🇭🇷🇦🇹🇸🇰🇧🇬 Embrace Fjaka

Hello Adventurers, 

What made sense on paper didn’t make sense in reality…and that’s because there’s a constant war inside my head. The planner — me — wants to travel as much as possible each week (and deftly demands as many marathons from myself as possible…while deaf to the marathoner’s complaints), and the marathoner — also me — is singlehandedly on the hook for all the trekking and the trudging…whether wrecked or ready. The planner says, “You must” and the marathoner replies, “I can’t”…and that hostile opposition is my war, day in and day out.

Anyway, I flew to Croatia last weekend to bang out two marathons there, then flew to Austria on Monday to marathon, then train’d to and fro Slovakia on Tuesday to marathon there, then marathoned Austria again on Wednesday before flying to Bulgaria to marathon it, and then I flew to Greece on Friday (where I’m publishing this from…but more on that next week ‘cause there ain’t space for it herein).

This week was a total fucking blitz of excitement and exhaustion where I covered lots of ground…but didn’t have the idiomatic time to stop and smell the roses…so this issue of the newsletter is a fast-paced telling of six marathons across Split, Vienna, Bratislava, and Sofia. Buckle up!

- Ben Pobjoy

2023 TREK TRACKER

Where in the world...record am I?

• Countries visited: 53

• Flights taken: 55

• Kilometres flown: 81,207

• Marathons completed: 166

• Kilometres trekked by foot: 7,896.8

• Total kilometres trekked since 2015: 70,988

RAPID WEEKLY RECAP

A speedy synopsis for time-crunched readers

• The Wildest Thing: Accidentally stumbling upon a nude beach — while marathoning a hot tarmac path just outside of Bratislava — and skinny dipping with a crew of sexagenarian and septuagenarian strangers🥳

• The Biggest Obstacle: The weather in Split was sorta warm when I was there — only low 30s°C / mid 80s°F — but the sun was super hot…so I had to start my marathons at sunset, and now my internal clock is haywire again🫠

• The Lesson Learned: In Vienna, I re-learned that I still hate German ‘examination shelf’ toilets. DEATH TO THE FLACHSPÜLER🤢

FIELD NOTES: SPLIT, CROATIA

High tourist season on the Adriatic Sea

The airplane lands, you disembark, and typically find yourself in some ‘quasi industrial’ arsehole area on the outskirts of town…something I’ve long found to be an underwhelming way to start a trip / be welcomed by a place. But not in Split. There, I exited Resnik airport and immediately smiled at the sight of the sunlight breaking over the Mosor mountain range as the light shimmered off of the Adriatic Sea. Like, I seriously heard Hank Williams’ ‘Hey, Good Lookin’ start playing in my brain.

This was a pleasant surprise — despite me already knowing the Mediterranean to be heaven — ‘cause I sorta went to Split blind…excluding the fact that I knew the Dalmatian dog breed originated in the region, and that the basement of the Roman emperor’s Diocletian’s Palace was a stand-in for Daenerys’s throne room in Game of Thrones. Oh…and like, I knew Split was supposed to be pretty ‘cause that is its reputation.

If you’re a longtime subscriber to this newsletter, you know that I’m a city slicker that mostly marathons concrete jungles ‘cause I love the action and the chaos. However, I occasionally gotta dip to chiller places to give my sympathetic nervous system a break. It generally operates on high-alert — when in cities — ‘cause I’m trying to avoid drivers running me over and/or assholes tryna run game on me. As such, I had some reservations ‘bout going to Split — being a cruise port city and all — but went to give the ‘ol system a break (and because the flight path worked for my larger travel plans).

Split is a summertime tourist hotspot — and the place is so tiny that it is unavoidable — but the city has that shit on lock. Like, if you take a dump in the street it’ll cost you € 300 as per the municipal warning signs everywhere. Furthermore, the city — and the region — is known for a distinctly lax mode of living that isn’t conducive to destructive bacchanal…so the Dalmatian vibes are fucking primo. And more on that if ya keep reading.

Lots of beautiful people go to Split ‘cause the city — and its coast — are beautiful backdrops for taking thirst trap shots / backshots. And anecdotally, I have probably never felt more outta place…just being this sweaty, stinky marathoning scrub amidst all the bronzed gods and goddesses, be they local or visiting.

Now there really isn’t much to do in Split…and that’s a good thing because the modus operandi here is to sail and/or swim by day, and stroll the Riva promenade at night then socialize on the nearby pier. The beach culture is perfect, and the waterfront as well as the ancient walled city is wind-y and wonderful…and all of it really made my miss my wife. Like, this place is perfect for her — and therefore us — and only idiots like myself would go to such a romantic / couple-y place like this, alone. So yeah, show up with your lover…and leave the kids at home (because you hate them half the time anyway, LOL). And pro-tip, this is where y’all should drink.

Despite Split being geared towards relaxation, there was lots there that I liked doing. Basically, I loved looping Marjan Park at all hours to observe people sunning, people swimming on beaches, people playing water polo in the sea, people diving into the waters off of crumbly concrete structures, and people swimming on rocky shores…I just really enjoyed this forested hillside park surrounded by the sea. Next up is the Stadion Poljud which is an architecturally unique sports stadium that is home to the local football club. It isn’t big — just 34,000 seats — but I passed it one evening when a match was on, and couldn’t believe the roar / chanting / drumming emanating from it…big coliseum vibes (in a small city where Hajduk murals are absolutely everywhere). Lastly, I loved exploring the Koteks Centar which is this sprawling communist-era multiplex…that is crumbling / covered in graffiti / partially barricaded…but still in use by a bunch of businesses. Boys were skateboarding the angular edges / ledges of the grounds as girls had climbed onto roofs to shoot dance-y TikTok videos…and it looked like a dystopian setting right outta Dune or Blade Runner. Plus, my heart gets bigs when I see young people turning unintended spaces into spaces for their own hobbies.

But…

When I marathoned Split, I just couldn’t wrap my head ‘round how such a heavenly place recently knew hell. Like, it’s something you’d be hard-pressed to detect…which is why I’d encourage you to find the mural along Vukovarska Ulica. It’ll make you appreciate the place — and the people / their philosophy — in a much deeper way.

FIELD NOTES: VIENNA, AUSTRIA

The world’s most boring people…have the best approach to housing

If you have trouble sleeping, date a Wiener or go take a nap at any one of Vienna’s super busy yet completely void of laughter — or chatter — terraces. I’m being totally serious. This was my second time here…and the first time I came to Vienna to marathon I thought I had failed to successfully crack the place…but this time around I realized the place is easy to crack — it’s simply so grand and elegant — it’s just that the locals are a total snooze fest…and that’s what makes it so peculiar (i.e. place as good-looking person with zilch personality).

Now, when I imagine ‘continental central-y Europe’, I gotta admit that I ‘see’ Vienna in my mind; be it the Ringstraße or the Innere Stadt. It’s just all so gorgeous and opulent and walkable and luxurious and European-y…in grandeur and scale. It alone warrants a trip to Vienna.

You really gotta get walloped by Vienna’s architecture and extravagance…so I’m hesitant to spill too many beans / reveal too much (and ruin it for you)…but the museums are slammin’, Karlskirche is ornate and ornamental AF, the Baroque halls in the Österreichische Nationalbibliothek are redonk, the colossal Nazi Flaktürme in the one park that could fire 8,000 rounds a minute is peak us-humans-are-so-fucked-up, and the bike / pedestrian paths along BOTH sides of the Danube are great. And ya — blah blah blah — look into it, hit it all, and be dazzled…but that ain’t Vienna. Well, for me at least.

Vienna has regularly been deemed the most livable city in the world; by everything from The Economist (which gave the city this designation three times in the last five years) to Monocle (which is as cool and credible as it gets)…which said Vienna was the best city to live in worldwide. And I didn’t need to read any of that shit to know why.

All I’m saying is, please read this with a very open mind…and imagine how much richer your lived life would be if you weren’t beholden to bankers / creditors, your mortgage or just routinely being sucked dry by a parasitic landlord…and you’ll understand why I love Vienna — due to Wiener social policy — and it is precisely why I can love the place without loving the people (although I love the boring-ass people for the exciting social policies they’ve enacted and upheld).

And it’s why I always visit the Karl Marx Hof when in Vienna…because it was a precursor to Alt Erlaa (my utopia, pictured below), and visiting the latter just gives me hope that we can dream up — and implement — new realities that make life more livable.

IMO, fuck a life where the system has conned us into paying ungodly amounts of money for the most basic of human needs — being shelter — and in turn having to work ourselves to death…to service the 25-to-life financial murder sentence of a home mortgage. Like, if you can even get into the home ownership game these days; 90 year mortgages or not. They’ve cracked living good in Vienna…so Wieners are winners; they’re people we should study more ‘cause we’ve lost out in comparison (like, check your bank statement or the amount of debt you hold).

FIELD NOTES: BRATISLAVA, SLOVAKIA

The former ass-end of Czechoslovakia is tops today

I was only in Bratislava for a total of eight hours…but I liked what I saw. That said, the rip was a brisk one…so I can’t say the impression it made will hold water for others. Maybe accurate, maybe not…

Basically, I hopped off the train, cut through the very charming old town full of lots of fun sculptures, and intended to make my way to some decaying mansion down in Rusovce for some trespassing urban exploring…but altered my route — ‘cause I was getting nuked by the unforgiving sun — to instead go rummage through this farm field of WWII decoys and bunkers before I checked out the UFO bridge as well as the on-the-Danube park full of eatery outposts (and what felt like everyone in town taking in the sunset)…before I caught the train back to Vienna with minutes to spare.

Bratislava slapped, wasn’t ruined by tourists…and it is my strong opinion that these smaller Eastern European cities are reliably rad ala fascinating hodgepodge collision of communist past / capitalist present.

After I re-routed to backtrack north, I stumbled upon a lake when I was roasting…and I was dying to jump in. However, I lacked a towel and a bathing suit so I overshot it…but something in my favour caught my eye so I turned back around. I rolled up to some swim suit-wearing swimmers to ask what type of water it was…which always elicits one of two responses; “Duh, it’s salt water” or “Duh, it’s fresh water.” Eyes roll…but I don’t know the aquatic exactitudes of foreign shit so I just take it on the chin as the locals chuckle at my dumb-to-them inquiry. Anyhoo, some lady told me, “It is fresh water…and it is very sweet water.” So that was the thumbs up…to hit the nude beach section; more accommodative of the birthday suit under my clothes than my lack of swim suit.

Now, I grew up in the suburbs where my shithead squad of pals would hop backyard fences late at night, and skinny dip in strangers’ pools…until the lights turned on inside the home, and the homeowner ran outside to chase us away. However, I have never been to a nude beach before…I’ve just never came across one before (despite all my marathoning everywhere). Like, there is one in Toronto…but it is on an island, and I never go to that island ‘cause it is only accessible by ferry. Furthermore, my city kid wife doesn’t swim / is not outdoorsy at all…and the nudist stuff seems like it is always located in faraway places reached by car; in remote parks or as part of private campgrounds (and that’s a tough sell to my Portugoose ‘cause none of it is her jam).

So nude beaches just aren’t in my everyday orbit…but fuck it…when in Bratislava go buck! I stripped, got into the lake, and it was pretty damn paradisal…and a blessing to cool down (once I let go of my worry that a fish might eat my dick). And the whole thing was really neat to do / experience…just uber natural feeling (and chill) where all these really old Slovakian men and women were swimming and sunning. And like very Garden of Eden vibes…sans snake and apple and original sin…and just like big, bulbous, bulge-y Bratislavan bodies instead.

Anyhoo, a big co-sign of the nude beach on my part. That said, can someone discretely inform me ‘bout the exact age when men’s penises shrivel down to micro-gherkins?!?! I am 42 years-old and need to know how many ‘reg peen’ years I have left…so I can get laid by then / schedule a MAID session when my dick ultimately disappears.

And lastly, I’m basically a total Stan for bygone communist architecture (it’s so preposterous)…and the inverted pyramid of the public broadcasting station (pictured below) was the last thing of significance that I saw on my way out of town…and it sorta sealed the deal for me; that Bratislava is pretty fucking dope.

FIELD NOTES: SOFIA, BULGARIA

Speeding convoys and some nocturnal pow pow pows

I haven’t thought about David Cronenberg’s ‘Eastern Promises’ since I saw it…but Sofia made me feel like I was kinda in it. Yes, I know that Canadian film has the Russian antagonists — and I was in Bulgaria — but both have baddies. Here, it was the massive enforcer-looking dudes with the punch-flattened noses, the inexplicable groupings of black G-Wagons racing through impoverished streets late at night, and the signature ‘woody thud crack’ sound of urban gunshots that are near but far (which FYI sonically differ from the arhythmic belch / bang of a Lada-like vehicle backfiring or the rhythmic beats-per-minute ‘umf’ of Roman candles farting fireballs ‘til they fizzle). All that stuff is here — but not in your face — rather, it’s around that view-eclipsed corner or down the dark side street in gritty and graffitied Sofia. Things were safe for me — and I didn’t have problems — but you wouldn’t want problems here…whether you’re a foreign breed, a runt or a top dog.

Gun shots or not, my time in Sofia was like my time in Bratislava; I had but a single shot to bang-out one marathon, and it was hard to aim myself in any one direction since it was my sixth marathon of the week…and I was pretty damn tired. So I anchored my marathon route with some noted stuff…but really just dug drifting ‘round this faded-colour and crumbly place full of Cyrillic. I’ve never been to Russia — and who the fuck knows if I’ll ever go (due to the times we’re in) — but Bulgaria felt like a stand-in, at least in my imagination.

Sofia was strange and peculiar; I hit the Snail House, The Bells Monument (look it up…speedy construction via nepotism) and strolled through the totally ace statue-filled garden of the Socialist Art Museum…but most enjoyed Knyazheska Garden where the locals have defaced / vandalized the communist-holdovers and plopped a wobbly halfpipe beside the Monument to the Soviet Army. And yeah, I checked out all the notable holy structures; ones once communist and others still religious.

The sidewalks are really chewed up in Sofia — so being wheelchair-bound here would be a nightmare — but I found the city to be dreamy; best enjoyed through the viewfinder of a camera zeroing in on all the textures and the toughness.

BEST LOCAL THING-Y

I have been a pain in the ass since I was born, but only ‘very annoying’ for the past 28 years (since becoming vegan…and thence having the associated dietary restrictions). As such, I can’t afford to be too picky…since others will kill me. So the only ingredients I’m not that hot on are rapini, radicchio and fennel (I find them all to be too bitter)…and hazelnuts (the bane of any trail mix…I just don’t like their taste). And like, I’ll eat that stuff sans complaint if served to me…but it’s stuff I’d never buy for myself when grocery shopping.

Anyhoo, when I checked-in to my Airbnb in Split, I was greeted by a truly lovely host who gave me the lay of the land, marked up some things on one big map (being stuff she reco’d I should see)…and she also gave me a cool, locally-made map with a bunch of regional Dalmatian sayings on it. And then she presented me with a box of Croat chocolates — which internally made me be like, “Oh no…I can’t eat this…because I don’t do dairy…” and — not knowing this about me, she goes — “And they’re vegan too.” And I expressed an “OMG! I’m vegan…phew!” aloud, and she replied that she was vegetarian…and that was the start of our connection.

Later that evening, my ripping sweet tooth kicked in…so my eyes set on the box of chocolates…and then I saw the dreaded word ‘hazelnut’ on it and was like, “Oh, fuck me…” But everything was closed — and I had no other options — so I opened the box of Bajadera…and was pleasantly surprised. Now, it was a hazelnut / almond blend (bless the latter)…but I don’t think it mattered because this native Croat creation is/was killer; a melt-in-your-mouth, very sweet and nutty soft nougat in a chocolate-y coating. And size-wise, they were like those delectable lil pieces of Quality Street confections. Overall, it was unique and tasty…and real generous to be gifted ‘cause these boxes are like € 10 a pop!

Bajadera is made by a Croat company called Kraš, and their short Wikipedia page…it reads like the not-so-sweet 20th century history of Yugoslavia / Croatia…in 200 words or less; very nutty like this confection itself.

POBJOY'S GLOBAL PRICE INDEX

This is an on-going documentation of how much things cost in different places around the world. Here are some of the things I bought in Split, Vienna, Bratislava, and Sofia (all prices converted to USD):

• Two 125 gram tubs of ‘tomate-basilikum’ dip, two packs of 80 gram veggie deli meat slices, two 500 millilitre bottles of Coke Zero, and one bowl of ready-made ‘venere riža na mediteranski način’ from a grocery store in Split: $10.77

• A vegan seitan kebab sandwich and a 500 millilitre bottle of Coke Zero from a take-out joint in Vienna: $10.38

• The combined costs of a public transit train ride and a public transit street car ride for a one-way 1H 15M / 60 ish kilometre trip from Bratislava back to the Airbnb in Vienna: $16.16

• A burger, mega-loaded fries, and a 500 millilitre bottle of Coke Zero from a really good vegan junk food place in Sofia: $17.51

MARATHON MUSINGS

On the nuances of situational intelligence

I’d like to think that Ivana started out as my Airbnb host…and ended up becoming my friend. However, all relations are a two-way street…and she’ll have to confirm or deny the latter, LOL.

And like the Bajadera chocolates she gave me, I’m soft. And it is because I’ve had a very, very easy life; my family has always been loving and supportive, opportunities have always landed on my lap, and my hopes and dreams have generally gone to plan. Furthermore, I have never been hit, harmed or hurt by major trauma, tragedy or trials…being the type of serious shit that can dent us (knowingly or unknowingly…and derail us at the time or in the future). Obviously, I have some regrets in life — which is normal — but that’s just shit I learnt I wouldn’t do — or tolerate — again.

And this isn’t me boasting, it’s just me acknowledging that I’ve had it atypically good compared to most, and I never take my luck / privilege / blessings or whatever you want to call it for granted. That said, I’m not an apologist either; I like that I’m not fucked up because I’m positive and optimistic and can experience life without paranoia or complexes or a chip on my shoulder. Like, if I was closed off…I wouldn’t be open to doing this project nor receptive to what it presents to me as experiences and/or lessons on marathons.

Basically, I’m not hard and I don’t know the first thing about hardship. And one thing — courtesy of conversing with Ivana — which I gave very little consideration to before, is that my soft nougat life has been good because it has played-out in Canada, a stable and consistent country (well, at least over the course of my lifetime).

Some of you may have done some drastic moves in your life; like from one country with one type of political system to another country with an altogether different type of political system. And maybe some of you have experienced conflict or are refugees. But how many of you have experienced — and adapted — to seemingly continual waves of drastic change in one country your whole entire life?

Ivana has…and she’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met, and she really illuminated me to the nuances of intelligence. Basically, she was born and raised in the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia (which was a federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina, Croatia, Macedonia, Montenegro, Serbia, and Slovenia), was in her late teens when the Croatian War of Independence first broke out (which lasted for four years), and in adulthood has stayed in the same land…which today is independent, free market, capitalist Croatia…which joined the EU in 2013…and just started using the Euro this year (which has ushered in a price hike crisis).

Her telling of Yugoslavian communism was interesting; she described it as, “Safe” where many were middle class, had guaranteed jobs for life, housing, where honesty was paramount / word was bond, and people, “Went to work smiling…which cannot be said today.” (Split is economically weaker now than it was under communism, and Ivana commented that the locals digging through dumpsters for refundable bottles today…it didn’t exist / happen under communism here). And while life was better in Yugoslavia — she saw food lines in communist Poland — Ivana said that under Yugoslavian communism no one could openly criticize Tito, church going had to be a quiet affair, and the available clothes were old-fashioned…hence why she’d ride a 10 hour-long bus to Italy on occasion with her Mum to buy better fitting threads…like Levis or Fruit of the Loom (brands that didn’t exist in Yugoslavia for the obvious reasons).

When she was 19, the war broke out for a few years…and while it wasn’t full-on in Split, the signature tactic in the Balkan Wars was snipping (which Hilary Clinton lied about getting caught in), and Ivana recalled gun shots regularly going off around her — and that’s why you had to turn the lights off at home on some evenings or drive with the headlights off — all being things she got used to, but said are things would she would find totally alarming today.

Then independence came and the market transformed…and life as she knew changed again…as it always does here.

And I spoke with Ivana for hours over the course of my stay with her, and I’m so grateful that she was so generous with her time, and answered so many of my questions (like, I asked her ‘bout the specifics of how things worked under communism…and she explained so much to me about housing and healthcare and shopping and salaries, etc.).

What impacted me most, was Ivana’s intimation that people — like Croats — don’t get the respect they deserve…for being really smart people, ones who can adapt to crazy political / economical / societal swings time and time again. Like, from my vantage point — of the easiest life lived — it is just so remarkable; others having — and retooling — their wherewithal to adapt, endure, and evolve…constantly. That kind of situational intelligence…I wouldn’t know the first damn thing about it, and it is a new metric / measure of IQ that Ivana taught me to consider…and I just wanted to acknowledge that.

Anyhoo, Ivana gave me that lil locally-made map book with Dalmatian terms and sayings on it…

Like Fjaka — which Ivana clarified is pronounced like fi-yaka — which the playfully titled ‘Splitctionary’ section said was, “A term often falsely mistaken for laziness. A person is considered lazy if they have something to do, but chooses not to. In the case of fjaka, one has nothing to do and intends to keep it that way.”

So I’d like to humbly add…that the people in these parts aren’t just situationally smart, they’re really soulful and wise…in light of — and despite of — all the change.

And for those who praise nothing, it really is something.

Should you find yourself in Split, I’d encourage you to stay with Ivana.

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