Days 53-56: Deja Vu

Exactly 52 days later, I found myself back at square one - Berlin, where this whole mad journey started. But the shadows were longer, the days colder and the city more oppressive. It was like looking Death in the face. I hated every second of it. Resented it for what it represented - the physical manifestation of the end of my trip. As soon as I stepped off the train, I lost every ounce of my drive for adventure. Confronted by the cold bleakness of Berlin, I was forced to come back down to reality.

I spent the next few days moping around. Some shopping and walking around but mostly not much of anything at all. It was almost surreal really, going from Munich to Berlin and then finally stopping over in Amsterdam. Like stepping backwards through time, retracing steps that seem so foreign now. Right there, that was the comfy chair I almost fell asleep in at Amsterdam Airport 2 months ago. I remember waxing poetic over that chair in my very first blog post, everything I came upon having a magic back in those first days, like a dream. But with a bounce-bounce-hop on the runway of Logan Airport, just like that, the dream was over.

Days 48-52: Bodrum

Like Kusadasi, Bodrum is another Turkish beach resort on the Mediterranean. Fortunately, it manages to avoid a fate as a cookie-cutter resort with charming architecture that conjures up images of Greece - white sugarcube houses dot the hillside along with windmills and castles. Unfortunately, I arrived at the very end of the tourist season. The nearby town of Gumbet where I stayed was a deserted ghost town when I checked in to my hotel. If you listened closely, you could hear the tumbleweed floating down the street. Restaurants were all empty and stores had no customers. The solitude was so absolute and depressing, my homesickness finally caught up with me and, for a while, I thought of changing my travel arrangements to go home one week early.

Luckily, I decided to give the place one more chance and the next day, I made the short trip to the main town of Bodrum. While Gumbet was completely deserted, Bodrum still had a little life in it. Granted, the majority of people were locals going about their daily lives, but that suited me just fine. At least the streets weren't empty. I spent the afternoon exploring the Castle of St. Peter, an old Byzantine fortress built by the Crusaders and then enjoyed the sunset at a beach cafe. As I sipped my $2 pint of Efes Pilsen next to the lapping waves while the sun set over the silhouette of the castle, I was relieved that I had decided to stay. Go home early? Hell no! I was going to squeeze every minute out of this vacation.

In the 1950's, a Turkish political writer named Cevat Sakir Kabaagacli was exiled to Bodrum and wrote an account of idyllic sea travels up and down the Carian and Lycian coasts called the "Blue Voyage". He thought he was writing about a life of paradise in Turkey, but what he actually did was give birth to hundreds of tour operators who now flood the waters off Bodrum with tourist-packed bay cruises all called "Blue Voyages". But being a tourist myself, and at a price of just $12, I couldn't resist the temptation so I signed up.

I arrived the next morning with a bag full of towels, swimsuit, etc. and was crestfallen when the tour company told me that they wouldn't be running the tour that day - they simply didn't have enough customers to do it. At their suggestion, I went down to the marina which was packed with boats advertising day cruises and asked around, but none of them had enough customers to head out. Yup, it was definitely the low season. I had almost given up when I passed by a smaller boat whose captain was calling out "private tour, boat tour" to customers who weren't there. Except that I was. After a little haggling, I got him to agree to a 3-hour trip for $60. It was more expensive than the full-day boat trip for $12, but I would get the entire boat to myself. It was also a lot shorter, but there was a certain poetic justice to taking "a three hour toooouuuur... a three hour toooouuuur...".

Little did I know, I wouldn't just get the boat to myself, I got almost the entire Aegean Sea! "The Skipper" took me to a bay they call "The Aquarium", known for its crystal clear waters and abundant fish. The waters were indeed clear and there were some fish, but nothing to impress a scuba diver. But the bay itself was gorgeous and best of all, we were the only boat there! I thought of the height of the tourist season, when there would normally be a dozen ships anchored all carrying a dozen or more tourists. But today, it was my own private paradise. The Skipper and I spent a lazy afternoon at the Aquarium, not letting our inability to communicate get in the way of a little sailor bonding. I snorkeled and did cannonballs off the top of the boat while the Skipper fished and cleaned barnacles off the bottom of the boat with a big shiny knife.

Letting the spirit of Bodrum take over, I spent two more lazy days in Bodrum, doing not much of anything other than nursing a buzz at seaside cafes, reading books and enjoying the perfect weather and sunshine. Taking in every last drop of it because I knew it would almost be my last.

Interlude: The Sweetest Joy

When I was in Istanbul, I realized that not only was it the second year in a row that I was in a Muslim country during Ramadan, it was the second year in a row I was out of the country while the Boston Red Sox were in the World Series. Last year, being in Kuala Lumpur was a mixed blessing. It was frustrating to not be able to root for my team as they battled for a chance at baseball's greatest honor. On the other hand, when Bucky Dent hit that home run, I was glad to be 10,000 miles away from the collective heartbreak of the entire city of Boston.

With the pain of that series still an open wound, I followed along this year with a little more caution. One win, two wins, three wins and suddenly the Red Sox were facing their archrivals, the New York Yankees. I never had a chance to actually watch any of the games, as most of them started around 2am in Europe and the networks here give American baseball about as much coverage as we give to soccer. Instead, I found myself waking up in the mornings after games and furiously logging onto my Yahoo WAP page on my phone - baseball satisfaction coming 128 by 160 pixels at a time.

I firmly believe that the Boston Red Sox have not won the World Series since 1918 because they have never had a chance to win it in so dramatic a fashion. Instead, the Red Sox Nation waited patiently. Waited until their hated rivals had them in a 3-0 hole in the League Championships. Waited until those Bronx Bombers had completely embarrassed them in one of the worst routs in postseason history. Waited until those pinstripe wearing dandies had giant smug smiles from ear to ear. And then proceeded to wipe those damn smiles off their faces. And then sweep the World Series.

No team has ever done it like that, and no team ever will again. I can't even begin to describe the feeling. Even the Patriots' first Superbowl win couldn't compare. In that moment when I learned of the win, I wanted to give back my entire vacation so that I could be in Boston for 10 minutes. I can only imagine what it must sound like to hear an entire city scream at the top of their lungs. I am the least superstitious person you will ever meet, but I know now that there is a magic in Boston. It started with the Patriots and it continued with the Red Sox. Mark my words, it will spread to the Celtics and the Bruins. But for now, it's our day. Boston's day. And oh, how sweet it is.

Days 43-47: Kusadasi

It's not often that you find yourself on vacation thinking, "Hmm, this kind of reminds me of the time I was on vacation in... blah blah blah.", only to realize that you were thinking of a time earlier in the same vacation. Yes, that's how long I've been on vacation. When I arrived at the port city of Kusadasi, nestled around its picturesque bay along the blue waters of the Mediterranean, I thought of my adventures in Mallorca. It felt like a lifetime ago when I was in Mallorca. While Cappadocia was up in the mountains and getting rather cold this time of year, Kusadası was still basking in warm summer weather. Very popular as a cruise ship port, Kudasaki is the perfect home base for exploring Turkey's Aegean coast. Former home to Greek and Roman civilizations, Turkey's coast boasts a treasure trove of ancient ruins and Wonders of the Ancient World.

My first stop was the ruins of Hierapolis near the city of Pamukkale. The ruins are nice, but the main reason to visit the town are the thermal mineral springs nearby. The springs are famous for being rich in calcium, and over hundreds of years, flowed over the hillsides and formed spectacular formations called "cotton castles" that look like snow drifts in the middle of the desert. Nearby the cotton castles, there is an "antique pool" where you can swim among the ruins of Greek columns. They say that the waters have amazing healing powers, but the only thing they seemed to do for me was lighten my wallet about $10. Still, it's something you should do if you come all the way to Turkey.

The most famous ruins near Kusadasi are the ruins of Ephesus, once the capital of the region during the height of Greek civilization. Amazingly, the city was once a port but is now about 20km inland due to silt deposited by the Maeander River (the Büyük Menderes River in Turkish), the very river from which we get the term "meandering". The travel agency also arranged tours for me to visit Priene, Mileto, Didyma and Pergamon. At the time, it sounded like a good idea, but I quickly discovered that the human brain only has capacity for so many ancient ruins.

The middle of October is the low season for most of Turkey, and tourism really drops off sharply. While my days were spent on tours to the aforementioned sites, my nights were spent meandering (hehe, gotta use it, right?) around a mostly deserted Kusadasi. Despite that fact, I still managed to run into an Australian couple that I met in Cappadocia. Small world.

Days 40-42: Living Flintstones Style

Everyone has adolescent fantasies. And no, you dirty-minded people, I'm not referring to the ones involving Princess Leia chained up in her slave outfit. I'm talking about the kinds where you imagine you're a Viking raider ravaging the coast of Northern Europe, or an astronaut exploring Alpha Centauri. Ok, so maybe I have an active imagination and never really grew up, but one of my minor fantasies was to live in a cave house. There's just something inexplicably appealing to me about a labyrinthine house carved out of a hillside, like a Hobbit hole in Bag End or Luke Skywalker's farm on Tattoine. And so it was with mild trepidation that I checked in to my honest-to-goodness cave hotel in the sleepy Cappadocia town of Urgup, ready to live out my little fantasy.

At first, I was a little disappointed with my room; it was fairly well apportioned and the walls were rock, but they were completely orthogonal. I'm not sure what I expected - this was a cave hotel but it was still modern so of course it would be carved out with precision. I guess my idea of a cave home was always with rough-hewn walls. Anyway, I decided to go out and explore and tried the door to my room. And tried it again. And again. What the? Was this a cave hotel or cave prison?! I fiddled with the door knob for another five minutes but just couldn't get the damn thing open! Since there was no phone in the room, I had exactly two options: 1) make a huge racket and wake up the entire hotel while simultaneously advertising my inability to open a simple unlocked door, or 2) simply give up and eventually die of exposure or starvation in my newfound cave tomb. Determined to keep my dignity rather than make a fool of myself and admit that I was a dumb American who couldn't operate a door, I resigned myself to a slow and painful death.

In those brief seconds after I made my decision, I became a Christian, Jew and Muslim all at once. I thought of all the friends I had made in my life. I thought of the loves I have had - never enough! I thought of the little children who would never be mine. And I cried. But even as I made peace with myself, an amazing thing happened. The hotel clerk must have been walking by and heard my frantic clawings against death's door, because he motioned me to pass him the key out the window so that he could open the door. After he freed me from my prison, he checked the door and confirmed that it was in fact broken and could not be opened from the inside, by someone of any intelligence. Phew! Absolved of my stupidity, I was able to sleep the good sleep... Flintstones style.

Cappadocia is famous for its dramatic mountainous geography, which was formed thousands of years ago by three volcanoes, each of which deposited a different type of lava on the landscape. The middle and largest layer is composed of tufa rock which has the interesting property of being very soft and easy to excavate. The result being that for thousands of years, the peoples of Cappadocia have carved cave houses out of the rock which were in use even up to the early 60's when the government made people evacuate. People didn't just live in cave houses, there were several entire underground cities which were used to hide in while under attack from enemies. Particularly interesting is the history of early Christians who lived in the cave houses and underground cities to evade persecution. There are dozens of cave churches all throughout Cappadocia. In many ways, Cappadocia was one of the "cradles" of Christianity, from which it weathered its painful early years and spread into Europe. Another interesting effect of the layered volcanic composition is that it creates dramatic landscapes. Tufa rock erodes easily by water and creates flowing mountainous forms. Harder basalt rock on top of softer tufa rock also creates famous "fairy chimneys" which look sort of like... well, I'll leave it to your adolescent fantasies.

On my last day in Cappadocia, I took my very first balloon ride. I'm sure a balloon ride is fun anywhere, but when it's over the rugged mountainous countryside of Cappadocia, it's nothing short of breathtaking. The pilot starts by taking you high up over the landscape for a birds-eye view, then drops you right into the valley where you skim over the fairy chimneys and cave houses. Our balloon actually scraped the leaves off a tree! For a finale, our pilot showed off his precision piloting skills by landing us directly onto the balloon-trailer of our waiting truck. Highly recommended.

On top of everything that Cappadocia has to offer, the people are fantastic! First of all, Turkish people are incredibly friendly to begin with, but the people of Cappadocia even more so. Second of all, my tour guide was fantastic. I recommend Agra Tours for their personalized touch and specifically, ask for Katri as your guide. Finally, Cappadocia is a bit more of a backpacker's destination and I met lots of cool people, including many solo travelers.

Days 35-39: ...Once Constantinople

Byzantium. Nova Roma. Constantinople. Istanbul has had as many names as it has had chapters in the history books or cultures who can claim it as part of their heritage. The city seemed to have so much history it didn't know what to do with it. Ruins of ancient Roman columns stood piled along the side of the road as though they could find no better place to store these treasures. Street vendors rested their wares against a section of the ancient wall that once defended against Persians, Macedonians, Romans and countless others. As I rode on the bus from the airport to my hotel, taking in the alien sights and sounds, I felt the nervous excitement of that drug that true travelers crave... culture shock. Europe is a cultural goldmine and probably the most photogenic area of the world you could visit, but I forgot how much I missed the wonder of being so unfamiliar with your environment.

I was strolling through Gulhane Park when it happened. All throughout the city, the minarets which had so far been nothing more than an architectural backdrop came alive with the evening call to prayer. For an American, the Muslim call to prayer is intensely alien and conjures up images of a foreign world of turbans, sultans and harems. With more than a little help from Hollywood and politicians, it also elicits a vague sense of fear. Fortunately I didn't count myself among that group, but I was mesmerized nonetheless. In fact I was so caught up that I almost missed the bizarre spectacle unfolding in front of me.

I was watching what appeared to be a city-wide game of musical chairs. Every man and woman, old or young, fat or skinny, immediately stopped whatever they were doing and ran for the closest food. Park benches and patches of grass which were abandoned just 15 minutes earlier were now filled with families sharing picnic dinners. Food stalls that were empty had a line of customers. A man dashed across the street in front of me, to where his friend was waiting for him with a sandwich held out. He seemed to swallow it in one bite. It was then I finally realized that, for the second year in a row, I found myself in a Muslim country during the holy Muslim month of Ramadan. The previous occasion being Malaysia during October and November of last year.

But even in Kuala Lumpur I never saw Ramadan celebrated like this. I let the crowd carry me along and found myself approaching the Blue Mosque, the cultural and religious heart of Istanbul. The entire Blue Mosque complex was lit up with lights from a vast carnival, and the crowd thickened. I was no longer letting the crowd carry me - it was taking me whether I wanted it to or not. It should've been obvious to me where everyone would be going at this time of day - into the mosque for prayers! I didn't have a chance to ask questions or consider the propriety of my actions as the crowd pushed me on. Before I knew it, I was taking off my shoes and inside the mosque, hundreds of Muslims prostrate in prayer around me. I've seen houses of worship from just about every culture and religion - Christian cathedrals, Jewish synagogues, Thai Buddhist temples, Japanese Shinto temples, even Quaker meeting houses. But the Blue Mosque seemed to leapfrog them all in that one second. Maybe I was just caught up in the moment, the energy of the crowd, or the spectacular display of lights inside the mosque, but the mosque took my breath away. I would later find out that visiting hours were closed. Not only was I not supposed to be in the mosque when I was, I entered through the gate reserved for Muslims. As I exited the mosque to the nearby Hippodrome park, the carnival raged. So many stalls selling foods that I could never hope to pronounce or identify. An emcee on the loudspeaker chanted a song as the crowd whooped and clapped along. The strangest thing was, I seemed to be the only foreigner there. After I had my full of it all, I managed to stumble back to my hotel.

The next morning, I woke up to every vacationer's nightmare - fever and chills! Maybe it was something I ate, or maybe it was the fact that I had to sleep with the window open because I had no AC in my room. Who knows, but it ruined the rest of my Istanbul visit. I managed to get out during the days but found myself curled up in bed at night. Still, I did see all the major sights in the Old Town as well as take a "cruise" down the Bopshorus (it was really just a ferry ride). Istanbul was a fantastic city, but it was time for me to get out of the city. Next stop, the cave houses of Cappadoccia.

Interlude: Book Reviews Pt.1

As any traveler undoubtedly knows, travel can consist of a decent amount of dead time. Waiting for and riding on planes, trains and automobiles. A quiet hour when you get back to your hotel at night and you're sick of CNN because that's the only English channel they have. Next to my TaiPod, books were my best friend and since I've read five of them so far, I've decided to do a quick book review.

Orson Scott Card, Ender's Shadow. As a teenager, one of my all-time favorite books was Orson Scott Card's Ender's Game, so I was excited to have a chance to get back into the Ender universe with this well-conceived retelling of the same events from another character's point of view. The main character of this book is Bean, who was a secondary character in the first book. While the book is fairly well-written, it suffers from two major flaws. The first is the fact that Bean begins the story of a 4-year old boy who is simply way too smart for his own good. While Card explains this as a product of Bean's genetic engineering, it's hard to suspend your disbelief that a toddler could exhibit so much intelligence and emotional sophistication. The second flaw is that Bean starts the book as almost a cold-blooded survivor. For a good quarter of the book, we are shown how Bean does anything to survive, with little regard to the people around him other than as pawns in his game. But by the end of the book, Bean exhibits true emotion and altruism. The problem is, Card never really details this character transformation, but it simply just seems to happen in between pages. Grade: B

Dan Brown, The Da Vinci Code. Okay, I know, I am way behind in reading this, but it has been in hardcover forever and I quite simply couldn't fit it into my luggage. I've never really been a fan of thrillers, but with all the talk about this book, I just had to read it. The result? I became an instant Dan Brown fan. Brown has mastered the fine art of the "whodunnit", constantly challenging our notions of who is behind the nefarious actions in the book. Even up until the moment the villain is revealed, it could easily be any of the red herrings. Of course, that's not what has made this book famous. The real secret ingredient is Brown's real-life mastery of cryptography and religious history. Through an ingenious set of puzzles, Brown leads us through a maze of mostly true religious facts. Facts which are so controversial to the Christian faith, I almost got into a fight with a woman about it in Budapest. Grade: A+

More reviews to come later...

Days 33-34: A Total Wiener

Because I really liked the guy at the travel agency who set up my Mallorca vacation, I decided to give him my business for my Turkey trip as well. The only problem was that he could only find a flight for me out of Munich on the 17th and I returned from Mallorca on the 14th, so I had 2.5 days free time. Since I had already done Munich, I decided to take a small trip to Frankfurt because it was close by train. Okay, let me be very clear on this. Frankfurt is a complete waste of time, a total wiener. It has enough to keep you busy for a day, but even what it does have is nothing you can't find in any other generic European city.

Days 28-32: Palma de Mallorca

Sparreise 4. In German, it literally means "Travel Savings 4" and it's travel operator lingo for a tour package where you are guaranteed a four-star hotel but the actual hotel you will be staying at is a surprise. The tour operator gets a valuable wildcard which they can use to fill vacancies at needed hotels at the last minute, and the traveler gets anywhere from 10-20% off the cost of the package. Since I love surprises, I took the Sparreise 4 package and ended up at the Gran Vista hotel in Can Picafort on the east coast of Mallorca. At first I was a little disappointed that I would be about 1.5 hours away from the main town on the island, Palma, but in the end it turned out to be one of the best things that happened to me.

In my first day on the island, as I basked in the gorgeous 80 F weather with clear blue skies and fluffy white clouds, I was struck by how much like California Mallorca was. The weather was a bittersweet reminder of Southern Cali, the rugged North Shore of the island could have been a stretch of Big Sur, and I never realized just how much California borrowed from Spanish architecture. For the first time on the entire trip, I felt the pangs of homesickness. And then I realized, I'm on vacation in Palma de Mallorca - screw the homesickness!!!

If I ended up near the main town of Palma, it would've been easy for me to wander around the streets and stay in the city the whole time, but since there was really very little to do in Can Picafort besides sit on the beach, I decided to rent a bike and explore the island a little. If a mad scientist could custom design a paradise for bicyclists, he would have designed it exactly like Palma de Mallorca. With choices of flat terrain or challenging hills and trails and boardwalks that crawl lazily along the beach, biking is one of the best ways to take in the island.

With my shiny red bike, I explored up the coast to Port d'Alcudia and its craggy coastline, around Pollenca with its bucolic countryside, Alcudia with its quaint Old Town and Roman ruins, Cala San Vicente with its gorgeous private cove and beaches and all the way up to the Cap de Formentor. The latter was a grueling 20km, ~350 vertical meter climb up a mountain under the pounding sun. I have to admit, I simply was not able to ride the whole way and had to switch off walking parts of the way. But one way or the other I made it and was rewarded with a spectacular view. If I had gone home right there, the entire trip to Mallorca would have been worth it. Lucky for me, I didn't.

While it can be argued that biking around the beautiful island of Mallorca is a worthwhile activity in and of itself, it had its limitations. For one thing, the island is too big to cover on bike and many of the best attractions were at least a 2-3 hour ride away from my hotel. This meant that I only had a couple hours of daylight to enjoy my destination before I had to head back - I really didn't feel like getting caught somewhere I didn't know my way around in the dark, especially as the Mallorcans seem to have something against street signs. For another thing, there was the little matter of the fact that I haven't been to the gym in over a month and was way out of shape. The worst part about riding 50-60 miles a day is getting back on the bike the next morning when your entire butt is one giant bruise!

And so, I decided to rent a car for my last day on the island so that I could cover a little more ground and see more sights. Of course, that goal was based on two primary assumptions. The first being that driving around a lazy resort island shouldn't be too hard and the second being that I could drive an average of 70-80 kph (about 40 mph). Hmmm, sounds pretty innocuous, right?! Let's examine assumption number one.

When I picked up my Nissan Micra rental car, I groaned as I realized that almost every car in Europe is manual transmission. Yeah that's right, the type of transmission that I don't know how to drive!!! The rental agent was no help as he spoke almost no English, so I did the only thing I could and went to the nearest internet cafe and printed out directions on how to drive a stick shift. The first 5 minutes were brutal, as I had to 1) get the car out a tightly parked parallel parking spot, 2) cross the busiest pedestrian street in the whole town and 3) go three blocks up a hill with stops signs at every intersection to get to the main road. My heart raced and I was shaking every second of the ordeal as I endured kids running in front of the car, stalls on the hill and angry drivers honking at me. I finally found a quiet section of street to pull over and I parked the car, a nervous mess.

My first instinct was to walk right back down the hill and return the keys to the rental company. I mean, what the hell was I thinking - was I really going to attempt to learn to drive stick shift on my own without a mentor/coach, in a country where I couldn't speak the language or fully understand the road signs and where my insurance wouldn't cover me for a cent?! But even as I pondered the insanity of the proposition, I knew I had to. This was my vacation, and I wasn't about it to let it squeak by quietly. I gathered up my nerve and for the next half hour, I practiced starting the car, driving it 100 feet, then reversing it 100 feet. People walking by must have thought I was nuts, but I didn't care. Then I found a quiet block to drive around and around and around. After about an hour's total practice, I held my breath and headed out to the main street. Amazingly, I made out to the highway without incident and soon was even upshifting and downshifting! WAHOO! I WAS DRIVING STICK!!! I paused for a second to look down my shirt. Sure enough, I had grown a few new chest hairs :-)

Armed with my newfound virility, I was cruising the roads with a giant smile on my face, in the classic pimp pose - left palm at the top of the steering wheel, left hand on the shifter - and feeling like I could conquer the world. But the gods saw my hubris. And they were not pleased. I checked my map and saw that I was supposed to make a turn in the next town, but as I approached the town, I saw no signs for any interchange. Instead, the sparsely driven small country highway headed directly into the town and turned into a two lane surface street with moderate traffic. And then the unthinkable happened - the two lane street turned into a narrow one lane alley and I found myself at the top of a hill at a stop sign, with cars behind me. And these weren't just any narrow alleys either, these were some windy old school medieval streets with no sidewalks, designed for horses!! The next 10 minutes were a blur and I don't know how I did it, but I made it out of that impossible warren and even managed to find the highway I needed. But only to find I was almost out of gas! I drove the next 15 minutes with the AC turned off, sweating like a pig and holding my breath as I apologized to the gods for my former hubris. But I guess I had passed all the gods' test, as they finally saw fit to bless me with a gas station - PHEW! And they also rewarded my hard work with some amazing weather - the day before I was really pissed to see that the European weather system had followed me to Mallorca with clouds and thunder storms, so the perfect weather was even sweeter in comparison. A little more humble, I made it to my destination and over the next few hours, learned to pretty much drive the car normally although it certainly wasn't pretty.

My first stop was the town of Portocristo in the southeast of the island. As though the beautiful rocky bay with its sandy beach and topless sunbathers wasn't enough, Portocristo is also home to the Cuevas del Drach (Dragon Caves), my ultimate destination. The caves are one of the top attractions on the island, and they don't disappoint. The effect of the caves, impressive on their own, is enhanced by world-class lighting design which accentuates the drama of the cave formations. Particularly creepy was the floor in parts of the cave which were oddly aquamarine in color. It took me a while to realize I was looking at water which was crystal clear and perfectly still. As the tour processed through the caves, I couldn't resist humming Edvard Grieg's "In the Hall of the Mountain King" under my breath. At the end of the tour, you come to the shore of a huge subterranean lake (something like 500 yards long, one of the largest subterranean lakes in the world), where they perform a classical music concert. When I first heard about the concert, I thought it would be tacky tourist drivel, but it was really very well done. Not only was the music well-performed (and not to brag but you're talking to someone who has performed with Yo-Yo Ma, so I know my stuff), but the presentation created a surrealistic and magical ambiance. I highly recommend the caves to anyone visiting Mallorca.

My next stop was the Torrent de Pareis, on the North Shore of the island. According to the map, it was about 70-80km away, which should take about 1.5 hours max to reach by my second assumption, right? Of course my assumption didn't take into account the fact that the last section was 20-30km of harrowing hairpin switchbacks up, over and down the island's northern Tramuntana mountain range. We're talking about something straight out of a BMW commercial. In a car I just learned how to drive. The mountains would end up taking me an extra hour to drive over and I soon approached a point of no return. The problem was, I had to return the bike by 7pm and the car by 8pm. With my late start and driving lessons, I found myself at the top of the mountains around 6pm with signs showing about 10km left to go. If I kept driving, I probably would not make it back in time and the worst part was that my flight left at 8am the next morning so I wouldn't even be able to fix things in the morning. Do I play it safe and turn back or keep going and get in who knows what kind of trouble? I took a deep breath and thought about how much pain I had been through that day and I was damned if I was going to be denied. The adventure continues!

I arrived at the Torrent de Pareis at about 6:30pm and rushed through, snapping pictures like mad so I could say I had been there and get back on the road. But the Torrent de Pareis doesn't care if you're in a terrible rush, it refuses to not be admired in its full glory. And so I stood at the mouth of the Torrent and stopped snapping pictures for 5 seconds. But in that five seconds, time stopped and a tear almost came to my eye as I witnessed the wonder of the place. The absolute scale and majesty. The perfect tranquility and spirituality. When I travel, I enjoy many attractions, from cathedrals to bridges to rivers to towers to statues and memorials. But I always reserve a special place in my heart for wonders of nature, and the Torrent de Pareis went from being an almost-missed attraction to one of my top all-time natural wonders. And then time started again, and I rushed back to my car with yet a new challenge - get out of the mountains before sunset! Those narrow switchbacks weren't something you wanted to be navigating in the dark. I finally made it back to Can Picafort at 8:30pm and it turned out the car rental place was still open and didn't blink an eye that I was half an hour late. The bike rental place was a little more annoyed but I weaseled my way out of any charges.

The next morning as I sat on the bus back to the airport, I felt true regret to be leaving. Of all the places I had been so far on this trip, I never had a problem leaving, but I hadn't even left Mallorca yet and I was already missing it. There was so much more to see, and I wished I had a few more days. In the end I was comforted by the intuition that, yes, I would be back here someday.

Sparreise 4. In German, it literally means "Travel Savings 4", but for me it now means a whole lot more.

Days 23-27: Munich

October 5, I arrive in Munich more than a little excited. October in Munich and I think we all know what that means... the biggest party in the world and enough beer to get a small army drunk - Oktoberfest! And then the truth hits me like Republican propaganda - Oktoberfest is in September, not October!!! Ok, so actually I knew that already and had no intention of going to Oktoberfest at all, but it's still ridiculous to call it Oktoberfest when most of it is in September. Rather, Munich was a good stop on my way south towards the Mediterranean. 4 out of 5 days of rain and clouds is enough to ruin anyone's vacation, so I decided I need to head south, maybe to Greece or Slovenia and then eventually to Turkey. Munich isn't the most direct path there from Prague, but I've always wanted to visit Neuschwanstein so Munich it was.

It turns out, Munich (sorry, Munchen) is quite nice as far as European cities go. Despite the fact that I'm positive I have seen the same exact cathedrals and squares elsewhere (still trying to figure out how the bastards moved those things while I wasn't looking), Munchen has a good balance. The Old Town is very compact and all the most important sites are within walking distance. One thing I will always remember Munchen for is the plethora of squares and plazas. I must have counted at least ten, and Munchners love to just hang out in them. If there's a square inch of grass, someone's laying on it; if there's a park bench, someone's sitting on it. Not to mention the English Gardens, the largest metropolitan park in the world. Maybe it was just because they had endured several weeks of endless rain and the first two days I was there was gorgeous, so they were out and enjoying it while they could. Regardless, it was nice to see and I enjoyed an entire afternoon at a plaza with a fountain, reading Dan Brown's Deception Point. Outside of the Old Town, Munchen is a large city with all the amenities and entertainments.

When visiting Munchen, there are three things you absolutely must do: 1) Go to the Hofbräuhaus and have a Maß beer. A total tourist trap, but being served a liter of 7.5% alcohol beer in a giant mug is something not to be missed out on. 2) Visit Neuschwanstein castle, the fairy tale castle Walt Disney based Cinderella's castle on. When you arrive there and gaze upon that amazing structure which has absolutely no business sitting on top of a high lonely mountain looking over nothing whatsoever, you are awestruck by the depth of King Ludwig II's vision and insanity. The castle itself is in very good condition, as it ought to be - it was built in 1869, brand new by European architectural standards and long after castles had become obsolete. In addition to the castle itself, most tours will take you through Oberammergau, a quaint town in the beautiful Bavarian countryside. We're talking The Sound of Music stuff here. 3) Visit Dachau, the first concentration camp in Germany. You may be uneasy about going, but go anyway. You owe it to yourself and the thousands of people who suffered and died at the concentration camps. Like the Anne Frank house in Amsterdam, it was a moving experience.

While in Munchen, I happened by a travel agency that had some good deals, so it turns out my next stop will be Palma de Mallorca, Spain. You may know its more popular cousin, Ibiza. Time to get out of the city and just relax a bit!