The Internet won't let us go home until July!

Did I mention that I'm parcelling the trip out piecemeal to Babble? Got to cover my heiner when Uncle Sam's reviewing all the receipts I plan to claim on our Schedule C, come tax time. I'm cagey like that.

The current trip report places us in Stanjel, Slovenia. Eight more to go until the editors let me go home. (I'm hoping before they do, they'll change my unauthorized author photo, which is six years out of date, and shows me rocking a crewcut and some overly obvious postpartum pounds.)

Lest our snail's pace threaten to outrun your attention span, remind yourself to click Babble's Entertainment and Travel section on a weekly basis, where we're packaged as Travels With Baby.

Whoglavia Culinary Roundup

Want to know what we really thought about what we ate?

Dirty Sugar Cookies has the PG-13 for language scoop!

an update on the trip by india

The money has pictures of young men on them. not presesedents. kings. kings from certin times in history. the coins can make a dollar, and almost all the coins are silver. they say 'markes' instead of dollars and cents.
no Abe. no native.
there aren't any places like chuckie cheese, but there are many fast food stops.
no sighn of any coconuts.
the bungie jumping was great! there was a boy who actually flipped! i repeat flipped, in the harness in the air!!!
no snakes yet.
many people do speak english. they learn it in high school.
i have no idea about fencing in budapest.
my best descovery is a secret box in the market. i'll bring it in! (as well as the candy you asked for!)



-india

Back where we started....

...at the Szechenyi Thermal Baths in Budapest. This time with smuggled-in camera. What I wouldn't give for one of these in NYC...

Stay tuned for more posts from Greg (on being stopped twice by Serbian traffic cops), Inky, and who knows, maybe even our red-booted Balkan Boy. Plus summations of what to take / what not to take / favorites / least favorites / and what we're glad to be getting back to in a few days' time.

Thanks for all your comments thus far...

Sremski Karlovci, Serbia

Our final stop before returning to Budapest is only ten miles away from Novi Sad. It's the perfect place for the trip's psychic ending, a small town in the middle of the rich Fruska Gora farmland. The Hotel Boem was tatty, but warm, and the owner seemed so anxious for the Americans to not find fault with the cigarette burned plastic shelf in the bathroom, lack of shower curtains, tvs, and other such ammenities that don't mean much to us, that of his own accord, he chucked us two rooms for the price of one! The hotel's right across from the Serbian Orthodox Cathedral, and as we were sitting at an outside table enjoying some delicious, paprika-flavored fish soup, I heard the first notes of what in truth I'd traveled all this way to hear - a brass wedding band. Here came the bride and groom, followed by a gypsy brass band and all the wedding guests. Heaven!!! They played several songs, then the wedding party disappeared into the Cathedral, while the band cooled their heels in the square, waiting for the ceremony to end. A triumphant, musical exit for the newly married couple, who promenaded up the street, accompanied by the musicians, passing en route, another brass band who were marching to meet a shiny black SUV swathed in orange ribbons, which divulged yet another bride, groom, and a swaggering best man, wielding a bottle in one hand, and a bunch of dinar notes as regular tips to the band in the other. Joy beyond description.

I could have sat in the square all day, sharing in the happy couples' musical largesse, but sometimes more of a wonderful thing is merely more of a wonderful thing, and Milo, who'd been holding his ears, was now shouting over the blatting horns that it was time to GO!!!

About a kilometer away is the Zinanovic Family's Museum of Beekeeping and Wine Cellar. It isn't often you get two perfect endings in one day, but sitting under a 180 year old tree, drinking wine from a 300 year old cellar, with a charming 7th generation beekeeping winemaker and his bride surely qualifies. The children amused themselves with a honey tasting, while Greg and I sampled the wine. Maybe one day I can return on Gourmet's nickel to write a food story about this family and some of the surrounding farmers. (I can dream). As we were walking to the museum, we were passed by a farm family in a horse drawn cart. Their children's eyes were as wide as our children's eyes.

Hotel Putnik, Novi Sad, Serbia

It wouldn't be a trip without a little No Touch Monkey action.

Way back in February, when I was toodling around cyberspace, hunting for a place to spend an Easter weekend holiday with the cousins, Novi Sad starting looking very attractive. It's just a few hours drive from Budapest and makes and excellent base for exploring the monasteries and fertile farmland of Fruska Gora. The photos of its town square held enormous appeal. It looked like a nice little manageable town where there'd be a few cafes and places for the children to run around, without aggravating a sophisticated urban populace. It wasn't until we were crossing city limits that I realized Novi Sad is Serbia's second largest city. And it has a shortage of affordable accomodation. And the tourist office, where one contacts aforementioned said affordable accomodation was closing in an hour. And we had to figure out how / where to park the car so it wouldn't get towed. And change money to pay for the parking.

We went to the youth hostel, right off the main drag, in yet another pedestrian zone. After locating the disreputable looking back entrance, we climbed five flights up, where a handwritten sign instructed us to ring the bell or call. We rang the bell. No answer. Before we could jot down the phone number, the lights in the hallway went out. The switch was (presumably) on the ground floor.

Then we went to the oldest hotel in Novi Sad, which the tourist office lady had said was fairly reasonable. It was no about 8:30 at night and the kids were crashing. The lobby reminded me of the place where we stayed in Sibiu, Romania in 1994. The desk clerk reminded us of our friend Matt Bardin, which may be why we threw ourselves at him, basically leaving him little choice but to take over for the now closed tourist office. He contacted some guest houses, but when we realized we weren't too equipped to find them in the dark, with a stricken, exhausted six-year-old, we followed his recommendation and checked into Hotel Putnik, which retains the state run flavor of Yugoslavia, 1974. (Presumably the last time the room was cleaned.) As anyone who's visited our apartment knows, my housekeeping standards are usually much less exacting than the average American's, but this is the one time in my life when I've felt compelled to protect myself with rubber flip flops. No way did I want the skanky extra blankets touching my children's skin. Also, the door did not seem to lock, so we propped it closed with a bag of toys. The bathroom smelled like after when you throw up, and you're hanging out with your head in the toilet, and suddenly you become aware of everything that goes on it that bowl. It made the Hotel Tibor in Sezana, Slovenia, look like something from a James Bond movie. Inky however, liked the glamorous make up mirror. And their Do Not Disturb sign is the best I have ever seen. I'll see if I can get a photo of it for you.

At midnight, a little Serbian boy spent a half hour or so galloping through the halls, singing, and calling to his unbothered dad. I think he might have been in the room with us. I think he might have been an extra in The Shining.

Then at four am, a party of drunken revelers came reeling up from the casino. I was dying to crack the door to get a look at them. Shouting men, singing women, bottles popping, everybody roaring with laughter and raunchy high spirits. It was like having the entire cast of Underground whooping it up on the other side of the thin walls.

Naturally, this cost much more than any of the lovely apartments in which we stayed. Though I think I'll remember it longer. An anecdote well worth the price. The kids weren't phased at all! As Greg said, this is the real deal.

More Sarajevo Photos

Milo and Gigi, the mascot/celebrity of Guesthouse Halvat. When in Sarajevo, stay here! If you do, give a look around for the earrings Inky bought in Mostar, because while I think her mother inadvertently threw them away with the paper napkin on which they were resting, maybe she slipped 'em in the bookcase or something. Alternatively, if you're traveling to Mostar, allow me to send you ten bucks for replacement / postage / tip.



This was a daily evil, one Milo found increasingly difficult to tear himself away from. Four Konvertible Marks for ten minutes. Or less than two dollars to get some serious ya yas out.



On the other side of the hedge from the inflatable monstrosity, Sarajevo's elders indulged in some serious full body chess, with vigorous catcalling from the spectators.



More dandelions to attend to in an old Muslim cemetary near our digs.



Greg and I were very interested in and moved by a museum of the siege of Sarajevo, but Milo and Inky found some of the images too heavy, and opted to sit in a corner rereading their tattered Archie comics. Next door was the National Museum, a musty relic I really enjoyed because it reminded me of the museums of my youth. Inky deemed it boring beyond words and Greg quickly got his fill too, but Milo got a bang out of some less-than-brilliantly-taxidermied wild boar, a Mammoth tusk, and these teeny tiny, long dead bugs.



Greg bought a coffee set from a coppersmith / musician / television soundman / all around great guy named Dino. Here's the exterior of his shop. We spent a couple of hours drinking Bosnian coffee and chatting. The kids were so patient and well behaved that they were awarded mini-apprenticeships, getting to try out some of Dino's tools. Inky's going to fill you in on that, so I will leave it with a reflection of Milo going nuts with an electric engraving pen. Look out.

Sarajevo Photos

Never to late to position yourself as a war correspondent. Here's Greg in front of the Holiday Inn where all the foreign journalists stayed during the seige of Sarajevo.



Johnny Dandelion Seed must make sure every gone-to-seed dandelion in Sarajevo is scattered. An essential, but time consuming assignment.



When Greg alludes to the difficulty of parking in these big Balkan cities, he ain't kidding. This man is trying to make a sharp left turn from a private lot onto a broad pedestrian block that is wall to wall with outdoor cafe tables. It made us feel good to know we tourist dingbats aren't the only ones to wind up in insane parking predicaments.

Mostar Photos

Mostar Ice Cream - India wishes she could bring some back to her classmates. Sadly, a photo will have to suffice.


Milo (and his dress up pipe) showing that Lonely Planet photogs aren't the only ones with a view of Mostar's bridge.



The Ottoman style old city is largely rebuilt and very picturesque. The former front line is not so very rebuilt, and makes for a different sort of picture.

India on the secret kittens in a rock outside Dubrovnik's castle walls

India's blog post from Sarajevo

a fue days ago, Milo noticed some thing on the restraunts rocks, just behind the last table. Milo and I were climbing them. suddenly, Milo became still. I crept down, (I was higher then him.) There, inside, was a mother cat. looking closely, I then saw four baby kittens! their eyes were still shut.

- INDIA

Bosnia: Mostar and Sarajevo

This trip has set me back a couple hundred years with regard to my driving phobia. On the other hand, having seen Greg negotiate our entry into Sarajevo, how hard could wheeling around Brooklyn be? (I, in the navigator's seat, was hard pressed to make out the tiny printing on our 3 maps ... we made four large laps of the university area and drove down yet another pedestrians only street before finding a parking lot, and shortly thereafter, a wonderful place to stay for tonight and tomorrow.

We spent the last couple of days in Mostar, the town whose bridge was blown up in October of 1993. It took ten years to rebuild, and the story of its rebuilding is quite an ordeal. It's one of a handful of touristic sights (the Taj Mahal leading this pack) that truly delivers. It's breathtaking...as is the rushing, aquamarine river it spans. Every July, young men from all over the former Yugoslavia gather to jump off (it's slightly taller than a brownstone) into that freezing water. Sounds like a travel story pitch to me. Especially if it comes with an expense account! I know just where I'd stay, this Turkish nobleman's house that's one part museum, one part traditional-deluxe guesthouse.

We let ourselves get talked into buying another ding dang kilogram of figs.

Milo has a lot of questions about gypsys. Which reminds me, Borat is the king of the video stores here, too.

The drive between Mostar and Sarajevo is some of the finest scenery I've ever experienced. Snow-capped mountains, small farms, that gorgeous Neretva river, and giant haystacks. There is much rubble, too. Many many buildings in Mostar and Sarajevo are bullet ridden (such as the one in this picture). On our return, I plan to dip back into literature about the Balkan conflict, particularly Joe Sacco's graphic novels. It's inspiring and weird to see his stuff for sale in Sarajevan news kiosks, next to the daily paper and flimsy fashion mags.

In other news, Inky, quite unexpectedly, is giving Bosnian cuisine 3 thumbs up. The national dish is cevapcici, a stubby lamb sausage served with thick, greasy pita. My fall from the bridge of Vegetarianism couldn't have been more timely. It's delicious. Pizza's long problematic reign is over for the time being.

Tomorrow, we plan to hit some museums and sit in one of the sidewalk cafes that pave the pedestrian zone leading up to the Cathedral. Excellent people watching, at least for those of us for whom the tattered remains of a much read Archie comic holds zero appeal. Browse the old town. Cevapcici. Ice cream. Greg's been talking about getting his hair cut for so long that I may just go in for a bob my ownself. (These Sarajevans are very chic...and I look like what I am, someone whose underwear was washed in a sink.) Much as I've enjoyed our self-catering apartments, I'm looking forward to our hostesses' included-in-the-price-of-accomodation breakfast.

More Pula - or what Greg makes me do...

Used to be Greg made me take photos of him in costume (turbanned on a camel, wearing my fringed buckskin jacket astride Lisa Hickey's extremely p-o'ed horse). Now he makes me photograph him in archtypical tourist man pose. I hope he's happy.

turning back the clock to Pula, Croatia

We visited this amphitheater as a day trip from Lobran. That's Cousin Sarah in the photo with Inky.
I, Ayun, had a good time running around, pretending a hungry lion was hot on my trail.

Dubrovnik

Rest Stop En Route to Dubrovnik

Split, Croatia

Trogir, Croatia

imagine the descent...

Greg on Driving in Europe

Ten days of driving through Europe. First day out was daunting, but manageable. Odd road signs, unpronounceable place names, and a dastardly driving culture. Making our way Southwest from Budapest to Slovenia, I lingered too long in the fast lane after passing a truck. An Audi appeared behind me, honking furiously, flashing lights. As he passed, the driver made an unfamiliar yet seemingly obscene gesture - knuckles out, all fingers up, the whole hand/arm arrangement pulsing in my direction. Assuming offense, I repeated the gesture back at him. Seeing this, the driver swerved his car sharply in front of mine and proceeded to throw two waves of garbage at us from out his window. First came parts of a newspaper and what looked like packaging from a bag of cookies. Then came the thin plastic cookie tray along with a few cookies and the contents of his ashtray.

People drive fast here. On highways, 130 kilometers per hour (about 80mph) is the speed limit, but many drive faster. Speedsters pull up a foot or two from your bumper until you get out of the way, then speed past in disgust. On the twisty-turny mountain roads cars accumulate behind slow moving trucks and farm equipment, then dash one by one into oncoming traffic to circumvent the stragglers, often blind to what waits just beyond the next turn. I've attempted this maneuver a few times, sometimes boldly, other times aborting mid pass. I don't have much stomach for it.

Road Work

We're in Dubrovnik now. We arrived a few days ago late in the afternoon, exhausted after a six hour trek from Trogir, much of it through construction. In this part of Europe, road crews set up portable traffic lights at either end of their site to control passage. Two lane roads are reduced to one, and the lights signal which direction of traffic gets to go. Near Neum, Bosnia's only port, I waited at the head of a construction site for the traffic to pass. The cars kept coming even after our light turned green. The driver behind me honked angrily, gesturing for me to go. I gestured back that there was nowhere to go, in spite of the green light. He repeated the gesture I saw on the road to Slovenia.

Parking in Dubrovnik

Street parking operates on the honor system. You park, find a machine which dispenses parking vouchers, then place the vouchers on the dash. Our first night in Dubrovnik our landlady gave me directions to a street about ten minutes from the Old City where I could park "for free". She assured me I needn't fear tickets since the authorities would never pursue out-of-country violations, at least not on that particular street. Driving alone and at night for the first time, I soon became completely lost, and found myself speeding away from the city on a one way mountain road with three or four angry speedsters tailing behind me, each probably making identical obscene gestures in my direction. I made my way back to the city, got lost again, then found myself beside an open space close to the Old City. I checked the guidebook map. There was a black, felt-tip dot at the precise spot, put there by the landlady a few hours before. A you-are-here guide foretold.

Checking my car the next morning, I saw a tow truck picking a silver, VW hatchback vertically out of its spot with a special kind of car-sized claw. It looked like the arm and fingers of a disembodied skeleton. We're driving a silver, Ford hatchback - indistinguishable at a distance. I immediately bought vouchers for the rest of the day, fourteen in all, and lined them along the dash. Later in the day, I quizzed a tourist information person about free parking I had heard about but couldn't confirm. In a moment of weakness, or distraction, he described a secret spot up a gravel path near the bus station where the locals go to park for free. He seemed to regret the revelation the moment he spoke, then ended my inquiries with a curt "good luck, goodbye." His slip up reminded me of keeping mum around tourists in Wellfleet about certain ponds reserved for locals.

Tomorrow, Mostar, then Sarajevo. Bracing myself for the hardest travel yet, driving-wise.

Dubrovnik, Croatia

I may have a new favorite city. Apparently, it was my step-grandmother, Oatie's favorite city, though I can't imagine that diminutive, feminine, elderly lady bumping through the Pile Gate with a bunch of cheapo wheeled luggage from Target and a fluorescent green nylon totebag filled with provisions (the salt and butter have been dogging us since Ptuj!) Back in the day, they probably had porters. Now, they have milling pleasure seekers in shorts, licking ice cream cones and purchasing Croatian flag football jerseys which Greg says we should refrain from acquiring, as we don't know the political implications. (Go Red Sox.)

We're staying in truly rarified accomodations, which we only lucked into because I Googled up the wrong link when my travel writing friend, Farley, tipped me off to his favorite place to stay in this wonderful town. He likes Karmen Apartments. We've taken over Carmen's (entire) House, 3 sweet, narrow floors, high up in the old walled city. Karmen's mom, Ericka, left 3 beers in the fridge for us! These are good people. The music school nearby provided a lovely cello soundtrack to the morning's dish washing. Speaking of washing, there's a tiny washing machine that can handle four kilograms of laundry at a time. We spent the morning walking the perimeter of Dubrovnik's walls, then I snuck back to hang our clean clothes on a line strung between our building and the neighbor's, tenement-style. For the life of me, I can't imagine why anyone would want to stay in a hotel when it's so much fun to play house.

Today was a banner souvenir day for Inky and Milo. A married couple in Gunduliceva poljana, the square nearest our digs, sell funny looking fish they make out of palms. We've been talking a lot about the value, (moral, aesthetic, and economic) in purchasing handmade articles, rather than, say, a plastic Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle mask and weapon set that's too big to fit in the car. As soon as I saw these fish - and Milo's interest in them - I pledged that both children could get them, though not right away because we'd just scrounged up accommodation and had yet to haul in the gear from the expensive, tense parking situation just outside the gate. After eighteen hours of lobbying from the Palm Fish lobby, I finally made good on my promise, though I nearly dropped dead from the price. Remember, most of my travels have been in the lands where carved frog masks go for a couple of bucks. "Arky" the Octopus, and "Dinah" the Fish Skeleton cost the same as a night's lodging in Lobran, but then, I thought about how I like to get paid a reasonable wage for my labors, and supporting the arts, and the possibility that Arky might follow his owner to a dorm room and voila - money well spent. Also, they've provided at least 45 minutes of playtime fun and have no known political implications.

(Good thing the ATM card's working again.)

One of my favorite things about Dubrovnik are Onofrio's fountains near either entry to the walled city. It's always good to wash one's hands, rather than risk giving one's hosts the plague.

Also digging on the frequent church bells, unlike the neighbor's str

India addresses her classmates

Okay jack. notes on sweets. Ice cream!! And the ice cream here is much better then New York ice cream. here are some flavors.

ice cream flavors
strawberry
VANNILA
CHOCOLATE
NUTTELA
MINT
butterscotch
lemon
cherry
cookie dogh
lime

and more!

Daisy. I have not seen any dances yet.

Mo. I've seen many little lizards, but no clue of flying monkeys!

now, to all. Most of you want me to bring back some food for you to try out.
a terrific market is near my apartment (I've only stayed in one hotel. the room was terrible. (Milo ended up sleeping in a crib, with ABC sheets.) but the food was GREAT!!!!!!!!!!
Hear is what I had for breakfast: a chocolate cresant, two buns, buttered and also had chocolate, pudding, warm milk, orange juice and toast.
have to go back now.
-india

Opatijia, Croatia

We stayed 5 km away in Lovran, and enjoyed the Adriatic promenade to flashier, bigger, more touristed Opatijia, once a playground for wealthy Austro-Hungarians with tuberculosis. I doubt they had more fun than we did.

Stanjel, Slovenia

The three bears were displaced so we could live here for a day.

Milo was dubbed the sovereign of Tiny Island (right off the Venetian Bridge in the Ferrara Gardens). His majesty cried bitter tears when his elderly advisers forced him to quit these lands, but was cheered fifteen minutes later by the unexpected discovery of a rustic goat pen off the beaten path.

The decadent child rulers of Ptuj Castle, Slovenia

A lazy day in Trogir, Croatia

Watched fit looking specimens in blue and white striped t-shirts hopping on and off of sailboats.

Bought Milo a ball instead of a hotly desired pair of red, white and blue boxing gloves that were stamped "USA" across the wrists.

Inky bought a pair of dangling earrings from the naughty-underwear lady in the market.

There is a lot of pizza in Croatia. It is nearly single handedly keeping the children from starving, though they do pretty well with the chocolate filled buns from Konzum, the ubiquitous supermarket chain.

We've been staying in apartments, a much better value than our one nasty hotel room in Sezana, Slovenia (though Milo was thrilled to take a crack at the old wooden crib the management provided on his behalf.)

The one in Ptuj had an espresso machine, vaulted ceilings, and terry cloth sheets. It was who knows how many zillions of years old and overlooked the river.

The three bears would have loved the one in Stanjel. I know we did. One tiny window overlooked the rocketship spire of St Daniel's, the other the shell of a limestone house bombed in WW II. It had a stovetop espresso maker and a wooden loft where the kids slept.

The one in Lobran had a terrace with a view of the Adriatic, and no dish rack. I washed our filthy laundry in the sink and festooned that terrace like a gypsy caravan. Our cousins joined us, the boys in particular whooping it up, to the suspected dismay of the childless Austrian outdoorsman whose misfortune it was to be staying in the apartment next door.

Now we're in the old medieval town section of Trogir. We have one steak knife and no dish towel, pretty orange coverlets, and friendly workman installing a red tile roof right outside our window. Lots of sidewalk cafes. Narrow, cobbled streets worthy of Romeo and Juliet (which Inky seems to think is a comedy, albeit a very dark one.) A jaw-dropping view from the bell tower of the old cathedral in the town square, and a hair raising descent on backless metal steps with one shaky wooden rail the only thing between us and an unthinkable, permanent splat. (Hi, Granny!)

Time to apply the steak knife to some chicken from Konzum. Greg and I exacted a promise from the kids that we're eating elsewhere than a pizzeria tonight. Not wanting to waste our hard-won kuna on untouched entrees, we'll feed them at home, then tank them up on chocolate crepes and comic books while we dine on something wonderful. (Bought some "wine" from a pleasant old lady in the market. She'd bottled it herself in a re-purposed seltzer bottle. It's a bit corrosive, but might be better on a full stomach and a bottle of something with notes less automotive in nature.

Thank you all for your comments! Internet connection is a bit of a challenge here, complicated by kids, funky flash drives, my lack of interest in hanging out in Internet cafes, and y's in the place of American keyboards' z's.

Tomorrow, we're off to Dubrovnik, and from thence, to Mostar, Bosnia.

x

Ayun

croatia!

hello FRIENDS!
just a quick note to say that internet is thin on the ground (to use the Rough Guides favorite phrase)

we have been to putj, slovenia
stanjel, slovenia
a hideous nite in sezana slovenia
and are now in beautiful labran, croatia, pretending we are glamorous vacationers from the austrian jet set circa 1919.
will post more later!

thanks for your well wishes and happy trails!

The beautiful Danube...

...mostly blocked by the trolley that runs along it. Here's Inky, biding her time while her brother is taken on an emergency bathroom run to one of the hotels facing the Buda side.

(Greg says the residents of the "Buda" side are known for their inner calm and tranquility.)

Milo gets his dream seat

Here Milo achieves his goal of sitting in the backwards seat over the wheel in the bus that takes us from Sam and Beth's house to Moskvater, from whence we catch the subway or go to Mamut market for sausages and beer.

Statue Park

Just outside of Budapest is the statue park, where all the big boys of the Communist era are lined up in a field, attended by forget-me-nots and the windows of suburban homeowners.

The gift shop sells candles shaped like Stalin's head.

Visograd Castle, Hungary

King Cousin Ben has welcomed the American sovereigns into his court, but mind the evil prime minister. I think his intentions run afoul of the children's reign.

Other activities include shooting crossbows & arrows, running around turrets, eating ice cream, photographing wax dummies, and bobsledding down a nearby hill.

Budapest Day 3

Budapest is absolutely beautiful - the trees are all starting to flower.

Inky, slightly zombiefied boarded a little blue schoolbus at 7:50 this morning, accompanying Cousin Sarah to the American School, a gorgeous facility that makes the middle school I'm so taken with in the East Village look like the set of Welcome Back Kotter.

Milo continues to sprawl in the middle of the bed that was given to me and Greg. He will sleep til noon if we let him.

Greg thinks we should go to the Museum of Military History. I think we should go to the Museum of Commerce and Catering. It may be time to divide and conquer.

Yesterday was my 42nd birthday. We went to a wonderful bathhouse that has heated outdoor pools, one of which has a sort of whirlpool vortex, strong enough to endanger one's stretched-out bikini bottoms as one goes through the spin cycle with several field trips' worth of jacked-up, pimpled teenagers. Milo achieved his dream of playing chess in the bathhouse, just like an old Hungarian man.

Thusfar the children have found nothing they're interested in eating, even the wonderful chocolate sacher torte my sister-in-law purchased for my birthday. They objected to the apricot jam, which was what made it good.

woosh! take off!

I like air plane riides, because, it's really so exciting! I also like the smell of them. The food you order is not that appetizing.
I also DO NOT, DO NOT, DO NOOOOOOT like that you can only use stuff like lap tops and miny telivision sets that play
DVD's at certen times.
It is very annoying when the big T.V. turns on right after the plane takes off and that dumb show about emergencies that I've seen about akagjillion times. grown-ups say just in case. and I say I already know what that show says. and then I'm off, arguing.

milo says

I LOOOOOOOOOVE air plain rides.

-Milo

Practice Picture

this picture, I took while practicing with my digetal camra. Milo and I where walking to our marchial arts' class, and I managed to take a snap-shot photo of him running as I walked behind him, but it was tricky to do!


-India

Look at all this junk!

We're hemorrhaging money and we haven't even left New York yet!

Look at all them fruit leathers!

Hope our cheapo matchy-matchy luggage from Target holds up.

Wait, I'm supposed to be packing now.

But how can I pack if I haven't done laundry?

And let's not forget that the kids get dismissed at noon today.

(And Greg's in Pittsburgh until the day before we leave!)

Milo Says

i want to be a balkans boy. - Milo

Fairy Tail

mama says,it loooks like a fairy tail. I've always wanted to be in one! in ten days, my wish will be granted.

- India

the authors

The Countdown Begins

On March 27, 2007, we're splitting town for Budapest. From there we'll go to Serbia, Bosnia, Montenegro, and Croatia, though possibly not in that order. We'll spend a full month bumming around! Subscribe to our feed, or check in every couple of days to see what we're up to. You can't send us a postcard, but you can leave us a comment!