ISTANBUL
Split by the continental divide, formerly Byzantium, formerly Constantinople, Istanbul is where I first meet up with Brennan, who will be my travel and photography buddy for the next 18 days. Brennan and I have travelled Europe together before, and we quickly fall into the same old groove of long walks, tea breaks, and the never-ending search for amazing images.
We absorb Istanbul's culture. The call to prayer rings across the city as we make our way past women in black burkas, under ground to the Basilica Cistern, and through the crowds on İstiklal Avenue. At the end of a hot day, we grab a few drinks from a rooftop bar overlooking the majestic Blue Mosque. The bar is empty, but American R&B music blasts from the speakers nonetheless. It's a strange juxtaposition after traveling nearly halfway around the world.
CROATIA
With no whitecaps or haze on the horizon, the Adriatic Sea reflects an intense, vibrant blue. We visit two small towns on the Dalmatian coast, Dubrovnik and Hvar. Something about Croatia gives Brennan and I the urge to split a bottle of wine by the sea at sunset every day, and that's exactly what we do.
The coastal town of Dubrovnik is immaculate. In the late afternoon, we view the white and orange buildings from a wall that surrounds the town and borders the water. Early the next morning, workers polish the shiny marble streets before sunrise. In a few hours, the streets will be packed with busloads of tourists.
Out by the port in the early hours of the morning we meet Bill, a 65 year-old Canadian. The three of us, all photographers, talk as we wait for the sun.
"You guys have it figured out. If I could redo my twenties, I would have travelled. But that just wasn't what you did back then."
Near the island town of Hvar, there is a grouping of smaller islands called the Pakleni Islands that we access by taxi boat. Some of the islands are small enough to walk around in under an hour. Days are spent swimming in the turquoise water and relaxing on pebble beaches. At a nude beach populated by old people, we play poker using different sized pebbles and sea glass for chips.
BUDAPEST
To get from Croatia to Budapest, the two of us take a train that stops in Zagreb. On that train, we meet a Zagreb-bound Croatian man named Ranko. The former Ballet dancer tells us stories of his youth, jokes around, and keeps our cups full of plum liqueur.
"You drink enough of this, you will forget you are from California."
Without Ranko, the second leg of the trip to Hungary isn't nearly as fun.
Budapest, a city of impressive castles and churches rising from the banks of the Danube, is the first city on our trip with cold weather. The clouds put on a show in the early morning, turning pink and reflecting off the calm river.
The cold doesn't stop us, nor hundreds of others, from relaxing in the Széchenyi Thermal Baths. The warm pools, fed by two thermal springs, delight us with their pressure jets, whirlpools, and fountains. Everyone is calm and cheerful.
COPENHAGEN
Each morning, Brennan and I eat breakfast at Granola, a cozy cafe in the Vesterbro district of Copenhagen. We sip our cappuccinos, surrounded by attractive blonde people. It's a great way to start the day. In between bouts of rain, we join the hordes of bicycles and make our way to the colorful Nyhavn for a canal tour.
Fall is alive as the leaves die in Copenhagen. What colors! Bright yellows and oranges flare up on the trees as the sun passes between clouds. A spiral staircase leads us up Copenhagen's Church of Our Savior. The staircase gets thinner and thinner as it spins all the way up to the top of the tower, where it's too narrow to walk any farther.
ROTHENBURG OB DER TAUBER
After a quick stop in Bonn, Germany, where Brennan and I once lived, we explore the small town of Rothenburg ob der Tauber. The city is known for its wall, towers, houses, and medieval history. Small German towns like this captivate me.
Due to travel complications, Brennan and I arrive in Rothenburg separately. It’s a beautiful sunny day, and I spend the afternoon wandering through the town and its surrounding forest, alone in my thoughts. I hear nothing but rustling leaves and a guitarist gently playing medieval songs. The moon floats high above the town.
Here, more than anywhere else on the trip, I fantasize about medieval daily life and drama. Who stood watch on this wall? Did anyone ever really pour boiling hot oil on invaders? How did the entire town not erupt in riot when coffee was banned? Places with such a deep past invigorate my sense of time.
Finally, the trip comes to an end. Brennan (left) and I (right) photograph ourselves on our last night in Rothenburg. Afterwards, sipping a beer, I scan through German radio stations on the old stereo, searching for the perfect song to wrap up our journey.
Footnotes:
Spindrift |ˈspinˌdrift| noun. spray blown from the crests of waves by the wind