 So with all the fun memories, why was I so happy to leave?  Because my landlord is a butthead.

After 5 years of living in the apartment, he not once lowered the rent (though it wasn't expected, you'd think he might consider it since I was a great tenant for him).  Plus, he forced me to pay his monthly homeowner fees directly to the administration (probably so he could avoid paying taxes on them), which of course increased every year...but he didn't take this into consideration...he just expected me to keep paying.  The gas in the apartment shut off at least once per year (because the equipment needed to be replaced), and I had to always take a shower with the kitchen window open in order for the hot water to not shut off mid-shower (strange, I know, but that's what he suggested to avoid any issues).  The trick worked, but opening the window for a shower in the winter does not make for a pleasant exit from said shower.  I never complained, paid everything on time, and he didn't have to pay any attention to the place.  With all this, you'd think he would be somewhat nice when I moved out.

But on the day I gave him the keys (Sept 29), he was nasty and condescending.  And his wife was worse.  No nice greeting.  No "How was your stay?" or "I hope you enjoyed it here" or "Thank you for 5 years of constant income".  They basically just said I should pay for everything.  The old wooden chairs looked old and I should replace them, the floor was so dirty that the wife told her dog to be careful where it stepped (this was funny, but not funny), and they couldn't see out of the windows because I didn't pay someone to clean the outside of them.  And the best is that the retractable fan above the stove was dirty (which I didn't even know about so I never opened it in 5 years), and he looked at Zosia and said "Why didn't you know about this, are you from Africa?"  What a dick.  His wife went on to poke her finger in her mouth and pretended to puke and faint because something disgusted her (this was also funny, but not funny).  I thought I was on one of those hidden camera TV shows.  I mean seriously, of course it wasn't clean enough to rent to the next renters (that's their job), but it wasn't some college kids' messy dorm room.  I would be happy to host my parents there and they wouldn't have noticed any problem.  These clowns were walking around in their street shoes, tracking around poop and pee and who knows what else, complaining about dirt, so I had no respect for their sense of cleanliness in "my" apartment.

He said the shower had some water stains, so I should pay 1300 pln ($350 to replace the doors), because it should look like it did 5 years ago.  He said he spent 56 hours cleaning the place, including 10 hours washing the outside of the windows, so I should pay another 1200 pln for that.  Who charges their tenant for washing the outside of the windows anyway?  And how is it possible to spend 1 hour per square meter of cleaning an apartment which was already cleaned?  He added a few other things here and there, some "reasonable" (like the cost of lightbulbs or a broken towel rack), but some ridiculous (a lock that I put in after this adventure, but he didn't like it, so he made me pay for another lock he liked better; and my personal favorite, a new toilet brush holder, because...well, I don't know). In the end, he wanted me to give him another 600 pln on top of the deposit that he would not return. My contract said I should pay for things only above "normal wear and tear", and didn't mention anything about deep cleaning. There was no damage, and nothing was done out of negligence. After 5 years of a constant income stream, I would have thought he could be reasonable and let this stuff go. What a fool I was. I should have just not paid the last month's rent, which many people suggested....so he could have kept all of the deposit, and I could just additionally pay him for any legitimate charges.  I guess I trusted him too much.

Yea, looks super dirty in there...it would probably cost $500 to clean it

To make it worse, I didn't have his full list of charges until 2 months after I moved out.  The contract said he should return my deposit or send me a list of charges within 10 days, but he took his sweet time.  He would once in a while call Zosia or send an email that gave some details, but it was never complete.  Every day for 2 months I stressed and got angry just thinking about him.  I still do. I thought about how I could do something back to him, like reporting him to the tax office, or using his email address to sign up for a bunch of porn sites, or leaving a flaming bag of poop on his doorstep.  He even asked me to pay him for two utility bills, which I already paid, and told him about. It didn't matter that I already paid them...he paid (again), so I should pay him back. Yea, that makes sense. So rather than argue with someone who can't be argued with, I wasted my time recovering my payment from the gas company, so at least I could be in control of the 116 pln, and could pay him for it when everything else was settled.

Because this was not going very well, I got in touch with the moving company who helped me with the contract to begin with, but they were no help (unless I paid them a few hundred euros to help for a few hours).  I felt pretty lost, because he had my money, and seemingly all the power. Even though he is an unreasonable idiot.

Then everything changed: I mentioned the word "lawyer".  Suddenly he was super nice, told Zosia he always intended to pay the money back, and was surprised we thought he was some nasty guy.  He immediately wanted to meet to settle it, and stopped demanding me to pay him.  I asked around and the general consensus is that he probably doesn't pay taxes on any of the income, so with any threat of reporting him to tax authorities, he suddenly became cooperative.  A couple lawyer friends looked into the situation, reading the contract and made some recommendations.  We were prepared to send a letter to demand payment, until we decided it would be most effective just to meet to settle it.  My friend Piotr came to the final meeting with me (on December 18, nearly 3 months after I moved out), and we expected to pay for a little bit, which was fine.  I was just happy to see this go away.

He was still a dick, but not as much as when his wife was there.  Zosia thinks the guy actually likes me, but he could've fooled me.  We only communicate in Polish, since he doesn't speak English, but from everything I can understand coming out of his mouth, he's always irritated, angry, and unreasonable.  His body language, tone and facial expressions all say "I"m a big D-bag...deal with it".  In case you still can't figure it out, no I don't like him.  We agreed on a few things I would pay for, and he gave me cash to settle the rest of the deposit.  But somehow he gave me an extra 1200 pln; 12 extra 100 bills.  I have no idea how you miscount by 12.  One bill would make sense, even 10 could be possible if he lost count of the thousands.  But 12?  He apparently never counted money in Uzbekistan. Or maybe never counted past 10 in his life. I thought about keeping it just because of karma, but I gave it back.  Then I started thinking if he was trying to bribe me not to report him to the tax authorities.  But then I just remembered he's an idiot.

Merry Christmas everyone!

A Weekend full of Wieners

July 24-26, 2015

When I think of the word "wiener", the first thought in my mind is not a hot dog.  It's something else, with a similar shape; something that 10 year old boys find amusing. The word still makes me chuckle every time I hear it.  For example, my grandma had a wiener dog named Jasper, and I loved telling people that it was a wiener dog every time I could.  Baseball fans consume wieners at ballgames, Germans eat schnitzel made from wiener, and my old roommate Geoff used to randomly say "wiener" all the time.  All of these things make me giggle, and yes, including right now. Super mature, I know.  After my first trip to Vienna, I now know that "Wiener" means "Viennese" in German!  That's super boring, and almost ruined the word for me.  So although I feel a bit more enlightened, I will still do my best to giggle any time someone says "wiener" to me (or anytime I see a sign in Vienna with the word "Wiener" in it - which was a lot).

About 2 years ago, Igors' sister Inga moved to Vienna for her job.  Also about two years ago, I told Inga I would visit her there.  Somehow two years passed and I still hadn't stepped foot in Wiener Town.  So on the weekend of July 25, 2015, her last weekend there, I had to go, with or without Igors (and according to my parents' sarcastic joke on Facebook, they would prefer without Igors).

Zosia decided to come with, and we headed out on a Friday afternoon, without a single clue what we could do there (except eat wiener schnitzel and vienna sausage).  By the way, a couple notes about Vienna Sausage.
1. I used to love the tiny canned sausages when I was a kid.  Now they seem super disgusting, but still nostalgic, so I'd probably eat a can if it was in front of me.
2. Vienna sausage = Wiener sausage = Wiener wiener = 2 times the giggles.  

I have a few travel tips to share with you, one of them brought to my attention thanks to my boss, Angela.
- there are two different trains that go from the airport to the city center...one of them "normal", the other "express", both of them pretty frequent.  The price was something like 10 Euros difference, but it only saved about 10 minutes.  So if your time is worth 1 Euro per minute, take the Express.  Otherwise, normal people can take the normal train.  Somehow, a lot of people still take the Express...either the marketing of the Express is really good, or these people aren't as "CCM" as I am.
- If you buy two tickets at the same time (i.e. put "2 travelers" into the ticket kiosk rather than each person buying them separately), the incremental price of the second ticket is 20 cents.  One person costs 4.20, two people cost 4.40, total. At first I thought it was a mistake, but after clicking through the buttons again, it came to the same price.  It's worth asking a stranger to buy a joint ticket if you are traveling alone...it can save you two Euros if you're CCM!!!!!

A fahrt in Wiener town.  I'll never grow up.

Inga was a great host.  When we arrived at her apartment (after a super cold shower because it was so hot), she had 4 cold beers and snacks waiting.  We tasted different Austrian beers, up to 14% in alcohol content.  It was a great welcome drink.  Inga even had a short presentation prepared for us to give some information about each style.  I felt like in a professional beer tasting!

Inga's beer and snack tasting tour

I think the space bar was broken

 
Not only was Inga good at having beers in the apartment, she was amazing at taking us around the city.  I didn't have any idea or plan what we could see in the city, but Inga planned the days with very interesting sites, and most importantly, food.  After beers we went to Rathausplatz (this name is hilarious - the platz where the rats have a house?) where they were showing ballet on a huge video screen in front of the city hall (apparently that's what Rathausplatz means), and thousands of people watching and walking around the outdoor food court.  There were 20 restaurant choices from Austrian to Australian, American to Asian. I had to make a few laps before deciding what to eat.  It was a really fun place to spend a casual evening, with good food, a couple drinks, some ballet and people watching. Inga took us around the center before getting back home, needing another shower due to the sticky Summer night.

One of many concerts/markets that we came across

Day 2 of Inga's Tour of Wiener Town was another enlightening one.  As usual, the day revolved around food.  After breakfast, we decided to have dessert, naturally, trying the famous Sacher Torte from the original shop, as well as some apple strudel.  The strudel was better in my opinion.  In fact, although it looks great, I don't know anyone who actually thinks Sacher Torte tastes amazing.  It's OK at best.  I'd try it if it was in front of me, but I wouldn't order it in a restaurant (I feel the same way about brussel sprouts and blood sausage, so it's not saying much).  After some more walking, it was time for a rest in the park.  Since we had already eaten breakfast and dessert, we weren't too hungry for lunch, so we picked up some snacks and hung out in the park next to the national library.  It was super peaceful and relaxing, and I even snoozed off for a bit.

Looks delicious!

I learned about Gustav Klimt and his famous painting "The Kiss", which looks more like a girl with a broken neck collapsing to the ground, and the guy trying to keep her up.  Not sure that's what he was going for, but that's what I see.  I also witnessed Hundertwasser architecture for the first time.  He designed several buildings around the city, and the most intellectual and professional word I can find to describe it is "fun".  His buildings just seem happy.  I also learned that the Empress Elizabeth (not to be confused with the Queen of England) was called Sisi, but I still have no idea how you get Sisi from Elizabeth.

It doesn't look like a kiss to me

A Hundertwasser building

Schonbrunn Palace was amazing, with an adjacent hill overlooking the palace, labyrinths, and garden.  There were lots of joggers and we could imagine Alan organizing a WITC run up the super steep hills.  Belvedere Palace Art museum had a bunch of Klimt originals, and of course I got in trouble for taking pictures.  Naschmarkt was nice long strip of restaurants, bars and shops - a nice place to wander around, day or night.

Schonbrunn Palace

From the other direction

At the Belvedere Palace

A few quick Wiener tips:
- Check out the bars and restaurants along the river.  There's even a barge on the river with a swimming pool
- There are free water fountains all over the city, so bring your own bottle
- You can buy newspapers from bags that hang on poles around the city - I guess you pay for what you take, on the honor system.
- Go to Salm Brau for almdudler radler beer, and the best schnitzel I ever had.
- Beware that Vienna sausage is just a hot dog.
- You can take up to 100ml of alcohol on the plane in your carry on.  I never knew this, but it was no problem coming back to PL.

Anyone for a swim?

Inga showing us how it's done

Take your pick

This was all for me!

I loved the creativity (and social statement) of some of the pedestrian cross walks.  They had different combinations of couples - guys, girls, or mixed, sometimes holding hands, sometimes just friends.  I almost caused a traffic jam while taking pictures of the Don't Walk people, standing in the cross walk while cars were coming.  

Hold hands when crossing the street

The most important part of the trip was that now I will not misspell the word as "weiner" anymore, since I know the root of the word is Wien.  Wiener, wiener, wiener.  See how good I am now?  I'm one more step towards becoming a complete human being.

The girls wondered why I stopped to take pics of basically every sign in the city...