bumpy bus rides to far off places

I’m jolted awake as the bus hits a bump in the windy mountain road. My eyes take a moment to adjust, and I’m pleasantly surprised that we’ve escaped the snowcapped, ragged cliffs and full forests of frozen Sarajevo. The sun shines brightly outside my window, bringing a sparkle to the copper saturated, bright green rivers that meander through the region’s towering Dinaric Alps. 

The bus is heating up in the sun, and I’m sleepy enough that the bus seat feels analogous to my bed — both a bit stiff, a few lumps here and there, but overall welcoming after a long stint of adventure. 

And wow, what an adventure this weekend was.

We set off for Mostar early Saturday morning, packs full of clothes, snacks and knickknacks on our backs down the endless stairs to the bus stop. Full of excitement, we chatted through the twisting Adriatic coast, through three border check points, off the bus and through the rain to Mostar’s Stari Most (old bridge), built by the Ottomans in the 16th century. After a guided tour through Mostar’s cobble stone streets, we hopped back in the bus towards Blagaj, a smaller town about twenty minutes from Mostar. 

In Blagaj, we explored a natural spring erupting from the depths of a cave, set deep in the shadow of a towering mountain face. Ditching our mucky shoes and donning headscarves, my travel companions and I walked through the ancient mosque that sits atop the spring, marveling at the bright carpeted floors, stained glass ceilings, and whitewashed walls. 

From Blagaj, eight of us hired a private driver to take us through the snowstormy mountains to Sarajevo. Our airbnb host welcomed us into our penthouse suite with glasses of homemade rakija, the local liquor (a type of fruit brandy, in this case, pear). Truly located in the center of Sarajevo, our apartment was just down the street from the Eternal Flame, a memorial of the recent wars, and a ten minute walk from the old Ottoman village that forms the heart of the city. 

 

We spent Sunday tasting sticky sweet baklava, learning to properly pour teacups of bitter Turkish coffee, overindulging on bright tapestries and shiny copper treasures, and picking up souvenirs for our loved ones back home. 

And now, here I am, spending my Monday on this bus, writing to you.

love from somewhere near the Bosnian-Herzegovinian & Croatian border,

shonabell

sunglasses & wishing wells

Stradun is blinding today. The marble main street and gleaming castle walls intensify the sunshine, making sunglasses a staple of every old town walk. I’m perched on the ground outside of Sponza Palace, lounging against one of the pillars and watching locals and tourists pass by. Julia and I grabbed lunch from the bakery a little ways down the street and are munching our way through prosciutto & cheese baguettes. There’s still a chill in the air, especially within the city walls, so our spot in the sun couldn’t be a more perfect place to spend the lunch hour between classes. 

entrance to the monastery/university

Our university, Libertas Dubrovnik International University, is located just around the corner from Stradun, the main street, in an old Dominican monastery (which we still share with the monks who live there today). Classes themselves take place in the third floor of the monastery, where diplomats to the Republic of Dubrovnik (otherwise known as Ragusa) used to stay when conducting official state business. Not a bad place to be studying diplomacy and international relations. Oh, and did I mention the gorgeous courtyard that our school shares with the monks, visible from our classroom windows and the best spot for quiet study on a sunny day? There’s even an old well, perfect for making wishes before tough midterms and final exams. 

our shared courtyard (and well)

monastery bell tower

Classes at Libertas run in slightly haphazard schedules, often on the whim/demanding schedule of the professors, most of whom travel from abroad for a few weeks at a time to lead us through the material. Right now, for example, I’m about to finish the second week of my International Peace & Security course, taught by a professor from Zagreb. We’ll take a midterm early next week, then have two weeks off until a different professor, with slightly different expertise, comes to finish the Peace and Security curriculum. In the meantime, I’m taking the Rise and Fall of Yugoslavia, and the Art of Diplomacy, both with an amazing teacher who, rumor has it, was a diplomat for Montenegro a few years ago. Later in the semester, Negotiations & Conflict Resolution and Current Issues in International Affairs will begin, one of which is taught by a former Scottish prime minister. 

en route to class

Speaking of classes, I should get back to studying the Vienna Convention on Diplomatic Relations for my quiz tomorrow.

love from dubrovnik,

shonabell

its raining cats and dogs

After less than a full night’s sleep, I’m sitting crosslegged on my matchstick box bed as my roommate struggles to find a place between asleep and awake. Jasmine green tea steams from a yellow mug on the already cluttered bedside table, and I’m peering out the window to see what the weather has in store for us today (google says sunny with a chance of rain). 

My calves and thighs ache from multiple journeys up and down the 200+ steps that connect our apartment to old town, but the daily workout is well worth the panoramic view of old town and the sea from our balconies, windows, and rooftop terrace. 

I can hear the boys next door drinking coffee on their porch, and the bells from one of the old town churches mean it’s time to get up. Let the fight for hot shower water begin…

I’ll pull myself back out of bed in a few minutes, flip on the kettle again and put some bread in the panini grill that takes hours to toast. So far, breakfasts have consisted of avocado toast, green tea, and oranges that are half the size of my head. All while overlooking the red rooftops of old city, of course.

Old city is easy to fall in love with. Empty of the summertime tourists, Dubrovnik’s marble streets glisten white in the sunshine, and are a slippery death traps on rainy days. I'm happy to report that haven’t fallen yet (knocks on wood), thank goodness for practical shoes. I don’t know how the locals survive in their sky high heels, but somehow they manage look perfectly composed rain or shine.

We’ll walk the city walls today, and I’m expecting to see as many local cats and dogs as old rooftops and waves against the shore. Pets are, apparently, uncommon in Dubrovnik, and the city instead is home to hundreds (thousands?) of animals who, fed and loved by locals, run the place like kings and queens. Plus, the cat that rules our closest flight of steps doesn’t laugh when I attempt to practice my beginner’s Croatian, so she’s currently my favorite local.

Time to join the rest of the world — doviđenja (goodbye for now)

love from dubrovnik

shonabell

Just Another Awfully Big Adventure

The last few days seem to have gone by in a blur: the flights, a few nights in Boston, then back home to Colby.

I'm not quite sure what to write. I've had a few messages from friends and family reminding me that I need to "finish" my blog cycle from Saint Petersburg. I suppose they're right: I should let everyone know that I'm back and not to expect many posts in the near future. I guess I could write a blog summing up my experience and discussing the many things I've learned. Maybe I could talk about the many things I'll miss from Russia - the people, the Neva, the food, the history - it would be a long list, I'm sure.

But I sit here typing at my keyboard, and I feel that I'm at a beginning, not an ending. I'm not ready to say goodbye to Saint Petersburg, to travel or to adventure, nor am I sad to be back at Colby and "normality." I'm struggling to "finish" my story because I feel that it is only beginning. Saint Petersburg was the first stop of many on the path that I'm walking. My journey has not stopped, only turned a corner, and I'm smiling as I look forward to the adventures to come.

So, for those of you that read this every time I click the publish button: I'm back on US soil and getting ready for classes to begin tomorrow morning. I'm thrilled to be back at a place that feels like home, with friends who have already begun to feel like family. I'm excited for tomorrow, and the day after that; who knows what my plans will be in a few months time. I have so many decisions to make, so many activities to pencil into the calendar, so much uncertainty in what the future will bring. In that uncertainty I see freedom: freedom to make spur-of-the-moment decisions, freedom to meet new people and try new things, freedom to explore new places, freedom to be myself, and freedom to be happy.

Here I go, off on another awfully big adventure.

Love from Colby,
Shonabell

Санкт-Петербург

Санкт-Петербург is the blue plastic covering that I tuck around my boots upon entering the gymnasium for class. The crinkle of my each and every step defines me as an outsider to the students and professors whom I pass in the hall.

Санкт-Петербург is the little old lady that sits in each museum room, her official badge granting her the power to frown at and scold visitors. She terrifies foreigners and natives alike with her ominous glare: "no photos! hands off! SHUSH!" Perhaps the Librarian from the Black Lagoon has come to life and taken over Russia's museums.

Санкт-Петербург is the ice-plastered street that holds me to a slow pace everywhere I go. I don't dare look around at my surroundings lest the ice attack and send me sprawling to the ground. The slip and slide games of my youth come to haunt each step I take. I'm engaged in an endless fight against the ground, and my many bruises prove the unavoidable strength of gravity.

Санкт-Петербург is lying facedown on my floral bedspread, an Egyptian-themed pillow tucked beneath my stomach and a pen held tight in my hand. Words fly from my mind onto the pages of my journal, and I collect memories from the day in cases of letters and jars of paper.

Санкт-Петербург is learning and practicing the words "зеленый чай, пожалуйста" (green tea, please) during each cafe and restaurant visit. The drink has become an integral part of my Russian experience; I haven't gone a day without holding a steaming teacup in my hand.

Санкт-Петербург is getting to know Victoria; sprawling out on my brown plaid blanket, eating pastries, drinking tea, and chatting for hours about family, literature, boys, language, tattoos, travel, Shakespeare, and our futures. Superficially we have little in common: her brown curly hair and dancer frame contrasts sharply with my straight light locks and full body; dig a little deeper and we are similar at heart, romantics the both of us.

Санкт-Петербург is people-watching on the metro escalator: the hats and gloves and fur are fun, but I find the expressions fascinating. I ponder the destination of the smiling elderly gentleman with a bouquet of flowers in his hand; I wonder what would bring a smile to the dour-faced girl; I blush when I make awkward eye contact with a stranger from across the aisle.

Санкт-Петербург is the pigeon that always refuses to move out of my path. Dear pigeon: I understand that you live in a city full of people and you're probably used to humans by now, but I'd really rather not trip on you (the ice sends me to the ground often enough!). So if you could please, please, not walk right in front of me and decide to hang out by my feet, that would be much appreciated. Sincerely, Girl Who Would Rather Not Step On You.

Санкт-Петербург is missing the friends and family I've left behind, and trying to balance emails, photos, blogs, and messages with face to face interactions and city exploration. It's feeling sad that I'm not with those that I love, feeling glad to have such wonderful support back home, feeling lucky to go to a college I'm looking forward to returning to, and feeling excited to see new and old friends so very soon.

Love from Санкт-Петербург,
Shonabell

Midnight Train to Moscow

I squeezed through a tiny hallway, stepping into the cramped room that was to be my home for the next nine hours. Quickly shoving my bag below the benches and kicking my shoes off,  I hopped up on the table in order to let Ling, Faiyaz, and Alan into the small space with me. We bumped around while trying sort out everyone's personal items. Coats here, bags there, shoes under there: we made a mess of the place within seconds of entering. It was already half past midnight and we'd just gotten aboard. Still, sleep was pushed aside in favor of excitement for our first overnight train experience. Faiyaz and I had clambered up to the top bunks, where we clumsily attempted to make the beds. After about fifteen minutes of fighting with the mattress, balancing between bunks, and standing on the table below, my bed was hospitable. Now Alan and Ling had the floor to make their beds, and a while later everyone was tucked into their respective bunk.

The train started moving, and I laid on my stomach, my head on my arms, watching St. Petersburg disappear from the window. Ling plugged her phone into a speaker and played soothing music to accompany the start of our journey, and we talked and laughed in anticipation of Moscow. Stomachs growled and I pulled out the hazelnut wafers I'd thrown into my bag at the last minute. Alan was delighted by them and (much to my amusement) made continuous comments on their deliciousness after each bite.

Eventually, the lull of the train pulled us all into sleep. The car seemed to sashay its way along the tracks, moving gently from side to side while maintaining a perpetual forward motion. All too soon we arrived in Moscow; our eyes may have been puffy from the journey, our bodies sore from the cots, but our minds were open to the experiences and sights that awaited us. We gathered our things, tied our shoes, threw on hats and scarves and gloves and coats (did I mention that it's cold in Russia?), and made our way into the city.

Love from Saint Petersburg,
Shonabell

The City and the Night

The city itself is a lot more rundown than I would have hoped; plaster and paint peel from even some of the more magnificent palaces and residences. It reminds me of Lisbon in that way, as if the city has been slightly forgotten over the decades (a sentiment that makes sense in the context of Russian history). By day the beautiful architecture and bright colors of the many older structures are overshadowed by tacky electric signs and modern advertisements. The present and past fight for space in the packed city streets, a war which spills blood in the form of ruined views and chronological incongruence. 

The sun steps down at 4 o'clock, curtseying slowly to the sky and vanishing behind the horizon. Dusk dances, setting the city aglow in a short pas de deux. White and blue streaks illuminate previously forgotten corners of the city's French Baroque architecture. Eliminating all semblance of color, Dusk brings light and shadow to every traveler's eye. Her feet flitter across the rooftops, swirling the spires in her fleeting glow. The clock ticks at Небский проспект, ushering fur-coated wayfarers to cover as Night takes the stage. Feet scuttle in the metro, up steps and down snow covered pathways; doors close in Night's face as the people of St. Petersburg reject her arrival. 

Though many seek cover from her darkness, Night is kind to her folk; she envelopes them in calm, inviting them home for tea and time with family. The city sparkles. Peeling facades are quickly forgotten as my eyes wander along the St. Petersburg skyline. Some buildings are entirely covered in luminous designs, and the city feels magical. The snow and twinkle lights forge a layer of brilliance across the city streets; all at once I can see where Russian folklore makes its presence in this modern European city. My skin tingles with cold and wonder. Fur coats push past me; everyone is hurrying home. But I walk slowly, mesmerized by the lights, the chill, and the enchantress that is Санкт-Петербург.

Love from St. Petersburg,
Shonabell