Eat, Celebrate, Shop: Munich, Germany
If Vienna was Eat, Pray, Love, Munich was Drink, Celebrate, Shop. We only had two nights and one full day in Munich, so we decided to make the most of it. The first night, we hopped the subway to Marienplatz to fortify ourselves with gluhwein and bratwurst. We were in the middle of a huge Christmas market, but Muz had another tourist attraction on his mind: Hofbrauhaus.
Mmmm....beer
Hofbrauhaus has a long and interesting history. Over 400 years ago, the Duke of Bavaria ordered his court to reduce the costs of importing beer from Einbeck. The solution? Build a local brewery called Hofbrauhaus. (A beer stimulus program, if you will.) Over the years, it has served everyone from Mozart to Mark Twain. It also has a darker history as the site of the National Socialist party’s 25 theses, which later became Nazi party doctrine. Muz wasn’t interested in the history, though. He was interested in the beer.
We ordered our pints, our sausages, and the biggest pretzel I’ve ever seen. A band played and people danced or sang along. Hofbrauhaus is known for its giant beers and tent at Octoberfest, but what I enjoyed most was the camaraderie. At large, family-style tables, we talked to Bavarians, a Japanese tourist, and this guy:
The next day, we toured the Christmas markets in Marienplatz and the English garden. The markets in Germany were the nicest we saw during the trip. In addition to food stands, there were handcrafted wooden toys, ornaments and other trinkets. There are no bargains at the Christmas market, though. If anything, you’re paying a little extra to shop in the festive atmosphere. But how many times can you say you bought your nutcracker under a glockenspiel? More importantly, how fast can you say that five times in a row?
glockenspiel glockenspiel glockenspiel glockenspiel glockenspiel
Munich takes their bratwurst, their beer, and their Christmas seriously. It was our kind of city.
Eat, Pray, Love II: Vienna, Austria (Part Two)
We’ve talked about prayers. We’ve covered eating. And if you’re going to have the EPL sequel in Austria, there has to be a love interest. The bad news: there was no Javier Bardem sighting in Vienna. The good news: there were lots of other beautiful sights to fall in love with.
Vienna is a lovely city. Groundbreaking news, I know, but bear with me. I had heard it was beautiful, but I didn’t understand the fuss until I was there myself. The architecture and layout of the city is designed to make people swoon. Every time I turned a corner, there was another building to gawk at or statues to admire. Even lampposts were decorated to make one stop and take notice.
But I don’t fall in love with classical architecture, RHOB! I want something edgier.
Not to worry, Vienna has something for everyone. Meet Friedensreich Hundertwasser, the artist-turned-architect behind HundertwasserHaus.
Hundertwasser (FH) was the “bad boy of architecture” from the 1950s-1990s. He rejected the symmetry and rational planning of Vienna, taking his cues from another architecture rebel, Adolf Loos. FH believed that buildings should be wild and curved, like nature itself. His work is best reflected in the HundertwasserHaus , which has undulating floors, green roofs and trees growing inside the building.
Ladies, you’ll have to come correct if you want to impress FH-the building was mobbed when Muz and I paid a visit. (You’ll also have to be a psychic to impress FH-he died in 2000.)
But RHOB, I don’t care about architecture! What I love is shopping!
Hon, Vienna is all about your needs. There are several pedestrian avenues that feature everything from Cartier and Chanel to Zara and H&M. The stores are gorgeous and at Christmastime, the light displays are almost as pretty as the merchandise.
Vienna’s temperatures were hardly those of Bali-but between its buildings, art, and my handsome Muz beside me, it was a city to fall in love with. We’ll definitely return-when the horses drawing carriages don’t have to wear hats.
Eat, Pray, Love: Vienna, Austria (Part One)
Vienna's supersized treats
If there’s ever a sequel to Eat, Pray, Love, it could be set entirely in Vienna. The churches, the food, and the city itself (with Muz, of course) are worthy of a book and movie. Since blogs are the lazy man’s novel, here’s my version.
The praying part I already covered, so I’ll skip that (that was my least favorite part of the book anyway). Let’s go right to eating, shall we?
We went to Vienna as part of a Christmas market tour in Europe. The markets are beautifully lit and feature kiosks selling goods, mulled wine and food. We bought a mug of gluhwein and started food shopping. Spiced bread and sweet dumplings satisfied our sweet tooth, but we also loved the savory and salty kartoffelpuffer. It’s basically a McDonald’s hash brown to the 10th degree.
I'm lovin' it
Vienna was freezing, so we decided to move our food tour indoors. We first visited Greichenbeisl, a 500-year old restaurant. The name of the place has changed through the centuries, but the great service and delicious house wine made it eternally excellent. We would have stayed for dinner (the food looked great) but decided to save our calories for Vienna’s famed desserts.
Two shops are often cited as must-visits for dessert: Sacher and Demel. Both are known for their sweets. They’re also known for suing each other to determine who could sell the “original” sachertorte, a chocolate cake with apricot jam.
Dessert settled by lawsuit? This warmed our cold little Juris Doctorate hearts. Sacher won the lawsuit, so we decided to go there first.
The cake that launched a hundred lawyers
The verdict? It was nice but not exceptional. We preferred Sacher’s history to its cake. Eduard Sacher opened the hotel in 1876. When he died, his 21-year old “Real Housewife” Anna turned it legendary. She opened discreet dining rooms for men and their “dates” and entertained aristocrats with a cigar in her mouth and pugs by her side. If you want to enjoy Sacher, skip the pastry, drink in the Blue Room, and imagine the illicit meetings and raunchy parties of its past. Save the pastry for Demel-because you’ll need the room.
Demel was our last stop before leaving town. The pastry case looked so amazing, we couldn’t decide which two desserts we wanted. So we got three.
Why settle?
The verdict? Heavenly. These were the best desserts I’ve had in a long time. Belgrade has great sweets so consider this high praise. We stuffed ourselves silly and left Vienna before we ate ourselves to death.
Vienna-a city where you’ll eat things you love-and pray that your pants fit the next morning.
Well, that’s one way to work off Christmas Cookies…
It figures that the only locals I’ve seen running here are doing it for stunt instead of sport.
Eh, who am I kidding? They’re probably tourists.
Church on Sunday: St. Nicholas Church, Zemun
I can’t imagine a better Sunday to highlight a church named after St. Nicholas. The Church of the Holy Father Nicholas is the oldest church in Zemun, a suburb of Belgrade. The church was constructed in the first part of the 1700s-I’ve found conflicting years-and has the most beautiful iconostasis I’ve ever seen. Of course, my photos do it no justice. I’m going blame it on the scaffolding.
Yep, it's obviously the scaffolding ruining my photo
Zemun sits across the Sava from stari grad, the oldest part of urban Belgrade. At one point Zemun was part of Austria-Hungary, but became Serbian in 1918. The Hapsburg influence is evident in the architecture throughout Zemun’s old town. Zemun also features a great river path that features splavs, floating restaurants and bars. I look forward to spending more time there when the weather gets warm. That should happen in about six weeks, right? RIGHT?
Srecan Bozic!
Before you think my keyboard went haywire, that means Merry Christmas in Serbian. I think. Maybe my teacher is trying to mess with me, and I just titled this blog post monkey poopypants.
This Christmas, we went to the green market to pick up provisions for our dinner. The green market is awesome because almost everything is straight from the farm. However, this means precaution is in order: I keep a close eye on my greens for slugs, and I’ve washed what looked like chicken manure off my eggs. Despite that, the food is worth it. So I marched to the market for my Christmas chicken.
I was worried that our chicken would be too organic, so I asked if all the giblets were removed. “Of course,” was the reply. When I came home I realized I should have asked if the NECK was still going to be on the bird. I had seen the neck on the chicken, but I thought that it would be removable. Why? Because that’s how Whole Foods does it.
I know, city girl, privileged, yadda yadda yadda. Say what you will. Chicken necks are gross. I asked muz, my hunter husband, to remove it. He refused but encouraged me to hack it off. Phrases like “you have to saw it” were used. I pretended I was Dexter and hacked away.
Thankfully, I managed to get the job done. The chicken was delicious* and we had a great dinner. Merry Christmas to family and friends, fair and fowl.
XO, RHOB
* Preheat oven to 450 with roasting pan in oven. Brush bird with rosemary infused olive oil (or regular olive oil). Stuff cavity with halved onion and rosemary. Put 1/2 cup white wine (I think you could sub wine with chicken stock) and 3 cloves of garlic, crushed, in the roasting pan. Throw in rest of onion on bottom of roasting pan. Place bird in pan and do not touch for 40 minutes-that’s the most important part. Test thigh for correct temperature, let rest for 10 minutes. Delish, and relatively effortless. Expect smoke when you remove bird-open the windows! Recipe adapted from Mark Bittman’s How to Cook Everything, revised version.
Tidings of comfort and joy: Christmas Playlist
Srecan Bozic!
Behold, the first live tree Christmas tree for Muz and RHOB. And when I say live, I mean it. The tree is potted and we will return it to a nursery in the next few weeks. If we manage to keep it alive, that is.
The men who delivered our tree probably think we’re nuts to rent a tree for a month. Christmas trees aren’t common in Serbia. Instead, they have a yule log (badnjak) and bundled wheat. Does anyone else remember that NYC TV station that showed a burning log all Christmas Eve? I wonder if the station manager was Serbian…
Anyway, to get Serbians and Americans in the Christmas spirit, I tried to find a Serbian version of Jingle Bells. My teacher said it was one of the few carols we would recognize, but a quick internet search has proved fruitless. Maybe it’s for the best. I have a love-hate relationship with Christmas carols, at least in the U.S. I love them for the first two weeks I hear them on the radio, and then I can’t change the station fast enough.
Plus, if I hear too many versions of “Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer,” I’m reminded of a terrible three weeks working at The Limited in December, 1996. It was an awful job: rude customers, pompous managers, and clothing that I was forced to buy at a tiny discount. But what I truly hated was that they would play the same Christmas CD all day, over and over. Ugh. The company could sell a million $79.90 fleece rugby shirts, but was too cheap to buy a second CD of Christmas songs.
And yet, The Limited Christmas CD still couldn’t kill my love for a particularly cheesy song I’ve included below. That’s right, I’m giving you my Christmas playlist-one that you will not hear at a psuedo-preppy clothing store. Any favorite you think I should add? Let me know in the comments.
Christmas Playlist:
Santa Claus Go Straight to the Ghetto (James Brown)
Everybody’s Waiting for the Man with the Bag (Kay Starr Remix from Merry Mixmas)
Charlie Brown Christmas (Remix by Colossus)
Baby, it’s Cold Outside (Ray Charles and Betty Carter)
I’ve Got My Love to Keep Me Warm (Kay Starr remix on Christmas Remixed)
Christmas Wrapping (The Waitresses)
Father Christmas (The Kinks)
Christmas in Hollis (Run DMC)
All I Want for Christmas is You (Mariah Carey) (Straight from The Limited Christmas CD!)
Peace on Earth (Bing Crosby and David Bowie)
This Christmas (Donny Hathaway)
Fairytale of New York (Pogues and Kirsty McColl)
Merry Christmas, Baby (Springsteen-but I rec’d John Lee Hooker’s version too)
Happy Xmas (John Lennon)
Balkanalia, Zagreb
No hot chocolate for you!
I asked for hot chocolate at this mulled wine stand and was firmly told, “No. Only wine or Rakija.”
Let me get this straight. If I walk around with a bottle of water, I get quizzical looks. But if I walk around with a cup of hot wine, it’s commonplace. If I drink said hot wine during daylight hours-not a problem! After all, there’s nothing else for sale on the street.
Maybe it’s a ploy to get people in the Christmas shopping spirit, or a way to avoid human hibernation in 20 degree temperatures. Personally, I was cold and had a lot more exploring to do. So I chose white wine mulled with honey, lemon and cloves. Not exactly hot chocolate, but a tasty-and toasty-way to explore Zagreb.
Serbians: Tougher than Man-Eating Sharks
Completely unrelated photo
I’m interrupting my regularly scheduled travel blogging to explain how you should NOT mess with Serbians. Especially if you’re a man-eating shark at an Egyptian resort.
As reported by the Macedonian International News Agency (and picked up by the New York Post) a Serbian man was on vacation in Egypt when he drunkenly jumped off a pier and landed directly on a shark that had been terrorizing visitors and threatening the tourist economy.
Dragan Stevic was soused to the gills while partying at the Red Sea resort Sharm El Sheikh when he inadvertently felled the beast that had been terrorizing tourists for weeks.
Stevic cannonballed into the water from a high-diving board, according to a Macedonian news agency. Instead of making a splash, he came down right on the shark’s head, killing the toothed terror instantly. Stevic swam to shore and is currently in the hospital recovering from alcohol poisoning.
I hate to ruin the fun, but it’s not true. An online hoax got picked up and unfortunately, the Post took the bait. (get it?) But let’s face it, it seems true. Serbian vs. Shark? It’s like Godzilla vs. Mothra. Especially if rakija is consumed. If rakija can make you ignore freezing temperatures, it can probably make you jump off a pier without looking. Plus, if this was true, all my reporting on local hooch looks like a survival mechanism. Hmmm…I think I’ll believe it anyway.
Zagreb: Breaking up is hard to do
Much better than St. Mark's (church in background)
Zagreb has a lot to offer: great shopping, nice architecture, and a slew of museums. But the best museum in Zagreb wasn’t in any of the guidebooks we saw; Privi and I found it by chance. We were walking to a church when I saw this sign and blurted out, “The Museum of WHAT?” We decided to risk our eternal salvation and skip the church to check it out.
At first I thought the museum might be about war. After all, the Balkans have had their share of broken political relationships. Fortunately, this was about something a little lighter and a lot juicier: breakups. That’s right, readers: the entire museum consisted of items associated with failed relationships. Stuffed animals, sweatshirts from a beloved’s college football team, wedding dresses, and more. Placards by each item explained the significance of the item and the end of the relationship. The exhibits were divided by the type of item or story. There was a section devoted to breakup humor, where a “Dumb Frisbee” exhibit explained how useless the gift-and the giver-turned out to be. Some stories (divorce, infidelity) were serious. Others (untimely death) were tragic. Oddly, there was a whole section about shoes received or given as gifts.
The curators accepted any kind of breakup story. In the “thank goodness the other person got away” department, one guy wrote a rambling letter about his heartbreak when he left his country and girlfriend, subsequently married someone else who he fathered a child with, but was heartbroken because his former love had no interest in reconnecting with him 15 years later. Oh, and he was still married. Classy guy. Another person turned in one of the “many” cat collars she wore when she was in a relationship. No comment on that one. Prvi’s favorite exhibit was an axe, used by the donor to destroy a piece of a live-in girlfriend’s furniture every day that she was on vacation-with her new lover.
The museum is a great combination of voyeurism and entertainment. It’s designed to make you think you’ve seen it all-until you read the next breakup story. While not every exhibit was written well, some had twists that made us laugh or grimace. I’ve included a funny example here, but I have to warn you that it’s mildly NSFW.
NSFW: not suitable for parents, I mean, work
The MBR has been on tour all over the world, including two cities in the United States. It’s permanently housed in Zagreb, but I’m hoping they go back on tour soon. Check out their website, encourage your local museum to host the exhibition, and start collecting your best breakup stories.
Church on Sunday: Hofburg Chapel, Vienna
Muz sprang for the cheapest seats in the house
Technically this is Church on Monday. Sorry about that-but not sorry enough to pay 17 Euros for hotel internet access last night…
For this week’s church on Sunday, we went to hear the Vienna Boys’ Choir at the Hofburg Chapel in Vienna, Austria. We got the cheap seats in the nosebleed section, which accounts for the bird’s eye view of the altar. The bad news about these seats is that you don’t get a view of the pulpit-the seats are squeezed into small rooms on the top floor of the church. The great news about this section is that you can see the choir sing as long as you’re close to the balcony. The choir sings at the highest point of the back of the chapel until the end of the service.
The top chamber is where the boys perform during the service.
In addition to the choir, the musicians, adult choir, and even the priest sang beautifully. But the boys’ choir is the main event. Their voices are world famous, but what I really enjoyed was how charming they were. They’re not visible to most of the church except on closed-circuit tv, so while we heard angelic voices, we saw mussed hair, tired faces, and a lot of fidgeting. It was a sweet reminder that while these boys sound like angels, they’re just kids who might prefer sleeping in at 9:15 Sunday morning.
After the service, the boys came down to the front of the church to sing traditional Christmas songs. It was a great way to start the last week before Christmas.
Vienna is a beautiful city. I can’t wait to share it with you later this week.
This Guy
Ziveli!
There’s not much to say about This Guy, except: AWESOME. We saw him on the road from Sarajevo to Zagreb. Privi was in the front seat of our car and managed to get his camera out in seconds. When the guy saw Privi’s camera, he toasted us-with the beer in his hand.
Since our encounter was so short, Privi recommended that I fill in the blanks about him. I’d say that he’s had a long afternoon delivering firewood and homemade rakija to the 15 people that live in the area. Hence the beer: don’t get high on your own supply.
In my mind, he’s just gotten back from his kum’s house, where they talked about the old days when This Guy was the star of the town’s soccer team. They spent most of their time trashing David Beckham and trying to not open the bottles of rakjia he still had to deliver. Once he finishes this last delivery he’s headed home, where his zena (wife) will accuse him of drinking his profits away before kissing him and handing him a huge plate of cevap.
Share your own ideas about This Guy in the comments, which for the 4th time ARE OPEN. No more badgering RHOB about not allowing comments!
Tunnel Museum, Sarajevo
It was a bit eerie to hear of Richard Holbrooke’s collapse and passing while we were on this trip. Holbrooke was largely responsible for the Dayton Accord that ended the 1992-1995 war between Bosnia and Serbia conflict within Bosnia. Sarajevo was under siege for three and a half years, but now there is surprisingly little evidence of the massive destruction that occurred in the city. (Other areas have not recovered as quickly.) To have a better understanding of the impact of the war, we decided to go to the Tunnel Museum and National History Museum.
The Tunnel Museum is at the site of a formerly secret tunnel used to move people and supplies into Sarajevo during the war. At the time, Sarajevo was completely surrounded by Serbian forces, making it impossible to move people, supplies or munitions via roads.
The tunnel was dug by volunteers in the shed of a home. It took 3 and a half months to dig a 5 foot high, 3,150 foot long tunnel. Most of the work was done by older men, since the younger ones were fighting the war.
A film at the museum shows children, farm animals, soldiers and supplies moved through the tunnel, which was often filled with water. We walked through the short part of the tunnel opened for visitors. Despite the dry ground and our ski-grade winter clothing, it was freezing. The low ceilings and uneven ground made us shuffle, half-bent over, to walk a mere 20 meters. It’s hard to imagine that one million people passed through the tunnel during the war.
We later went to the National Museum, where photos show the destruction of the city, the victims of violence, and the struggle to survive amidst the ruins. Among the photos is one of the Sarajevo Philharmonic performing in 1994, in the ruins of their city hall building. I couldn’t find it online, but I encourage others to search for it-and to let me know where they find it.
This post is not intended to judge the war in Bosnia. There are rarely any good actors in war, and certainly not in this one. But the tunnel is a testament to the desperation, and horror of war, as well as the lengths people will go to survive. It was a sobering view of a war that ended a mere 20 years ago.
Rakija: Balkan Moonshine
The glass makes it look so refined
If there’s one thing that unites the Balkans, it’s their love of rakija. Rakija is a brandy distilled from fruit, preferably in someone’s basement. Kind of a fruity moonshine, if you will. The traditional Serbian breakfast? Coffee with a shot of rakija. Let’s just say it wasn’t something I was eager to try.
Until recently. Winters are cold in the Balkans. When we arrived in Sarajevo, the ten-minute walk to our restaurant seemed like an eternity. When our waiter offered us rakija, it seemed like a great idea. We tried herb and plum. The verdict? Pretty good. One small glass (sip, don’t shoot) and we were thawing out. Over the next two days in Sarajevo, we sampled a few other flavors. Muz and I thought the best flavor was honey. Prvi thought the plum was a better “daytime warmup sippin’ drink.”
The next morning, Muz and Prvi decided to tackle another regional drink: Bosnian coffee.
It makes a Starbucks venti seem like warm milk
Bosnian coffee is similar to Turkish and Serbian coffee, but packs a bigger punch. While I sipped tea, I watched Muz and Privi gulp their cups of coffee. Their eyes grew wide. Muz grabbed the guidebook and started making intricate plans. Prvi challenged Muz to a running contest. The two of them were bounding up stairs and talking a mile a minute. I suddenly realized why rakija was part of a traditional Serbian breakfast-it was probably a housewife trick to get a Muz to calm down. I liked the rakija, but unless I want to run a four minute mile, I’ll stick to tea in Bosnia.
Sarajevo: the Olympic City of Cevap
For Americans, Sarajevo is the site of the 1984 Winter Olympics. For people of the Balkans, Sarajevo is the site of eating Olympic-grade cevap. Cevap is a Balkan staple: ground meat formed into links and grilled, served on pita-like bread with onions, cheese and other toppings.
In Serbia, cevap is basically fast food. It’s best consumed late at night, preferably after a few drinks. There are stands all over the city, but when we asked where the best cevap could be found, Beogradjani told us that we had to go to Bosnia.
No one could explain why was Bosnian cevap was the best, so we decided to go to Sarajevo and investigate this phenomenon with our friend Prvi, the first person to visit us from the states.
We had our first Bosnian cevap at Zeljo in Sarajevo. Once we bit into our pitas, we understood what the fuss was about. Everything is better about Bosnian cevap. The bread is oiled and grilled, the kajmak (cheese) is creamier, and the meat tastier. Unlike Belgrade cevap, there’s no pork in the mixture (thanks be to Allah/the large Muslim population in Sarajevo), and the beef used in Bosnia is leaner. My cevap was gone before I knew it.
Once we knew the glory of Bosnian cevap, we couldn’t stop. The next day we stopped in the town of Banja Luka, known for a distinctive version of the dish. We got a recommendation to try Moya Cevadznica from a hotel concierge and wandered through the pedestrian avenue and several alleys to find it.
Banja Luka cevap links are joined together, so they’re harder to eat in the local style. (The bread is torn and used to pick up the links and toppings, sort of like Ethiopian food.) The cevap also came with a side of hot peppers, a pleasant surprise considering the mild flavors of the Balkans. I used a fork to break up the links and chowed down. While the bread was thicker and possibly better, the meat was not quite as flavorful as what we found at Zeljo. Still, we had no problems finishing our meal and were happy to have a little spice as a topping.
With our bellies full, and our arteries working overtime, Muz declared that he wasn’t going to have another cevap for a long time. How long? “Probably a whole week.”
It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas…
I left my heart in Zagreb...along with some frostbitten toes.
I’m in Zagreb, where much of the population celebrates Christmas on December 25th, as opposed to the Serbian Orthodox Christmas on January 7th. It’s almost been a shock to to hear Christmas music and see trees set up around the city. We’re getting our first live tree for Christmas this year, and I bought this traditional Croatian ornament to decorate it. Back in the day this would have been a gingerbread cookie, but I opted for the less mice-attracting ceramic version instead.
The ornament is fitting since Zagreb is somewhat of a gingerbread city. There is a lot of Austro-Hungarian architecture. This time of year there are Christmas markets set up in parks and mulled wine stands to help fight off the cold. It’s almost working-I walked around most of the city today without realizing the temperatures were in the 30s. Rakija, a Balkan brandy made from fruit, is starting to sound a lot more appealing as the temperatures drop. So are the fake-fur vests I laughed at when we first arrived. If I start wearing Uggs, please call the authorities.
Church on Sunday: Banja Luka, Bosnia
This Sunday we found ourselves in the town of Banja Luka, Bosnia. Banja Luka is the second largest city in Bosnia and Herzegovina (BIH). We stopped there en route from Sarajevo to Zagreb in search of the best Bosnian cevap. The things we’ll do for a sandwich…
On our way to the restaurant we passed the Orthodox Church of Christ Savior, known for its gilded domes and bell tower that reaches 47 meters (154 feet) into the sky. Please note the snowman on his way to church, complete with Bosnian hat. Hats are pretty necessary here, even for snowmen. It was 28°F at 2pm today. Brrr.
You take the good, you take the bad…
Our last shipment of household items arrived this week! Unfortunately, all the books I carefully selected for my year of reading classic literature are nowhere to be found, along with $200 worth of travel guides that should have arrived in my “expedited shipping” order but are now just plain missing. I think they’re in storage, but either way they are basically useless when I return to the States.
On the bright side, my cookbooks made it, and thank the lawd for the Kindle.
Unrelated: Jo Polniaczek (Nancy McKeon) is on an American crime drama that airs in Belgrade. I can’t remember the name of it, because every time I see her on tv I wonder how Blair and Tootie are doing.
On food and travel, by Anthony Bourdain
I often talk about the “Grandma rule” for travelers. You may not like Grandma’s Thanksgiving turkey. It may be overcooked and dry-and her stuffing salty and studded with rubbery pellets of giblet you find unpalateble in the extreme. You may not even like turkey at all. But it’s Grandma’s turkey. And you are in Grandma’s house. So shut the f*%k up and eat it. And afterward, say “Thank you, Grandma, why yes, yes, of course I’d love seconds…
I feel too lucky-now more than ever-too acutely aware what an incredible, unexpected privilege it is to travel this world and enjoy the kindness of strangers to ever, ever be able to understand how one could do anything other than say yes, yes, yes.
***
Yes, yes, yes indeed. I eat meat here because it’s easy-but also because that’s what people eat here. Food is the cultural touchstone of a country; it reflects the region, the religion, and a daily action of the people that live there. As we’ve all heard before, “you are what you eat.” Denying someone else’s food-and a food that reflects their own history on top of that-upsets me, greatly. When someone wants to cook for you, they want to spend their own precious time nourishing you. And if you deny a chef (and yourself) that opportunity? In the immortal words of Stephanie Tanner, “how rude!”
If someone offers their local cuisine, it’s an additional opportunity to experience a different life and history. You may be offered something you may have never seen before. Take my advice and EAT IT. Trust that it will make you a happier, healthier, and more educated person. It’s a cautious dance that can be very rewarding. And if it’s not, at least you have a good story. Like the story about an RHOB who thought she was ordering pita and got jelled ham and onions instead.
The quote is from Bourdain’s book, Medium Raw.
I’m just not feelin’ you, Istanboo
Time to give Istanboo another chance?
If I were Flavor Flav, and my travels were his reality dating show, I’d let Istanbul stick around for another episode. But as Flav used to say, “I’m just not feeling you,” Istanboo.
I thought Istanboo, or Boo, and I would have a great connection. We have so much in common: a love of architecture, history, and food made with a lot of vegetables. We both like art. Boo came highly recommended: friends kept telling us what a good match we would be.
Yet I sense that Boo might not be The One. His smiles were nice, but I only saw them after I agreed to buy something. He was aggressive, trying to talk me into going into this restaurant or that carpet shop. I didn’t want a carpet, but he was insistent, stepping into my path while he delivered his pitch. “That’s just Boo,” I said to myself. “He’s a salesman.” Still, I was put off.
There were some nice surprises. We both like stray cats and dogs. His transportation system was great. The fresh-squeezed juice stands were a nice touch.
Seeing Boo’s smaller province of Kadikoy was a highlight; we had a great meal at Ciya and walked around the markets. But the fun I had there made me realize what I didn’t like about Boo: he made me feel like a commodity. I don’t need to be considered a local, but I’d like to be an observer or participant, rather than a target.
There was no spark, but I’m still intrigued. I’m going on a second date with Boo in the summer and hope that the warmer weather and additional sights will change my mind. If it doesn’t work out, I’m not too worried. I am definitely feelin’ Belgrade.
Why hello there…
You say you don’t have a half-man, half-hedgehog in your local park? JEALOUS MUCH?
I think Belgrade gets the short end of the stick when it comes to public art. I’ve heard about quirky statues in Budapest, Warsaw, and other cities, but since I’ve been in Belgrade I’ve noticed a lot of them around the downtown area. I’d love to see more of them, and give the artistic community here a little more attention. It’s not all just graffiti (though I love that too).
Sorry for the short posts this week-we have a friend in town and I’m trying to be a good host.
Jack Frost nipping at your nose…
There are roasted chestnut stands throughout the city. We started to see these stands in November, and they’re back after a brief warm spell. They smell wonderful and don’t taste too bad either. We bought these during a walk through Zemun, an old city that is now considered a suburb of Belgrade. We peeled them as we walked along the river, getting our fingers sooty and smelling the wafting aroma of the Christmas season.
Mosque on Sunday: Suleymaniye Mosque, Istanbul
This is my second-to-last post about Istanbul. It’s Real Housewife of Belgrade, after all. But the Suleymaniye Mosque deserves special attention. By most accounts, it’s the biggest Mosque in Istanbul. It was designed by Sinan Pasha, a famous Ottoman architect, for Sultan Suleyman.
Sultan Suleyman was the tenth and longest-reigning Sultan of the Ottoman Empire. Under his reign, the Empire conquered parts of Eastern Europe (including Belgrade), the Middle East, and Africa. He also was known as “the lawgiver” because he reformed the Ottoman legal system. Finally, in true US Weekly style, Suleyman broke with tradition to marry a harem girl named Roxelana.
Roxelana was no slouch. She connived to send her harem rival out of Istanbul-with the harem rival’s son, who was heir apparent. Roxelana legally wed the Sultan, raising eyebrows from sea to shining sea. During her time as Hurrem (Sultan’s wife), it’s believed she influenced foreign affairs. Roxelana also may have encouraged the Sultan to kill the son of her former rival, paving the way for her own son to be heir. And I thought the Christina Aguilera rumors were bad. I just love gossip, I mean, history.
For a Sultan of such accomplishment, the mosque’s interior design is restrained. Small and intricate patterns stand out against mostly white walls. The overall effect is grand but peaceful.
We were incredibly lucky to be there in late November, because the mosque has just reopened after a three-year renovation. It’s a “must see” for travelers to Istanbul. While you’re there, be sure to visit Roxelana’s turbe (mausoleum) and honor a Real Housewife of Istanbul.
Istanbul’s gone to the…cats?
You cannot enter...but I can go anywhere I damn please
Belgrade cats are big, healthy and strong. They live off of garbage and whoknowswhat. I haven’t seen a mouse or a rat yet—even by the waterfront. If Belgrade cats had opposable thumbs they’d club you for a tuna fish sandwich.
Istanbul cats are sleek, cute little cats that are used to attention. They’re everywhere-in restaurants, museums and shop windows. Tourists and locals pet them, feed them, and generally let them go wherever they want. The photo above was taken in the Hagia Sophia. After I took it, a tourist bent down to pet him and the cat put his paw in the tourist’s bag, looking for treats. In Belgrade, a cat would glare at you, decide you weren’t worth his time, and stalk a pigeon. A big one.
Why are cats treated like royalty? Maybe it’s their looks. Even Muz noted that Istanbul was Zoolander for cats. I had to agree, they were really, really good-looking. And probably can’t read good.
Dogs aren’t faring too poorly, either. They’re spayed, tagged, and left to roam around the city. Oddly, the dogs aren’t as friendly as the cats—they basically hang out in their territory and wait for vendors to give them food.
Wait, cats get to go INSIDE of buildings?
We knew that cats were “top dog” when we went to an upscale restaurant and noticed cats walking around…inside. We’d seen cats in other European restaurants and decided to ignore them in this one. Until after the meal, when a cat decided Muz was his new best friend and jumped in his lap, purring.
Muz awkwardly petted him (big mistake) and tried to put the cat on the floor. The cat kept jumping back up until we moved a chair to block his passage. What did the waiters do? Nothing. What did I do? Laugh and take this photo. I’m so helpful.
Waiter, the gentleman and I will have desert. Ignore that other human.
Perhaps I’ve underestimated the cats in Istanbul. Belgrade cats might be more intimidating, but Istanbul cats will walk all over you. Literally.
Real Housewife of Belgrade 