Taking in Thessaloniki

After departing Sofia en route to Thessaloniki, Bulgaria managed to get even more beautiful and I almost felt a little sad as we crossed the border into Greece. Almost. With two hours left of driving, we felt the kids could do the final push into town. Despite studying the maps and using GPS, the whirl of mopeds and cars flying down one way streets written in three different languages ended up being a bit more than we bargained for. Did I mention the cobbled streets were also at a 22% grade?

We were on Margo's last nerve. As tensions in the car heightened, the roommate of the house we rented sidled up to the car to direct us one street over. I guess we stuck out a bit. But we made it! Now to just reverse the car back up the cliffhanger of a street. Once we parked and moved into our home, it took us a few hours to un-wedge the underwear from our cracks.

The view from our roof top balcony helped. I blame the overcast sky on the lame photo, but it really was cool to see ships on the Aegean Sea to go with the sea of neighboring roof tops and stray cats.

Ahoy. Mount Olympus somewhere to the right.

Daily knee torture. Advil please.

We spent time mostly wandering along the waterfront, admiring cranes and ships. After tiring of boats, we moved onto The White Tower which once guarded the east end of Thessaloniki. It later acted as a garrison and prison during Ottoman rule and apparently was the hotspot of massacring thousands of people. Nowadays, it's a museum. Isn't that much nicer?

Ships and cranes = crack for Deets.

Why the shit-eating grin?
Daddy said no to playing in the arrow slit.
But when he left, Deets asked Mommy who unwittingly said yes. 

View from White Tower.

National Geographic Traveler places Thessaloniki in its "Top Tourist Destinations Worldwide" list. With its ridiculous amount of history, it is no surprise. If you don't see an ancient Roman wall, temple or forum on one street, just hit the next one. Like the stray cats, they were everywhere. It was basically Mark's dream come true. Only thing to top this? A visit to Mount Olympus...

Just another wall that's what? Several thousand years old?

Road trip to Sofia

Loading up the car with ample amounts of clothing, food and toys, along with a stroller, pack n play, and a smattering of electronics, I found it hilarious yet comforting to over prepare for the official Schlink Family Road Trip #1. Mark found it embarrassing but said nothing, knowing how I needed to anticipate whether Margo would need her goose down snow suit AND fleece suit in order to feel centered. Believe me, I had my reasons.

We cheered victory as we crossed into Bulgaria, stopping only once in the 90 minutes it took to get to the border. Of course from there Sofia, "only" four short hours away quickly became a six hour trek as we attempted to tame the lion that is Margo. Aside from her frequent protests of forced five point harnessing, boredom and hunger, the drive though long, was rather merciful. With beautiful changing landscape, decent roads, and lack of Romanian drivers, I think we handled our car load quite well. It didn't hurt knowing we'd arrive to our friends' home with promises of wine and beer. 

I think our friends were impressed by our ability to make ourselves at home so quickly. In less than ten minutes we feng shui-ed the apartment with exploding duffel bags of clothes, books and toys as well as children littering the floor. All in good stride they took us to a popular Bulgarian restaurant for a feast of meat, cheese,  rakiya (brandy) and wine. If pork is the national vegetable of Romania, then sheep must be Bulgaria's. Gut stuffing delicious. 

Literally rolling out of bed the next morning, our friends saw to it that we sampled what I think is Bulgaria's best kept secret: their yogurt. Take it via cow, buffalo or goat, I had a love affair and it saddens me know people could be deprived of such decadence. I polished off my breakfast as well as Deets' much to the eye roll of my husband who thinks any breakfast not in pastry form is unacceptable.

Due to intense and reportedly rare rainfall, Mark opted to keep the kids at home while I got the grand tour de Sofia ala Rachel, who is easily fifteen times smarter than me. And a history buff too. It was awesome, though I freely admit I remember very little. That probably explains why she's so smart.

A nice shiny building.

Bulgarian bathhouse.
Powering through the rain.

Despite the chill of heavy wet denim, threatening to slide down my legs, we hit churches, historic buildings, markets, and even the hot spring fountains. Braving the downpour, locals were busily filling their giant containers to collect the healing and medicinal spring water. Holding my chilled hands under the warm water, I resisted the fantasy of hopping into the fountain altogether; I doubt I could slip my clothes back on anyway, never mind if was socially or hygienically appropriate to swim in a drinking fountain. 

For a kidney cleanse use fountains #2-4. For liver detox, #5-7.

All I can tell you is that it's a church.

Back home thawing out, the children woke from their naps and we relaxed among great conversation, homemade mac n cheese and of course more wine and beer. On this evening I learned several things about Bulgaria: 1. Finding roadside trash is rare, thanks to mobsters who (successfully) run waste management. 2. Buildings may or may not include right angles or level ceilings, but there's cheap labor thanks to mobsters who run construction projects. 3. Historical buildings may burn down randomly creating opportunity for more property acquisition, thanks to mobsters who run the real estate market. 

Just like that, the weekend flew by probably because mobsters run that too. It was time to pack-out and head south for Thessaloniki, Greece.  I'd like to thank our dear friends Rachel and Andy for showing us unrelenting hospitality and a great time. I can't wait for our paths to cross again!

Striking Up Conversation

You might have had a bit too much to drink when...

The lady you chat with from across the table asks three times how you met your husband. Answers? Well I will tell you. At first Mark retold the tale of two unlikely gym-rat posers hitting the universal upright row machine at the same time. Small talk and calf compliments ensued, resulting in an awkward request to grab drinks followed by pizza after an intense session of chest presses. 

On her second request, the story morphed into this: Mark saw me sprinting towards a gang plank to catch a departing cruise ship in Baltimore. He was an aspiring bartender. I, a free spirited and wealthy yoga teacher apparently late for my vacation.

Last but not least, drunk lady asked a third time to which Mark responded I delivered his friend's sister's baby in Calcutta while volunteering at the local orphanage, daring to care as registered nurses are known for doing. 

Don't worry, drunk lady had a taxi ride waiting for her and friends to keep her safe. I hope the pink wine she drank doesn't hurt her tomorrow. 

This completed an already wonderful evening of dinner and drinks at a local restaurant and bar for a random date night. As Mark is prone to doing, he also scored free tickets to Bucharest's Good Wine Expo as well as a Dinamo futbol hat. Just for being Mark.

Tale of the Drowned Martyrs

Walking through the grocery store this week, I couldn't help but to notice huge piles of packaged teeny infinity shaped cookies along with vanilla- sugar, walnuts, rum extract and cinnamon. Since Romania sailed through the early days of Martisor and International Women's Day, I asked a Romanian colleague what menagerie of ingredients were for.

Conjoined Cheerios about to get boiled.

March 9 is reserved for a day of remembrance and celebration of Christian martyrs who died for their faith. According to the story, forty Roman soldiers in Sebaste (ancient southern Turkey) were captured and coerced to give up Christianity. Forced into a frozen lake for refusing, the soldiers prayed for Gods' intervention and drowning along the way. Apparently forty flowered garlands floated to the surface instead.

Forty. Go ahead and count 'em.

Wiki's inside source said the soldiers were forced upon a frozen lake stark naked to freeze to death. One guy repented and ran, and a watchful guard decided to take his place. Unfortunately by daybreak, the bodies still alive by God's grace, were burned to ashes and cast into a river anyway.

The soldiers became martyrs, and Christians created a dessert called mucenici to coincide with their day of remembrance. Translated literally as "martyr" the dessert either cooks as a soup, or a cake if the dough is made from scratch. I ended up making the cavity-causing soup version. 

Ironically, the mucenici pieces get drowned in a sugary syrup concoction before they get tossed with ground walnuts, cinnamon and honey. I'd show a picture of the end product I made but it ended up looking like pale Hamburger Helper.  So here is a professional shot of both:

What my soup should've looked like.

Sweetness to infinity and beyond.

And thankfully I completed this task after the children went to sleep because I managed to burn the roasting walnuts, scorch the syrupy sugar, and drop an entire container of cinnamon on the ground. Then I got lemon  juice in my eye while zesting a lemon. All in a day's work!

Painting the Town Red and White

Ah, Mărțișor. One of the Romanian holidays where strange men can give women gifts without it seeming creepy. With March a time for spring and renewal Romanians and Moldavians alike take this time to observe Mărțișor for hopes for a rich and prosperous springtime.

As new birth and life often correlate with women and fertility, the holiday focuses on offering women trinkets symbolizing the continuity of life.  The trinkets, or mărțișor, usually red and white twisted threads of wool, are given to women to show respect and admiration. 

 The intertwining of red and white may represent the combination between woman and man, passion and purity. It may also mean vitality and victory, since March used to kick start the war campaign season back in ancient Rome. Whatever the symbolism between red and white, most would agree the combination should bring strength and health for the upcoming year.

Worn pinned to shirts or wrapped around the wrist, women wear the trinket for a number of days: sometimes twelve, sometimes until the end of March, others until the first blossom sighting before tying the strings to a tree for promises of wealth and prosperity. The red and white trimmed mărțișor may also come with coins, jewels and beads a modern twist to old folklore. They love Swarovski crystal around here. I wore my trinket that our doorman Lucien gave me up until Margo spit up on it.

The mărțișor threads weren’t always colored red and white. Instead they used to consist of black and white sheep’s wool. According to one version of Romanian mythology, the black and white threads were spun by Baba Dochia, a crazy-assed witch associated with spring's predictably fickle return.  She spun black and white threads called the Year’s Rope, or Funia Anului where 365 days hung by a thread. They represented the  idea of opposite forces such as light versus dark, good versus evil, the black and white colors intermingle, much like yin and yang, creating an inescapable unity.

Here's the Maury Povich version of the story: Intent to trick her hussy daughter-in-law, Baba Dochia set out to punish her by sending her into the forest to pick berries. God intervened, helping the daughter-in-law's success in finding berries which in turn caused Baba Dochia to think springtime had returned. She left for the mountains with her son and goats in tow, wearing twelve lambskins but then the rain began to fall soaking them through. One by one she shed the skins, when suddenly the frost returned leading her to freeze to death.  That's karma for you.


Whatever the intended meaning of the mixed colors, Mărțișor is a fun and lighthearted holiday meant to remember the important women in your life and the inspiration of new beginnings. Any day that focuses on that is okay in my book.

Heading South for the Border

Today we felt the need to escape the gray skies of Bucharest, the communist apartment blocks, the stray dogs. We packed up the kids to head south for the border to Bulgaria for another view of gray skies, communist apartment blocks, and stray dogs. Just across the Danube River, lies a city called Ruse. The Blond City, aka Little Vienna, is important for international trade, gorgeously preserved 19th century buildings, and an archaeological reserve full of prehistoric skeletons and is home to about ten different types of bats. But it also has a Metro. 

Cruising the incredibly neglected road to border control and adding another stamp to the passports,  we rolled right into a Metro ninety minutes later for some prime time warehouse shopping. Turns out Bulgarian wine is awesome. The country used to be quite prominent in the wine business before the fall of Communism, they used to rank second in the world for wine production. With five diverse grape growing regions, they have room to cultivate a good variety of wine. I won't pretend to know anything else about it. It's good.   

And cheap, but only if purchased in country. How cheap you ask? We averaged about 5 dollars a bottle. In Romania, the same bottles would cost about fifteen.  So we started piling up bottles around Deets in the shopping cart, who helped pick out a few labels too.

Deet's highlights: watching a forklift
move pallets of beer
and eating sheep's cheese.

All that shopping made us hungry, and what better way to sate an appetite than giant flaming skewers of meat? A friend highly recommended a traditional Bulgarian restaurant in the center of town, telling us to look for the restaurant with the wooden sign. Seriously. So we were to navigate the one way streets written in the syrillic alphabet successfully and just find the "one with the wooden sign."

Meat on a stick: perfect for Dukan dieters.

Turns out, she was totally right. The wooden sign was unmistakable. The workers at the restaurant, Mehana Ciflika (written as Механа Чифлик) were able to spot tourists a mile away. They saw us creeping up the street looking for parking and directed us to a piece of open sidewalk. Here we could take our pick of virtually any body part belonging to a chicken, sheep, goat, or pig for our meal: boneless lamb heads, pork shins, sheep intestines, ect. ect. We ordered several types of skewered meat which they promptly stabbed into the ceiling and lit on fire. For more cholesterolic fun we also ate stewed meat along with sheep's cheese fries.  It was all I could to not lick the plate clean.

With full bellies, a full trunk, and only a bit of leftover Bulgarian currency, it was time to head for the border. We celebrated the end of our day by drinking a $5.50 bottle of  2010 Enira Cab from the Bessa Valley Winery, and watching Blue's Clues intermixed with Tom Train. Success! 

Rominia: Vintage Style

1968 and 1961

Today I procured two travel guides for Republica Socialista Romania detailing the must see-ums of this grand country complete with foldout maps! One of the guides touches on helpful subjects to make the weary traveler in Communist Romania at ease: from its history to cultural attributes (opera is HUGE here and still is) to popular sports (duh, futbol),  government leaders to economic stability.

1938: 2 radio stations. 1960: Nineteen. 

In 1938 Romania produced 8,234
medical doctors. In 1960: 23,000

I would be interested to know how accurate a Communist produced travel book tells its tale to lure in tourists. But considering my limited language skills of market shopping and polite banter, I guess I will just rely on their upcoming translated edition.

1968 asking price: about $2.40
2013 price paid: $4.50