Thursday, April 8, 2010
Mama Boch Is Famous!
Let's just say yesterday's conference call marathon resulted in some googling of family members/friends/people whom I stalk.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Sarajevo 101
Prior to this weekend, the only things I knew about Sarajevo were from reading Zlata’s Diary courtesy of the Kerr Elementary School book fair and watching archival footage of the 1984 Olympics on NBC.
I cannot imagine anyone knowing less about the history of Sarajevo than I did as of last Friday, but just in case, here is a quick primer.
Sarajevo is the capital of Bosnia and Herzegovina (one country, two “states”). Before gaining independence, BiH was one of the six federations, along with Slovenia, Croatia, Serbia, Montenegro, and Macedonia, comprising the former Yugoslavia. The most ethnically diverse state, Sarajevo was home to Bosniaks (Muslim), Serbs (Orthodox), and Croats (Catholic).
Following the fall of communism, Slobodan Milošević consolidated power within Serbia and its capital, Belgrade. This contributed to Slovenia, the wealthiest state, declaring independence in 1991. Croatia did the same later that year.
Although Milošević and the Yugoslav People’s Army (JNA) waged war on Croatia, BiH thought it would be safe given its large Serbian population and proclaimed independence on March 3, 1992.
BiH fatally underestimated Milošević’s desire to keep Yugoslavia united and, by April, the JNA had completely surrounded and blockaded Sarajevo, located in a valley. Thus began the longest siege of a capital city in the history of modern warfare.
The Sarajevo makeshift “army” had no weapons and was no match for the JNA. However, as our tour guide Ellie explained, Sarajevoans believed they would be killed if they surrendered so continued to defend the city out of desperation. Throughout the three year siege, more than two million artillery shells hit the city, and 11,500 civilians died. UNICEF estimates that 40% of the 80,000 children in the city were directly shot at by snipers and 39% saw at least one family member killed.
The Holiday Inn, built for the Olympics and located along Sniper Alley, was the one relatively secure hotel during the war.
Not wanting to get involved in what they incorrectly believed was a civil war, the United Nations finally issued an ultimatum for Serb force to withdraw from Sarajevo in late 1995. Shortly thereafter, Bill Clinton helped negotiate the Dayton Agreement, effectively ending the warfare. It is estimated 200,000 people (out of an initial population of 4 million) died in BiH as a direct result of the war.
TBC (I promise I did more than wander around Sarajevo paraphrasing Wikipedia).
I cannot imagine anyone knowing less about the history of Sarajevo than I did as of last Friday, but just in case, here is a quick primer.
Sarajevo is the capital of Bosnia and Herzegovina (one country, two “states”). Before gaining independence, BiH was one of the six federations, along with Slovenia, Croatia, Serbia, Montenegro, and Macedonia, comprising the former Yugoslavia. The most ethnically diverse state, Sarajevo was home to Bosniaks (Muslim), Serbs (Orthodox), and Croats (Catholic).
Following the fall of communism, Slobodan Milošević consolidated power within Serbia and its capital, Belgrade. This contributed to Slovenia, the wealthiest state, declaring independence in 1991. Croatia did the same later that year.
Although Milošević and the Yugoslav People’s Army (JNA) waged war on Croatia, BiH thought it would be safe given its large Serbian population and proclaimed independence on March 3, 1992.
BiH fatally underestimated Milošević’s desire to keep Yugoslavia united and, by April, the JNA had completely surrounded and blockaded Sarajevo, located in a valley. Thus began the longest siege of a capital city in the history of modern warfare.
The Sarajevo makeshift “army” had no weapons and was no match for the JNA. However, as our tour guide Ellie explained, Sarajevoans believed they would be killed if they surrendered so continued to defend the city out of desperation. Throughout the three year siege, more than two million artillery shells hit the city, and 11,500 civilians died. UNICEF estimates that 40% of the 80,000 children in the city were directly shot at by snipers and 39% saw at least one family member killed.
The Holiday Inn, built for the Olympics and located along Sniper Alley, was the one relatively secure hotel during the war.
Not wanting to get involved in what they incorrectly believed was a civil war, the United Nations finally issued an ultimatum for Serb force to withdraw from Sarajevo in late 1995. Shortly thereafter, Bill Clinton helped negotiate the Dayton Agreement, effectively ending the warfare. It is estimated 200,000 people (out of an initial population of 4 million) died in BiH as a direct result of the war.
TBC (I promise I did more than wander around Sarajevo paraphrasing Wikipedia).
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Monday, March 29, 2010
Vienna II
Lex and I met up for the weekend in Vienna (Wien). Although we stuck to our plan of eating and drinking our way through the city per usual, we managed to include a bit of culture in between mouthfuls of apple strudel.
During my first trip here with Papa Boch and Aunt Anne-Marie, I learned that if a souvenir wasn’t edible, it was based on a Klimt painting. This time I wanted to see some non-postcard sized Klimts.
With Lex and google as my personal art historians, I learned that Gustav Klimt was one of the leaders of the Vienna Secession, a group of artists that broke off from the Association of Austrian Artists in 1897. There is no unifying artistic style behind the movement; rather the artists were rebelling against the traditional, academic nature of Austrian art.
After wandering around Naschmarkt, we stepped into the Secession Hall, a gold-domed building constructed as an exhibition hall for the artists associated with the movement. Picking up a flyer at the front desk, we learned this month’s exhibit was a swinger’s club Element6, part of a project by Swiss artist Christoph Buechel. Doors open every night at 9 PM and erotic attire is encouraged.
Because we were petrified we didn’t have the right clothes, we declined the invitation. Instead we went to the Leopold Museum, bought some postcards, and ate gelato.
(Vienna has the highest concentration of gelaterias outside of Italy. Lex will fill you in on Art Nouveau; I will update you on the important stuff.)
My favorite artist from the Vienna Secession was Egon Schiele. His paintings are sinewy and disturbing and mesmerizing. He died at age 28 from the Spanish flu epidemic.
One movement; two styles (three allegations of immoral behavior involving minors).
The Embrace (Schiele)
The Kiss (Klimt)
The most delicious Viennese dish we tried was Krautfleckerl, buttery cabbage pasta (one of the few versions of the recipe which does not explicitly state lard as a key ingredient).
Happy birthday, Little Lex. Haven’t you always wanted to celebrate your 27th with me, Gustav, and Egon?
During my first trip here with Papa Boch and Aunt Anne-Marie, I learned that if a souvenir wasn’t edible, it was based on a Klimt painting. This time I wanted to see some non-postcard sized Klimts.
With Lex and google as my personal art historians, I learned that Gustav Klimt was one of the leaders of the Vienna Secession, a group of artists that broke off from the Association of Austrian Artists in 1897. There is no unifying artistic style behind the movement; rather the artists were rebelling against the traditional, academic nature of Austrian art.
After wandering around Naschmarkt, we stepped into the Secession Hall, a gold-domed building constructed as an exhibition hall for the artists associated with the movement. Picking up a flyer at the front desk, we learned this month’s exhibit was a swinger’s club Element6, part of a project by Swiss artist Christoph Buechel. Doors open every night at 9 PM and erotic attire is encouraged.
Because we were petrified we didn’t have the right clothes, we declined the invitation. Instead we went to the Leopold Museum, bought some postcards, and ate gelato.
(Vienna has the highest concentration of gelaterias outside of Italy. Lex will fill you in on Art Nouveau; I will update you on the important stuff.)
My favorite artist from the Vienna Secession was Egon Schiele. His paintings are sinewy and disturbing and mesmerizing. He died at age 28 from the Spanish flu epidemic.
One movement; two styles (three allegations of immoral behavior involving minors).
The Embrace (Schiele)
The Kiss (Klimt)
The most delicious Viennese dish we tried was Krautfleckerl, buttery cabbage pasta (one of the few versions of the recipe which does not explicitly state lard as a key ingredient).
Happy birthday, Little Lex. Haven’t you always wanted to celebrate your 27th with me, Gustav, and Egon?
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Ewww
Horrified by my google image search for "sketchy Turkish bathroom," I was going to spare you a visual of the restaurant bathroom in Istanbul. However, Kelly found a sanitized pic.
Imagine this with no TP, no cleaning supplies, and the floors and walls dripping in...liquid. It was my squat workout of the week.
(The whole experience reminded me of the Curb episode where Larry accidentally pees on the picture of Jesus, an act misinterpreted as a miracle.)
OK, enough bathroom talk for the day.
Imagine this with no TP, no cleaning supplies, and the floors and walls dripping in...liquid. It was my squat workout of the week.
(The whole experience reminded me of the Curb episode where Larry accidentally pees on the picture of Jesus, an act misinterpreted as a miracle.)
OK, enough bathroom talk for the day.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Domesticity in Hungary
I just called my family in Boston, and my mom told me they had been talking about how “restless” I am. Well, I pretty much agree with that. However, I have had a decidedly un-restless weekend here in Budapest. With which I will now bore you.
After stalking Gauranga on his blog, I learned my beloved yoga basement studio had moved from across the street to across the city. Because I can no longer make the classes during the week, I took my first class in almost a month on Saturday morning. It was amazing. Bikram and I have rekindled our special relationship, if only for casual weekend flings.
It FINALLY feels like spring in Budapest, so I did my favorite thing – wander around the city. I bought stuff I didn't need at the Great Market Hall, found a birthday present for El Nino, and confirmed gyros in Budapest are better than ones in Istanbul. Life is good.
With a newfound confidence in Hungarian cooking , Susan, Kelly, and I cooked a Hungarian dinner. Despite the inevitable ingredient-purchasing mishaps, the Pancakes Hortobágy and meggyes pite were delish. That being said, cold eggs would have tasted good if accompanied by three bottles of wine.
When Susan tells you she is a bad cook, do not believe her.
Why wouldn't we take the exact same picture three times.
This reminded me of my favorite dinner growing up - mom's pancakes for dinner. Any other recipe from the back of a Bisquick box was a close second.
We made the second, less authentic pastry with Susan's Del Monte 100-calorie mixed fruit cups.
I celebrated the continued awesome weather on Sunday with a looooooong run around Margaret Island. I sported my new spandex running pants and felt like a legitimate runner. Especially compared to the pack of middle-aged women jogging in blue jean vests.
Speaking of running, I have been ravenous since the half-marathon. I usually cook meals for the week on Sunday, so decided to recreate the most “filling” meal I could think of – Collis’s African Peanut Soup. You NEED to try this.
And now I am about to meet Andrea, who is visiting for a few days. Excluding my slight wine hangover, if this was not a wholesome, domestic weekend – I don’t know what is. Really the only thing left to do is buy myself a sweet blue jean vest.
After stalking Gauranga on his blog, I learned my beloved yoga basement studio had moved from across the street to across the city. Because I can no longer make the classes during the week, I took my first class in almost a month on Saturday morning. It was amazing. Bikram and I have rekindled our special relationship, if only for casual weekend flings.
It FINALLY feels like spring in Budapest, so I did my favorite thing – wander around the city. I bought stuff I didn't need at the Great Market Hall, found a birthday present for El Nino, and confirmed gyros in Budapest are better than ones in Istanbul. Life is good.
With a newfound confidence in Hungarian cooking , Susan, Kelly, and I cooked a Hungarian dinner. Despite the inevitable ingredient-purchasing mishaps, the Pancakes Hortobágy and meggyes pite were delish. That being said, cold eggs would have tasted good if accompanied by three bottles of wine.
When Susan tells you she is a bad cook, do not believe her.
Why wouldn't we take the exact same picture three times.
This reminded me of my favorite dinner growing up - mom's pancakes for dinner. Any other recipe from the back of a Bisquick box was a close second.
We made the second, less authentic pastry with Susan's Del Monte 100-calorie mixed fruit cups.
I celebrated the continued awesome weather on Sunday with a looooooong run around Margaret Island. I sported my new spandex running pants and felt like a legitimate runner. Especially compared to the pack of middle-aged women jogging in blue jean vests.
Speaking of running, I have been ravenous since the half-marathon. I usually cook meals for the week on Sunday, so decided to recreate the most “filling” meal I could think of – Collis’s African Peanut Soup. You NEED to try this.
And now I am about to meet Andrea, who is visiting for a few days. Excluding my slight wine hangover, if this was not a wholesome, domestic weekend – I don’t know what is. Really the only thing left to do is buy myself a sweet blue jean vest.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Istanbul
Kelly and I celebrated the anniversary of one of Hungary's many unsuccessful attempts at revolution with a weekend trip to Istanbul.
Being the crazy that I am, I asked Cem for a detailed itinerary. Which I highlighted.
We stayed in Sultanahmet, the old town and touristy part of the city. Calling Istanbul colorful would be an understatement.
Spurred by my newfound love of the hookah following my trip to Dubai, we took the metro to Tophane, a neighborhood home to about 30 identical sisha places.
Everyone was incredibly friendly and generous, if sometimes a little pushy. When we asked the waiter how to get to Taxism, he called over his friend whom walked us part of the way there.
In Taxism, we tried guvec and drank raki, basically Turkish ouzo. We also met Affans & Omar, our new friends and tour guides for the rest of the trip. They taught us a few Turkish words; Kelly did well, but Affans told me I had a "lazy mind." I maintain that I just have problems rolling my r's.
Our new friends drew us a map for Sunday's excursions.
We began the day walking through Gulhane Park ("flower farm") to have breakfast overlooking the Bosphorus.
After touring Hagia Sophia, we took off our shoes, converted our pashminas into head scarves, and checked out the Blue Mosque. It was gorgeous.
I have no idea why I refused to show my teeth in all pictures this weekend.
The bazaars were much more colorful and bustling than the ones in Dubai. Turkish D was a disappointment, but the "hygiene" fish sandwiches and baklava were delish. On an unhygienic note, I WISH I had taken the picture of the bathroom in the cafeteria where we ate. Consider yourself lucky.
Affans read the remains of the Turkish coffee. Kelly hoped this was just a superstition because his reading went something like "Alex is jealous of Kelly and will try to harm her in her sleep." Lazy yet dangerous.
Budapest and Istanbul are both known for their bathhouses. In Budapest, you lounge around in the pungent thermal baths, trying to ignore the couple getting it in on next to you. In Istanbul, you are assigned a large Turkish woman who looks you in the eye and informs you that you are now her baby. She then proceeds to wash, scrub, and massage you while you lie on a marble platform in the middle of a steamy room.
I arrived back in Budapest...very clean.
Being the crazy that I am, I asked Cem for a detailed itinerary. Which I highlighted.
We stayed in Sultanahmet, the old town and touristy part of the city. Calling Istanbul colorful would be an understatement.
Spurred by my newfound love of the hookah following my trip to Dubai, we took the metro to Tophane, a neighborhood home to about 30 identical sisha places.
Everyone was incredibly friendly and generous, if sometimes a little pushy. When we asked the waiter how to get to Taxism, he called over his friend whom walked us part of the way there.
In Taxism, we tried guvec and drank raki, basically Turkish ouzo. We also met Affans & Omar, our new friends and tour guides for the rest of the trip. They taught us a few Turkish words; Kelly did well, but Affans told me I had a "lazy mind." I maintain that I just have problems rolling my r's.
Our new friends drew us a map for Sunday's excursions.
We began the day walking through Gulhane Park ("flower farm") to have breakfast overlooking the Bosphorus.
After touring Hagia Sophia, we took off our shoes, converted our pashminas into head scarves, and checked out the Blue Mosque. It was gorgeous.
I have no idea why I refused to show my teeth in all pictures this weekend.
The bazaars were much more colorful and bustling than the ones in Dubai. Turkish D was a disappointment, but the "hygiene" fish sandwiches and baklava were delish. On an unhygienic note, I WISH I had taken the picture of the bathroom in the cafeteria where we ate. Consider yourself lucky.
Affans read the remains of the Turkish coffee. Kelly hoped this was just a superstition because his reading went something like "Alex is jealous of Kelly and will try to harm her in her sleep." Lazy yet dangerous.
Budapest and Istanbul are both known for their bathhouses. In Budapest, you lounge around in the pungent thermal baths, trying to ignore the couple getting it in on next to you. In Istanbul, you are assigned a large Turkish woman who looks you in the eye and informs you that you are now her baby. She then proceeds to wash, scrub, and massage you while you lie on a marble platform in the middle of a steamy room.
I arrived back in Budapest...very clean.
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