A Journey to Галичина

A little over two weeks ago, I left Macedonia enroute to western Ukraine in an attempt to find information about my Polish ancestry. In 1912, my great-grandfather left the region known as Galicia (at the time under Austro-Hungarian rule) to emigrate to the United States. As I explained in my previous blog, the area saw continual migration and border changes as a result of two World Wars and Communist minority repression. By the end of WWII, the area was under control of the Soviet Union and the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic, and the vast majority of the Poles living in the region were forced to either migrate to the neighboring Polish communist republic or take their chances in Siberia or Central Asia. As an example of the population changes in the 20th Century, in the 1940s the city of L'viv (today over 700,000 people) was composed of 63% Poles and 26% Ukrainians. By 2001, the figures had shifted to 88% Ukrainian and 0.9% Polish. Today, the region is known as Галичина or Halychyna in Ukrainian, and it was the first stop on my two week trip through Ukraine and Poland.

Setting out from Kocani on a midnight bus, I arrived in Sofia around 5:30am with about 4 hours to kill before I hopped on a train to Bucharest. The train ticket office didn't open until about 30 min before my departure, so I queued up early to avoid any potential problems. While waiting I ran into a Brazilian guy who clearly was confused about where he was and how to get to his ultimate destination in Budapest. In part this was due to the fact that he was forced to return to Sofia after being stopped at the border to Serbia without a required visa. Somehow he managed to convinced the border guards that he was going to raise holy hell with his Embassy about the issue and they gave him transport to an area where he could hitchhike back to Sofia. The entire time I was wondering 'why didn't you check to see the visa requirements for where you're traveling' but I kept that to myself. I always wonder how the 'spontaneous' travelers who don't really plan or think through their trips manage to survive. To each his own I guess.

Eventually the ticket office and I was on my way to Bucharest. My 'kupe' on the train was actually quite pleasant. I shared it most of the trip with a couple of friendly Bulgarian babas who were curious about my travels and offered me fruit and snacks throughout the trip. With the Macedonian/Russian hybrid language that seems to occupy my brain right now (more on that later), I found it pretty easy to communicate and understand them, so it was almost like traveling in Macedonia. Outside the train, the scenery was beautiful, much like the mountains and narrow passes of traveling in western Macedonia. Overall the trip went by fairly quick through Bulgaria. Near the border with Romania, we stopped at the city of Ruse and then passed over the Danube River. It was quite scenic and probably the highlight of that particular trip (besides the Bulgarian babas).

The Ruse train station in Bulgaria.

Near the border

Crossing the Danube

The Danube

Looking back towards Bulgaria

 After reaching Romania, time started to slow down and the landscape got a lot more flat and boring. I kept staring out the window hoping to see some development or buildings to indicate we were near Bucharest. Around 7pm we finally reached the city, after 10 hours on the train, and I immediately went to the kiosk to buy my ticket for the 6am train to Ukraine the next morning. The workers at the kiosk did their best to delay my intentions and this theme of unhelpfulness would definitely continue the next morning. Nevertheless, I got my ticket and set out towards my hostel with two people I met on the train. As for Bucharest, I was a little surprised by my first impressions. Walking around at night, it has a nice vibe around the center and the buildings are lit up an attractive way that gives the impression of some kind of baroque opulence. At the same time, I didn't see much of the city, only the main drag of Calea Victoriei and the old town area. Maybe it was just sort of refreshing to a city using a particular type of architecture with more consistency and better designs. Oh, that's definitely not a knock against Skopje or anything.

The 2nd largest building in the world - the Palace of the Parliament. Built by the dictator in the 80s, there are parts of the building still yet to be completed. 

The next morning I woke up around 4:50 (after getting to bed at close to 1, that was awesome) to walk to the train station and make sure I had plenty time before the train arrived. When I checked the 'big board' at the station, I saw there was an '80' next to my train so I went to the info desk thinking it was probably 80 minutes late. They confirmed it was late 80 minutes, and would probably depart around 7:30am. With lots of time (apparently) to kill, I went into McDonald's to get the only McDonald's food I'll ever eat- breakfast. I kept checking the time, because I wanted to go out and check on the status when I was done just to make sure it didn't arrive early. At roughly 6:35am (23 minutes after my train was originally supposed to have left), I walked out and checked the big board again, and I was surprised to see it now said '20' instead of '80'. I heard no announcement about anything (it was all in Romanian if there was an announcement, absolutely brilliant job Bucharest Nord Train Station), so I walked to the info desk again and they told my train was gone. Yep, gone, just like that. No announcement, nothing, despite telling me to my face that the train was 80 minutes late. My 45 euro sleeper car ticket might as well have burned up at that moment, because when I went back to the ticket kiosk they did nothing to help me other than say the next train is the next morning. So my advice to anyone traveling through Bucharest Nord- do not ever trust anything the station employees tell you. I learned my lesson. If your train is 80 minutes late, get a seat facing the train tracks and face the big board the entire time. Apparently trains can magically make up an hour's worth of time in the span of 30 minutes. Maybe it's like airplanes catching a tailwind.

This was me, half-asleep, and not knowing that the Bucharest train station was in the process of screwing me over while I munched on my Sausage McMuffin. 

Despite this general cluster, I was not going to let them beat me on that day. I was going to get to Ukraine, because if I didn't I wouldn't have a chance to go to the records office the next day (a Friday) and it would totally wreck my trip plans. So I took advantage of the wonderful free McDonald's wifi and found a city called Suceava in northern Romania, close to the Ukrainian border, that had a hostel and I used my Skype phone to ask about how I could get a taxi to the border crossing. To my luck, the hostel owner spoke fluent English and was very familiar with getting people across the border, and he said he'd meet me when I got to Suceava. Once I had this confirmed, I bought my ticket and left Bucharest around 11am. This particular train ride was notable for its complete lack of interesting scenery, and I was stuck in a kupe with a bunch of Romanian guys who didn't speak English. So I just zoned out and tried to pass the time as best I could by listening to music. In Suceava, the hostel owner Ciprian met up with me, and the process of getting from the train station to the Ukrainian border was remarkably smooth. I owed him 60 euros for the trip, but we also breezed through the border thanks to 'greasing the wheels' with the border guards (draw your own conclusions on that). We actually walked across the checkpoint, and meanwhile dozens of cars waited in long queues on both sides of the border. And just like that, I was in Ukraine. About 30 minutes later, my Ukrainian hosts picked me up and we set off north towards the Galician town of Chortkiv (once a Polish town by the name of Czortkow), where I'd spend the next three nights.

Back to the BLOG

It's been a while since I've written anything here (January to be exact), and there are plenty of reasons (or excuses) why. Perhaps mainly there hasn't been anything I've felt like writing about. That's not to say nothing has happened over the last 6 months. It's just that I was never motivated to write. If I chose to write something in January, I probably would have whined and complained about not being able to run because my knee was swollen and inflamed. Or frustrated at the lack of answers about why left hand was still screwed up (I found it was broken two months after the injury- that's Peace Corps medical follow-up!). From February until April it was planning for YMLP camp, Model UN meetings, and starting my graduate school project. In the case of the latter, it ended up as one of the biggest disappointments of my Peace Corps service, but explaining why isn't really interesting to me. I'd rather write about things on the other end of the spectrum.

First, YMLP camp a few weeks ago was awesome. It was a ton of work, starting months before the campers arrived in late June, but I have to say it was overall one of my best experiences as a Peace Corps volunteer. I think one of the highlights was the Day It Poured. We as coordinators feared this day throughout the planning process, and despite our efforts to borrow a large canopy tent for rain protection we could not find an organization help us out. So we went into camp knowing that we were at the mercy of Mother Nature, and if it poured, then we'd just have to deal and hope the campers don't call Mom and ask for a ride home. Well, on the Day It Poured, it really did. Tents and sleeping bags were drenched thanks to shoddy waterproofing (and some people leaving the tents themselves open....). The main 'parade ground' in front of the mountain house facility turned into a mudpit. But the one thing I remember from that experience was during the Karate class held by a volunteer from visiting YMCA West Kent. At that point it had not yet begun to rain, so the instructor and around 10 campers were busy practicing (loudly grunting) their karate moves. All of sudden, the skies opened up and it became a monsoon. Hearing the rain, I walked outside and watched as they continued, not bothered at all by the downpour, and actually having more fun than before. It was like watching a Karate Kid movie, like they all needed the rain for more dramatic effect. At that moment it was clear that the vast majority of the campers really wanted to be at this camp, and a little rain wasn't going to stop them from having a great time.

Tajmiste, near the campground.

Morning announcements at camp.

So camp ended about two weeks ago, and since then I've been prepared for a trip that I've thought about doing for nearly 4 years, ever since my first trip to Krakow in December 2009. Before I left for that unforgettable trip (still one of the most memorable of my entire life), I was curious about whether my family still had relatives in Poland and whether there was a chance I could meet them. I learned from a relative that my Polish great-grandfather Piotr came to America from a village called Potik Zolotyi in what is now part of western Ukraine. This area was always a mix of ethnic Poles and Ukrainians, and after World War II the borders changed, and it became part of the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic. This region, called Eastern Galicia, was 'ethnically-cleansed' by Stalin, forcing nearly all Poles in the area to either relocate west in the communist Polish Republic or head to Siberia or Central Asia. I say nearly all because according to family history my great-grandfather's younger sister Anna remained while the rest of his siblings made their way to America before the outbreak of World War I. I have no idea why she stayed behind, whether she had kids and family, or whether there are others with my family name (Basamanowicz) still today living in western Ukraine. So my goal is to find out about Anna, and of course anything else about my great-grandfather and his siblings, and just see where it leads me.

My great-grandfather's naturalization papers.

My route. While most of the trip is in Ukraine, I could not miss a chance to see more of Poland while I was nearby...

Some of this information I've gathered in the years after my first trip to Poland, but I knew before going to Krakow that I couldn't simply 'drop in' to see my great-grandfather's village and hope to get some kind of deep meaning out of it. I needed to have enough time and help. Time meaning a flexible schedule where if I had to, I could stay 10 days. By saving my last 15 days of Peace Corps vacation for this trip, I can afford to stay in the area basically as long as I need to. I'm planning to go to L'viv, Kyiv, Warsaw, and Gdansk as part of this trip, but that assumes a 3-4 day stay in the general vicinity of my great-grandfather's village. Next, and most important, I needed some help to pull this off. So last fall I started contacting Peace Corps volunteers who either were serving in Ukraine or recently completed their service, and thanks to one incredibly helpful volunteer I eventually was put in touch with a Ukrainian university student (majoring in English), who agreed to not only act as my translator, but also opened up her house for me to stay during my visit. Not only that, my translator's family is going to drive 2 hours to pick me up at the train station in the city of Chernivtsi! I haven't even arrived and I am already overwhelmed by their generosity and hospitality. With the help of a local translator (who happens to live 50km from my great-grandfather's village), I really feel like if there is anything to be found about my family in the area, I will find it. On the other hand, there is a chance I will find nothing too. After my great-grandfather left, two of the worst wars in human history ravaged the area, so the records could have been destroyed or lost forever. Nevertheless, the story about Anna gives me hope, since she would have survived both wars, and supposedly outlived the Soviet Union too. What I do know for certain is that this trip is not like any other I've made before. I have no idea what to expect. But as my first experience in Krakow showed me, I tend to have the best trips in these situations.

When I return on August 7th, expect a full recap and lots of photos. And then expect me to start writing more often because I've been inspired to write about running after reading Haruki Murakami's book about the subject. I'll be training this fall for the Valencia marathon in Spain, and I've realized there are a lot of interesting stories to be told from the runner's point of view...some funny, but many just weird or odd. And of the course the obligatory being-chased-by-giant-dog stories.

2013 is here

The Plaza in Santa Fe.

The last time I wrote here I had just survived a marathon, and this time around, a week ago I returned to Europe from spending the Christmas holiday in the United States. Time flew by quickly while I was in Santa Fe, NM with my family, perhaps partly because it had been 15 months since I'd been back in the states. It was very enjoyable trip though, and it was so nice to spend time with everyone and see how quickly my nieces Helena and Danica have grown up. Of course there were plenty of Skype calls over the past year so, but seeing people in person is definitely much different! My youngest niece Danica could not even talk when I last saw her in June 2011, and maybe had just managed to stand up on her own. Now she's running around and talking up a storm. As per Bonwich tradition, we had plenty of great home cooked meals, and on several occasions we got to sample the local New Mexican cuisine. Amazing food! I really missed the spiciness of a great red or chile sauce, and New Mexico definitely has the best that I've tried. Besides that, Santa Fe is a nice little town, with lots of interesting architecture, art culture, and beautiful mountain scenery as a backdrop. I went running nearly every day while I was there, and the high altitude (over 7,000 feet) definitely provided some great workouts! I wouldn't be surprised at all if professional long distance runners come to the area to train before their big races.

A sample of the Santa Fe architecture with watercolor effect from my sweet new camera.

After about a week in Santa Fe, we started our exodus, starting with my grandmother, then my sister's family, before my parents and I finally left for Albuquerque. On the way there, we stopped at Sandia Peak and we managed snap some nice photos.

View from Sandia Peak.

Albuquerque down below.

The next day we boarded our flight to DC, and I continued on with my long journey back to Bulgaria through Munich. Overall the brief time in the states was just enough time to 'recharge' and get motivated for my last year in Macedonia and in the Peace Corps. I really tried to show a little bit of Macedonian culture to my family, so brought Macedonian honey, rakija, wine...and made a Shopska Salata one night (naturally served with the rakija), and made a version of a Macedonian musaka one night for dinner. Oh, and I prepared some Turkish coffee with the gesve I bought as a gift for my grandmother. One thing I noticed about myself in the process is that I was very defensive when it came to following tradition, in some cases much more than I needed to be! I think in some ways that was a result of the 'readjustment' I went through in coming back, and eventually I just kind of accepted that strictly adhering to what 'they' do in Macedonia wasn't really necessary. More important was just to make the effort to show something different. I guess it's just one of those reverse culture shock things. Another thing I noticed is that people actually run outside in the US :) It was refreshing and motivating to see, and makes me look forward to running with people or maybe a club when I come back home.

So after spending hours on planes and in sitting around at airports, I finally made it back to Sofia on December 31, and had previous plans to spend New Years there rather than attempt to find a way back to Macedonia that same day. I met some new friends and had a nice time at a house party with local Sofians to ring in the New Year. Unfortunately I did not sleep on the plane across the Atlantic so I was pretty exhausted by around 2am, but was a 'trooper' until most of the energy drained out of me around 4am and I needed to go home. Thankfully the next day was relaxed, and I even had a chance to go see a movie called "The Impossible" at the mall before catching my evening bus back to Macedonia.

Since I returned, we had the Macedonian Christmas holiday and all the festivities part of that celebration. Much like last year, I spent the night before Badnik (Christmas Eve) in Obleshevo at the bonfire they hold annually on the soccer field in the village. And exactly like last year, I drank plenty of hot rakija, and listened while my old host father played the accordion and everyone sang traditional folk songs.

The guy with the cigarette was playing the drums with two forks and metal trash bins. It was pretty cool. 

I really like this photo. My host dad with the accordion. 

After waking up late the next day (thank you hot rakija), I woke up to some noise outside, and walking out my door I saw my landlord's dedo and a neighbor making rakija in the backyard. In my semi-hungover daze I must have looked like hell, but I was still offered rakija at 10am. I declined, for 'sometime later', but around noon I joined them for some kebap and rakija. Not bad for Christmas Eve. In evening I was invited up to my landlord's house for the traditional Badnik dinner, composed of meatless dishes like zelnik (a pie made with phyllo dough), bean soup, along with the ceremony of breaking bread to determine who in the family gets the 'parichka' (a coin) hidden inside. According to tradition, the person who gets the coin will have a great luck for the year. 

Unfortunately, I missed out on the lucky coin, but I'm optimistic about 2013. My parents are going to visit me, I'm going to run another marathon, visit my great-grandfather's old village in Ukraine, finish my Peace Corps service, and start a new chapter in my life. And those are just some of the obvious highlights. I'm sure there will be plenty of other things, unexpected probably, that will make 2013 a 'banner year'. I don't know why, but I have a good feeling about it. Ajde 2013. 

A Marathon in Byzantium

Waiting to board the buses to the start line. 

Before last Sunday, my previous experience with the word 'marathon' usually centered around watching multiple episodes of highly addictive TV series, like a good season of 24, to take advantage of a rainy/snowy day, or even just because I had nothing to do. It's definitely a word that gets thrown around casually in conversation, usually to indicate something that is stretched out over a long period of time, and often too long. Well, on the 11th I learned what the real thing is like, and I found out it is a lot more painful and longer than I could have ever realized, despite spending the past 3 months training for it. Murphy's Law was in full effect.

Naturally the night before the race I couldn't sleep much, but I sort of anticipated that so it didn't throw me off or stress me out when I woke up at 5:45 that morning. I had everything fairly planned out. For breakfast I ate my usual muesli (from Macedonia in a small bag) and yogurt, managed to get the hotel bring up coffee to the room, and ate a banana all about 2 1/2 hours before the race was scheduled to start. Everything was according to the routine I had established before my long Sunday training runs in Macedonia. So far so good. Faron (another volunteer from Macedonia, braver man than I to be racing since he had his training schedule completely wrecked by a medical trip to DC for 6 weeks) and I left the hotel around 7 to the bus collection point in the center of the Sultanahmet area and we waited for about 20 minutes before we were off to the starting area on the Asian side of Istanbul, just across the Bosphorus Bridge. We arrived roughly around 8am, with another hour to go before race time. Witnessing the long lines at the port-a-potties, we maneuvered over there around 8:15 to wait, and no joking it took 35 minutes to finally get to the front of the line. Afterwards, we scrambled to make our way into the massive throng of runners (8,500+), and with about 5 minutes to spare, we were ready to go. After a countdown the clock started at 9am, and I clicked on my Ipod to start the 'Long Run Mix'.

While those initial few minutes of the race were certainly scenic as we literally ran from Asia to Europe across the Bosphorus Bridge, I felt like I was in a video game, weaving in between slower runners as I made my way further to the front. I knew my clock didn't actually start until my chip reached the start line, but nonetheless I felt rushed because I wanted to settled into my goal pace as quickly as possible. Unfortunately that was my first mistake: I didn't relax and I was running much faster than I needed to just so I could clear away from the crowd. As we crossed the bridge we reached a stretch with a steep decline, so much so that I took these long, almost comically ridiculous strides. Eventually we settled into a flat terrain and it was only then I felt like I could run normally and try to find my marathon pace. I thought I found that (I didn't) and stuck close to group of runners who seemed to be holding a similar pace. Near the old city, the route headed north and eventually the 15km group split off from the marathoners, and that was around the time where I realized I wasn't feeling so strong. I wasn't panicking, but nothing was coming easy, and my muscles were feeling tight as we rounded the bend near Ayup (not before I saw the Kenyans heading back the other way, dang they're fast). By 20km I was still at or under my marathon pace, but I was a little worried about whether my body was going to hold up for another 22km.

At around this point, we reached the toughest stretch of the race- a long, straight out-and-back course along 'Kennedy Street' that offered a nice view of the water but mainly just pain, pain, and more pain. I spent the initial end of this stretch waiting to see the Kenyans coming back the other way so I knew the turnaround point was somewhere like 40-45min ahead. I waited a long time. By 25km I knew that I would not achieve my goal time for the race, and instead I just wanted to finish the thing with some dignity. My pace started to drop considerably by kilometer 28, maybe before, and by the 30th kilometer my entire body was falling apart. My left side abdomen felt like needles were digging into me, my quads and hamstrings seemed to have 100lb weights attached to them, and finally, both my calves were a moment away from seizing up completely if I didn't do anything. So I had to stop. And then I walked, discovering how completely spent my body already was after 30km. I hoped a few minutes of walking would help, and then I could just finish out the remaining 12km at a slower pace. But my body wasn't having any of it. Within a minute of resuming running, both my calves seized up and I had to stop or they would have cramped up completely, effectively ending my race right there. So I stopped and walked again. And then tried to run again. I tried everything I could, including almost 'shuffling' along the pavement so I was going faster than a walking pace but reduced the pressure on my calves. Didn't work. But I kept doing it, eventually reaching refreshment stations and consuming Powerade and sugar cubes in the futile hope that they would let me get past this awful pain so I could run again and finish strong. No luck. It was trench-warfare running, every small gain I made required an incredible amount of effort. People constantly passed me, many of whom I had passed a long while back, yet I found myself now just fighting to move forward horizontally. It was a painful, humbling, and agonizing experience, and one I'll never forget. I've had my physical meltdowns in the past, particularly back in my rowing days when I went out too hard on a 2000m erg test and the lactic acid build-up shut me down hard. But this was different, because it was literally seven miles of fighting my own body well beyond the point it was willing to accept. Nevertheless, I continued with my walk-shuffle run-walk-zombie run (it kinda felt like that)-routine, and by the 40km mark I was within striking distance of the finish line. I had a very brief 'second wind' around that point, where I ran uninterrupted for about 5-7 minutes, no calf-seizing, until we reached the Gulhane Park and from there it was about 1.5 km to go. And there was no way in hell I was going to cross that finish line walking. By the time I did cross the line, I was in a daze-like state, not sure whether to cry, collapse to the ground, or just enjoy some time where I didn't have to move at all. I was definitely glad to be done.

Looking back on it and seeing the results (and split times every 5km), there were several things that I could have controlled and done better, and several that were totally out of my control. My first 10-15km of the race was far too fast- I was running at least 15 seconds per mile faster than my target pace, and I never trained that way. I also learned that I didn't train enough at my marathon pace in the 3 months leading up to the race. It was only the last few weeks that I did that, and never at the 20-25 mile range that would have been most beneficial. My body wasn't prepared for that degree of abuse, and it reacted quite negatively. Since it was my first ever marathon, I should have raced more conservatively because I really had no idea how it was going to turn out. The biggest uncontrollable factor was that it just wasn't my day. Despite the tapering and resting leading up, I didn't feel the level of energy I've felt on some of my best training runs. Fortunately I'm already motivated for marathon #2 sometime next Spring, so I'll have a chance to work on these things :)

After the marathon, I also happened to realize I was in Istanbul and it's a pretty cool city with a lot to do. While both Faron and I were totally spent that Sunday, we worked up the energy to go explore some on Monday and Tuesday, visiting some of the bazaars, mosques, and taking in some outstanding views of the Bosphorus from the top of the Galata Tower.

Walking around near the Spice Bazaar.

Spice Bazaar. Big tourist trap, was not super impressed but #44 had some great dried fruit selection. 

Galata Tower

Bosphorus Bridge (where we started the race) in the distance.

Hagia Sophia and the Blue Mosque from Galata Tower.

Somehow we managed to visit a Starbucks every single day while we were in town as well. To my (very small) credit, I had a different drink every day, and we never went to the same one. Yeah, Istanbul has a lot of Starbucks cafes. Anyway, besides the sight-seeing and coffee drinking, we sampled plenty of the local Efes beer, which I think is somehow mandated because I saw very little imported beer at the pubs we tried out. We did find a really cool area in Beyoglu, around the pedestrian street Istiklal Caddesi, where there was a dense clustering of outdoor pubs and bars, and most importantly, fairly cheap beer. It was a great place for people-watching and seemed to have far more locals hanging out than the touristy Sultanahmet area.

Istiklal Caddesi

View from the bar.

On my last day I visited the Archaeological Museum of Istanbul in the Topkapi Palace complex, and it was definitely a highlight. It was one of the few museums where 4500-year-old tablets and other artifacts felt accessible, without dense glass boxes around them. There was a special section for sarcophagi, and several of them were extremely elaborate and well-preserved. I'd be shocked if there were many other places in the world where you could find such impressive artifacts.

Archaeological Museum

The Alexander Sarcophagus. Incredibly well-preserved and stunning work. 

After the museum, I wandered over the the New Mosque, managed to get a cheap pide (delicious flat bread sort of a combo between pizza and pastrmajlija), and caught my shuttle to the airport. It was a short but very memorable trip to Istanbul. If I had more energy after the marathon I probably would have seen more and ventured out further, but there's always next time! Or maybe I'll explore other parts of Turkey...

The New Mosque

New Mosque again

Fall in Kocani

The Fall in Kocani is in full swing.

Well, since my last post about a month ago, I've had a chance to settle into a new routine, along with a new home and work site in Kocani. In the process, we've seen some real Fall weather lately, not unlike a typical late October/early November back on the East Coast. Well, minus the giant freakstorm hurricane. For instance, over the last weekend we had more rain in 3 days than we probably accumulated over the course of July and August combined. While it put a damper on outdoor activities, it was a welcome sight for once. Unfortunately, on Monday the rain was borderline torrential, causing some brief local flooding and turning the north-south streets into another river running alongside the Kocanska Reka. For me, I had impeccable timing for when I decided to depart/return from my daily runs in the morning, managing to catch a break or the miss the onset of the downpour, though on Wednesday it caught me right as I turned around to head home. You can't win 'em all I suppose.

I have to admit that training for my first marathon has occupied quite a lot of my energy and focus over the past month, and now I'm sitting here one week away from hopping on a plane to Istanbul. It is hard to believe that I started training for this back in early August, and furthermore how much confidence I've gained since I first started. Now, I look back at the distances I was running in those early weeks and laugh. But at the time, I really did not know what my body could handle, since I have never been a serious long distance runner before, just someone who ran for fitness, usually no more than 5 or 6 miles, while doing other things like biking and hiking. Moreover, it had been years since I've trained for anything, much less a marathon, basically since the end of my rowing days up at end of 2004. What I've found is that whatever drive I used have when I was a rower hasn't gone away, and waking up to go running in the morning these days is no different to me now than jumping on a erg for an hour or carrying a single out of the boat shed. Even my fears related to my unique physical conditions have become a non-issue more or less right after I walk out my front door. I guess it is proof that the body can adapt, even when you think it can't after years of frustration and struggle. Ultimately, this whole experience has been a success, and it doesn't matter what happens after I cross the Bosphorus Bridge in Istanbul on November 11th (besides the inevitable pain of 26.2 miles). Of course, I have my specific goal time in mind and I am optimistic that I will be able to achieve it, but I will only be mildly disappointed if I fail to reach it (yes I'm a competitor at heart, moral victories aren't quite enough for me). Most important though has been the 14 week struggle itself, and I am really glad I decided to go along with a friend's idea to do this back in July while we were pick-axing away at a 4th Century archaeological site. Istanbul is just the icing on the cake. But before changing gears on this post, here are a few photos that are telling from my daily experience: becoming a MotionX GPS nut and tracking every run on my Google Doc spreadsheet:

My longest training run...you can see at the top where I stopped for 3 minutes to have my first drink of water at 20 miles in. Thank God for the water stations awaiting me in Istanbul...

Yep, I'm a bit of nerd with this one. But I must admit it was the highlight of my day to enter in my info after a successful run...

Besides the marathon training, I've been trying to get better integrated into my new community and I am looking for potential secondary projects to keep me occupied. I've decided to take over as team leader for a Model UN club here in Kocani and will be starting weekly English classes with a local beekeeper association after I get back from Istanbul. My main work is with a small youth-focused NGO called the Association of Law Students and Young Lawyers Pavel Satev Kocani. It's easier to just call it 'Pavel Satev'. I think there is a lot of potential for developing the capacity of this organization, and hopefully some of the ideas I have for helping with this will come to fruition over my next (and final) year of service here in Macedonia.

Beyond that, winter is coming...which I note with some dread, but that also means I will be going home to America on December 20th! I really can't wait to see everyone, and enjoy a wonderful trip to Santa Fe for Christmas time. I'm planning to bring plenty of gifts home, naturally including Macedonian wine, rakija, and honey. If only there wasn't a two-liter limit. But first things first, one more week to go before Istanbul, lots of carbs to consume and tapering to endure. Here are some more photos of the Fall I just took today. Also looking forward to getting a new camera when I get back to the states too...this one is on its last legs...

A trip to Albania / Kocani life

After my last posting, two days later I moved into my new place in Kocani. I already love the place, but I'll get to that later. Anyway, I barely had a chance to get settled (though my landlord made every effort to help, like installing a new laminate flooring in my kitchen/living area the same day I moved in), before I left 3 days later for Pogradec, Albania to attend a week-long Youth in Action program training course on Sept 19. The topic of the course was "Give Voice to Minority Youngsters." I was invited to go by my work counterpart, though normally these training courses involve only European citizens. Therefore, it was a fascinating opportunity for me as an American to not only see 'how they do things here' but also meet people from 12 different countries in both Western and Eastern Europe.

Pogradec Albania, short walk from our hotel. Lake Ohrid from the Albanian side. 

Most of our 7 days (well 8 total to include travel) were spent at the hotel, usually outside or by the park area along the lake. We had great weather and it was a good social atmosphere throughout. I did wish though that I had reviewed some of the basic Albanian I learned at our language IST in June, because the hotel staff was friendly and couldn't say much to them other than thank-you and good morning.

After the training sessions concluded for the day, we had chances to see a little more of Pogradec at night, as well as an 'intercultural evening' where each participant (or groups of participants) prepared a table spread that included food, drinks, and a short video presentation about their respective countries. Rather than try to put something together for the US (I was fresh out of Twizzlers and Jack Daniels), I joined up with my counterpart's Macedonia table. Egregious as it was that we had no ajvar for sampling, we nonetheless still had some domashna rakija, smoki, and ressani. It was, naturally, 'timeless.' Other tables included variations on the raki/rakija concept. For instance, Turkey has raki, but it is much more like Greek ouzo in taste than Macedonian rakija. Both the Bosnian and Albanian rakija were closer to the Macedonian variety, though of course јас секогаш повеќе сакам македонска ракија во секоја прилика. That being said, it was great to sample the other types, along with the great food that people either brought or prepared.

Outside of the training course and entertainment, I kept up with my running schedule, which also helped me get to know Pogradec a little better. I couldn't help but snap a few photos with my phone:

Pogradec from the hill above the town. 

Looking north along the coast of the lake from the hill. 

In the process of one of my morning runs, I managed to trip on a rock and went tumbling over into the dirt. Luckily no major damage aside from a few scratches, but I did tweak a muscle or tendon on some rock when I hit the ground so I took a day off two days later. Yep, I apparently needed to have a really painful following day of running in order to have the common sense to take a day off. 

Once we finished up the training on the 27th, I made my way home and immediately set out to get my new place livable...or more specifically, get my kitchen stocked so I could start cooking. Three days later I've got an adequate spice collection and some full cabinets of cooking supplies. As a testament to that, I've cooked meals at home the last four nights, the first time I've had a chance to do that in about a year and a half. Since I generally have ample free time most days (running in the morning and work till 5ish...that is my life!), I get the strong feeling that cooking will become my new hobby. In the past, I've intermittently enjoyed cooking, usually only when I'm making my favorite foods or cooking for guests. Now, it's going to be a major way to pass the time, so I might as well finally get into it for real. After all I am part of the Bonwich clan, so I'll start looking for the Macedonian Cooks Illustrated. 

Beyond the kitchen, I went for a walk yesterday and I realized that I live in a really nice part of the city. I am basically at the northern edge of town, so I'm just a few steps away from the road that leads to the dam/lake area 'Gradce' and what I think is one of the nicest outdoor areas in the region, Osogovo mountain. So naturally on my walk I took some photos, and here are a few that give a good perspective on Kocani and the surrounding area:

The Kocanska Reka (Kocani River), near my house

Looking back  to where I live, one of those houses down there.

Change

The word "change" is clearly a word that has a whole range of meanings, and differs based on the context or even on the personality of the person who uses it. It can be good, bad, or somewhere in between. It's a very applicable word for slogans, protests, homeless people, political campaigns, or even for proposed invasions of sovereign nations. For me, it is less a word I use rather than something that has defined me of late. In the past four or five years, I've had a nearly continuous succession of 'big' changes where either voluntarily or involuntarily the status quo needed to, well, change.

After heading into the Peace Corps roughly 12 months ago, I thought that this pattern might deviate, since typically volunteers spend most of their service, aside from pre-service training, in the same location. But recently I made the decision to make yet another change. On Saturday, I will be moving from my site Obleshevo to the nearby city of Kocani to work full-time with a youth-focused NGO. My reason was simple: I did not want to look back on my Peace Corps service a year from now and wonder why I didn't do enough to make things better. I came to the realization that the only meaningful or potentially meaningful work I had was in a town 10 kilometers away from me. I was spending a few days a week commuting on my bike from Obleshevo, trying to find something, at the least some type of organization that was interested in working with me to offset the days I spent wasting my time and motivation simply 'checking in' at a place that probably at best looked at me as some sort of shiny (or skinny) American hood ornament. I don't think I will ever truly understand why my previous work site wanted a Peace Corps volunteer.

As I spent more and more time in Kocani, and steadily less in Obleshevo, eventually it became increasingly obvious to me that I had to make a big change, but in doing so it would affect more than just my own situation. I had tell my host family in Obleshevo that I am moving Kocani, and it was probably the toughest thing I've had to do since I came to Macedonia a year ago. I was so worried that they would think I'm leaving because I'm not happy with living with them or some other reason. I worried about their financial situation and how my departure would affect that. Thankfully, they were very understanding, since they understand the challenges I've faced with respect to my work situation. I could not have asked for a better host family during my stay in Obleshevo. I'll never forget their generosity and some of the great experiences we've had together, and I plan to stop by from time to time, for a coffee or, more likely, rakija with some meze.

But now I go back to my personal experience with change. In a way, here I am again, crumpling up the piece of paper and starting over. On the other hand, I can make the argument to myself that I'm building on what I've already started, cultivating the friends and connections I've made over the past few months, and finally becoming part of the community in Kocani. I don't think I 'wasted' my time in Obleshevo. I feel like I did what I could given the situation and given who I am as a person. Maybe I could have been more persistent on some things, or held back my personal feelings and tried harder to work with people who clearly had no interest in working with me. Maybe I should have gone 'na gosti' more in my community, learned a few more things, and maybe a future project could have emerged. Maybe I should have gone out to the fields more with my host family, and made more of an effort to learn about farming techniques and crop cultivation. Maybe I should have embraced the fact that the only 'need' I could find in the community that I could help with was adult English class, and maybe I should have turned that into my main occupation as a volunteer. There are a lot of maybes. But I left them unfulfilled, because they don't fit who I am as a person, my current and future career interests, and they are not what I wanted to get out of this 27 month experience. So instead, I made a change. It won't be perfect. I expect bumps along the road, frustrations, and plenty of challenges. But nevertheless, making this change gives me the best possible chance to look back in September 2013 and have no regrets.