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I was expecting the most of Tunisia, I thought it was going to be a somewhat of a developed country that it was sort of like a mini-France, because it was under French control until not too long ago. Boy was I in for a rude awakening. It turned out to be more like a mini-India, apart from the Hinduism, the cows, the human feces, and the amount of trash everywhere ( there is trash everywhere but not near as much as India). It’s a small nice country, but unfortunately it didn’t meet my expectations until we reached the STAR WARS sets. We were actually going to the set that the first STAR WARS was filmed on, somewhere I only dreamed of going, the planet of Tatooine.

Our STAR WARS tour started in Tunis though we didn’t know it at the time. We saw a funny building that looked upside down. It turned out to be a hotel, but I thought it was more than a building. I knew I had seen it somewhere before, but where could it have been? Maybe the news, or even a movie, but what movie? Then I realized it was the fourth episode of STAR WARS. It looked just like the Jawas’ giant ship that Luke buys C-3PO and R2-D2 off of. The hotel is what inspired George to make the ship in that strange design. We found this out by reading the website www.toysrgus.com that has a section that shows everywhere the Star Wars movies were filmed.

We left Tunis on one of the public transport louages to get to Hammamet where we would redeem dad’s SPG points for some free nights at the Sheraton Hammamet Beach Resort. It was a low level Sheraton, so the rooms weren’t too great, but it sure beat hostels. But because this is a STAR WARS post, not a beach resort post I’ll skip through here and go straight to Tozeur, which we took an 8 hour train to get to from Hamamet. Tozeur is one of the closest cities to the STAR WARS set. It is a small town built by a 10 square kilometer oasis full of palm trees, pomegranate trees, and banana trees, which have an unusual flower that none of us knew about. When the season comes, the bananas emerge out of the flower. It’s from here that we set out in a jeep to the set that served as the small town of Mos Espa, Tatooine. This was a going to be one of the big highlights of the trip for me. I knew it. Just like the Hobbiton was in New Zealand.

We arrived in Tozeur at about 7pm and walked about 500 or more meters (LOL!!! Now instead of miles and feet coming to mind when I think of distances, meters and kilometers come to mind, I just realized that). We went to the nicest hotel in the city first but it was too expensive. It was almost dark so we just went to the closest cheap one, which was a big dive, but to make it seem better we did what we always did in dives to make them seem better, watch our family movie that we love so much, “She’s the Man.” The next day we decided to move to a hotel like 300 meters (there I go in meters again, just know that it’s 3.2 feet to the meter) which for a little more was a little better. Then about an half an hour to an hour after we got settled in our new hotel we got in a horse cart and rode into the oasis. Our driver was a nice man and let me Kieran and Asher in the front with him. He also hopped off and let us steer Sabrina the horse when we got to slow roads. He took us to a farm where he showed us all the fruit trees (that’s where we saw the banana flower) and to an old medina where people still lived. We rode around on Sabrina for an hour and then went back to the hotel where a jeep was supposed to pick us up.

We hired a jeep with 4×4 from the hotel to go out to ‘Mos Espa’ that was scheduled to come at 2 pm. We only got an hour on Sabrina because we were supposed to go back for about 30 minutes before the jeep came. If we would’ve known that we would still be waiting at 3 o’clock, then we probably would’ve fit in the Chak Wak museum that is all about ancient life, Kieran was devastated the most about this, because he really liked the flyer for it and thought it would be fun to go to. At about 3:10 a new guy came to the desk and instead of telling us every 2 minutes that it would be 5 more minutes until the jeep arrived, he told us that it would be better if we went at 4 o’clock since it wouldn’t be so hot then (it’s in the desert). My Mom and Dad were mad the we wasted that much time in the lobby, but Dax, Kieran, Asher, and I weren’t too sad because while we were in the lobby we were making comics. (It’s a newfound hobby for Dax and me. We like to make funny little comics for the little kids.) So we went up to our room and waited for the reception to call and tell us that the jeep was there.

They called our room when the jeep arrived and we all hurried down the stairs to get in. Since we were going into the desert, we brought lots of water. We thought that the jeep would at least have AC, but it didn’t. It was pretty hot in the car, so we rolled down all the windows. That cooled us down a little but it also let a lot of dust in the car. It was about 40 kilometers to the STAR WARS site and most of that was on sand roads, so it took a while to get there. The driver also went over ledges and things that weren’t part of the road for our entertainment. Every time he went over a bump everyone would fly off their seat and bump into each other because the car was so cramped. There were 8 people in there and I don’t know what one of them’s job was. There was the driver and some other guy that was up with him that wasn’t a tourist. I think he was supposed to be our guide but he didn’t speak very much English. The rest of us were cramped in the back two rows.

The drive there was pretty amazing. There was a paved road the first 10 or so kilometers but the rest was all sand and dirt road. There were these crystals everywhere that glittered and sparkled in the sun, so we we made sure that we stopped and picked some up. We also made a quick stop at Camel Rock, which was a big rock that was in the shape of a camel, hence the name camel rock. Near Camel Rock there was a little shop that sold desert roses like every other shop in southern Tunisia. They’re crystallized water and sand that make strange shapes with lots of semi-circles sticking out.

When we left Camel Rock we entered an area that instead of mud hills had sand dunes. To get to the dunes we had to drive down one more big ledge and ride on one more wall. It seemed like it almost tipped the jeep over over one of the dunes. I could see something that looked like STAR WARS, so I asked the guide or whatever he was, “STAR WARS?” He replied, “No STAR WARS. STAR WARS dere.” He pointed just over the dune right ahead of us. I got really excited, I was actually going to walk around the set where they filmed STAR WARS. We had already driven through the area where they did the pod racing. In the bumpy car I actually felt like I was in the pod race. We took the dune head on, but unfortunately our car wasn’t as strong as the car ahead of us, so it couldn’t move when we were almost to the top. The driver had to reverse back down the dune and go around some of it. He found a part that wasn’t as high and put the pedal to the metal. We made it to the top of the dune, and when I looked through the windshield I could see Mos Espa! There it was–the real set that they filmed STAR WARS in!

The jeep that made it up before us was stopped and all the people from the car were out taking pictures. But we decided that it was too windy for Dad’s camera because sand would get in it, the same with the little kids’ eyes. We drove down the other side of the dune very carefully, especially at the bottom. “Nice and easy, nice and easy,” I was thinking to myself, because if we went too fast we would get stuck in the sand. Luckily we made it down safely and about 40 meters ahead was the set. There it was, right in front of me. Now I was about to burst with excitement. Right when we stepped out of the car we were swarmed with children and old men alike, all trying to sell us things. None of us can stand this. We know they’re just trying to make a living, but they are so pushy! If they are selling a hat, they say, “Free gift, free gift!” and put the hat on our head. When you say thank you and walk away, they get mad and ask for money. But we have had that all over the world and learned how to respond. You can push the “gift” away and then walk or run away. If they drop the “gift” in your arms, you can pull them up so it falls (if it’s not breakable) or just put it on the ground and walk away. When we finally made it through the salespeople to the set, Kieran and I darted off to see everything.

Everything was pretty beat up, but there it was! Just like it was just like in the movie! There were the pillars, the doors, and everything else! Because everything was beat up and the paint worn away, you find out what they made everything out of. The weird AC doorbell-like things outside the house are just taken apart computers. The houses were made out of a little bit of plywood, stucco, and chicken wire. The pillar electronic things out in the open are just made out of wood, and the inside of the doorways that have all the little rectangles on them are made out of foam. Kieran and I wandered around pretty much every part of it, going in almost every house, touching everything on the way. In one house the back wall fell so broken stucco was everywhere. Kieran and I snagged four small pieces of stucco from the sand and went on to another house. While we were in one of the houses, we heard Dad yelling at us to get in the car so we ran back trying not to get sand in our eyes from all the wind. Dad told us that we had to leave even though we still hadn’t seen everything. Kieran started to cry because we missed the back and the left side, and he still wanted to see it, but Dad couldn’t stand all the old men and children following him and by now the wind was really strong so sand was blowing everywhere.

Our ‘guide’ told us that we could have 10 more minutes to see the rest, so dad took us out for like three and came back. In that time we were able to see the back part of the set and find a small desert rose in one of the huts. When we got back Kieran was still about to cry because he didn’t see the left half. I was pretty upset too, so Mom took us because the kids and old men bothered Dad more than anyone else. We made it over to the left half where there were three jeeps of tourist walking around. We managed to squeeze into the rest of the huts which were all very cool (cool and a cool temperature too). One had some charcoal in it and there was hundreds of names on the wall. Kieran and I decided to write our namesup there too, so now our names are up there for us if we come back. There was one really creepy guy that followed us into the hut with the names and kept trying to put a hat on Kieran’s head. This guy creeped Mom out a lot so she told us to leave. When I tried to leave the man blocked the door so I couldn’t leave, then he put a hat on my head (my head has itched ever since). I threw the hat back at him and as he was catching the hat I ran out the door and caught up to Mom. I looked behind and he was still following us, so we started to walk faster. Finally he gave up on us and went for some French tourist. As we were walking by one of the pillars to get to the jeep, I kicked something metal and it flew up. I bent down to pick it up and it turned out to be a screw off of the pillar. I put in my pocket for a keepsake, Kieran also find a keepsake, larger than mine though. It’s a block of wood that came off one of the houses or a pillar. We had seen it all and had our keepsakes in our pockets, so we hopped in the car and drove on a bumpy road to a small town named Nefta. It was right by the oasis, and we went to a ledge where there were palm trees for miles (or kilometers). After Nefta we were all pretty tired so we went back to the hotel.

The next day we took a louage to Matmata, the place where they filmed the Lars residence. The road there was amazing. There were these salt flats that looked like oceans. It was so white that this abandoned bus in the distance looked like it was floating. We got to Matmata around noon and found a hotel to stay in about 2 hours later. We hiked down a hill down from the louage station to get down to an empty tourist information and from there Dax and Mom scoped out some other hotels. We decided that we were definitely going to stay in a cave hotel, but we didn’t know which one. They both weren’t very clean, but one was cleaner than the other. The less clean one was the one where they filmed STAR WARS. After Mom and Dax got back, Dad, Kieran, Asher and I went to look at both of them. Mom chose to let me and Kieran decide where to stay because we cared about staying in the STAR WARS hotel. Dad, Kieran, Asher and I all agreed on the STAR WARS cave because it had an outlet, which the other didn’t, and it had the place where they filmed STAR WARS, which of course the other didn’t. Even though it was kind of dirty, we managed to sleep in our sleep sacks even with the brown and yellow stains on the sheets and pillow covers alike. I thought that it was worth it because we were actually in Luke Skywalker’s house. Right outside our beat up broken door and 50 feet down the hall was the big center room of the house. Even though I didn’t like the dinner or the breakfast there, I think it was truly worth it because now every time I watch STAR WARS episode 4 I can say, “Hey I’ve been there!”

If you aren’t in Tunisia you can also get good replica’s at this website www.masterreplicas.com

Technorati Tags: Family travel, Hammamet, Mos Espa, Ong Jemal, Star Wars, Star Wars locations, Tatooine, Tozeur, Tunisia

When you quiz round the world travelers, their itineraries usually contain many of the same core countries and regions: Southeast Asia, India, and Australia are the most common with Africa and South America coming in just below (unless you’re in the Pacific Rim, the southern hemisphere really drives RTW airfare costs up). Eastern Europe is less common, though not unheard of, as is North Africa, our current location. We’ve met others who have hit Egypt, Morocco, and even Ethiopia, but we don’t know any one else who has included the small country of Tunisia in their RTW plan. There are probably many reasons for this: 1) cost of getting here–unless you’re coming on a package tour from Germany or France, there’s no rock bottom way by boat or air from Europe, and overland travel requires riding the highways of Libya or Algeria, either impossible or inadvisable at present; 2) its wonders are overshadowed by the pyramids of Egypt to the east and the more famous souks of Morocco to the west; and 3) many people have never even heard of it.

As itinerary master, I was turned on to Tunisia for 3 reasons (there’s great comfort in threes): 1) Carthage and Hannibal; 2) Star Wars (all 6 episodes); and 3) it would allow us to get back to North Africa without having to endure Egypt, a place that strained Tom and I to our limits in 1999. Much like Turkey, Tunisia boasts a western-friendly, secular regime and is therefore less intimidating for us than its Islamist neighbors. On the flip side, as a former colony of France, its official languages are French and Arabic, both tongues that elude us. (Between Tom and I we can get by in Japanese, Russian, and German, and we’ve learned a little Mandarin and Spanish for the trip. Both big boys study Spanish. Alas, no Francais.) Language barriers have yet to deter us from visiting a place, so we decided to make Tunis, Tunisia’s capital, the fifth of the six stops on our round the world tickets.

We arrived at the airport around midnight, after yet another connection through Paris (now our most visited city of the trip). We didn’t know what awaited us outside the airport doors but hoped the people would be friendly and the weather temperate. In a scene out of India, a herd of taxi drivers swarmed around us, grabbing our bags and shouting loudly in an attempt to win our business for the night. A seasoned handler of overly aggressive cab drivers, Tom swung his arms and in one Matrixlike motion recovered all the bags and silenced all the drivers. “You,” he proclaimed pointing at the driver of a dilapidated yellow station wagon. “15 dinar to the Sheraton.” The other drivers muttered, yelled, and threw up their hands at the great offense they had just been dealt and refused to clear the way for our cab once we had climbed inside. This was an inauspicious introduction to Tunisia, but if you were to judge a country by the cab drivers that frequent its airports, you might think the whole world a hostile, dishonest place. We soon learned that these drivers were the exception in this humble Mediterranean nation.

The next morning we visited the medina, or ancient walled city. No sooner had our driver deposited us on the street than I was stopped on the sidewalk by a young woman with her son. “I saw you on Oprah,” she exclaimed. “You did?” I asked. “Yes, you were in South Africa. You’re welcome to Tunisia.” I could tell that she meant it. We spent the next few minutes chatting about her country and discussing which locations we should visit. “Thank you very much. Please enjoy Tunisia,” she said as we parted. Imagine that, she was thanking me when she had been the one to extend such kindness. This could be our kind of country, I thought.

Just so we didn’t get big heads, a man in the medina’s busiest souk decided to set us straight. I constantly quiz Tom on the whereabouts of his wallet and remind him whenever we enter a new city of the hotspots for pickpockets. He’s usually prepared but on this day, he let his guard down just a bit. I was ahead of him by about 10 feet, shepherding the little kids. Suddenly he shouted ahead to me, “That guy just unzipped my camera bag.” I spun around to find three men wedged between us in the jam packed marketplace. “This one,” I shouted back, pointing to a tall, skinny man trying to take a quick left down an alley. I was ready to body block him with all my 90 pound might because frankly I’m fed up of being viewed as tourist prey by thieves. “Non, monsieur,” he pouted holding up his hands to show they were free of loot. Tom performed a quick inventory and verified that the important stuff was all still in place and called back, “I don’t think he got anything.” I let him pass. It wasn’t until four or five days later when we went to charge the spare camera battery that we realized it was missing. What the thief could do with it, we couldn’t imagine, but it marked the second time in nine months we’ve been snookered by thieves. (The first time was by a shifty cab driver in Xian, China.)

We left the souk unphased, figuring we had outwitted the thief, and found a fun cafe where we could have our first Tunisian lunch. We quenched our thirst with delicious lemonade and got really confused when our pizza arrived covered in canned tuna–a local specialty for which we were unprepared. As we ate, we noticed a group of women at the table next to us who seemed unusually interested in us. We started clearing the table to leave, and one of them spoke up, “Excuse me. Were you on the Oprah Winfrey Show a few weeks ago?” Now we were beginning to feel like celebrities.

Again we had a lovely but brief visit with the three women, all instructors at a local university. They explained that many at the school watch Oprah to improve their English and that our episode had aired just one week earlier. Tom was eager to hear whether our voices had been dubbed or whether we had appeared with subtitles. The answer: Arabic subtitles. As with the woman on the street, these lovely ladies extended us a warm welcome to their country and thanked us profusely for speaking with them.

We spent the rest of the afternoon wandering the streets of Tunis, finding the ever necessary supermarket, and soaking up the Tunisian sunshine. Any time someone looked at us longer than usual or whispered to a companion we wondered if we were once again being recognized. It was a handy way to remind the kids they should always be on their best behavior, but then we remembered that we’re a traveling circus and draw attention to ourselves wherever we are. (If you know Asher, you understand what I mean.)

Grateful for the warmth we had been shown, we drifted off to sleep in our Sheraton beds hopeful that the rest of our days in Tunisia would be as good as our first.

Technorati Tags: Family travel, Medina, Oprah, Round-the-world, Royal Orchid Sheraton, RTW, Tunis, Tunisia

What a great chapter in our trip Eastern Europe has turned out to be! We came not knowing what to expect and were pleasantly surprised at every turn. We found Bulgaria refreshing, Romania intriguing, Hungary inscrutable, Ukraine unspoiled, and Poland simply dazzling. By the time we got to the Czech Republic, the westernmost of our eastern destinations, our expectations had risen significantly. Could Prague live up to its reputation as the jewel in Eastern Europe’s crown?

After our picture perfect, balmy spring days in Krakow, Tom joked that a Siberian cold front was predicted for Prague. Though he hadn’t actually checked the forecast, it turned out he wasn’t too far off. We exited the train into a warm, humid Czech evening, but by the time we got settled in our apartment and ventured down the street to McDonald’s, the air had turned frigid and quick bursts of intense rain and thunder crashed through the city. Even though I was primed to see Prague, I was secretly hoping for rain so that we could spend at least one guilt free day inside. Having experienced only 4 or 5 days of brief spells of rain on our 250+ days on the road, we would welcome a weather-induced reprieve every now and then.

Kieran especially was ready for a break from our constant motion and issued an ingenious new threat: “If you make me go into that castle, I will scream….and throw things.” After Veliko Turnovo, Bucharest, Brasov, Budapest, L’viv, and Krakow, he was burnt out on medieval fortresses. It was hard to fault him for his 7-year-old impatience with Gothic and baroque architecture and a small part of Tom and I probably felt the same.

The glum forecast held the first day with gray skies and chilly temperatures. We wandered around all the obligatory sites, including the castle, figuring this would be our only chance to do so without umbrellas. We didn’t actually enter any building other than the St. Nicholas Church, opting instead to take in the sights from the scream-free zones outside. We loved the musicians on the Charles Bridge, which included a group that played only 1920’s jazz, a one man band a la Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins, and a guy who sang Midnight Special through a kazoo-like horn. At the end of the day we felt like we had done an admirable job of seeing the heart of the city and could comfortably slough it over the next few days as the rains moved in.

Imagine our surprise when we awoke the next morning to bright sunshine and clear skies. The temperature was still a little brisk for May but perfect for Tom who overheats easily when sightseeing (he’s a big guy). Apparently the Andrus weather mojo had kicked in. So what were we to do? The kids were in heaven in the apartment, where we had two bedrooms (one with an internet connection), two bathrooms, a small kitchenette, and a massive living room with floor to ceiling windows, satellite TV and a sofa bed. But the sun was shining and Prague was beckoning. We compromised. We forayed out once again, this time at midday, and decided to take in a few of the lesser visited museums.

Tom took McKane, Kieran, and Asher to the Alphonse Mucha Museum, which proved to be a crowd pleaser. Mucha gained fame as one of the last representatives of the Art Nouveau movement in the 1890’s when he became the official artist for actress Sandra Bernhard. Tom told the kids the story of his life and they were fascinated by his colorful canvases.

Dax and I shelled out a steep $9 entrance fee for the Museum of Communism, which is poignantly located on the floor above McDonald’s across the hall from a casino. (Pickled old Lenin must be rolling over in his mausoleum.) As the resident history buffs, we were intrigued by the Velvet Revolution, the bloodless 1989 transition of the former Czechoslovakia from Soviet-backed communism to western democracy. The museum promised to give us an inside view of life under communism, something which as yet we hadn’t really seen.

We had just come off a visit to Auschwitz, a sobering, solemn experience, and hoped this would be less traumatic. Given the levity of the museum’s posters,we were expecting a rather lighthearted treatment of Marx’s legacy and for the most part this was true. The exception was the reminder at the entrance that the victims of communism, including those who were purged, imprisoned, starved, and otherwise deprived, number in the tens of millions. We were amused by the depictions of ration shops, secret service offices, and factories, but most intrigued by the accounts of the initial Soviet-backed takeover of 1948 and the Soviet invasion of 1968, the famous Prague Spring. People here, free from the cultural hegemony of Russia, never really took to communism and often tried to break free of the communist yoke. When the USSR collapsed in 1989, Czechs filled the streets of Prague to demand the resignation of the communist regime, and thankfully they acquiesced.

The view of everyday life the museum presented was one of limited choices, limited freedoms, and limited availability of food and other daily necessities. For those of us who have grown up outside the bounds of communism, it is hard to imagine this as a desirable lifestyle, yet the Czech people we talked to confirmed what we had heard in Romania, Bulgaria, and Hungary–that many older people long for the old days and would gladly trade choice and freedom for security and control. Under communism, everyone was guaranteed a job and a place to live. Everyone had money, not much, mind you, but enough to buy the few goods available to them. As Simona told us in Romania, “Back then people had money but nothing to spend it on. Now they have no money and a million things to spend it on.” This is a perspective we had never considered. Younger Eastern Europeans won’t be voting for a return to communism any time soon, but they live with the unique knowledge that capitalism and democracy do not guarantee satisfaction.
The remainder of our time in Prague we devoted unabashedly to self-maintenance and rejuvenation. Fueled by frequent take-out from the Indian restaurant next door, we jammed out emails, schoolwork, and trip-related research, washed and dried all our clothes, and caught up on world events with CNN. I had grown tired of 9 months’ worth of brown roots screaming out from under a pate of red and gold highlights, so I walked down to the corner drug store for a quick fix from Schwarzkopf. Kieran was begging to go all blonde like Dax, so I picked up a highlighting kit for him as well. After a few hours of my best beautician impersonation, I was once again a full-fledged brunette and Dax and Kieran were newly golden boys. My hair care budget for the year is now up to a whopping $6 while the boys’ hovers at $12. Who says you can’t save money while traveling?

Our last morning in Prague was typically eventful, involving forgetting the passports in a secret drawer in the apartment and getting split up into 3 groups as we raced back to retrieve them. Having not fully embraced the public transport system (i.e., we hadn’t even used it over our three days in the city), we politely declined the receptionist’s offer to call us a $50 cab and, passports in check, set off to ride the metro/bus combo to the airport. One hour and $4 later we were at the Air France counter discovering that once again the system claimed we had paper tickets when we did not.

So, Prague….jewel in the crown? Probably. Idyllic respite for the Six? Definitely. Now it’s back to Africa!

Technorati Tags: Czech Republic, Family travel, Mucha, Museum of Communism, Prague, Round the world, Round-the-world, RTW

Krakow, arguably one of the most beautiful cities in Europe (probably the most beautiful in Eastern Europe) has a rich history and a vibrant population. Our mere three days there were not enough to make a real analysis of the city, but we did manage to get some feel of what Krakow was like. Throughout history Krakow has been through a lot, whether it be a Tartar invasion, a Nazi extermination, or a Soviet occupation, Krakow has seen it all. When we would walk down the streets we could hardly help but think of the people who had inhabited it during the various time periods. Looking at buildings that were once the homes of hundreds when the ghettos were established, or the famous tower where the lone trumpeter warned his countrymen of the coming Tartars, you couldn’t help but feel like you were walking amongst living history. It’s truly an incredible place.

We were dropped into this place fresh out of an unpleasant ten hour Ukrainian train ride which covered about twenty miles. We hopped off the train and were put into a place that seemed almost like home. A mall! No, not a crappy second or third tier Indian or Thai mall, a real mall. Better than the ones at home. It was huge, had some amazing ice cream, and was actually connected to the train and bus station. Here we replenished our tired selves with some Subway and ice cream. When we finally exited the mall, we had no idea where we were going and rain clouds loomed overhead. We went to a tourist information office and hid from the now torrential rain fall and gusts. We got some information and talked to a local city guide who gave us some hints for dealing with taxi drivers (he referred to them as ‘f—ers’—not sure where he picked up his English!). The woman at the desk told us that we should go on the tram. The thunderstorm had passed and the sun was shining, so we followed her instructions and crossed the street to the tram stop. We boarded but soon found things were harder than they seemed. All the trams were being re-routed thanks to a visit from the Ukrainian president who had followed our lead and gone to Poland (though he probably hadn’t taken the 10 km/hr train). A friendly guy fresh from the pub tried to help us, but it seemed with the road closures no tram could get us to the Sheraton. We finally got there by walking after a prolonged detour of tram rides that took us exactly one block from where we had started.

When we arrived we found the security a little tight with metal detectors and baggage screening machines at the entrance. We soon found out that the Polish president had come in from Warsaw to meet his Ukranian colleague and was staying in the same hotel as us. It seems both presidents were following our lead (I’m sure they’re avid readers of sixintheworld.com). We further observed that the entire parking lot was blocked off so it could be patrolled by fifty secret service agents. There was one posted outside the room next to us as well. We weren’t sure who was inside, but it felt a little creepy having our movements so closely monitored.

When we finally left the Sheraton to go and see what Krakow had to offer we were amazed. As we walked down the streets, we felt as if we going back in time. There was no better place to start than the city square. Here we listened to some local accordion players, watched second (or maybe third) rate break dancers, and let the little kids watch some puppet shows. There was also some sort of concert going on. It seemed to be traditional music but we never hung around that side of the square long enough to find out. We sat in the square for what must have been hours, soaking up the sunshine and watching the crowds. Everywhere we looked the people were smiling and happy, a big difference from some other Eastern European countries we traveled to. In fact, Poland seemed more like western Europe than eastern. While some of the old Soviet bloc countries have retained an almost entirely foreign atmosphere, Poland has jumped right into a western European mindset. One cab driver reminded us this is because the country had been part of western Europe for centuries and a member of the Eastern bloc for only 60.

We continued our adventure around Krakow by going into the old Jewish ghetto. At the advent of World War II, Jews had inhabited the area known as Kazimierz for over 500 years. They had been forced out of Krakow in the 15th century and built a thriving community just outside the city walls. The Nazis forced all of Kazimierz’s Jews into another ghetto across the river and killed them in the concentration camp portrayed in Schindler’s List. This place was very saddening. Every building seemed to tell its own story of how hard life was during the occupation, of all the bloodshed and horror that had happened around it. (We also went to Auschwitz, the main death camp during the occupation, but that is another post.)

While we were walking down these streets, we noticed a huge crowd gathered around a small street. We made our way over and found out it was a Catholic procession honoring Krakow’s patron saint, Stanislas. This is in the old Jewish ghetto mind you. It was fun to see how excited the people got about their religious leaders, who walked by waving in their robes, but it was also strange to think that the original inhabitants lost their lives because of their faith. This experience sums up how we feel about Krakow: it is a city that bears the scars of the past but that looks positively towards the future.

Technorati Tags: Family travel, Krakow, Poland, Round the world, Round-the-world, RTW

Anne has created a list on the Quick Facts page detailing how we’ve spent our different nights on the road. I got a kick out of reviewing the many different ways we’ve found rest throughout the trip and realized we’ve become flexible enough to handle almost any situation. Upon our departure last August, we were a normal, spoiled American family. Each kid was accustomed to his/her own bed and in the case of the big boys their own room. During our first two weeks I had an enlightening and humbling conversation with a man I met in church in New Zealand. He was thrilled by what we were doing and explained that he had tried to give his kids as much travel experience as possible on a limited budget. “We would pile all the kids (somewhere between four and six) into a van and drive somewhere in New Zealand for a week or two.” On these trips they couldn’t afford hotels but were all “happy to sleep in the van.” For the Andrus family that was unimaginable. At that time if you put us in a van, you would need to replace “happy” with “infuriated” and “sleep” with “all night leg wrestle.” However it was only a month later that we would be sleeping in a minivan outside the Australia Zoo.

We’re still not what I would call roughing it, but we’ve gotten much better at settling down and sharing a bed, a train, or an inflatable mattress. When our travel agent in India “forgot” to get us a hotel in Mumbai, our only option was to put the whole family in one double bed in a $130 hotel room. So we did. On the days when we were moving quickly through South Africa and striking camp early in the morning, all six of us slept in a 4-person tent. Many places we stay there are only three single beds or one double and one single bed. No problem. In no time three of us will be snoring and the other three will be enjoying their comparatively silent sleep. Of course this often means an extended check-in process at hotels or pensions as we try to convince them we can fit in one room (often a budgetary necessity). “It really isn’t that bad,” we explain. Most of the time we get our way, but as we’ve inched towards western countries, they sometimes get us with things like “fire-codes” and “hotel rules.”

Regardless of how small our rooms or tents have been we try to keep things in perspective. There are plenty of people around the world who sleep in far smaller spaces in far less comfort. When we arrived in India, we were shocked by how the children slept. Together 35 kids and four teachers shared six to eight woven plastic mats on a tile floor. They happily slept on the first floor while the six of us shared four single beds upstairs…at least during our first few nights we shared the four beds. Though it was winter, the temperature was still in the 90’s during the day and still stifling at night. The first night we had air conditioning, but the water running down the wall from the aircon unit didn’t bode well. By the second afternoon, it had given up the ghost and we were left to endure the night time heat the Indian way, with a ceiling fan. The kids and teachers on the first floor had a functional air conditioner, but they chose not to use it, claiming it gave the children breathing problems and really wasn’t necessary. Sticky, sweaty heat and tile floors are not the the ingredients for a good night’s sleep, but the kids and teachers had no complaints. After our third night of sleeping in pools of sweat, limbs sprawled and tongues extended as if we were dogs in a sauna, the kids moved to a thin blanket on the hard tile floor in order to be directly under the fan. If our kids are good judges, then beds and sheets don’t enhance one’s sleep as much as circulating air does.

When talking about our sleep, my size leads me to ramble about space. Anne would argue that space is not the big determining factor for how well we sleep at night. For her cleanliness, or at least a semblance of cleanliness, is paramount. She loved camping for this reason. She always knew our stuff–tent, mattress, sleeping bag–was clean. For nights of questionable hygiene, we have sleep sacks. These little silk or polyester sleeping bag liners have been lifesavers for us. Anne is small enough she turns hers into a chrysalis and emerges each morning unblemished by dodgy sheets and pillows. The kids have also been known to take their sacks out in situations where they would like to hide. They crawl inside and before you know it they are in a state of bliss. These sacks are what get us through situations like “the diarrhea motel” in Thailand, the “roach train” in Vietnam, and the many nights we slept with the lights on in an attempt to keep the bugs that come out in the dark from crawling into Anne’s mouth.

Whether it is a lack of space, bugs, or putrid smells, our family’s ability to sleep in diverse locations has changed radically on this trip. This was never an intention of ours, but it is an interesting and useful life skill that should serve us well and prepare us for many future adventures. I think I hear Antarctica calling.

Technorati Tags: india, sleepingbags, Round-the-world, RTW, sleep, Sleepsacks, tent

Over the past nine months we have seen some of the world’s greatest natural wonders and experienced many of humankind’s greatest accomplishments. Sites like the Great Wall of China, Angkor Wat, the Taj Mahal, and the Hagia Sophia have filled us with wonder and reminded us that man possesses awesome power to shape his environment. These structures, though unique in purpose (and built at great human cost), are an expression of our common quest for comfort, inspiration, and safety.

Last week we decided to visit a site of an entirely different nature, a place that represents not the heights the human spirit can reach but the depths. This place was one that none of us really wanted to see, but one Tom and I felt we had to. In 1940 outside the town of Oswiecim in southern Poland, occupying German forces took over an old army barracks and converted it into a camp for political prisoners and other enemies of the state. The facility came to be known as Auschwitz, a later nearby extension as Birkenau. It was here that the Nazis murdered more than one million people–Jews, gypsies, Jehovah’s Witnesses, Catholic priests, Polish dissidents, and anyone who supported them.
A visit to Auschwitz is painful, however, people come here not to hurt but to heal. Somehow standing along the wall where thousands were lined up and shot, in the chambers where they were poisoned, and in the barracks where they were housed like animals makes their suffering real. It makes something unfathomable fathomable, something distant close.

The entrance to the site warns that it is not recommended for children under 14. Since three of our six fall into this category, this made our visit complicated. The 14+ members of our group wanted to immerse ourselves in the “museum,” yet we knew we had to carefully cater our visit around the needs of our three youngest members. As we entered the facility, passing under the infamous “Arbeit Macht Frei” sign, we explained that terrible things had happened in this place 65-70 years ago. We didn’t dwell on details but reminded the kids that they should try their hardest to be quiet and reverent out of respect for the many people that had died here. Their job was to sit on the steps outside the various buildings and draw in their notebooks or play with bugs as we took turns cycling through the displays inside. After a bumpy start (it’s hard to remember to be quiet no matter where they are), Kieran and Asher became happily engrossed in their artwork and thankfully had little awareness of the gravity of their setting. At 12, McKane understood the importance of the place, was humbled by it, and did his best to keep the little ones occupied.

What we saw inside the buildings was disturbing, but we expected that. After visits to the Holocaust Museum in Washington, DC and the Hiroshima Museum in Japan, we were prepared to be shocked and saddened. Thousands upon thousands of shoes, eyeglasses, suitcases, and locks of hair pleaded from behind the glass cases for us to remember their owners–mothers, sisters, grandfathers, uncles, friends no different than our own. Cans of poison gas pellets reminded us of the cold, calculated manner in which most were slain. Typewritten reports documenting the daily, weekly, and monthly tallies of victims attested to the businesslike efficiency with which the Nazi crimes were carried out.

We spent at least two hours wandering the various displays, gathering leaves and rocks, and pondering the solemn setting. As we made our way back to the visitors’ center it began to rain. We wondered whether we should take the shuttle bus to Birkenau only 3 kilometers away but decided we had seen and felt enough for one day.

It is often said that we need places like Auschwitz so we won’t repeat the mistakes of the past, in this case so we won’t allow genocide to occur again. I’d like to think that we’ve learned from the Holocaust, but I’m not so sure. As we’ve traveled, we’ve seen evidence of similar human calamities that much of the world does not remember or simply chooses to forget. Tens of millions died at the hands of Stalin, Mao, and Pol Pot, but their countries were hidden from Western view and beyond our accountability. More recently, ethnic cleansings in Rwanda and Kosovo unfolded while the rest of the world sat back and watched in denial and disbelief. Today world leaders bicker over how to handle the crisis in Darfur, while every day hundreds perish at the hands of marauding warlords. Millions in the Congo live in constant fear of the violent militias that roam the countryside but somehow they are not our concern.

I certainly don’t hold the answers to the world’s great problems, but I do know that we can never rest on the laurels of history. If we are expecting genocide to come only at the hands of someone who looks or sounds like Hitler, or its victims to be only people who look or sound like the Jews, then we will likely miss our opportunity to prevent it. I left this somber, difficult place knowing that we must continuously work to teach our children the value of human life–all human life. The way we can honor those who died here is to actively defend the rights and safety not just of those we know or with whom we share a common heritage but also of those we’ve never met or might not yet understand. Only then can we feel we’ve done our part. Only then will we have learned the lesson of Auschwitz.

Technorati Tags: Auschwitz, Birkenau, Family travel, Holocaust, Krakow, Poland, Round the world, Round-the-world, RTW

In our four days in L’viv, I found out that it was my favorite city in Eastern Europe. Ice cream cones at McDonald’s were 30 cents, a ride on the tram cost 7 cents, and the ladies all wore crazy high heels. This comic is dedicated to my preschoolin’ cousins–Luke, Jade, and Aislinn. This one’s for you, my young fellows, because I know you like comics so much.

Technorati Tags: Family travel, L’viv, Round the world, Round-the-world, RTW, Ukraine

When I delved into the guidebooks to craft our Eastern European route, visions of sugar plum fairies danced through my head. Well, not fairies exactly, but castles and palaces, the refuges of storybook princes, evil stepmothers, and the occasional winged godmother. These faraway countries, for so many decades closed to Western view, held an almost magical allure.

Budapest, the fourth stop on our medieval wonderland tour, seemed particularly inviting to me, but I could not explain why. Perhaps it was my penchant for paprika, the mystery of its strange Finno-Urgic language, or the fact that it was named after a group of nomadic warriors who bear no relation to its current population (even so, Atila is an immensely popular name here). In the week before we arrived, I found myself repeatedly opening my books to their respective Hungary chapters and searching for something, anything, that could explain my fascination with the Hungarian capital. Each time I came up empty.

When we arrived, I immediately set us on a quest to discover the source of Budapest’s magic. It had to be out there…somewhere. In order to find it though, we would have to ride the metro…and the bus…and possibly a tram or two. We don’t fear public transportation, but Budapest threatens its tourists with stiff penalties for failing to grasp the intricacies of its system. Riders must buy tickets before boarding their chosen vehicle and validate them on board. If a ticket is a) not present, b) not validated, c) expired based on a timestamp, or d) does not cover a transfer, the rider can be fined and bears the shame of bungling what for locals is the most basic of survival skills. Certain we would mess up at some point along the way, we purchased pricey tourist passes which allowed us to hop on and off every moving object in Budapest at will without the need for validation or angst.

We took the metro under the mythical Danube to the Buda side of town to begin our search. Here on the famed Castle Hill centuries old buildings lined cobblestone streets and costumed riders trotted by on their trusty, decorated steeds. The weather, however, was cold and gloomy and throngs of noisy visitors (including my own children) milled about. Scaffolding covered the church, cars overtook the horses, and a little man, a ticket machine, and a lack of forints kept me from taking in the promising river view. If magic was here, I certainly couldn’t find it.

Perhaps the secret was one known only to locals. We vowed to ask our new friend, Andrew, whom we had arranged to meet for a cup of hot chocolate. Andrew arrived with his 3-year-old daughter, Emma, and led us to a nearby cafe. The marketing manager for a Budapest-based group of hotels, he had helped secure us a few nights’ affordable accommodation in the centrally located Domino Hostel on the Pest side of the Danube. An avid traveler in his pre-fatherhood years, he was eager to pick our brains about an upcoming trip he and his wife are planning to take with little Emma.

As a British expat, Andrew claimed he was no expert on matters Hungarian, but his command of the difficult language, longtime love of a native, and many years of living in Budapest led us to believe otherwise. He amused us with facts about modern Hungary and its often painful transition from communism to capitalism. He explained that in the years following the collapse of communism, Hungary was left with the capacity to produce pharmaceuticals, ham, and tractor engines. Not bodies, just engines. Everything else had to be imported until internal industry could be developed.

Andrew and Emma showered us with snacks they had carefully tucked away in Emma’s miniature suitcase. (Serious travelers know that high calorie treats are an essential part of life on the go.) After gobbling down at least a third of the stash, Emma and Asher, fast friends and partners in mischief, began darting through the restaurant as if to remind us adult conversation is a privilege reserved for those who hire babysitters. Much to my dismay, any intellectual foray into Budapest’s magic would have to wait for a later encounter.

Andrew graciously escorted us first via bus and then tram to what proved the kids’ favorite place in Budapest, the MOM shopping plaza. His wife, Dorca, greeted us at the door and helped hustle us upstairs where we would partake in the cinematic magic of Spiderman 3. We tried to convince our new friends to join us, but Emma had had a nightmare about the masked hero just the night before. We would have to watch Tobey transform into Bad Spidey without her.

The next two days in Budapest we milked our transit passes for all they were worth and visited many of the city’s monuments and museums. Some were beautiful, all were interesting, but it wasn’t until we took a leisurely stroll through Varosliget (City Park) that Budapest gave me the answer to my question.

We had just visited the Heroes’ Square, where I forced the kids to pick a favorite from the dramatic statues depicting Magyar heroes. Amidst the familiar cries of “Where are we going?” “I’m thirsty,” and “I need to go to the bathroom!” I spotted something intriguing in the distance. I walked closer and when my suspicions were confirmed, I eagerly shouted, “Hey, guys! Look what’s over here!” Some wise guy American sitting on the grass nearby immediately mimicked me. I turned and shot him a glare, and he looked penitent when he saw a group of children rather than women come scampering to my side. Even he couldn’t squelch my joy at my discovery. In an untraveled corner of the park, a mammoth cottonwood tree had shed thousands of bits of white, billowy fluff which now covered the ground like a blanket. McKane, Kieran, Asher and I leapt in, swooping, spinning, and diving in an effort to send the fluff skyward. We laughed with delight and begged Dax to turn off his iPod and join our fun. Tom captured the moment with his Canon and agreed it felt like a scene from a Gabriel Garcia Marquez novel.

Though the kids might argue they enjoyed Spiderman more, for me this was the highlight and the magic of Budap