Last week, I went to Kurdistan in Iraq. I’ve wanted to visit Kurdistan because the Kurds I met in Greece when I was working with refugees in 2015 were such motivated, kind people. And the Kurdish women had a strong sense of empowerment.
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You might love this report or hate it, depending on your tolerance for morbid. Either way, you will probably find the Tana Toraja fascinating. About 600,000 of them live in Southern Sulawesi. Their community is close-knit, agricultural, and friendly. I recently visited them because I wanted to understand their very unusual traditions involving the dead.
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A few years ago, I asked a Greek acquaintance how things were going in Greece in light of its struggling the economy. She said, “We’re fine. We have our islands. They are like family.” I think I understand this. Last week, my San Miguel BFF, Suzen, and I took the ferry to the Greek islands of Santorini and Crete. They were magic and, in different ways, they felt like family.
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For the past week, I’ve been in Belgrade, the capital of Serbia. The city has great museums, a million trees, parks, walkable neighborhoods, and gorgeous old churches. This part of the Balkan Peninsula also has an almost unimaginably complicated political history. Until 2003, Serbia was Yugoslavia, which is now six independent states — Serbia, Slovenia, Croatia, North Macedonia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, and Montenegro. Depending on your politics, Kosovo is either an independent nation, or part of Serbia (most of the world says it’s part of Serbia). This is not the most complicated part of the history of this part of the Balkans.
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I’m in Belgrade, Serbia, this week and I love it. But instead of telling you more about Serbia right now, I’m going to tell you about some of the art in Belgrade and wait on the other stuff. I have my reasons. Anyway, one of the things I love about Belgrade is how art is seems to be quietly everywhere. On my first day in the city, I knew I was going to have a good art adventure because the first thing I saw leaving my hotel was a 4 year old who stood enraptured by a talented singer in the plaza. The rest of the art I saw in Belgrade was partly planned, but the best of it was, like the little girl and the singer, by chance.
In my travels, I find large and small wonders almost everywhere. But, um, Romania isn’t doing it for me, although I guess it should. The capital, Bucharest, is full of beautiful historic buildings. Its Old Town is gorgeous and lively, with a lot of young people hanging out at cafes and bars. And the Romanian countryside is spectacular, with forests and mountains and charming villages. But….
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Yesterday, I visited Transnistria, a country in the middle of Moldova. At least, it acts like a country. It has a border patrol, a military, a government bureaucracy, and currency. It calls itself a country. And actually, it no longer calls itself “Transnistria” because its leader directed residents to use its Russian name, “Pridnistrovie.” This is one of the most complicated cases of national identity I’ve ever heard of, or actually never heard of.
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I am in the capital of Moldova, which I bet most people don’t know is Chisinau. I didn’t. Moldova is one of the least touristed places in Europe (after Liechtenstein it seems). Moldova wants you to visit. It will stamp your passport without even looking to see whether your face matches your passport photo. Moldova’s marketing one-liner is “Discover the Unexpected,” and I’ve already definitely discovered some unexpected.
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Camino Milagro 