You Made Me Love You. I Didn’t Want to Do It, Didn’t Want to Do It.

ABOVE: Lights of the town across the bay from my room in Igalo. I went arty with the camera and made the lights run.


D A T E L I N E : Thursday, 5 July 2007
Penultimate Day at the Institute
Igalo, Montenegro

You know a couple of weeks ago, I waxed melodramatic about how clingy I can be about things? Well, it’s true, even here in the weirdest back rehab spa I’ll ever visit in Eastern Europe. (Because there are so many others in Eastern Europe for me to judge against, right?) But, sitting here on the spacious private balcony of my room overlooking the blue-green waters of the Boka Kotorska and the surrounding hills, I’m getting a little sad that I’m checking out and leaving for Budva tomorrow, to go back to what used to be my normal life – life before the back injury, when I didn’t lay around all day trying not to move my back, when I worked more, cleaned bathrooms, hung laundry, and led walks up to the monastery 12 minutes from the hostel. When I went to the beach on my days off, took daytrips, walked around Old Time taking pictures, and could go to a bar at night with friends if I was off shift. I’m going back to the hustle and bustle of lots of strangers invading my space constantly and no chance to run around naked after a shower air-drying if I want to. I’m going back to what was supposed to be the 6-month adventure in Montenegro I was having, if my back hadn’t gotten hurt. I guess my adventure took a detour.

It’s funny, when this whole thing happened in the middle of May, I was so pissed off that my plans for the summer were being hijacked by the bad luck and clumsiness of a slip and fall accident. I had already gotten used to a month and a half of life in Budva with all new favorite things to do. And, I hated the even newer routine of lying around all day alone, trying to remain conscious when all there was for me was eating, sleeping, reading, watching DVD’s, and hanging out online. It was so frustrating not to be part of the Budva that I had gotten used to.

And now, over a month and a half later, I’m about to be discharged from the Igalo Institute with pretty much a clean bill of back health and I’m a little sad to be re-entering hostel society with all the activity and responsibilities that it carries with it. I’m a little sad to be leaving behind the slovenliness of laying around all day, every day, with no expectations on me except that I not move too much. And, I’m actually a little sad to leave behind these last 2 weeks of weird Igalo Institute routines that I’ve been developing sharply. God, maybe I’m just sad about losing yet another routine!

After tomorrow, I’ll probably never again wake up before 8:00am and be happy about going off to any sort of group activity. I’ll miss all the nice, pretty therapists who wrap me up in mud, point hoses of water at strategic parts of my body while I’m immersed in warm water, and demonstrate walking on tiptoes around the swimming pool for me. I’ll miss the cute waitress who calls me “my dear” and has a fresh, hot cup of black tea brewing at my table as soon as I arrive for dinner in the restaurant. I’ll miss being done with my day by 12:noon and having nothing else I have to do except lounge around on my balcony keeping myself entertained counting how many colors of blue I can see in the water below me. I’ll miss being so close to the promenade at Herceg Novi, which I can get to after a short, 50¢ bus ride, where there’s a great little movie theater that thinks it’s an art house, the best gelato café on the boardwalk anywhere, and a lovely cliffside walkway right next to the water which has even better people-watching than anything in Budva.

It’s interesting to me how much I dreaded coming here all this time, and now that I’m having to leave, I’m sad to go. That means I liked it here, I guess, which is the most surprising bit. Igalo turned out to be more than just good material to blog about in my snarky little way. It turned out to be a good experience that I’m not sorry I had.

We're Gonna Drink Bacardi Like It's My Birthday

It was my birthday yesterday. For the very special occasion, I got to leave the institute and spend the night back in Budva. It was so I could see friends at the hostel, eat barbecue, collect a slew of presents, including what had come in the mail from peeps at home, generally be lavished with attention and love, which strangely, I’m not getting at the institute, and connect to the internet for the only time this entire week. (Gasp!) And, I had the most spectacular day! It wasn’t enough that Matt and his girlfriend came from London with gifts of Sue Townsend (book), Tom McRae (CD), The Tea House in Covent Garden (3 different kinds of tea), and The Body Shop (smell goods), and carried around all of my heavy bags so that my old-lady back wouldn’t get further injured, but the best presents they gave me was company in a strange place like Igalo, and a ride to Budva.

How can one of my best birthdays possibly be one that I spent several thousand miles away from 90% of my friends and loved ones, in a country where I don’t speak the language, and oh, yeah, my back got injured and I’m walking around like a gimp all the time? Well, it was.

My cup runneth over. It really does. It runneth big time.

Bloggie Goes to Igalo

D A T E L I N E : Tuesday, 26 June 2007
Day 2 at the Institute
Igalo, Montenegro

There’s no internet connectivity here at all, and I’d have to walk 2 km into town to get online at an internet café, so guess I’m going to send this out late, whenever I can connect this laptop to a signal. Here I am at the Igalo Mediterranean Health Centre for my back treatment. I have to stay here for 10 days after all. The doctor who assessed me yesterday was saying that this treatment is supposed to take 3 weeks, but I wasn’t down with all that. She was wearing a form-fitting, black knit dress with white polka dots on it and a ruffle at the hem of the skirt when she met with me for my official clinical evaluation, so how am I supposed to take that seriously??? I need at least a white lab coat, if not a stethoscope draped over the shoulders, for me to buy into anything a doctor has to say. I’m giving it 10 days and then I’ve got to get on with my life.

Things here are going to be quiet and slow, something I can only appreciate up to a point. If I only had to take all this down time for 2-3 days at a stretch, I’d be much more into it. But, 10 days is going to be rough! There’s nobody here for me to talk to! Virtually no Americans come here, or even other English-speaking nationalities, I’m told. And, I’m a complete anomaly, being “Chinese” and all. The other stats to share: About 80% of the patients, or clients, as I’m sure the PR people here at Igalo would prefer that I say, are 55 or older, and of the larger, rounder body type. And, the facility itself? Think: 1980’s corporate hotel, with all of its old, dark wood décor and by now, broken-downness, that’s sort of funny and sort of depressing at the same time. In fact, all the things here, the staff, the clients, the services, the food, all of it, is pretty sad. On the funny spectrum, it would weigh in at the pathetic end, not so much the clown end.

But, on a positive note, my room is just huge, and has a lovely view of the Boka Kotorska, the biggest fjord outside of Scandinavia. (Maybe that’s why all these Norwegians like to come here for treatment all the time!) I have a nice, big balcony with decent furnishings, a full-sized bed (I miss full beds like you wouldn’t believe. It’s been months since I’ve slept in one!), and some chirpy crickets in the ventilation ducts in my room, which I presume are part of the nature-sounds therapy that this place offers but doesn’t seem to list on the brochures. And I’ve got a lot of time to hang out, work on my tan, read my books, make more mix tapes in iTunes, watch DVD’s that I’ve borrowed from various sources, and write things. And, oh yeah, there’s the therapy bit that I’m also here for. That stuff is interesting, to say the least! Day 1 of my treatments was a mass of confusion, seeing as how there’s NO orientation offered here in the least, except for the unsmiling person who gave me a card with some strange code words noted on it in a foreign language yesterday. Excuse me, I don’t mean to be a Princess, but I need a little bit more hand-holding here. Please?

Anyway, after a very frustrating day of running around like it’s the first day of school at a new junior high and I’m trying to figure out my class schedule during passing period, I’ve found out the therapy routine. I’ve got 20 minutes of group exercise at 8:00 am for core strengthening with an instructor who speaks about 5 words of English and the rest of it is Serbian and Norwegian or German or something, I think. There’s only one person my age in the class, and he’s pretty decent-looking, but says all the funny things he says that makes the rest of the class laugh in some language other than my own, so I can’t partake in the amusement. Then, I have one-on-one “lessons in movement now that your back is broke”, which is boring, so is thankfully not every single day. After that, I get breakfast, which is taken in the sad version of a Las Vegas buffet-style restaurant, only with inferior food quality and not everything is buffet-style quantities. Then, onto: underwater massage (a hose pointed at various sections of your back and legs while you lay in a big, warm tub, for all of 11 minutes), group pool exercises (with all old, overweight people, thankfully, while the instructor is some scorchin’ hot mama!), and then my mud wrap for 15 minutes (which lots of my lady-friends who like to go to day spas would enjoy, but I find too gooey to appreciate). And then, I’m done for the day pretty much by 11:30 am.

Like I’ve been saying all along, this is part of the experience of this particular adventure. So, I’m just going to sit back, relax, and put up with whatever they hurl my way for the next 9 days. Go ahead. Do your best to break my spirit, people! I’ve got bloggie on my side to vent into. And, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. It’s 9 days away, but it’s there.

Abandonment Issues, Separation Anxiety, and Yes, I'm Clingy.

Yesterday, a number of emotionally catastrophic things happened which caused me to analyze the nature of my clingyness. (Well, I guess we should first start with the admission that I am in fact quite a clingy person. I attach easily to people/things/routines. I need time for long, lingering good-byes. I stroll Memory Lane often. Etc.) But, all at once yesterday, two of my closest friends in the whole wide world left town after a short visit of only 6 days here in Budva. A long-term hostel guest named Simon, who's been here even longer than I have and became part of our little Hippo family, left for home. And, the first group of people I've really been able to connect with here since my unfortunate fall and subsequent withdrawal from hostel society, also left en masse. It was almost an orchestrated act of abandonment on the part of those I *thought* cared about me!

But, little did they know that their leaving would cause worse fallout than just making this a quieter, less interesting place to be. I was GRIEF-STRICKEN last night! INCONSOLABLE in my loneliness! Because I've realized since I've been here in Montenegro that when you're away from most everything that's familiar to you, all the things you know and love, you tend to hang on to anything, ANYTHING AT ALL, that's become remotely part of your world order for even a minute. Be it a person, a hair clip, a route you take to the post office, or a brand of yogurt, you attach to it more quickly, and are pretty much devastated when it goes away. Or, at least, this is the case with me.

The good thing about it is that you can make close connections with people using less effort than usual. And, like 10-year-olds leaving camp at the end of only a few weeks, you're crying and swearing that you'll keep in touch with each other forevermore when you have to part. But, the reality of it is, in our adult lives, when they're gone, you end up getting busy with other things (for me, busy with new hostel guests or the radio show or back-healing), and you move on a lot quicker than the initial emotions would lead you to believe you can. Does that make me fickle? An emotional liar? Or just better-adjusted, if given a couple of days?

I don't know. But, last night, I was sadly lying around trying to read, watch a DVD, work on a Ponta Planet script, make new playlists in iTunes, and I couldn't. I kept getting drawn back to writing -- my journal, the journal I'm keeping for someone else, emails, a letter I'm writing to a friend back home, all forms of writing! I even wanted to compose a poem or something, anything I could think of that would adequately encapsulate the profusion of feelings running rampant through me over all these people I just lost. None of it met the work order. So, I sent IM's to friends at home, complaining about the pain, and seeking solace for my separation anxiety. Then, I fell asleep.

But, something good came out of yesterday's little exercise in identifying my losses. And, being the self-aware, planner-type that I am by nature, I know that when I eventually leave Budva for home, I'll miss several things from here, and, given the length of this stay, it'll take more than a few days to recover from my long, lingering good-bye with this country. That in mind, I've put together a list of things that I'm going to start preemptively missing:

• mesaras (butcher shops) that'll grill the meat you purchase right then and there for you, free of charge
• Kajmak (a brand of cream cheese)
• having 2 corner stores within 5 meters of the house that sell fresh vegetables, bread, eggs, AND feminine napkins and toothpaste
• eating all of my meals at a patio table under a trellis of grapevines
• barbecuing every-other day
• hearing English spoken in at least 5 different accents at any given time
• prescription meds costing less than €2 per package
• and, narrow, stone alleyways inside old city walls almost everywhere you go.

I miss a lot of things right now (people and things I left in California, many of the friends I've made here who've already left, being upright for long periods of time since my back is still not fully-healed), and will probably miss lots more things to come. But, I got better this morning and stopped being weepy over Marin and Brian, Simon, Dan/Dane/Doug, and that hilarious Canadian couple, Chris and Jess, from Calgary. So, if that only took 24 hours, then, doing the math, I guess I'll stop missing Budva by Christmastime, after I've returned to the States.

On the other hand, I may always miss this place, regardless of the ups and downs I've experienced here, because this is just an incredible time in my life. And, anyway, I'm just clingy!

Mostly Horizontal

It's been almost 4 weeks since my dramatic, lifestyle-altering fall-down-the-stairs-in-the-rain incident, and I'm still usually found horizontal on a pull-out bed in the office of the Hippo. But, I'm more mobile now than I have been for ages!

I was facing some tough decisions for a while these past several days, since it looks like the damage to my back is kinda serious. (I had thinned-out cartilage between two bony bits in my spine that wasn’t holding a disc in place very effectively, so when I fell down-went boom, the disc slipped south and to the left and is now pressing on a nerve that will, over time, kill said nerve to the point where one of my feet will stop moving, and then I’ll have SERIOUS issues, blah-blah-blah.) But then, I was told of this alternative medicine institute 2 hours from here near Herceg Novi, the Igalo Institute, where I can undergo all kinds of alternative therapy to get the herniated disc back into alignment. The neurosurgeon that I saw last week at the clinic in Podgorica recommended that I go there for at least a week and a half and, if that doesn't work, then I should probably enjoy some back surgery. (ACK!)

I had a really crappy week pondering these options. But, after a good cry, I found the website to the "institute" and, okay -- IT'S HILARIOUS!

This place is trying to be a *spa*! For rich foreigners! And, it's known to the Norwegians like Cabo San Lucas is known to Americans! Among other things, they treat arthritis, allergies, cellulite, sports injuries, chronic eczema, obesity, stress, multiple sclerosis! They do breast augmentation, dental work, shiatsu massage! They do Thalassotherapy! These are treatments based on the use of seawater, seaweed, and algae masks/wraps! I sense a sushi reference coming on! But, anyway, they also feed you well here! You have these beautiful private rooms with balconies that overlook the Boka Kotorska, the largest fjord outside of Scandinavia! Their medical staff of 51 physicians, 93 nurses, 178 physical therapists, and 27 lab staffers are in multilingual teams that "smoothly operate" in Norwegian, English, German, Italian, French, and yeah, Serbian! And, that's just what the website says! My own, private room, buffet meals, and medical treatment will cost me €78 per night! (I called and checked today.) That's less than any decent hotels in any major city in the States would charge! God, I can't use enough exclamation points all of a sudden!

!!!

I KNOW there was an episode of Hart to Hart early on in the series where Jonathan and Jennifer go undercover to a luxury spa to uncover the real reason for their good friend's supposed suicide. Maybe this is a similar spa! Maybe I can be Jennifer Hart, Darling!

So, fine, I guess I'm going to Igalo for a couple of weeks. Starting June 22, it would seem. I might even be spending my 33rd birthday there! Hmmm...

Now then, let's recap all the positive developments since last I whined:
1.) I'm going to a spa instead of getting back surgery (probably).
2.) The painkillers I'm taking are working just grand. I'm rarely in any sort of pain, and am getting up and around a lot more now. Though I probably shouldn't, just to avoid injuring myself further. These painkillers make you feel SO invincible, though!!! (Evil, deranged laughter here...)
3.) The radio show has taken off and is going pretty well. Week 2 was even better than week 1! I have all the time in the world to lie around on my stomach writing decent scripts and conducting interviews with professors from local Universities who serve on the faculty of Tourism Studies here.
4.) And, podcasts! I've discovered lots of new podcasts to listen to, which keeps my ears very busy.
5.) Oh, and did I mention? Marin and Brian are here for the week, and though they're going out doing all their sight-seeing with friends from the hostel and not with bed-ridden me, it's great to have them around at all. They brought peanut butter. (FINALLY! Toast-cover of the gods!)

It would seem that I'll live. And, if the spa is all it's cracked up to be, I will live without having any knives stuck in my back. Dare I dream?

Reports from the Field III: Laid Up in Budva

All right, fine. 3 weeks after the fall, I guess it's probably time to rehash everything about this whole back injury business, and tell the blog-reading population that cared enough about me to come here in the first place why I've been lying around on my stomach in a bed, irritable and blogging. Why so many hours of watching "The Office" on my laptop and why this still-life-in-pills? So, here, for your review, is the whole sordid tale.


D A T E L I N E : 26 May 2007; Budva, Montenegro

When last we left our hero, she was idling away her days in summertime fun. But, wait! Tragedy has struck! And now, a little more than a week later, I'm writing you from my recovery bed, the pull-out couch in the office of the Hippo Hostel...

I had a slip-and-fall incident last Friday evening, going down some marble stairs at the market across the street from the hostel in the rain. I was innocently running out for a tub of yogurt and took a false step to end up on my backside on the stairs after having hit the edge of some of the steps with my lower back and both elbows. I couldn't get up. Someone had to run back to the hostel and get my friends. I was carried home and deposited on the couch in the lounge, to lay out on my stomach for the rest of the night.

After a visit to the nearest hospital in Risan (a 45-minute drive from Budva), where I had a botched x-ray taken, it was speculated that I suffered a fracture in my spine somewhere. Though, how the fine doctors of that sad, socialist-era state hospital could know that from the blurry x-ray they were looking at is beyond me. I blame the 20-year-old girl posing as the x-ray technician in her official-looking blue jeans and polo shirt, the one with the disposition of a pissed-off orangutan, for the bad films. So, I paid my 17 Euros for their time and expertise and we left with some prescriptions for pain medication to head home and seek out another opinion.

Enter Dr. Lidija Ljubisa-Maslovar, a local doctor in Budva who practiced medicine in San Francisco for 10 years or something, and who's English is excellent. Since the country was closed down for the next 4 days due to a national holiday (Montenegro was celebrating it's 1-year anniversary as an independent nation!), Dr. Lidija could only consult with me over the phone from her vacation spot out of town, and she made an appointment for me to come see her on Wednesday. After my visit to Dr. Lidija's office on Wednesday, where I had an ultrasound to make sure that my internal organs weren't injured in the fall, it was arranged that I would go see specialists at a private hospital in Podgorica, the nation's capital, where I would need an MRI and another x-ray taken. And, in the meantime, I was to lie in bed immobile for at least the next 2-3 weeks.

A distraught and frantic phone call to John in San Francisco, where he was 4 hours away from leaving on a jet plane to come here for 2 weeks. We argued. I almost cried. We decided he shouldn't come and waste his only trip here to see me on this version of a vacation: watching me lie around in bed all day frustrated and worried that my 40's and 50's will be plagued with back issues. So, he canceled his flights here, to be rescheduled for late August sometime when I'd be better able to show him around town and even accompany him to Sarajevo, Rome, Florence, etc.

Then, Thursday brings with it a daytrip to Podgorica. David and I rent a car so that I could lay in *comfort* (and I use that term loosely) on my stomach in the reclined front passenger seat of the car while he drives the hour and 15 minutes to the hospital there. I don't get to see a thing of the countryside and mountains that connect the coast to the capital. We're met in Podgorica by a scorching-hot woman who doesn't LOOK like she works for an orthopedist, but who nonetheless leads us to the hospital and escorts us through the entire process, from radiology to the doctor's clinic that I'm to go to next.

I always thought that I was tough enough to handle an MRI, something that's usually depicted as a scary thing to people who are prone to claustrophobia, panic attacks, fear of loud noises, etc. But, I'm laid down in the MRI bed and have to immediately close my eyes and go to my happy place so as not to lose it completely. (Sidenote: My happy place is lunching on the patio of Jack's Bistro, sipping iced tea and eating calamari while looking out at the boats in the marina of Jack London.) The space inside that tube is pretty damn small, and I'm afraid that any moment now, the sharp, shooting, burning pain in my lower back will return, and oh, my God, can I just tell you about the noise??? Think: air raid sirens during WWII. The whole time, my good friend David is in the next room with the technician enjoying the tour of my internal organs that they're on. (He has all kinds of things to tell me about my insides afterwards.)

Anyway, I survive that process without ever screaming or pounding frantically on the MRI tube to make it stop. And, then I'm taken to another room for another x-ray by another pissed-off orangutan who's just trying to get the whole thing over with, no matter how much it hurts me to lay flat on my back on a straight, hard table top. From there, it's a short drive to the doctors' clinic nearby, where I'm given a comfortable examination table to nap on while I wait the 3+ hours for the doctors to arrive for our appointment that was supposed to take place at 2:00pm.

It's 7:30 in the evening when Dr. Aleksandar Juskovic, the good-looking, young orthopedist finally arrives to look at my MRI and examine me. He does a number of tests on my back and legs, rotating things every which way and asking me when it hurts. Then, he tells me that I've had a herniated disc in my back for quite some time now that must've never manifested symptoms until this recent fall in which I incurred a lot of trauma to the muscles in my lower back. I need to remain absolutely still on bedrest and take some really intense medication and then I can start physical therapy after I see him again next weekend. He might even do a housecall in Budva so that I don't have to fade the drive to Podgorica again.

And thus, I am here at this point: lying on my stomach, injecting pain-killers into my own thigh twice a day, and listening to A's games broadcast over the internet at all hours of the night. I will hopefully be back up and running, taking on visitors from home and hostel guests alike in glittering social repartee in the coming weeks. In the meantime, when my radio show begins it's bi-weekly broadcast on June 4th, I have plans to be horizontal on an air mattress on the studio floor with a mic.

It's all good vibes and pain-meds for me from this point forth! Yippee.

Reports from the Field II: Heating Up

During happier, more active times, before I became a bed-ridden internetolic with her own blog, I was sending emails home to my peeps, giving them the scoop on all the haps here in Budva. Let's go back to said happier times, now shall we? Just so I can remember how fun it was when I was still vertical...


D A T E L I N E : 18 May 2007; Budva, Montenegro

I don't know if it's the heat, or the general Montenegrin spirit of there's-still-time-I'll-get-it-done-later that's overtaken me, but
what I intended to write WEEKS ago has been sorely delayed. I swear, I began this 5 days ago! Actually, lots of things that I intend to do everyday aren't getting done in the time that I'm intending: studying Serbian, getting a haircut, planning my excursion to Italy, buying a beach towel that has an image of a 500 Euro bill on it, etc.

There's always some reason to put these things off for another day. It's hot, I can't be expected to move! It's hot, I need to go to the beach! It's hot, I need to hang out at the radio station! So, I'm not nearly as productive as my best intentions would lead me to believe.

In the past month, I've slowed down on the daytrips a lot more and have just settled nicely into a more common, day-to-day routine that involves the hostel, the beach, the radio station, and barbecues. Also, during that time, the Hippo saw it's share of bad luck: 11 days without a phone line or internet, 2 occasions when we lost our plumbing (one of which lasted 2 whole days!), 3 occasions of losing power suddenly in the evening (one of which occurred right when the movie "Hostel" was reaching it's annoying and long-awaited conclusion), and a 2-night stay by a group of 9 disrespectful, rowdy, young Slovenians who acted like they were on one of those party buses that frats like to rent and tear through the city in. We survived, though.

Now, the days are getting longer and (did I mention?) hotter. Which means that we're getting busier here with more guests in house. The body count for April was officially 83 in the end. And, so far for May, we have 56. (I've got Euro signs in my eyes.) My radio show, Ponta Planet, will now officially start airing the week of June 1. It'll be bi-weekly, though I don't yet know which days. Did I also mention that there's a Montenegrin attitude of there's-still-time-I'll-get-it-done-later? Some decisions don't get made until the last possible minute. In the meantime, though, I'm out recording content for future shows, and writing a script for the pilot for prospective new sponsors. Good times, playing radio producer in a country in which I don't speak the language!

And, there are obviously great days in the sun to be had as well. Last week, as I was walking from Budva to Sveti Stefan along all the different beaches and coves with an Aussie hostel guest of ours, Brad, I came upon a little grassy hut that overlooked some stone decks along the sea. There were people sitting around inside eating, and since the place *looked* kind of like a restaurant, we went inside to have a drink and ended up sitting down to an amazing lunch of grilled fish with the owner of the place, his brother, his mother, and his best friend. Zoff, said owner, a balding, mid-forties playboy fisherman who likes to sniff your hair and kiss your neck if you're not able to dodge him, only opens the restaurant to his friends, but will allow random tourists to lay on his private decks and sun themselves for a small fee. Since he seemed to like me and Brad, and I liked his grilled eggplant and how fresh the blue fish was, we came back the next day and spent more than 6 hours with him and his friends going out on his fishing boat, eating, sunning ourselves on the deck, and learning how to de-scale the catch of the day. I took to calling Zoff's mother "Mama", because I didn't know her name. His brother, Dragan, drove us home at the end of the day. And, now, everybody's mobile number is in my phone. And, all I wanted was to be in at the restaurant and to make sure I could use the decks free of charge.

Done and done!

Also, the first weekend of May was Budva's annual carnivale. Everyone at the hostel went out for 2 nights of partying in the Old Town that Friday and Saturday. There were parades, baton-twirling dance troupes who did routines to "Holding Out for a Hero" and the ever-popular 80's soundtrack hit "Maniac", and live music on a huge stage erected outside the Old Town walls. I discovered that I like a Macedonian pop singer, Toše Proeski, despite his following of screaming 14-year olds. And, now, I can honestly say that I've seen a re-enactment of the biblical story of the great flood while standing in actual pouring rain. That's of course not to be outdone by the fact that I then danced under fireworks with a firetruck hose pointing to the sky over us making it rain even harder than God intended. The only thing missing that weekend was an organized wet tee shirt contest.

All told, the slowing down to a day-to-day routine isn't at all bad!