Mountain Biking in Austria

The cold rain had started falling again and blood from the slashes in my right calf began inching down to my socks. A portion of the trail, normally about four feet wide, had collapsed due to the excessive amounts of rainfall this year. While pushing my bike around the landslide, a sharp metal protrusion from the bike’s pedal made two separate slices about two inches long on my calf.

The journey to the summit was difficult. The temperature was 50 degrees Fahrenheit in the city and continued to drop as we continued to rise up the mountain. The rain came and went in 20-minute intervals causing continual fluctuations in body temperature. You were cold and dripping wet when the rain was falling, then roasting in your jacket when the rain stopped.

Interestingly, I was the one that chose mountain biking in the first place. Part of the purpose of this trip is personal growth. I have been thinking a lot about stories…or rather, my story. The reason a movie will not be made about most of our lives is because most of us rarely truly dive into life. Sure, there are moments when a challenge arrives or an unexpected shift in life or a conflict appears, but as a whole, we prefer the comforts of routine and the emotional stability associated with that. We enjoy watching actors struggle with the roller coaster that can be life, but we fail to dive into challenges (or opportunities) presented due to fear or simple complacency.

While only a small step, I chose mountain biking because it was the most difficult option considering the weather. I knew the trail would be wet and slippery and the air cold and thin. I knew the climb was going to be even harder than I expected and anticipated the reward at the top to be less fulfilling than I hoped. But I also knew the change, the growth, does not occur when we are sitting at the top or when we are watching from the sidelines. It comes during the struggles of the journey: the harder the trip, the more fulfilling the memory, the greater the story. I want to write more stories. My challenge will be to turn this new outlook into a personal behavior before I return home. I want to write more stories.

3 of the 4

Salzburg: Birthplace of Mozart

Salzburg

Salzburg

Kitzbuhel

Enough said! 

Like a 12 year old boy... I have to take a photo of cool cars.

Great Parterre of Schonbrunn Palace

Gloriette in Vienna

Austrian Countryside

Home Away from Home: Slovenia

Finally! A Piano!!

I exited the train in Ljubljana, glanced at my phone to try and imprint Zrinka’s image in my mind, and began looking around the platform for my host. We made eye contact and walked toward each other. As we approached arms length, I was actually greeted with a hug. For the first time on this trip, I was welcomed with a hug instead of a cold, bustling train station. Zrinka did not know, but this friendly embrace from a stranger—somehow already a friend—actually meant a great deal. I always walked past fellow passengers embracing their family or friends, but for once, I had a friend there to greet me.

For the first time in nearly two months, I felt at home in Ljubljana. Zrinka and her roommates opened their doors and invited me into their lives like a friend who happens to live on another continent. Even a task as mundane as driving to the grocery store to buy some food before it closes was a simple reminder of life back home. Home. Like many things in life, it’s a concept appreciated far more when you are away. It’s not just the food or the convenience of grocery stores being open all night, or not having to pay for the toilet, home is about the people and the comfort and security associated with the good memories created there.

The great conversations filled with stories, hopes and ambitions (and some politics…of course) coupled with the friendly welcoming arms of my new friends has left a soft spot in my heart for the small country of Slovenia. I knew this before this journey started, but I continue to be reminded that while the locations are great and the sites and sounds are fantastic, the people and the stories we create with them are far more memorable. Locations can be photographed or recorded; the people are where the memories are truly created.

Ljubljana

Ljubljana Dragon on Dragon Bridge

In Bled, I was hosted by Eva and Blaz. Bled, famous for its Lake Bled, provided an opportunity to experience the tranquility of nature without massive crowds. Eva and I hiked the famous Vintgar Gorge, a beautiful and natural air conditioner generated when the icy, sapphire water crashes over and around the rocks. Conveniently, we arrived minutes before a large tour group, so we could walk unabated through the gorge. The walk back to town, just the two of us—and the cows mooing under the shade—was a welcomed relief to the constant movement I had been living over the previous few weeks. The peacefulness of the view and the uninterrupted calmness of the area allowed me to just…breath.

Vintgar Gorge

One of the views after Vintgar Gorge

Lake Bled at Sunset

Lake Bled from Above

Marlen and Simon generously brought me on a tour of the Soca Valley. The incredible scenery reminded me of New Zealand and the sheer amount of green was inspiring. The views of the lush forest-covered mountains topped with snow surrounded by a clear blue sky were fantastic. I know every time I look out over these picturesque sceneries, some of the worry in life goes away.

Waterfall in Soca Valley

Soca Valley

Surprise! Train from Zagreb to Ljubljana

There was a college aged Croatian, an elderly gentleman and me seated in the six-seat compartment on the train. It looked like a safe place to put in my headphones, close my eyes and take a quick nap on my way to Ljubljana. Apparently, I should have focused on closing my eyes a little more…

I was seated with my left arm resting on the closed glass enclosure to our compartment and my head gently positioned on the right headrest. When I heard a significant and consistent commotion occurring between the window on my right and me, I opened my eyes (MISTAKE!) and was welcomed back to civilization by the older gentlemen facing out the window wearing nothing but his underwear! Immediately my head shot back as my eyes fired at the other guy in the compartment. I was greeted with the non-verbal, but universally translated “I have no idea what is going on!” look. Thankfully, the older gentlemen put new shorts and a shirt on and the train proceeded onward. Good thing, I am pretty sure the border patrol expects you to be clothed when they check your passport.

Route F...I'd Rather See the Whole Park: Plitvice Lakes National Park

I debarked from the mini-ferry that transports people across the lake, saw the arrow for Route F and proceeded in the pointed direction. At the next junction however, Route F disappeared. Instead of worrying where my route had gone, I continued on the path that led higher into the trees. (My approach is to always go higher, I do not know why, but if I do not know where to go, I climb.) At the end of the trail, I boarded the mandated bus that brought us back to the starting point on the other side of the lake. During the ride, I felt under-impressed by the National Park. While the forest, streams and rocks were pretty, they were definitely not as amazing as people promised.

The train stopped at the entrance to the park and I still had 1.5 hours before the bus back to Zagreb was set to depart. Still bothered by almost feeling cheated, I walked over to actually study the map. In thirty seconds, I was able to check, recheck and subsequently realize that I had explored the wrong quadrant of the park. I turned to a park employee standing to my right and asked if she could verify my analysis of the map. Sure enough, I was correct and had less than 1.5 hours to finish the published four-hour hike. I ran (literally) to the entrance of the actual Route F (I did not even want to wait for the train) and rushed through the rest of the park.

I was scurrying down the trail, taking three steps for everyone else’s two, when I noticed tourists, armed with their digital SLR cameras, sliding around a split in the trail. A lookout. I slowed down, hooked around the curve and stared into the valley. There it was! The reason people rave about the lakes: the sapphire water that looked far closer to a pool than a lake, the waterfalls, some camouflaged while others very conspicuous, the trees, a fantastic shade of green indicating there has been no shortage of water this year, and all these things engulfed in the sound of water cascading over the rocks. I had to leave the lookout, but I knew where I was heading…down and into the scenery I was admiring from above.

I returned to the bus two minutes before 4:00. Sweaty and with feet that felt like they were stuck in an oven, but extremely glad I did not retire after the 1^st route. Plitvice Lakes are amazing…just be sure you go down the proper route!

Bosnia and War

Mostar from the Old Bridge

Old Bridge. The original was destroyed during Bosnian War (427 years old)

Mostar

Off-centered to the right stood the bank turned sniper nest. Only the skeleton of concrete, rebar and graffiti remained from the famous bank that looked like a fictitious level in the Call of Duty video game series. For the people of Mostar, this graphic video game scene was a reality for years and my tour guide had survived.

There are multiple perspectives to this conflict, as there always are, and my guide experienced the war in Mostar from the Bosnian Muslim perspective—a label he was sentenced to because his name, not his actions. He told stories of family, friends, and neighbors living in constant fear for their lives. He showed us locations where enemy snipers hid, waited, shot and killed daily and with no remorse. We were shown places where mortars were launched on the innocent civilians of the city. He told of concentration camps where loved ones were sent and never returned. Hearing these stories and understanding how recently they occurred (less than 20 year ago) makes your heart ache for the devastation and damage we can bring upon one another. As I was planning this trip, I knew I needed to spend time in Bosnia, but until you are talking to the survivors and roaming the streets that still contain skeletons of buildings not yet rebuilt, you cannot even begin to grasp what it was like.

Waterfalls in Bosnia

Overlooking Bosnia

After our last stop on the tour, we were welcomed back to a Disco Party

Sarajevo

I had spent the entire previous day walking around the bustling city and much of the devastation had been rebuilt, so seeing the images and videos of Sarajevo during the war were shocking.

I was at the Sarajevo Tunnel Museum, the last remaining portion of the tunnel that connected the stricken city with free Bosnian territory. This secret lifeline took over four months to complete and was a necessity to combat the significant loses of life of people trying to get food or supplies into the city.

A woman who lived through the war explained how Sarajevo was completely cut off from the world (she didn’t even learn that her parents had died until many months after). Everyday when you laid your head down to go to sleep, you were simply thankful to survive another day.

When walking, head hunched, through the tunnel, you could feel the desperation of the people that build it and those that were forced to walk through it, supplies on their backs, usually heavier than they were. This tunnel to the free territory was vital for the survival of Sarajevo. 

Latin Bridge. Assassination site that started WWI

Typical Bosnian meal (Cevapcici). 3 Euros

The Scenery

The Bosnian people are amazing. Taking care of others provides a greater reward than providing for themselves—they will provide excess for their guests even if they do not have enough for themselves.

The scenery looks similar to Croatia only the white undertones from the rocks are replaced by green grass in Bosnia. There are fewer bushes, more trees and rivers that cut through the country, which provided a valuable resource coveted during the war.

As you wind through the country, staring out the window, you are greeted by rolling mountains completely covered by full, green trees. Small gaps of family crops and brownish salmon roofs speckle the landscape like a paintbrush dipped in paint and flicked over the country. The landscape is beautiful which makes the contrast so much greater that such devastation can occur in such a peaceful looking place.