7 days on Tibet

Helloooo my dires...sorry, I mean my dears,
I bet you all are quite ravenous for more news from the turtle riders, but as you might guessed there are some connectivity problems from China, let's call them censure-ship or integrity, whatever team you are on. Nevertheless, here we are again, thanks to our belgium freelancer.
Some days have passed since we left Kathmandu, which I did not like at all, I'm still scratching and hoping not carrying anything with me that don't belongs me, but oh well, as they say "c'est la vie".We deparrted from that clean, full of facilities, hot water shower (...NOT!!!) minus 5 stars hotel at 5:15 AM. We were short of cash counting not need to pay anything since our tour had been paid long before in Pokhara, but of course, there were few nights we still had to pay. We were informed of such inconvenience at our last day, last minute before departure, not even counting that we paid a night we were out trekking...ARGH!! (breath out deep breath in, breath out), we paid some of the balance at the reception desk and were able to convince the receptionist to come with us to the nearest ATM to get the rest, that we had to be at Thamel in 2 minutes.
Moving on we got into a full of tourist bus that was meant to take us to the nepali-tibetan border. After our great experience on the roof of a local bus that was sweet. There were persons of UEA, Germany, Belgium, Canada, Denmark, France, Israel...a nice "pupurry". Ferran let his authism to get into its maximum potential and started to dislike the group pretty fast, but I have to agree that there were some nice specimen.
The nepali-tibetan border is full of nepali bussinessmen, for which I mean one tone heavily sack weighted persons, male and female no difference, who keep going into the China border to bring goodies on their backs, and then back again, I guess for the whole day or until their backs say "no more". They form a continous and quasi-infinite line that likes to 'jump' over the security restrictions and checkings chinese officials keep.
On the other hand, there are 'we', the 'tourist'. We passed just five or six security checks. One for the flu (I was coughing and had running nose, and probably some fever, and of course I said I was alright), second for weapons on X ray, third was military inspection for Tibet political books, which include any Lonely Planet with monk pictures or Tibet map (Hah!), fourth was visa check, fifth another X ray, and finnally policemen check the books thing again, just in case the militars did not do their job properly...funny, but a bit time extended for my own taste.
Now the good news. As we were promised we got land rovers waiting for us on chinese border, so we got into them and started our journey through Tibet. We lunch near the border and found a non-existant ATM on the first town, thanks goodness, since we were short on cash as I stated before, and dinner lunch and drinks were not included on the package (I call it non-existant because both our guides told everyone that there were no any ATM until the third day of the tour).
Hmmm I should get it faster, because if I stick on every little thing this post will be longer than a novel, and of course if Ferran wants to say anything else about these past days he is free to do so, although is not our policy to go back into the past.
Tibet is beautiful, not the same beauty as Nepal, can not say if more or less, but different. We have not gone under 3.500m. The landscape on such condition, as you can guess, can not be the exhuberant green of Nepal, but the mountains touch the sky, and the sky kiss the mountain pics, in a quiet peaceful fusion that gets into the soul, maybe that is the reason buddhism had to fall here (although some want to kick it out).
You have tundra and plateau all around, small rivers, if they can be called like that, flow all over, freezing during the night and getting into life soon after the sun crowns the highest highs in the world.
The nights are cold, and I mean COLD. You damn your pee needs everytime during the nighttime, and I prefered to sleep clothed most of them. I have to say that we passed the first two nights in guesthouses, and we are still waiting to spot our first heater in the room. Breakfasts consisted so far in bread and omelette, no exception.
Other important thing you have to know is that there are more than good chances you will suffer high sickness, consisting in headache, stomach disorders and similar things. Most of us (tourist) got some of it during our journey.
About the political thing, there is a heavy China army presence, in most cases the army helps to build roads or such things, but they have weapons, and are a repressive force (for good or bad). Just today we have seen like fifty trucks and excavators, or maybe more, movilizing, I wonder if spanish army have such number of trucks in whole country. The repression can also be perceived on internet censure, similar to the one we found at Iran.
The locals, from my point of view, are social and not dislike the human touch, expressions such as hugging and body contact playing are more common than in Europe (I guess the cold has not said its last word). Some of them like to sing and carry a smile with them. They are shorter than 'us' and darker than eastern chinese...but anyway, this is getting too long, sorry, but many days and many things, wish it could have been three posts and not one. I will let the pictures and Ferran talk (when we were able to upload them, maybe at HK) the rest of it.
Best wishes,

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Katmandú

El dilluns 19 tocava agafar un autocar cap a Katmandú. El que no sabíem es que aquest era exclusiu per a turistes, i tampoc sabíem que érem els que menys havíem pagat de tots. Per variar els pitjors seients de tots, un no pot deixar negociar les condicions a l’esqueleto.

El trajecte va anar prou be, cap accident que destacar a la carretera. Vam parar a dinar a un restaurant de carretera, el qual va escandalitzar a una catalana que havíem conegut al ràfting, simplement perquè valien els plats 10 cèntims d’euro mes del que ella solia pagar. Després no entenem perquè ens diuen rates.

Després de tres hores vam arribar a Katmandú. Ciutat gegant que s’ha anat escampant cap a tots costats sense pietat, amb una contaminació terrorífica, porqueria per tots costats. Realment ens va semblar una ciutat casi al nivell de Delhi. Arribada a la parada de busos, i caminar cap el barri on son tots els turistes, el Thamel. Allà ens vam dirigir a l’agència que suposadament ens estava tramitant els visats per el Tibet, vam emplenar els papers que necessitaven, evidentment no havien fet res encara, i vam marxar cap el hotel, ja que les condicions que ens deien no eren les pactades i el que remenava les cireres no hi era en aquell moment.

El nostre hotel era casi a les afores d’aquest barri, i realment era potser el pitjor dels hotels que havíem trobat. Segueixo pensant que un no pot deixar negociar a l’Alex. Vam deixar les coses i vam anar a passejar per els carrers del Thamel per a fer temps. Tots els venedors de la zona van amb el ganivet entre les dents, si no regatejes molt molt molt molt, ets home mort. Quan ja ens n’haviem afartat ens varem dirigir cap a l’agència.

Seré ràpid explicant l’episodi de l’agència, ja que l’Ali Babá ens va estafar de tal manera, que encara ens fa mal. Te una colla de 40 lladres que es dediquen a estafar als pobres turistes per tot el Nepal. Va estar a punt de d’encolomar-nos una visita per la ciutat de un dia per casi 100 euros. No explicaré el que ens va estafar per fer el viatge al Tibet, no cal.. Això si, ens va encolomar un treking de tres dies a les afores de Katmandú.

El dimarts 20 el teníem per nosaltres, l’Alex va decidir avançar-se i anar a esmorzar uns croissants de xocolata que feien a una pastisseria del Thamel. Quan vaig arribar jo, l’esqueleto ja havia invitat a quatre persones!!!! Ja només quedaven dos nois sorpresos de la bondat de l’Alex. Aquests l’hi havien explicat la història de que estaven a una acadèmia de dibuix, i evidentment, seguidament vam anar a veure la seva acadèmia, que era una simple botiga de dibuix, on el seu “mestre” va intentar encolomar-nos algun que altre dibuix a preus bastant exagerats. Per sort l’Alex no portava gaires diners i vam poder sortir sants i estalvis.

Vam visitar el temple dels micos i algun altre indret i aviat ens vam cansar.

El dimecres 21 tocava començar un treking de 3 dies. Varem pujar 22 kilómetres fins arribar a una espècie de “hotelets”, que suposadament tenien una vista espectacular però els núvols no ens permetien veure res. Llestos de nosaltres, l’Alex duia només uns pantalons curts i jo res d’abric i va començar a fer un fred increïble. El propietari de la pensió que vam escollir era molt simpàtic però tenia un riure que feia por, era realment entranyable. Vam conèixer a la pensió gent bastant curiosa, un danès que parlava castellà ja que havia estat un temps a sud Amèrica. També una parella d’holandesos i un italià que vivia a Goa però que parlava castellà ja que havia estat tres anys a Ibiza, feia por. Vist el fred que feia, i ho avorrit que ens semblava arribar a un lloc a les 13:00 i esperar a l’hora de sopar sense fer res, ja havíem decidit retallar un dia el nostre treking.

El sopar va estar bastant genuí, sense llum, amb espelmes, i amb la companyia de tots els que havíem conegut. Vam estar discutint qui tenia les muntanyes mes baixes. El danès deia que la muntanya mes gran de Dinamarca era la Sky Mountain, de vora 140 metres i els holandesos una muntanya de prop de 90 metres. També els nostres guies es dedicaven a menjar l’arròs amb les mans. Quan els van preguntar el perquè, van dir que tenia un gust diferent, i realment ens van treure de dubte...

Avui ens hem acomiadat dels nostres amics i del propietari de la pensió i hem començat a baixar cap algun lloc on poguéssim agafar un autocar o taxi cap a Katmandú. Ho pitjor ha estat l’autocar que hem agafat. Ens hem pujat a la teulada ja que estava ple. Mai havíem patit tant. Baixàvem per unes pendents bastant brutals i el nostre conductor ha decidit fer una carrera amb l’atuocar que ens seguia. L’Alex i jo ens volíem morir.

Finalment hem agafat un altre autocar que ens ha dut a Katmandú, encara tremolem.

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Rafting and Jungle elephant ride

Hellooo, Kermit the frog speaking from Sahoura (or something very similar).
We got some action these past 2 days, so here it is. Woke up early, that's not a big surprise, and went to get a bus that was going to take us to 'the rafting point'. We were quite exited about it since neither of us have ever tried rafting. The bus trip to the river was not much, just 3 trucks off the road on 'the good side', meaning by it, the mountain side, one of them, literally, stuck like a tree with its cabin on the ground growing roots. And of course a couple buses, have to say, one of them not so lucky as the rest, and went through the bad side, meaning by it, the river side, one hundred meters below the road level.

Nonetheless arrived safely to our destination. Wait for some others rafters to arrive and got a five minutes lesson how to manage on the boat and on the water. The river course we were going to do were 25Km, with rapids and quiet zones. Rapids are awesome, you got totally wet, and have to use your feet to cling to the boat, at the end they are sore, but when some rapid waves hit the boat is a lot of fun. An experience I totally recommend. : P- We even got a couple swims, one volunteer, and another courtesy of the rapids.

After having that much fun on the river we moved to Sahoura, a village placed in the north of Chitwan National Park. We did not get many things beside the dinner that night, but we were invited to join the locals (it is Dhilwar festival right now) on a dance party. Ferran could not avoid the occasion and went to enjoy it.

On the morning there was disposed a canoe trip. After the rapids, the canoe trip was a piece of cake, it was supposed to be some crocodiles around, but we did not manage to see any. Some times the canoe turned right or left, but nothing dangerous, since the water depth was less than 1 meter. After the canoe trip we went to see some of the headquarters locals use for breeding the elephants. Ferran noted that was a bit sad they had to be chained.

Walk back to the resort and had lunch. The meals here are simple but nice, and best of all, not much spicy!!! I'm having some problems with my left hand due an injury that is getting nasty, nothing to be worry about yet, although I hope it doest not go worse, so I did not enjoyed the water shower from the elephants trunk on their bath time. I have to say that this village is very touristic, I guess all the foreigners that come to Nepal have an obligated stop here.

On the noon, after lunch time we went on an elephant ride through the jungle, with our hopes put on spotting a tiger. We've been told that is a very rare occasion, and, sadly, we were not in a rare elephant ride. Anyhow, we were able to see some deers and rhinos, although I would have liked very much to see a wild tiger.

Of all the things we have done these past two days, the one I liked best was the rafting. Probably if we have seen a tiger, the elephant ride would have been on the top.

Time to say see you around, hope you keep the track with us!
Best wishes!

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Pokhara

El Nepal ens està agradant molt. La veritat es que sembla un país que no està tant explotat com un es pensa, per el que hem pogut veure a Pokhala. Es el paradís per a tota mena d’excursionistes, des de els passerells com nosaltres, que amb una mica de trekking som mes feliços que uns xínxols, fins als que els agrada pujar grans pics com pot ser l’Anapurna. Hi ha un munt d’hostals molt barats i no estan del tot malament. Si busques ajuda per fer qualsevol excursió, hi ha un munt d’agències que n’organitzen. Les vistes des de Pokhala son espectaculars pel matí, mes endavant es formen núvols just davant de les grans muntanyes fins a tapar-les del tot.

El nostre amic de la guest house, ens havia preparat un planning per als dies que volíem estar a Pokhara. El dimecres ens va dur a visitar la ciutat, unes espècies de coves que havia format el riu, el seu salt d’aigua i algunes curiositats mes. També vam anar a veure el temple de la ciutat, bastant petit però no prou per a la munió de guies que esperaven a l’Alex per a cobrar-li un bonic tour per la petita zona. Mes tard vam donar una volta amb una barqueta pel llac, i tot i la gran perícia de l’Alex, només vam estar apunt d’atropellar a tres barques conduïdes per dones bastant grans. Com que no ens agraden els museus, aviat havíem acabat. L’Alex va decidir apuntar-se a un salt de parapent i jo vaig anar a dinar. Mes tard vam decidir anar a provar sort al “estadi” de futbol,a veure si trobàvem algú amb qui jugar. No es va costar gaire apuntar-nos a un partidet que ja estava en dansa. Com sempre, l’equip on jugava l’esqueleto va sucumbir.

El dijous tocava fer un treking que sortia de Pokhala, per pujar fins la torre de SarangKot, on hi havia unes grans vistes, i mes tard, per anar a parar a Dhampus, una espècie de parada al mig de un camí bastant important per a la gent que puja a fer escalada, on es troben un bon munt d’hostals. Allà vam sopar i vist que no teníem distracció alguna, a dormir d’hora. Per el camí l’Alex havia fet les corresponents amigues, deien elles refugiades tibetanes, que ens havien deixat la butxaca foradada. Un sherpa contractat per el nostre amic de la guest house ens va acompanyar tot el camí.

Avui tocava tornar a Pokhala, i la veritat que a les 10:00 ja erem al punt on tocava dinar i hem dit al nostre sherpa que preferíem dinar a la ciutat. Es un dia festiu al Nepal, i els nens es situen pel camí i canten i ballen per aconseguir unes propines dels trapassers que passem. Evidentment, la nostre butxaca ha acabat foradada del tot.

Després de dinar hem llogat unes bicicletes que ens han permés anar a jugar a futbol amb els nostres friends, i mes tard a l’hotel a dutxar-nos i sopar. No hi ha iluminació a les carreteres, i l’Alex ha desaparegut un moment de la meva vista quan tornàvem amb les bicicletes. Quan he aconseguit trobar-lo, havia caigut a un sot i havia fet saltar la cadena de la bicicleta. Llest de ell, ha decidit intentar arreglar el problema amb la mà i a la foscor. No os dic com están les seves mans de maques.

Demà mes.

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Another one bites the dust...Arrived Nepal

Hello ladies, gents and creatures! The lack of time or connection caused this waiting for the post, but here we are again, ready to rumble. Last time you know of us we were at Delhi and already bought our train ticket to Lucknow. Our train departed from New Delhi Railway Station at 6:15AM so we woke up at 5:00AM. The Main Bazaar street was starting to pulse with life and human activity, even at such unholy hours.

We were expecting a nightmare of a train, but at our surprise, we had an AC wgon, full of facilities (connector for recharging laptop, cell phone), breakfast included, mineralwater, in other words, the day could not start earlier and better. The only sad note was that passangers of this vagon class had high status, and seemed to us that some of them did their best to mess the work of the waiters.


We even spent our time playing a bit of Heroes, just to remember how it felt. The six hours passed pretty fast, so we were delighted. Also I started to feel bad, had stomache, I think, since we were going to Lucknow, was about time to ran out of luck, and pay for all the things I had been eating.

Lucknow has a 18th Century english colony-fort, known because around 3.000 persons went there to take refuge during the "Cipayo" Revelion. If I'm not wrong 2.000 of them died on it during a twelve month siege. We were thinking of visiting this after buying the train ticket to Gorakhpur, last indian city before entering Nepal, but my stomach decided for us. I was feeling so sick that, instead, we went a good hotel with a good restaurant with, probably, the best western toilet in the city, and spent the waiting time there. I ate plain rice, drank water.

Then it came...the train. I've never been in anything similar to it. First our ticket didn't have seat number, which was funny at the beginning, but not so much when we discovered that our one and a half dollar ticket were for 'General' class. We never entered the general class, crowds of standing persons filled the different wgons, we moved until we found a couple free sits, which we discovered they belong to sleepers class. Advice: buy all your train tickets with anticipation.We should have taken, there, at Delhi, our ticket from Lucknow to Gorakhpur if that was possible. Instead we had to stand on the corridors of the sleepers class vagons. That's not so bad "perse", but if you are feeling sick, and it's a six hours trip, can be kinda hellish. I was just hoping that my stomach doesn't play me a bad trick.

On the bright side of it, not counting all the insects that were falling from the roof and walls of the wagon, we met a couple of young indians, with whom I chated, answering and asking questions.

Gorakhpur was just a hotel and a night. On the morning we took a taxi with a couple of Denmark guys and three indians to Sunail, the border town. We made a stop on this 2 hours trip, and when we arrived Sunail a quasi-infinite line of trucks forced our ban to stop. We walked the last kilometer into Nepal, and starting to find an ATM to get some cash to pay a bus trip to Pokhara, one of the main cities in Nepal.

I still feel bad for the poor richshaw driver (bicycle one) who took us to the bank road to get the money. It's gonna be Delawhi festival here in Nepal, or something like that, and the ATM at the border did not have money. Was obvious that he barely was able to carry us and our backpacks, but he made and efford since we did not have money, and we gonna get it at our destination.

At the end got the money and went to eat something before getting a bus to Pokhara. Is not a difficult task, lots of busses go there from the border, and you can ask everyone for them. We also reserved a night in Pokhara and the guy told us that someone is gonna pick us when we arrive there and take us to the hotel, with no extra charges, we were amazed.

Our bus trip to Pokhara was great at the begining. Nepal natural beauty is under any kind of doubt. The mountains full of green, the rivers on the depths below, the sky of an deep blue. Everything stuns the visitor on it's first time. But of course, we could not have a pleasant, perfect trip, as many others before, this one has its own drawbacks.

First of all they are 8 hours, if you get into the bus at midday, you arrive at night, and you can't delight on the natural beauty of the surroundings. Second, thebus runs very close to the same very depths you are enjoying, making them not so delightful. And of course, our bus was the prized one. We made a stop to pick up some persons and then the motor decided was enough. Looked like the battery was low on power. Hmmmm. We waited for around ten minutes, while crossing cars and buses blew their horns at us. At the end, last option, the driver took off the hand break and we started to fall back on the mountain, then he happily got the motor back to life. Not needed to say that he did not stop the motor for the rest of the trip, even we stop at a fuel station to get some gas.

Arrived at Pokhara around 22:00PM, although we did not know. But someone entered the bus and pointed at us, and said, I'm here to pick you up. We stared at each other surprised again. Were we going to have a nice trip end? So it seemed. He took us to the hotel as we were promised. Freely. No extra charges. We walk 30 yards.

We ate dinner, my stomach, the champion, resisted the whole trip and I was congratulating it. Ferran asked for a coke, they opened one bottle for him and fill one glass. After he drank the second glass and they were removing the bottle again, he said "No, you can leave it here, I'll drink it all."

The room has no AC but it had attached toilet, and was no very dirty. The hotel manager also carries on a Nepal tour, so we have taken it. To get us a bit fond of him he invited us to an international (India Kerala college vs. Nepal team) of cricket. I do not have to say that we did not know anything of this sport before yesterday. He also told us that we were granted the honour of giving the prize to the winner..."Ein??? Hmm Uh! Oh1 ... 0.k." Feran went to the "stadium" at 8:30AM, since I was not feeling completely well I went at 12:00 in the noon.

The stadium was the ground yard of one of the major colleges here in Pokhara. It has no seats, of course, and the main, and ONLY, spectators of the match were us. I have to say that cricket is just a bit funny, but matches are so long that, after one day and nine hours, it gets boring, nevertheless, the players were very excited and shouted the whole match, so I guess they were getting a lot of fun.

At the end of it, 17:0PM more or less, as we were promised, with the Principle of the college we got the honour of giving the prizes to the winner. In fact, there were two cups, one for the winner and one for the runner (second place), so everyone got his prize. The Nepal team won, but that is reasonable, since Kerala is at four bus days to the south, and I bet the indian team didn't feel at their best form.

We took some pictures and went back to the hotel. Tomorrow, that is today, we were gonna get a guided tour around the city, and I hope we also play soccer with the hotel manager, he told us he will arrange a match for us.

We'll see.
Best wishes.

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La experiència d'agafar un autocar de Quetta a Lahore, es quelcom que un no es pot perdre. Això si es passar por de veritat. Amb la por entre les cames, havíem arribat a la gran ciutat de Lahore sense ganes de fer res mes que buscar un hotel, regatejar el mínim, l'Alex sembla que ja ha aprés a com a mínim, no pagar mes del que ens demanen, i anar a sopar. Un hotel bastant fastigós, per cert i un restaurant, que l'amic esqueleto va anomenar pijo i que ho mes interessant que tenia eren els petits insectes que pujaven a saludar-te a la taula

Era divendres matí, i ens disposávem a manjar-nos Lahore. Vam anar cap a l'estació de tren, amb la idea d'agafar un bitllet per a creuar la frontera per la nit, i aprofitar tot el dia per a veure Lahore. No se com, vam acabar agfant un tuktuk que ens portava a veure uns jardins dels que semblaven estar molt orgullosos i després ens portava a la frontera. En una hora ens trobavem a la frontera, feiem unes fotos, i ja erem a l'altre costat.

A l'altre costat ens oferien un taxi per anar a Amritsar per 500 inr, preu oficial. Sense voler, ja havíen baixat a la meitat i nosaltres ja erem de camí cap a la ciutat del Golden Temple. Allà, vam anar a l'estació per trobar algun bitllet que ens apropés al Nepal, però sembla que en dos dies no trobariem cap bitllet. Corrents cap al Golden Temple, visita fugaç i corrent cap a la bus station.

A la bus station, després de pagar el extra corresponent, vam aconseguir per primer cop places d'honor. Segona fila, la primera només tenia un seient, i amb molt d'espai per estirar les cames, de fet haviem pagat prou per això i mes. L'Alex es va dedicar a sobornar el conductor i el seu secretari amb festucs per tal d'assegurar-nos que ningú ens molestava. De fet el mateix secretari ens va voler fer fora del nostre lloc, però amb un català perfecte l'hi vaig dir estàvem de luxe i teniem molt bones vistes, ens va deixar estar.

A tot això cal mencionar la gran habilitat de l'Alex de veure guineus a tots llocs quan anem amb autobús. Quan veiem passar un animal de quatre potes, de l'altura de un gos, amb unes orelles com les de un gos, una cua semblant a la de un gos, treient la llengua com faria un gos, i que quan ha travessat la carretera corrent com un gos, para i es rasca les pusses com un gos, l'Alex em comunica que ha vist creuar un guineu la carretera. Jo callo i segueixo disfrutant de la fauna local.

Un cop arribats a Delhi, a les 5 am, destrossats i sense saber on caure, ens vam dirigir a la estació de tren per a veure l'horari de les oficines. Obrien a les 8, així que corrent cap el primer hotel que trobéssim a dormir. La tele no funcionava, la cadena no funcionava, l'aigua calenta no funcionava, em sembla recordar que no hi havia mosquits.

Eren les 12 am, quan hem sortit de l'hotel cap a l'estació, algun amic ens ha indicat que no anàvem al lloc correcte, aquest truc ja el coneixiem de l'últim cop, i hem comprat bitllets cap a Luknow, ho més proper a Nepal que hem trobat.

Un cop tota la feina feta, hem anat a veure un lloc que vam intentar veure l'últim cop, però que els nostres companys de viatge no ens van permetre, tot i la nostre insistència, El Templo del Loto. La veritat es que valia la pena, no entenem com no vam venir l'últim cop, segurament la Marta no va voler venir-hi.

A sopar i dormir, que demà toca matinar, i amb sort, entrem al Nepal.

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From Quetta to Lahore

Woke up kinda late next morning, we felt rested so decided to check what we could see in Quetta. Asked at the reception desk but seems that the only two things they understood were we were checking out and that we need a car to see the city and the surroundings. Oh well! After paying a 5 star hotel a bit more of money waste would not be a sacrilege. We were going to make the tour with a driver and a translator, although we had specified we wanted an English speaking driver. First stop was at the bank to get some cash. Then we went to see the bazaar, although the name of market streets suited better. The city core was full of shops of different kinds of goodies. From electronics to dry fruits stands. But, truth to be told, couldn’t compare to Istanbul Great Bazaar or Isfahan one. After that we moved to the protestant and cantt area. There we saw a hospital and then moved to the protestant school of St. Mary.

One thing we can point about the religion status of the city is that seems the non fanatic members of the different religions coexist in very good terms, catholic, muslims, protestants. I also have to say that I enjoyed very much our visit to St. Mary. Being presented as a future teacher the principle allowed me to visit some classrooms and even participate in 9th degree Social’s one. At the beginning I didn’t feel very comfortable, being an outsider and feeling like a disturbance, but in few minutes got into the class and, sadly, got to say farewell to the Pakistani students, who were full of curiosity and questions about Spanish socials. We’ve been told by the present principle that the previous one had been teacher to governors and major politicians. We also were informed about more disturbing things which I prefer to relate on person, but my impression about that school was that is a wonderful place.

After that we visited a catholic school and church and then crossed the cantt area. This area is where soldiers rest and got educated. It’s separated from the citizens area by some barricades and such. Looks like the situation in Quetta, military talking, is a bit tense, we even saw a fighter flying over our heads while we were at St. Mary’s.

By the time we left the city for going check the surroundings we already knew the smart guy was the driver, not the translator. Knowing this, though, didn’t play at our advantage at the end, but you’ll see what I mean later. We visited some natural spring, where the government had a trout repopulation program going on, were offered rest for one night by a couple of muslims who wanted to show us their hospitality, and the Hanna lake. The awesome, outstanding, perilous Hanna lake. If we had to believe our translator, many persons have died at that lake swallowed due the plant under the water’s surface. Ferri and myself couldn’t completely hide a face of disbelieve, since it seemed that one can walk and keep his head out of the water on that half dry lake. The thing that I liked much of our visit there was the pass between the mountains that you can find behind the dump. I also have to tell that most of the perdurable constructions here in Pakistan seem to date out of when English were around. At least, when the translator was pointing to some wall or building not partially erased by time, he used to say “made by the English”.

After our tour, and near 5 p.m. we went lunch something and then back to the hotel for paying the car rental. There we found our beloved friend whom we gave 10dollars the day we arrived, who told us two or three times that we should have told him we were leaving so he could arrange for us a train ticket to Lahore, that bus was a hell and train was so much better in comparison…one advice, never turn your back on advices given by someone who likes you or your money. We were going to take a bus, and as you might see, it proved our beloved friend probably had reason and wanted us well. Anyway, we were leaving Quetta that same evening so we hurried to check train ticket status (they only leave to Lahore in the morning, by daylight, to prevent the trains being attacked crossing the mountain surrounding the city), and then went ahead to the bus station…Damn it! One bus left to a city between Quetta and Lahore 15 minutes ago…ok…climb to the taxi again. Try to catch the bus. Evade some collisions with vehicles bigger than yours. Histerically laugh at a truck flashing you lights and warning you that it will not stop. Use the car horn to scare away the bicycles, the rickshaws, and some other smaller vehicles. Desperately horn when a bus is pressing while you are overtaking it and something big is coming forward.

At the end we caught the bus. We paid some extra to Mr. Gollum (was named Golam or something like that, but after he ripped us off, I do not feel bad by calling him that) and some more to the translator. At the end, they outsmarted us, but as I begin to realize, that’s not a difficult task. By that time, as the Clint Eastwood movie name, we could have said who were the good, the bad and the ugly of the car, or what it come to be the same, the smart (translator), the smarter (the driver), the dumb (any of us could have fit).

The night ride on the bus was not so bad, if we obvious the sharp black fearsome deeps beside the tiny and narrow road crossing the mountains that surrounds Quetta. The road, or so named, most of the time, is a stone growing dusty trail way. We wondered how many buses lie on the depths below us. Of course, as Ferran says, our vehicle in use is the one which overtakes most in the whole road, and safety rules are for being ignored completely, the narrowest of the bridges is the perfect place to rush over a huge truck while a bus comes the opposite direction blowing its horn and flashing lights like the devil himself driving it.

We made a stop to get some forces, rest the legs, eat dinner whoever wanted to do so, replace a wrong wheel, hmmm did I say replace a wrong wheel? Yea, think so. Pray some prayers for not losing the wheel on a bad curve. On the good side, one of the barmen at the cantina we stop offered me tea, coffee, and brought a nice coffee cup after I declined all. Had some nice chat with them, but short, as we got to move on into the night.

At this point I have to say we were nearly out of cash after paying the smart and the smarter guys. We had to change buses at the middle of our way to Lahore and finish our trip on a second bus. Also I would like to add that a twelve hour maniac suicidal night trip let your nerves a bit tense. But we didn’t imagine what was still to come upon us. A nice guy from our first bus leaded us to another small one. The driver asked six hundred and some rupies for the trip to Lahore, more than we had, at the end the nice guy took our money, placed on driver’s hand and pushed us into the bus.

The bus was tiny, old and dirty, and I mean Dirty, not dirty. It was clear from the beginning that the floor was being used to throw all the garbage in it, from human fluids to banana “skins”. But we did not yet know what was going to befall to us, because we were few persons on it, as I said, yet. By the noon the bus was full, and we had to fight with the locals for some space. Our knees were badly sore because the space between chair rows was minuscule. And worst thing of all. It was not an express car. We probably stop more than thirty times in our way to Lahore. Most of them to allow some fruit sellers, drink sellers, book sellers (yea, I just said book sellers) in it. The whole trip was supposed to last six hours top, they were thirteen hellish hours at the end. Arrived Lahore late at night, found a bank withdrawal machine, ate some dinner and looked for a dirty hotel that suit with the bus-day. Not bad. A bit tiresome, but not bad.

Best wishes, including us.

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Pakistan i a Iran no tornaran

Alguns detalls que ens han sobtat d'Iran.

La majoria de cotxes que hi ha son, o be Paykans molt antics, fabricats per la companyia iraniana Iran Khodro, o be models que s'han deixat de construir a Europa, Peugeot 405 i Renault 5 son les estrelles, dels quals Iran ha comprat la maquinaria, per a poder-los fabricar ells mateixos. Donat que tenen una gran quantitat de gas, també s'han dedicat a fabricar cotxes que utilitzen aquest com a combustible.

Tothom a Iran te un mòbil, i no pot estar cinc minuts sense ell. Nokia s'ha apoderat totalment d'aquest mercat, i es difícil veure una Blackberry o iPhone. Els encanta enviar sms en tot moment i provar tot tipus de melodies.

El transport públic mes usat per a viatjar son els autocars. Son models bastant nous i guarnits sense cap mena de pietat. Qui no te una col·lecció de nines penjant del sostre, plena l'autocar de leds que van fent pampallugues. El concepte de "hortera" sembla que no existeix allà.

Que homes i dones vagin separats als autobusos, autocars o taxis, ja ho suposàvem. Ens ha sobtat no veure a les dones resant, quan els homes ho fan contínuament. Serà que ho fan d'amagades. Quan hem aconseguit parlar amb alguna dona, ens hem donat conta que moltes parlen anglès que aprenen a l'escola.

En cap moment hem sentit cap tipus de rebuig per ser europeus, tot el contrari. La majoria d'ells s'interessa per la teva procedència i els agrada passar un rato parlant amb tu. La cosa s'accentua si saben una mica d'anglès. Si els dius que ets de Barcelona, tots et diuen que son del Barça i que els encanta el Messi.

Creuar la frontera d'Iran a Pakistan, es una experiència brutal. Et penses que vens d'un país pobre i realment et dones conta que Iran era meravellós.

Ahir només sortir de la frontera, ens van adreçar a una espècie de barraca (espècie de casa feta amb adoba, es a dir, totxos de fang i palla), on passant entremig de la gent que estava asseguda esperant qui sap què, varem descobrir agradablement, que ens esperaven per a registrar la nostre entrada al Pakistan. Ordenadors DELL no gaire antics i Webcamp Logitech per a poder tenir una bona fotografia de la nostre cara de sorpresa.

Un cop vam acabar aquests tràmits, el paio que ens perseguia per a vendre'ns els bitllets d'autocar cap a Quetta, ens va indicar que teníem que passar per un altre barraca on un cartell senyalava Customers House. Un cop allà, veient que a la gent de davant nostre els registraven les bosses, i nosaltres procedíem a obrir les nostres motxilles, un home ens va preguntar de on érem i seguidament ens va indicar que entréssim a la seva barraca. Allà va agafar les nostres dades i va fer-nos firmar al seu llibre.

Acabat ja tots els tràmits, es varen unir al nostre voltant, l'home que ens volia vendre el bitllet d'autocar i l'altre que ens volia canviar Euros. Vam decidir canviar uns pocs Euros sense sortir molt robats, i amb aquests diners vam poder comprar el bitllet de l'autocar que ens portaria a Quetta. A tot això, ens va cobrar un extra, i ens va fer entrar a un cotxe que junt a dos passatgers mes, ens duria al poble de Taftan, on ens esperava l'autocar que estava a punt de sortir.

Dir que Taftan es un poble, potser es ser generós, ja que un conjunt de barraques amb gallines i altres animals corrent, potser te un altre nom. Tot va ser molt ràpid, l'autocar ja marxava, va ser posar les motxilles dins de l'autocar (estem parlant de un autocar de luxe, ja que la majoria posen l'equipatge al sostre), recollir el bitllet i saltar a l'autocar en marxa, que no volia esperar uns segons mes.

L'autocar ens va sorprendre gratament, tres cadires per fila, en comptes de quatre, una espècie de butaques molt còmodes. La decoració, res a envejar als autocars de Iran, flors penjades de les parets, caixes amb mocadors de paper penjant del sostre, un luxe.

El paisatge que envolta Taftan es desèrtic, així que les petites coses que cridaven la nostre atenció durant el nostre camí eren camells i barraques, algunes amb una espècie de murs, suposem per a guardar el bestiar o les quatre gallines despistades.
Tot i que l'estat de la carretera era bastant dolent, el conductor no tenia problema en accelerar sense pietat. Cada cop que trobàvem un sotrac una mica mes gran del conta, donàvem un bot bastant important. Tot i això, no em va costar adormir-me una estona.

L'Alex em despertava per a dir-me que tothom baixava de l'autocar. Vam decidir baixar i descobrir que era la parada per dinar. Una galleda amb aigua bruta, segurament era neta a primera hora, era aprofitada per els que volien dinar, per a rentar-se les mans. Vam decidir menjar alguna cosa. Com que no trobàvem la carta, vam suposar que el que tothom menjava era la recomanació del xef, es a dir, arròs i carn. Es veu que no s'utilitzen coberts per a menjar, quin sentit te, si t'has pogut rentar les mans a la famosa galleda.

Després d'aquesta parada en vam fer alguna mes per a que poguessin sortir a resar una estona bona part de l'autocar, conductor inclòs i alguna altre parada per a que els soldats entressin a fer-nos una visita. L'Alex va decidir preguntar en una de les parades a on eren els serveis, i l'hi van respondre amb un Everywhere.

De les poques coses que havíem llegit sobre Pakistan, era que no féssim ostentació, ja que son bastant pobres i pots sortir malparat. Doncs dit i fet, a mig camí havíem decidit que aniríem a l'hotel de cinc estrelles de Quetta, per a celebrar que havíem abandonat Iran vius. L'únic problema, era que l'Alex ja s'havia encarregat de dir a mig autocar on dormiríem aquella nit.

Un cop a Quetta, i després de que un bon home ens recomanés no anar al luxós hotel, vam decidir agafar un Rickshaw que ens hi portés. Un cop a l'entrada de l'hotel, vam tenir que passar fins a tres controls de seguretat, tots amb les seves corresponents armes. Semblava que estàvem entrant a la presó. Va tenir que passar les bosses dos cops per a diferents controls d'equipatge.

L'hotel Serena, es el mes luxós de la ciutat, amb piscina, pistes de tenis i el seu propi spa. Fins avui ens han tractat com si fóssim reis, preocupant-se en tot moment de si ens faltava qualsevol cosa. El bufet costa uns 9 euros, entenem que caríssim per a molts ciutadans de Quetta. Demà ens toca abandonar aquest luxes per a tornar a carregar la motxilla i visitar els hotelets de torn. Hem intentat preguntar al recepcionista que es pot veure de la ciutat, que anirem amb taxi o caminant i no ha estat capaç d'entendre que no volem agafar un cotxe amb xofer per a que ens passegi, segurament no som els client habituals.

Això es tot per avui :).

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Quetara, ode for Dylan and other cookies

Time is something relative. This evening I was thinking we might be thinking wrongly about it just like 1 dimension, when the most easy thing would be, at least, that time was 3-d, just like space is...but enough of this, the important thing is little time has passed since our last post but many things happened, that's why I was noting the relativity of time. Prepare for a long post. Life is a tough thing to deal with.

Remember we were at Shiraz, contemplating the impressive Persepolis. That night, at 21:30 we took a bus to Kermam, I was feeling more and more anxious about which I will call "the Dylan affair", to the point of being suspicious about everything and everyone "Why if our bus has to depart in 10 minutes there's no bus on this lane? Why were you talking to a girl?" I keep asking Ferran. I didn't want to bring the attention to us, and keep the lowest profile possible for 2 europeans at Iran, which is kinda difficult. But by now, you probably are quite inquiring about "who the hell is this Dylan?". Some of you have some clues and some other not, let me enlight you. There are two ways of getting the Iran visa at Spain, one is going Madrid and requesting for it with 3-4 weeks of anticipation. The other is contacting with an Iranian travel agency and make the request through them. We didn't have 4,3,2 or 1 week, so our only option was the second. Our main agent in the Iran side was named Jakob. He was able to get our visas and send the MFA number to Istambul in 6 days time record, an awesome job, counting the fact was the end of the Ramadan. Til that moment he was more than a simple singer, he was our man, 007 was a simple shade of performance and efficiency compared to Jakob. Our relation problems with our foreign agent began at Istambul, remember we raced Croatia, Monte Negro, et cetera, so we arrived Turkey and for extension Iran, 1 week before we expected. Then Jakob got more and more nervous about getting paid for his services, the payment of 60euros for each visa to Iranian government was not enough for him, he wanted more (well, probably telling him we wanted to make a tour with his agency accelerated the visa process).
At some point, at Shiraz to be more exact, our relations got to a point that he threatened us not to enter Iran using the visas he got for us...hmmm...I was wondering if being at Iran at that point negated the threat, but then he told us he will cancel the visas! Hmmm I don't really know if a travel agent can cancel a visa government has been paid for, probably not, but if you were at Iran, believeme, you would not want to discover if that statment is true or false.

So all I wanted, after visiting Persepolis, was exit the country. Arrived at Kerman at 8 a.m. with another bus night trip at our backs. There we met with a funny Iran albino, who was working at a bus agency. We wanted to get a bus to Zahedan at noon, so we can arrive there at night and sleep in a hotel for a change, get some force and then cross the border with enough energies in case we have to fight with Jakob minions. I should have never said never. Let Ferran buy the ticket, noticed and noted that the farsi word written before the time number did not match with the "evening" word, Ferran answered "don't worry, what's the worst that can happen to us..." and we happily departed to see the wonders of Kerman, which are reduced and secluded to a small area named Ali Khan Bazaar. After that we made time til 21:30 to get our bus to Zahedan, talked the evening with one local, who had been english teacher and now spent his time preparing desert tours. Kerman has many bus terminals, and the locals barely talk any english beside the common left-for-right words. We were not able to find a taxi who drove us to the bus station, so got a map and walk our way to there. We made it on time, but oh surprise! You won't believe it, the farsi word that did not match with evening was "Sob", which translates for "morning". Yea. The 13 old's child trick again. Sorry, your bus is long away. No more buses tonight, your backpacks are closed and barred....good thing is money can open everything. Of course we had to pay for two new tickets to Zahedan, nearly exhausting our poor funds, but we were not planning to sleep in a hotel...so...we waved farewell to our albino "friend" and made another night by bus.

Arrived Zahedan at 7a.m. As soon as we jumped out of the bus a couple tigers asked if we need a taxi, but all of them parted away when the big white shark appeared. He had the form of a small, big bearded english talking man on his sixties. He stared at us and said, 5000 tomem each to go to the border "dar baste" (which means the taxi open its doors to anyone til it's full of passangers). We climbed into a taxi with the promise from his lips we will see him at the border at 8:30 a.m.

Our taxi driver did a couple tours trying to fill his vehicle, thing that he finallymanaged to accomplish. After that headed to Mirjhave, the town closer to the border, where our 2 extra passangers left us. The Iranian-Pakistan border is 12km from Mirjaveh. When we arrived there while praying the 3 police-military controls that checked our passports haven't received orders from Jakob, a crowd was gathered at the border officine, we fighted our way half of the queue and then to the 1st place after a local pointed to the first position saying "spanish". The guard who was stamping the exit on the passports stared at us ominously, keep the passports and wrote something in a book...then...the big white shark appeared again from the door on the pakistani side...what the hell??!! Walked to us with a smile on his bearded face and...$%&·$ shit took the passports from the guards hands!!! Who was that small smiling bearded gnome? Could be that we had run out of luck and finally Jakob got us? Would he write a song after putting our heads in a pike? Minutes passed slowly as we tried to keep our ticks for ourselves, and smile to everyone while the gnome walked around with our passports at his hands and shouting orders right and left...our fate was sealed. We were expecting the worst, the white shark said, follow me. We did, no one in their sense would opposite against the will of an unarmed gnome who shouts orders to armed soldiers, and has the ability to appear from nowhere. He took us to the iron closed and barred gates of Pakistan and again started yelling "Qujar!Qujar!" or something like that, he was telling to the crowd on the other side to make room.

At the end he let a young soldier to open some iron gates and let us pass to Pakistan ground, clapped his hands and told us "My job is done!" We probably will never know if he was, in fact, Jakob, Jakob Dylan, and if he will make a song for us, but...we were safe at the other side!!!!

I would like to write about our trip through Taftan to Quetta, and how we decided to spend the visa money on Jakob's salute, but I think it will be better if I let Ferran write something in catalan.

Best wishes, and if you ever find Jakob, beware!

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Per fi PERSEPOLIS

Sembla que seguirem sense accents aqui a Iran. No hi ha locals amb wifi i aixo ens obliga a utilitzar Coffe Nets, per a poder accedir a la xarxa.

No poder treure diners dels caixers Iranis, ni pagar amb targeta, comensa a ser un problema, pero sembla que no haurem de rentar plats, de moment.

Qui te un amic, te un tresor. Sembla que l'Alex vol endur-se tot l'or Persa. Dos nous amics es van afegir a la llarga llista, aquest cop a l'autobus que ens portava cap a Shiraz. Va ser una petita disputa, els dos volien acaparar l'atencio de l'Alex i van estar a punt d'arribar a les mans. Despres d'una estona, vam descobrir que un d'ells volia canviar Euros amb nosaltres, pero vam aconseguir fer-li entendre que estavem mes pelats que ell.

Al arribar a Shiraz, l'amic desinteressat, es va oferir a dur-nos a trobar un hotel que estigues be de preu. Per sorpresa meva, aquest cop la cosa va funcionar, i vam trobar un hotel barat i net. Despres de que l'Alex hagi conegut amics de tot tipus, estafadors, "sharks", "buitres", timadors i altres pinxos diversos, un ja no te molta fe en la capacitat innata de l'Alex.

Tant l'Alex com jo teniem clar, que el que realment ens interessava eren les ruines de Persepolis, situades a uns 70 km al nord de Shiraz. Dit i fet. Aquest mati, hem agafat un minibus i mes tard un taxi que ens ha deixat davant les ruines. Persepolis, o anomenada per els antics Perses, Parsa (La ciutat dels Perses). Es la gran ciutat que van construir reis com Cyrus, Darius i Xerxes per a demostrar a tot el mon el seu poder. Mes endavant, va passar el simpatic de l'Alexandre el Gran, va endur-se tots els tresors, diuen que va necessitar 3000 camells, i va destruir la ciutat.

Les ruines ens han impresionat bastant, es conserva molt be. Esta clar que si vens a Iran, no pots deixar de veure Persepolis. Hem tornat a Shiraz, ja que el nostre autobus surt a les 21:30 cap a Kerman.

Planeja sobre nostre la hombra del nostre amic Dillan. Sembla que hi ha una ordre de busqueda i captura que circula per el nord de Iran. Sort que ens hem avansat a ell, i ja estem prop de Pakistan. L'Alex dorm amb un ull despert. Donem noms falsos per aconseguir els bitllets d'autobus. Cap precaucio no es prouta.

Fins la propera, si l'amic Dillan ens ho permet.

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Teheran & Isfahan

Left Mako at evening and arrived Teheran at 6 a.m. I think Iranian buses are a bit worse than Turkish, but they has given us some pastries in each one. The bus ticket is really cheap, around 1euro for every 100km. or so. Every day becomes harder and harder to communicate with english, but as long as we don't do anything outraging or ask simple things, we won't have communication problems.

Arrived at Teheran earlier than we expected, that's an inconvenience. As soon as we step out of the bus half a dozen taxi drivers jumped on us. I should not be smiling all the time, I just try to be polite but it's hard to get them off being polite. Entered to the northern bus station at Teheran and soon discovered that, if we want to go to Isfahan, heading south, we must go to the southern bus station (Junabaun or something like that, sounds like 'Junab terminal'). A couple of funny things there were the information sign, pointing the opposite direction where it was placed the information desk (although you can arrive to it just completing the full circle of the station), and the street-fighter class you have to endure on the station toilettes. Let's put something clear, bus stations at Turkey and Iran are huge, which means full of buses, which means plenty of persons. Crowds. After a 15hours trip, the most common act is visiting the WC, I needed 20 minutes from the entrance to it to the closed.

After that we decided to go 'Junab' and buy an evening ticket to Isfahan. Teheran is a big city, if you know subway stations emplacements, transport could be cheap, but if you feel dizzy from a long trip and have no map and idea, you probably will have to pay 6$ for a taxi.

On South Station we met a language teacher. Wonderful! Someone who speaks english! He helped us to get the ticket to Isfahan, then took us to Sha-he-Rey subway station and find a taxi driver that will lead us through some major places in Teheran for 24$. At this point I have to say that there are two kind of persons, the ones that pleasently will be helpful, and the ones that are there to get profit from tourists. All of them will be polite, but just consider that some are polite for the $.

We spent the morning with Aman Fatir (or something like that) who took us to an old fortress, an ancient fountain, a medieval tower (Toghrol!! I remember the name!!!) and an ancient ruin, hold by 4 young soldiers whom invited us to drink tea with them. This last one was named Fire Temple (it's easier to remember english names than farsi). The ruins were discovered by a french arecheologist at 1901, but they are not well conserved. Oh! And I forgot to mention we also visited the Imam Khameni tomb. Awfully, in some of these places we were not allowed to take pictures with the camera, although, if we had, we could use our cell phone to take pictures...kinda strange.

After these few visits which took us some hours we went to lunch with our beloved driver (who probably took his best meal of the month). Then he took us to a car garage repair, because he was having some problems with the motor. We end our tour a couple hours before we expected, and Ferran thought it could be a good idea to visit the Jewel Museum, we tried get information from the info desk, with no good results, then headed out of the bus station to get a taxi, and just a moment before getting into it we realized that the museum was not open on wednesday.
On the other hand when we got back to the station, full of shops, and after asking in 3 book shops, we found a Iran Lonely Planet!!!

Got out backpacks and step into the bus to go Isfahan. 17:30h. Ferran sit on the left side seats, because they have a bit more of leg space. I went with him after a couple hours when a full covered woman politely asked me if I can move (or so I thought), since they can not sit with men at buses (other than her husband).

During our night journey to the south we enjoyed road shops beside the highway. They hang billions of lights and leds, the next one of a crazier colour than the previous, they were so bright and bizarre that were close to be a harmful sight.

Arrived at Isfahan at 24:30, we have been bus travelling for 2.500km or so, and were exhausted for not saying destroyed. We were a junk piece for the taxi tiger drivers who again jumped on us. Accepted the first price to get us to the city center and also accepted the first price the guest house gave us. Bad move and worse one. Is not much a difference, maybe 10$, but I'm pretty sure we could have got a way better price for the 'nice' room we got. No complains about the water on the showers, was hot.

At 10:00 this morning we started our street trip. I still felt a bit confused about directions, more even counting that most of them are written only in farsi. At the end we got through it and wandered into the bazaar to Jameh Mosque. This side of the city is not as touristic as others could be, and the shops display a bit of abandon. Afther that we moved to Imam Square, probably the most famous and beautiful place in Isfahan. On the center of it there is a watered garden, surrounding it you can find roof covered shops, selling carpets, handcraft items, paintings, et cetera. Also, at the sides of the square you can find 2 mosques, the impressive Imam mosque and the, not so huge, but more beautiful, Sheikh Lotfollah; on the opposite side where this little but precious mosque is set, there is the Ali Gate palace. It's not in the best conservation state, but offers a great view of the square below and the mosques around.

We ate on a restaurant terrace, over a carpet with pillows, one of the iranian traditional ways.
Our meals mainly consisting in rice and chicken or beef. We walked some more time after the lunch around the square, found an iranian carpet seller whose girlfriend is from Barcelona, and crossed words with a couple more. Head our way to a caffenet called the Rose from which I'm writting this now. There are a couple tours that we could take but I'm not sure we will dispose of so much time, more even counting that we received an ultimatum from our 'friend' Dillan, he is rejecting our visas numbers today...hmmm...I'm feeling half well half bad. The visa tramitation is a complete rip off. Well, I guess they won't spend any efford finding us around their country, although maybe we will have some problems next time entering it. Oh lala! Time will way, as always does.

Best wishes,

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IRAN!!!!!!

Estem a un local Irani que tenen internet, pero sembla que els accents i altres simbols, son molt demanar.

No cal destacar gaire del torneig de Magic de diumenge, fora de que l'Alex va aconseguir una meritoria dotzena possicio. Quan varem acabar de jugar, vam sopar, i corrents a dormir. Teniem que recuperar totes les hores perdudes de son.
Dilluns, vam comprar els bitllets cap a Igdir, prop de la frontera amb Iran. Ens quedaven 2 hores, i vam aprofitar per anar a veure el mausoleu de Ataturk, com ens havia recomenat la Marta a l'ultim post. La veritat es que valia la pena.

L'estacio d'autobusos de Ankara es gegantesca, al igual que la de Istanbul. El nostre autocar sortia a les 13:00 amb arribada a desti a les 10:00. El trajecte semblava bastant llarg, pero va ser entretingut:
Venedors entrant a cada parada, a vendre coses versemblants, cal destacar un que va entrar, va deixar un paquet de xiclets amb una nota a cada seient, i quan va arribar a nosaltres, en va deixar un sobre la tauleta de l'Alex i va marxar, ell, emocionat, va preocupar-se de perque no me n'havia dat un a mi. Al cap de uns minuts, tornava el noi..
Tambe hi havia varios nens petits que ens van deleitar tot el trajecte amb boniques melodies. El nostre vei, tambe va decidir fer-nos gaudir dels seus "ronquids". A tot aixo, el conductor va decidir que veiessim tota la emeroteca de "culebrons" turks, cap desperdici. A mig cami, tambe va entrar un soldat per fer la rutinaria inspeccio de passaports.
Com l'angles dels conductors era nul, cada parada miravem d'endivinar el temps de durada, per intentar dinar o sopar quelcom. Tot el que vam aconseguir, es descobrir que half time volia dir mitja hora. Ja haviem passat el dinar amb una bossa de patates, pero vam poder sopar prou be.

Pel mati vam poder disfrutar de un paissatge espectacular, rodejats de montanyes nevades a tots costats, realment precios. Un cop vam arribar a l'estacio de busos de Igrid, un minibus ens va dur fins a un descampat on un altre minibus ens tenia que apropar a Iran. Els minibusos a Turkia, al igual que els d'Albania, cumpleixen dos requisits, portar el vidre trencat, suposem com a demostracio de la pericia del conductor i tenir els cinturons de seguretat per quan s'apropa un control de policia. Aquest segon minibus, que entenem que l'hi diuen minibus, perque hi posen quinze persones, pero que te tot l'aspecte de una simple furgoneta, ens va dur a un poble prop de la frontera, no avans, parant a un control militar, a on una tanqueta i un jeep amb una bonica metralleta, imposaven el seu respecte. El paissatge era tambe espectacular.

Un cop al poble, despres de preguntar al conductor per anar a Iran, i rebre una resposta de: "go east", vam decidir fer cas a un nen i suposem que el seu amic, d'utilitzar el seu cotxe com a taxi fins a la frontera. Un cop a la frontera, el cotxe del nostre amic conductor va decidir explotar, i va comensar a treure fum per tots costats.
L'Alex va fer un amic rapidament a la frontera, que ens va dir que ens faria el millor canvi de divisa, que ens explicaria tot el que necessitavem saber i tota la pesca, i tot, per la nostre cara bonica, i perque erem molt guapos. Despres de canviar una part dels nostres euros amb ell, i creuar la frontera (Es curios el cartell amb angles que posa: WEL COME TO IRAN), vam descobrir que l'amic de l'Alex no ens havia fet el millor canvi precissament, pero aixo ja va be, per a curtir-nos en la batalla.

A Iran hem agafat un autocar des de Bazargan fins a Mako. Hem dinat i estem esperant per agafar un autocar que ens porti a Teheran directament, surt a les 17:30.

PD: Al torneig erem dotze persones.

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High Way to Hell

It has been first time I let Ferran get the bus tickets. Obviously the 13 years old fooled him and me on the same package. Never again! After paying our eyes out for a coke and a fresh orange juice, just 15 euros or such, we went to get the bus to Aksaray, there we had to move around the bus station and find "a place where the buses blink their lights and stop to get you to Ankara". Sounds kinda easy, right?
So it went as follow. Nobody talked english. They love to confuse "right" with "left" which are among the very few words they know in english. Arrived Aksaray at 23:10, no tickets left to Ankara. Let me enlight you why so. What would you do after a "Ramadan", I mean, not decently eating and sleeping for more than twenty days. You said "Celebrate"? Then you are right. That's what most muslims do after Ramadan, they go visit their families and celebrate. So...it's near an impossible feat to acquire a bus ticket for some place at Turkey right after Ramadan. Solution: take second option, walk and find "that place where buses blink their lights and stop to pick you up". We walked. We found a place...where buses stop, but, awfully, they don't pick you up if they are full, instead they put gas, and clean the windows on a gas station.

That was around 00:10 on sunday. We were lucky, was just a bit cold. We needed 45 minutes or so to learn that we should walk over the road, to that famous place where blah blah, we did. There was colder, darker, more scary. Buses were blinking lights at us, so were some cars and most of the trucks, we understood that they meant "Get out of there, we gonna roll over you if you don't!".

00:50 the backpack was being a hell of weight. A bus to Istanbul stop at gas station and I went ask if they were full. The driver was eating, we moved to the gas station to ask the driver when he'll finish eating if the bus was full. It was. More even, a bus stop at the other side and picked some persons that were waiting inside a car...meanwhile.

We paid one more hour for this nice move. 2:06 a.m. Sunday, like 20 buses have passed "blinking their lights farewell to us", we even had a nice police show, when a police car stop 3 cars and a frigorific van just beside us.

2:06 a.m. Finally a bus blinks and stops. I was begining to wonder if was a dream. There's only 1 free sit...Ja! The bus doesn't stop at Ankara central station, goes to Istanbul..."Hey! We do not mind" We climb up, Ferran was pleasently sit beside driver's so he was able to enjoy a nice turkish conversation. I slept til 4 a.m. or so, then Ferran got moved to my side.

5:15 a.m. Arrived to Ankara. Enough time to find a cheap hotel (Heh) that allows us to check in at 8 a.m. find the magic tournament place, sleep a couple hours and get a shower.

I have to say that Ferran did a good job setting an alarm in the desktop, otherwise we probably have slept til evening. Went to the tournament place, and ate breakfast. I will let Ferran write about it, I'm sure he will enjoy it, and so will magic fans. The cafe, called On-a-on, was placed on a centric street at 3rd floor. It is a rock-metal oriented enviroment, so we spent the day listening Ironmaiden, Judas Priest, Blind Guardian, Bon Jovi and of course AC/DC, whose first song of the day, was, and had to be "High Way to Hell".

Best wishes and two free advices, get your bus tickets with anticipation, check what you have just bought, otherwise you can get involved on a high way to hell.

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Kapadocia

Autocar nocturn fins a Kayseri, i un altre fins Görome. Arribem a destí a les 11:15.
Degut a que havíem contactat amb una persona a Ankara, i haviem confirmat que podiem jugar un torneig de cartes de Magic el diumenge, i que segons l'Alex, per la nit sortien els vampirs de les seves coves i històries freaks de les seves, la nostre missió era veure tota la Capadocia avanç de que es pongués el sol.
Doncs dit i fet. Vam llogar un cotxe per a poder arribar a tots els llocs interessants possibles. La veritat es que val la pena veure aquesta zona de Turkia, però realment, amb un dia sencer, sembla que es pot veure tot, sempre i quant no vagis amb un tour de 40 persones, on hagis d'esperar a l'espanyol de torn que s'ha perdut o que està esperant torn per fer-se una foto amb el camell.
Els turcs sembla que estan explotant la zona però no es preocupen de mantenir-la per a que duri molt de temps. Algunes esglèsies de Ihlara Valley es troben en un estat deplorable, i sembla que no hi ha cap intenció de restaurar-les.
Com a cosa a destacar del dia, hi ha hagut un moment, que passavem prop de una espècie de convent esculpit a la pedra, que semblava tenir un munt d'anys. L'Alex, que feia rato que anava amb sobrecàrrega, ha soltat: "Para lo que me queda en el convento.... " i ha desaparegut un moment. Al cap de uns minuts, apareixia bastant lleuger i donant salts d'alegria.
Quan hem tornat a Göreme, ens hem endut la agradable sorpresa de que els bitllets nocturns que teniem a les 24:00, que ens havia venut un noi pel matí a la companyia d'autobusos, realment eren per les 12:00, així que sembla que tindrem que fer auto-stop als autobusos que passen de camí a Ankara, com ens han aconsellat.

Això es tot per avui, ara anem a provar sort al poble del costat. Potser sona la flauta i trobem bitllets que ens estalviïn donar la nota a la carretera.

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Slowing the pace

Hello World, we have drastically slowed our pace, we used to cross 3 countries in two days and now we stood at İstanbul for 3 nights!!! Truth to be told the turistic zone of the city can be walked in two days, we got time to get our İran visa in the morning (only valid for 10 days though, so we will have to hurry through İran), and then went to visit the northern side of the city. A couple of catalonian girls doing erasmus told us that there was a nice view of the city from "The Marmara" hotel, so we passed by Galata tower (ticket 10TL, turkish lires) and went to the roof floor of the Marmara. The view, we had to agree, was nice, but we couldn't take pictures of quality.

On our way back to the Old Town we stop at a restaurant beside the Bosforo to eat a fish sandwich. On the evening went to see the Grand Bazaar. İ think it is the best place İ have visited here, but that doesn't count much anyway. İt looks like a small underground city full and full and more full of shops, silver shops, cloth shops, cushion shops. The sellers are not as bothersome as in other places of the world, but they all know "you come from Spain".

We went back to the hostal through a market street that stands beside the Grand Bazaar. This street, like the Bazaar, it's full of shops too, but these ones are for locals, in fact, for every 200 persons walking there, only 2 or 3 were turists.

At the hostal we recognized that "our amigo" and the "amigo of our amigo" is more friendly to females than to males, Gah! That's something we can't do anythiıng about.

No ninja women stalked into our room, so the night passed without any major concern. This morning we went to "Otogar", yea, sounds like "autocar", and that's it, the central bus station of Istanbul, to get a night bus ticket to get to Capadocia...so...another one that bites the dust, the other friend of our friend who prepared a Turkish tour for us is not gonna get anything of value from us I guess. Another comission that goes down the drain, I bet that "nuestro amigo" didn't like that very much.

We spent the most of the day walking up and down through places we already have been on. Also bought a couple small pillows, we expecting many bus night trips now on, and better if we are somewhat equiped.

Now we are making some time before going into the bus that is gonna take us to Kayseri.

Good luck and good night.

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Istanbul

La nostre missió dimarts, era trobar un hostal barat on poder dormir tres dies. Aquest cop era l'Alex quí tenia que negociar. Objectius: barat, amb wifi, amb bany i poc mes. La idea era regatejar una mica a cada lloc, comparar varios hostals, no teniem pressa, així que podiem gastar bona part del matí voltant. Així que arribem al primer hostal, ens donen un preu bastant elevat, ens diuen que la Wifi no arriba a l'habitació, i 'Alex sense dubtar: ENS QUEDEM AQUÍ!!
Després de descobrir que era el final del Ramadan i estaven de festa, així que l'embaixada Iraní estava tancada, vam decidir veure Istanbul. Teniem tres dies per endavant.
Istanbul es una ciutat per on es pot caminar, s'arriba ràpidament d'un lloc a l'altre. Si ets prop del centre turístic, els preus son bastant europeus.
L'Alex, va tenir la brillant idea de preguntar al noi de l'hostal, que com es podien fer petits excursions a diferents llocs de Turkia, ja que teniem uns dies. Casualment, ens va indicar que ell tenia un amic de una agència de viatges que ens faria els millor preus i que era de tota confiança. L'Alex no parava de donar les gràcies per haver tingut tanta sort. Hores mes tard, encara no s'havia donat conta que a tots llocs ens feien els millors preus i erem la gent mes simpàtica que mai havien conegut.
A tot això, cal fer un esment a les "punyalades" que es dedica a fer l'Alex a els nostres contactes.
El seu contacte a Pakistan, un tal Zulfakir, que ens havia aconseguit estància per aquelles contrades, ha sigut traït i abandonat després d'aprofitar la reserva per a treure el visat de Pakistan, amb un simple email donant gràcies pels serveis i desitjant-li bona sort.
L'amic del nostre hosteler, sembla que també rebrà una ganivetada, després d'haver-nos preparat un tour per Turquia amb tot "lujo" de detalls, explicant la hora de sortida de cada bus, els millors hostals, on menjar, contactes a cada ciutat.
El Jacob, el meu contacte a Iran, que ens havia preparat un meravellòs tour per Iran, i que ens havia ajudat a agafar el visat Iraní, també ha estat descartat per l'Alex, això si, amb un email d'agraïment que posa algo així com: "Thank you for your fish".
Buenu, deixant apart aquesta serie de traicions i ganivetades que s'han produït, segueixo amb el viatge.
Dimarts per la nit, després de sopar, l'Alex va decidir anar a comprar uns dolços típics de la zona. Després de repetit-li el botiguer, que un dels pastissets que escollia, portava mes de una semana aborrit a la safata, l'Alex va aconseguir fer-se amb ell. Sembla que no el va disfrutar gaire.
Dimecres finalment, varem aconseguir anar a l'embaixada Iraní. Vam entregar els papers que ensvaren demanar, vam pagar 60€!! per cap, i ens van dir que el dia següent tindriem els visats. Després varem seguir visitant la ciutat. El gran Bazar ens va durar cinc minuts. Tot plé de turistes, samarretes del Messi i el Ronaldo, làmpares, plats i quatre coses mes, això si, multiplicat per 100000.
Per la nit varem sopar prop de l'hostal, l'Alex es va fer amic de un dels propietaris. L'Alex te un petit problema, com que es fa amic de quí vol ser amic seu, i a Istanbul tothom diu ser amic teu, tothom parla castellà, i tothom diu que ets una bellíssima persona, doncs podeu imaginar.
L'altre proplema es que, com ja vaig explicar, no sap ni dissimular ni dir no. Quan passem per un aparador, apareixen dotze turcs de sota les catifes, diuen una paraula amb castellà, veuen la cara de sorpresa de l'Alex i ja el tenen on el volien. Espero que mica a mica aprengui a fer cara de poker.
Ara anirem a l'embaixada de Iran a pels visats i després a veure si queda quelcom que veure a aquesta turística ciutat.

Fins ara.

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From Ohrid to Istanbul

A couple days have passed since our stay at Ohrid. It's a nice and turistic citi y at the shore of a lake with the same name. We made a night on a apartment at the old town, the owner of it told us once and again that there were two girls on the room beside ours, and if that meant any problem to us, I still don't know what he meant. Changing the subject, we took a small walk looking for a place to dinner and then moved back to our room since Ferrran wanted to see FCB & A.Madrid soccer match. On the morning we went visit some little monastery on a cliff at the very shore of the lake, then moved up to the city walls and city fortress, was then when we decided to find a place to leave our backpacks, so walked to the bus station at center, bought tickets to Sofia and went back to take another one last look to old town and eat our beloved pizza.

At 7 p.m. we start our journey to Sofia, arrived there at the harsh hour of 3 a.m. Ferran slept til 8 a.m. on a coffee shop table and read my eyes out. On the morning we met the most dedicated information girl who showed us where to buy a ticket to Istanbul, then we moved out to discover Sofia. You have to know that one is more man without the bag on his back. it just seems you want to walk right after putting it in a storage. The central bus station is not on the center and we didn't really know where we were, so we walked. Finding the center was not a problem, we did pretty well, even found some mosques, a cathedral, a sinagogue and the central park of the city, which cointained an itinerant photograph exhibition which I delighted, even some local skatters whom showed us some of their skills, maybe thinking that those bearded backpackers were expert on them.
Finding our way to the central bus station was a different task. We were a bit lost at the beginning, and got more lost after a beggar persued us with the shout "Hey! Guys, what's your problem?!" in his mouth. I'm pretty sure we made some 'S's, "The Force" had no idea on what "bus station" was, and if was not but for a boy with a heart shape inflaid motive sun glasses, I doubt we had find it. When we asked him our way back to the bus station, he stared at us half amused half thinking we were crazy and said "By walk?" His directions proved quite accurated, at the end of our journey, maybe 150m. away from our destination, we asked again to a couple of women "Excuseme...the central bus station..." "I don't know...I don't know". Me neither, I don't really know if she didn't want to collaborate or she meant "I don't know english", luckily we saw, at that same standing point, 3 buses going by, so, as we guessed, the central bus station was very near. As our bus to Istanbul was going to depart at 23 p.m. and we still had time on the evening we went see a movie on a Mall, we were expecting a bulgarian one with english subitles, was a chinese one with bulgarian ones at the end. Not very bad at least, probably out of this year top 20 ( : P- )

Back to bus station and journey to Istanbul by night. Started with a request of some policemen asking for our passports. Again they laughed at my picture "Yea, its 3 years old pic, I cut my hair..." (*smiles of amusement*) "Ok, ok, go on.". On the start of the trip we met the great american hero. He even made a show off on his powers smashig his head on the bus and not feeling even a passing faint. The turkish sit beside him was so pleased to have such an important figure at his side seat.

We got to make the visa at the Turkish border. 15 euros per person and 2minutes time. Wow!
We also met a couple of Turkish travelling with their son, whom wanted to go to Barcelona to learn more about water ball sport, he didn't talk a word, but the father told us, with some shiny proud, that his little boy was member of national water ball team. Good night and good luck.

Our arrival on Otogar, central bus station of Istanbul, was a bit chaotic. The buses going there and back, taxis using the horn all the time, people shouting. I was half awake half slept, and Ferran was not much better than me. Too many bus trips in too few nights. We needed some minutes to find a bank, with a bank machine and get some turkish liras to get started. Then headed to a internet cafe we had seen and check for some hostels and Iran consulate here at Istanbul. There, we met a couple of backpackers who gave us a map of the city (they were leaving that day) and gave us some good advices. We got to the metro from Otogar to Aksaray, then the tram to Sultanahmet, the entrance of the old town...

And thats quite enough for a post, sorry jejeje

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Montenegro, Albania i Macedonia

Divendres vam deixar Dubrovnik, i a la vegada Croacia, amb destí Montenegro. El primer destí va ser Kotor, una reproducció en tamany petit de Dubrovnik, ciutat amurallada amb bastants turístes. L'Alex, aprofitant que jo anava amb xancles, va decidir aprofitar-se i pujar una muralla que escalava la ciutat fins a una petita fortalesa.. Evidentment no va poder deixar-me tirat.

Quan ja havíem vist tota la ciutat, vam anar a l'estació d'autobusos i vam preguntar com podiem anar cap Albania. Com l'autobús cap a Ulcinj no sortia fins al cap de dues hores, vam decidir tirar cap a la capital, Podgorica, i provar d'agafar un autobús cap a Tirana. Els experiments no acostumen a funcionar, i tal com ens va dir la noia a Kotor, teniem que anar a Ulcinj per travessar la frontera.

Era tard i l'autobús no sortia fins a les 6:00, així que vam preguntar per un lloc on dormir. Vam acabar dormint a una habitació de la casa de un home que ens explicava amb un inglès bastant deficient, que havia viscut quinse anys als Estats Units. Curiosament vam sopar algo a la "bakery" de la seva propietat, que es trobava just a sota.

Autobús destartalat cap a Shkodra, ja erem a Albania. La veritat es que el canvi es bastant gran. Molta brossa pel carrer i les edificacions bastant pobres. Una gran part dels cotxes son Mercedes antics, entenem que importats de segona ma. Només sortir del bus i caminar cinc minuts, va aparèixer una furgoneta que ens va oferir portar-nos a Tirana. La furgoneta va estar donant unes voltes, incomplint totes les normes de tràfic que coneixem, buscant mes gent. En deu minuts sortiem cap a Tirana.

Vam descubrir varies coses de la conducció per Albania. Les linies continues soc bones per adelantar a les curves, i mes si s'apropa un cotxe en sentit contrari. El cinturó simplement està per a fer veure que el portes posat, quan passes prop de un control de policia. El claxon, està per anar avisant als altres cotxes, que penses passar, i que no t'importa si l'altre vol o no vol deixar-te passar, tu passaràs. Pots canviar de sentit al mitg de qualsevol carrer, això si, amb el detall de vigilar de que no vingui un vehícle per darrera o en sentit contrari, que sigui gaire mes gran que el teu.

Un cop a Tirana, vam agafar un taxi cap a l'hostal, però a mig camí vam decidir que aquella ciutat no es mereixia quedar-nos a dormir. Vam tornar caminant on havíem agafat el taxi, segons l'Alex, l'estació d'autobusos. Finalment era un recinte esportiu. Vam trobar el mateix taxista, que amablement ens va dur a una furgoneta que ens duria a Pogradec, ciutat que fa frontera amb Macedonia. Unes hores mes tard, ens trobavem davant de la frontera. Com que no ens ens oferien un bon preu per anar cap a l'altre costat, vam decidir creuar a peu, i així vam poder veure el monestir de Sveti Naum, on va nèixer el cirílic.

Finalment vam acabar agafant un bus cap a Ohrid.

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Training at Dubrovnik

We woke up early and at Ferran's request we look for an exotic place for taking pictures of the old city. You can imagine how many tourist per m2 you can encounter in this place, and you should know that the presence of any tourist in a picture is seen as a taint by Ferran, so...he looked up, and...up, and ...upper, to the tallest mountain around Dubrovnik and decided it could be a nice place for taking pictures.

We bought a bottle of water and started our climb on the old grey stairs inside the Old Town, we got to a road in the bottom of the mountain we wanted to climb, seeing no trail to go up, so after looking right and left and rolling a mental dice we began to make our way to the right, facing the mountain. After some walk we found a stone trail mined with goat detritums, a lovely path, but with amazing views, the higher we got, the nicer the city view.

With the sun at our backs and the gravity pushing our bodies back to the sealevel, we decided to make a stop to replenish strength and joy. We were the only ones walking the trail and, later, the narrow road that drive to the mountain top. Some taxis, cars and trucks went up while we were struggling with the sun, but nobody to be seen. Found some grasshoppers, and the owners of the detritums, the alfa male and the rest of the group stared at us with no friendly face, so we moved on not disturbing the 'pretty' goats.

Our Effords were rewarded on the top, there's nothing like a cold shadow for resting when you are tired, and wonderful views to make pics. Ferran found another trail to go down, we took it and ran our way back to the road.

We ate and decided to get some pics from the inside of the Old Town, but the presence of tourist is so high that changed our minds, so tried to climb the city walls, which we either did, 50kunas was a bit too much for some stairs, and air views we already got from the mountain; instead we sit on the fountain at Pile Gate staring at the rest of tourist and getting some fun
: P-

We'll see what night brings.

By the way, check this link for the travel pictures :-)


http://picasaweb.google.com/ferranvilaferrer

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Split i finalment Dubrovnik

Després de descartar les illes Cornudes, també conegudes com illes Crocanti, per a necesitar un dia sencer per a veure-les i perquè estava mes bona la copa de maduixes amb nata, vam agafar un autocar cap Split, adeu Zadar.

Al arribar al nostre destí, van aparèixer de tots els racons, gent oferint-nos habitacions a casa seva. Com no, l'Alex no podia dir que no i em vaig tenir que imposar. El gat de Shrek, estaria encantat de trobar algú com l'Alex a les seves aventures.

Tot seguint la guia, vam acabar a un piset de unes gitanes, que després de veure que 150€ no pagariem per la seva suite de luxe, ens van enviar a una espècie de hostal deixat de la ma de Deu. Nosaltres erem els únics clients, i teniem internet, cuina i televisió. Ens van dar la clau i van marxar. Tot i les meves queixes, vam acabar veient Dirty Dancing, segons l'Alex, en honor al Patrik.

Van acabar apareixent quatre espanyols mes, una mica extranys, però que tenien clara una cosa, volien veure el partit del Madrid. Quina llàstima que no trobéssin on fer-ho.

Split es una ciutat molt curiosa. La part antiga, està construida sobre un palau romà. Es poden veure encara moltes parts d'aquest. Altres parts, han estat utilitzades com a parets de les cases que s'han anat edificant posteriorment. Es la ciutat que mes ens ha impactat fins el moment.

El dimarts, passejant per la ciutat, l'Alex va estar fent amigues. Unes noies que sortien de l'escola, van estar explicant-nos com es deien varies paraules en croat, os podeu imaginar que la majoria de elles eren menys que útils, i millor no emprear-les en públic. Tot i això, l'Alex va estar preparant camí, per si algún dia decideix venir a fer de professor per aquí.

Autocar cap a Dubrovnik. Després de caminar una bona estona de l'estació fins a la ciutat antiga, aconseguim arribar al hostal que haviem escollit. No tenen habitacions però ens envien a una casa particular, on els sobra una habitació. Deixem les motxiles i baixem a veure el partit del Barça.

Hora d'anar a dormir, demà mes.

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