The development will only deepen speculation over his death. Israeli commentators claim he was murdered by Egyptian intelligence officers for being the Jewish state's most important agent in the run-up to the Yom Kippur war in 1973. Egyptian commentators claim he was murdered by Mossad as he prepared to expose Israel's secrets in an explosive book. >>>>>

Fosti ofiteri din DIE si SIE publica un Dosar operativ despre relatiile Romaniei cu KGB, GRU si puterea sovietica, la 40 de ani de la invadarea Cehoslovaciei de catre URSS

Asociatia Cadrelor Militare in Rezerva si in Retragere din Serviciul de Informatii Externe a decis anul acesta ca spionii romani au dreptul si chiar si obligatia sa vorbeasca, pe intelesul tuturor, despre probleme sensibile ale tarii, atata timp cat amintirile lor nu afec­teaza siguranta nationala a Romaniei. Asa ca s-au apu­cat sa scrie. Si sa publice.

Analizele fostilor spioni sunt cuprinse intr-o revista de circuit intern ajunsa acum la al treilea numar: "Persicop". Pentru ca ZIUA a demonstrat o atentie speciala fata de problematica retelelor Kominternului, ale KGB si GRU in Romania, ofiterii de informatii in rezerva si in retragere ne-au pus la dispozitie, in exclu­sivitate, Dosarul special realizat de "Periscop"la 40 de ani de la invadarea Cehoslo­vaciei de catre trupele Armatei Rosii precedate de agentii serviciilor speciale so­vietice, care nu au ezitat sa uci­da pe loc ofiterii de contrainfor­matii cehi si slovaci care le supra­vegheau activitatea. Activitatea "Periscop"-ului este remarcabila, dupa cum o dovedesc si amintirile de pe teren ale veteranului care publica sub numele de V. D. Fulger - fost sef, printre altele, al colectivului Asia-Pacific - despre serviciile de informatii romanesti si consilierii sovietici. La fel, analiza lui Mircea Iordanescu despre inter­ventia militara din Cehoslo­vacia. Publicam astazi doar cateva extrase din Dosarul DIE.

Doicaru: "Nu mai dati nimic rusilor"

"Teza conform careia serviciile de informatii ale Romaniei au fost subordonate sovieticilor pana in decembrie 1989 este falsa fara doar si poate", scrie V. D. Fulger in deschiderea materialului sau introspectiv, din care repro­ducem in continuare, selectiv. "A existat, intr-adevar, o asemenea stare de fapt imediat dupa instaurarea regimului comunist, atunci cand consilierii sovietici erau prezenti in toate sectoarele principale ale noilor structuri politico-economice si militare ale tarii. Aceasta subordonare s-a redus treptat: mai intai, au fost retrasi <<consilierii>>, fara insa a se face zarva in legatura cu acest lucru. Momentul n-a fost marcat sub nici o forma, exceptand, poate, bucuria traita de fiecare lucrator eliberat de tutela <<fratelui mai mare>>.

Ca ofiter cu functie de condu­cere, prin natura sarcinilor si obligatiilor de serviciu am avut in mai multe randuri prilejul sa constat ca, intr-adevar, <<cola­borarea>> cu rusii a incetat definitiv inca de prin anii 60. Iata cateva elemente care, dupa parerea mea, pot constitui dovezi palpabile ca directiva venita de sus, de a nu mai pune la dispozitia sovie­ticilor date si materiale privind munca specifica, n-a fost o vorba goala, ci se aplica cu strictete.

In 1960, s-a primit ordin ca nici un lucrator, indiferent de functie si grad, sa nu mai prezinte consilierului sovietic date si materiale cu privire la munca de securitate. In cadrul Directiei unde imi desfasuram activitatea, ofiterii operativi nu mai aveau voie sa discute nici macar cu tovarasul Iurea, translatorul consilierului.

In august 1962, rezidentilor care plecau la post in exterior li s-a interzis sa mai faca schimb de informatii cu sovieticii, renuntandu-se astfel definitiv la vechiul obicei de a merge periodic la ambasadele sovietive pentru asa-zisele consultari si informari reciproce cu privire la situatia din tara in care isi desfa­surau activitatea. <<Nu mai dati nimic rusilor. Orice incercare din partea lor raportati-o la Bucuresti imediat si cu toate detaliile>>- asa suna telegrama circulara adresata rezidentilor aflati deja in misiune externa si care nu erau inca la curent cu noile orientari.

Erau doar trei situatii in care rezidentul roman putea coopera cu sovieticii: in caz de incendiu, rapiri sau acte teroriste. Se admi­tea, deci, informarea sovieticilor, <<in timp util>>(aceasta era formula), numai daca se obtin date, informatii sau documente din care sa rezulte clar ca cineva, indiferent cine, pune la cale declansarea unui incendiu la oficiile diplomatice, o rapire sau un asasinat care vizea­za membrii ambasadei. Chiar si in aceste cazuri, se preciza: "nu se deconspira fata de sovietici sursa prin care s-au obtinut informatiile sau documentele din care rezultau intentiile criminale". (...) Generalul Nicolae Doicaru, aflat atunci la conducerea DIE, a ordonat sa nu se mai trimita la Moscova nici un material, chiar si pentru tradus, desi zeci de documente asteptau in fisete sa fie valorificate", aminteste V.D. Fulger in expunerea sa mult mai extinsa. Generalul Nicolae Doicaru, o legenda a serviciilor de informatii, a supravietuit regimului Ceausescu dupa fuga adjunctului sau de la DIE, Ion Mihai Pacepa, dar nu a mai scapat de un glont care avea sa-l ucida, la o vanatoare, in timpul regimului Iliescu.

Sub amenintarea Rusiei

Mircea Iordanescu trateaza intr-o analiza complexa situatia Romaniei si a fostului bloc sovietic in perioada invaziei URSS in Cehoslovacia: "Dorinta de a se distanta de Moscova, mai ales in ce priveste politica externa, si reactia extrem de hotarata si ferma dupa invadarea Cehoslo­vaciei, in august 1968, de catre trupe apartinand Tratatului de la Varsovia, au stimulat intentiile Moscovei privind o eventuala interventie militara in tara noastra. In august 1968, Romania a fost amenintata, cel putin pentru cateva zile, de acelasi pericol ca si Cehoslovacia. Pe 21 august, imediat dupa ocuparea Cehoslo­vaciei, servicii secrete occidentale au semnalat o miscare masiva de unitati militare sovietice si bulgare in jurul granitelor romanesti. Informatii similare au fost confirmate si la frontierele Romaniei cu Moldova sovietica si Ungaria.

Desi Uniunea Sovietica, prin vocea ambasadorului sau, Dobranin, a anuntat la inceputul lunii septem­brie 1968 ca "informatiile despre invazia Romaniei nu au fost intemeiate pe adevar", ame­nintarile au continuat inca multa vreme si autoritatile romanesti le-au luat in seama, pana la dispa­ritia lor. Vulnerabilizarea Romaniei in conjunctura respectiva a deter­minat intreg sistemul de aparare a tarii - Armata, Ministerul de Interne si trupele sale, serviciile de informatii si contrainformatii, garzile patriotice, organizatii si asociatii ale tineretului - sa se pregateasca intens dupa principiile, regulile si conceptiile de lupta ale <<razboiului intregului popor>>, pentru a riposta in caz de nevoie.

In aceasta situatie fierbinte, factorii de decizie politici si militari ai tarii noastre aveau nevoie de cat mai multe informatii care sa descifreze intentiile reale ale <<aliatilor>> privind lansarea unui atac armat asupra Romaniei. Ca urmare, s-a intensificat activitatea de culegere de informatii pe aceasta tema, atat in tara, dar mai ales in strainatate, prioritare fiind zonele de granita ale Romaniei, tarile europene importante, marile puteri si organismele internationale.

Abia iesite de sub "indru­ma­rea" si controlul consilierilor sovietici, Serviciile de informatii romanesti incercau, timid la inceput, sa descifreze actiunile din ce in ce mai numeroase si de amploare ale celor doua servicii de informatii sovietice - KGB si GRU pe teritoriul romanesc. Mai ales dupa 1964, urmare a declaratiei Biroului Politic al PMR din aprilie, se constata o intensificare a actiunilor de culegere de informatii din partea celor doua servicii, fiind vizate, indeosebi, Armata, Ministerul de Interne, precum si conducerea politica si economica a tarii.

De altfel, trebuie mentionat ca in anii '60 si '70 ai secolului trecut, contraspionajul romanesc a descoperit mai multe retele de spionaj sovietic pe teritoriul national, printre care mentionez un singur caz, acela al generalului Serb Ioan, dovedit ca se ocupa de culegerea de informatii militare in favoarea GRU, principalul serviciu de informatii al armatei sovietice. (...) Pe plan intern, contraspionajul romanesc se confrunta nu numai cu actiunile serviciilor de infor­matii sovietice, dar si ale celor­lalte state socialiste "prietene". Asa au luat nastere atat la serviciul de informatii intern, cat si la cel extern structuri specializate care urmau sa faca fata mai bine amenintarilor la adresa securitatii nationale ce veneau din partea "prietenilor". Eve­nimentele ulte­rioare au confirmat justetea acestor masuri". De la "Actiuni ale serviciilor secrete straine impotriva Romaniei" la "Cum sa devii intelligence officer la CIA" si ce mai face organizatia veteranilor din SVR, "Periscop" se prezinta ca o sursa veritabila de informatii despre istoria recenta a Romaniei, intr-un moment in care se incearca acerb falsificarea ei dupa modelul nefast al lui Roller.

sursa: Ziua

Gorbatschow                                                Lebedew mit Sohn

Kernpunkte des Programms seien die Förderung unabhängiger Institutionen sowie die Gründung eines freien Fernsehsenders. Lebedew bestätigte der Zeitung die Pläne. Kreml-Gegner kritisierten das Projekt als weitere Spaltung der Opposition. Politische Beobachter äußerten sich skeptisch. >>> ORF.at

Der 77-jährige Gorbatschow lehnte auf Anfange einen Kommentar ab. Der Friedens - Nobelpreisträger ist in Russland äußerst unbeliebt, weil ihm die Auflösung der Sowjetunion 1991 angelastet wird. Bei der Präsidentenwahl 1996 erhielt er nur ein halbes Prozent der Stimmen. >>> Reuters

Lebedew (48) und Gorbatschow (77) sind bereits Partner in der Geschäftsführung der Kreml-kritischen Zeitung "Nowaja Gaseta", für die die im Oktober 2006 ermordete Journalistin Anna Politkowskaja arbeitete. Während Gorbatschow im Westen bis heute hohes Ansehen genießt, machen ihn in Russland viele für die chaotischen 90er Jahre in Russland verantwortlich.

Ob diese neue Partei eine Wendung in der eiszeitlichen Politik herstellen könnte?

Foto: © N!RAk

Serviciul de Informatii si Securitate al Republicii Moldova, nascut din cenusa unitatilor KGB de pe teritoriul RSS Moldoveneasca si cunoscut mai mult pentru actiunile sale antiromanesti, la ordinul lui Voronin, are, de la inceputul lunii septembrie, un nou imn.

In luna februarie, prezent la sediul SIS, Vladimir Voronin sublinia importanta intensificarii activitatii serviciilor de securitate in vederea prevenirii "actiunilor de subminare a regimului constitutional si statalitatii Republicii Moldova". Referirile erau la adresa partidelor de opozitie care doresc iesirea de sub influenta Moscovei si apropierea de Romania. De asemenea, liderul de la Chisinau cerea "sa se contracareze finantarea ilegala din tara si din strainatate a partidelor politice si a mass-media". Mergand pe aceeasi linie, directorul SIS, Artur Resetnicov, califica acuzatiile opozitiei (n.r. pro-romanesti) ca o forma de manifestare isterica. In aceste conditii, titlul imnului, "Credinta Patriei", devine cam confuz. Pana la urma, la care Patrie se refera? La Rusia? Cert ramane un singur lucru pentru agentii SIS: "Cercetarea da frumoase roade/Securitatea e al nostru scut".

Publicam mai jos versurile imnului iar varianta audio poate fi descarcata mai jos.

NUMELE NOSTRU NU E SCRIS IN CARTE,

NU-I PRONUNTAT CU SALVE DE SALUT,

DAR CERCETAREA DA FRUMOASE ROADE,

SECURITATEA E AL NOSTRU SCUT.

NU E NIMIC MAI SFANT SI DEMN PE LUME,

DECAT CREDINTA SI AL NOSTRU LEGAMANT!

REFREN:

CREDINTA PATRIEI SI STEAGULUI CREDINTA,

CREDINTA LEGII SI DREPTATII ORISICAND,

CREDINTA - JURAMANTULUI NUMAI CREDINTA,

CREDINTA DRAGOSTEI SI PACII PE PAMANT!

CREDINTA PLAIULUI SI NEAMULUI CREDINTA

CREDINTA DOINELOR SI CASEI PARINTESTI

CREDINTA GRAIULUI SI RAMULUI CREDINTA,

CREDINTA OMULUI PE CARE IL IUBESTI!

INCREDERE, LUMINA SI SPERANTA

DAM PRIN CREDINTA NOASTRA, CA DE FIER,

DRAPELUL PATRIA-L INALTA

DOAR CAND PLECAM, NEMURITORI, LA CER.

NU E NIMIC MAI DEMN SI SCUMP PE LUME,

DECAT CREDINTA SI AL NOSTRU JURAMANT!

REFREN

Ascultati aici !

sursa : http://www.ziua.net

Any old fool can start a war. It takes a real leader to stop a war before it begins.

No one else seems to be saying it, so I will. McCain was scary last night. And I don't mean 'scary' in the strong-on-foreign-policy, ain't-no-one-gonna-mess-around-with-this-guy  sense of the word, but scary, as in, this guy's like a ticking bomb, and he's gonna blow any second.

One doesn't need a degree in the behavioral sciences to have noticed that McCain's body language betrayed him last night, conveying an easily-provoked rage that spiked intermittently throughout the debate. His head, in particular. At several points during the debate, such as when Obama enumerated flaws in McCain's foreign policy record (see video), McCain's face physically drew-up and hardened, like a coiled fist. At one point, his entire face literally rippled with rage, the muscles in his jowls hardening like marbles under his skin. His pupils grew beady and jittery -- looking almost deranged -- while he waited his turn to respond. And respond, he did, his voice quavering (feebleness, fury or fatigue?), his mouth curled into a snarl, his pointed tongue darting out like a serpent as he spoke.    

I've seen this before. Anyone has, who's ever witnessed 'what McCain does' when he's crossed (see videos, below). When you hear from his Capitol Hill colleagues that McCain has a short fuse, that he's a hot-head, this is what they're talking about. Disagree with McCain, piss him off, and you are not only persona non grata, but you will likely find yourself in his crosshairs for the next few years. McCain is nothing, if he's not vindictive, which makes moot any attempts to tally points between the debaters last night to see who came out on top. In both domestic and foreign policy, the clear loser was John McCain, as his rage simply got the better of him. 

If the diplomatic needs of the United States were limited to only bluster and bellicosity, or to, on occasion, staring down a fellow world leader and being able to reduce the dialogue, from start to finish, into seeing 3 letters in his eyes -- K.G.B. -- then McCain would be our man. Were the world a schoolyard, we could, perhaps, comfortably turn loose the scrappy schoolboy with the angry little man complex, his arms and fists perpetually poised to deal a blow. But on the world stage, we need a leader whose hands are as open to exchanging a handshake as they are to displaying the strength of a hardened fist. 

We need leaders of sound temperament, whose experience includes a history, past and present, of pragmatic, clear-thinking and foresight: leaders capable of nuanced thought in a world that is rarely black or  white, but is nearly always a mix of the two, with myriad shades of gray in-between.  We need a leader who can conduct a debate with a colleague -- a fellow leader in his own country -- without struggling so hard against his own personal demons, without struggling so hard to keep from detonating. For this was McCain's fatal flaw last night: as his rage consumed him, his body language betrayed him -- making hollow any claim he could verbalize on owning the character and temperament necessary to being a great president. As his rage won, John McCain lost the debate. And, in the end, it was this that defined the real difference between the two candidates: It is one thing to SAY that you own the temperament, character and good judgement to be president; it is another thing, entirely, to SHOW that you own those qualities.

Any old fool can start a war. The last thing this country needs is an old warrior whose worldview is tainted with old, unresolved rage. We do not need a leader who sees the world through the lens of a blind rage, ever on the verge of rearing its ugly head.

___________________________

by Mantis Katz for the canarypapers

___________________________

ABOVE: McCain grows angry, sarcastic in discussion w/George Stephanopoulos on health care in April 08

ABOVE: NBC news report in March 08, detailing McCain's anger in exchange with reporter

ABOVE: McCain during a committee hearing with families of Vietnam MIAs, who were seeking declassification of Vietnam documents, believed to contain information on their loved ones, who never returned home from war. Body language: Although this hearing took place 15 years ago, again, we see the body language as McCain seethes and writhes with anger, taking his glasses on and off, repeatedly shoving them into his pocket.  His facial expression at 5:37 on the video is not only scary, it is grossly inappropriate and unbecoming for a man serving a position of authority on the Senate Select Committee on POW/MIA Affairs. 

BELOW: The veterans advocacy groups and individuals leading this effort believe that John McCain stonewalled their efforts in order to avoid declassifying documents that would also reveal to the public unknown or unbecoming aspects of John McCain's own history in Vietnam. This is discussed in the video, below, by some of those family members and veterans who have spent many years fighting to have the documents and information declassified. 

BELOW: But why listen to me? Listen to what Pat Buchanan and others -- including McCain, himself -- were saying, just this past spring.

SEE ALSO OUR RELATED POSTS ON McCAIN:

John McCain in Crisis Mode: Throw Hot Potatoes, Hope Someone Else Gets Burned

The Rise and Fall of McCain-Palin: A Shakespearean Tale of Junked Mavericks and Junkyard Dogs

The Emperor's Old Clothes: The 3 Fatal Flaws of the McCain Doctrine

John McCain and the Snake Oil Express Take Wall Street by Storm

Monkeys with Molotovs: The Gutter Politics of McCain, Palin, Rove & Co.

SEE ALSO:

Huffington Post: Angry Video

Otóż partia PiS, nawet obecnie, chlubi się prowadzeniem tzw polityki historycznej, która ma pokazać światu, wielkie ofiary i wkład narodu polskiego w zwycięstwo na faszyzmem niemieckim oraz w obalenie komunizmu i rozmontowanie bloku sowieckiego. Wiadomym jest nie od dziś, że do 1989 roku, ale także i póżniej, wkład ten był albo przemilczany, albo wręcz kwestionowany. Na Zachodzie, gdzie słabo znano wkład polskiego żołnierza w zwycięstwie aliantów na Niemcami, ale także w ZSRR, gdzie ten udział był też prawie całkowicie nieznany dla opinii publicznej. Na Zachodzie istniała obawa, że mówienie o tych sprawach może podnieść prestiż dla rządów sprawowanych w PRLu, który mógł łatwo „przyspawać” się do tych zasług, poprzez uczestnictwo w oficjalnych uroczystościach delegacji rządowych PRL lub amabsadzkich. W ZSRR obawiano się ożywienia „polskiego nacjonalizmu”, a w tamtejszej KPZR nie ukrywano irytacji z powodu zbliżenia PRLu do Zachodu za czasów Edwarda Gierka, a w szczególności KPZR był zaniepokojony wzrastającym zadłużeniem PRLu na Zachodzie.

Dopiero na początku lat 90-tych w Europie Zachodniej, wysokiej rangi przedstawiciele rządów i sił zbrojnych państw NATO zaczęli brać udział w uroczystościach ku czci poległych żołnierzy z PSZ na Zachodzie, polskich lotników i marynarzy. Tzw establishment na Zachodzie, w mediach oraz w publikacjach popularyzował pogląd, że prawdziwym zbawcą Europy i wyzwolicielem spod jarzma komunizmu jest Michaił Gorbaczow i jego pierestrojka. Na Zachodzie, a szczególnie w USA, wskazuje się na zasługi prezydenta Ronalda Reagana, który z jednej strony, „zadusił” Moskwę nowym wyścigiem zbrojeń, a z drugiej strony, umiejętnie prowadził dialog z Gorbaczowem i zachęcał go do zmian systemu. Mówienie w tym kontekście o „Solidarności”, o Lechu Wałęsie i ich wkładzie w obalenie muru berlińskiego i rozmontowanie ZSRR odczytywano jako „regionalny koloryt” wschodnioeuropejski, wynikający raczej z polskiego odchylenia nacjonalistycznego niż z obiektywnej analizy uwarunkowań i wydarzeń historycznych.

Aktualnie prowadzona akcja propagandowa, aby przy wykorzystaniu dokumentów SB, co do prawdziwości których nie ma pewności, obrzucic błotem Lecha Wałesę i pośrednio, jego zasługi historyczne, jest działaniem sprzecznym z celami polityki historycznej, której poparcie werbalne głosi PiS. W rzeczywistości akcja ta jest bowiem wsparciem tych poglądów głoszonych nierzadko w świecie, które marginalizują historyczne zaslugi Polakow w obaleniu imperium komunistycznego w Europie. Wystawia podejrzenie, że ruch „Solidarności” był odgórnie manipulowany przez PZPR i organy bezpieczeństwa PRLu, tym samym głoszone intencje przez jego przywódców, w tym przez Lecha Wałęsę, były sterowane przez PZPR, a pośrednio KGB i KPZR w Moskwie. Oświadczenie prezydenta Lecha Kaczyńskiego, że Lech Wałęsa był agentem „Bolkiem”, jest kompromitacją głowy państwa polskiego, który zamiast stać na straży porządku prawnego, kwestionuje prawomocny wyrok Sądu Lustracyjnego RP. Możę też być odczytane jako pośrednie przyznanie, że SB, wspólnie z PZPR, pod światłym przywództwem KGB i KPZR,, obaliły komunizm, wykorzystując w tym celu głęboko zakonspirowanych agentów w NSZZ”Solidarność”, z których najważniejszym był agent „Bolek”. I tak oto, gdy nie staje rozumu, strzela się gole samobójcze. Bo myślenie w Polsce ma kolosalną przyszłość.

Produsul secret anti-mahmureala al KGB-ului , RU-21, acum disponibil in tot lantul de farmacii Dona !

Eliminarea starilor de mahmureala dupa o noapte petrecuta la club a devenit o realitate prin produsul RU-21 Tablete pentru preventia mahamurelii , care acum este disponibil in toata tara in lantul de farmacii Dona !

B. prokurator Rosji, parlamentarzyści Dumy chcą przywrócenia pomnika Dzierżyńskiego

Członkowie rosyjskiego parlamentu z zadowoleniem przyjęli propozycję wniesioną przez byłego głównego prokuratora Rosji Wladimira Kolesnikowa, przywrócenia pomnika Feliksa Dzierżyńskiego - podaje dziennik Nowyje Izwiestia. Pomnik byłego szefa Czeki został usunięty sprzed głównej siedziby KGB w Moskwie w 1991 roku, jednak resentymenty narodowego i międzynarodowego socjalizmu stały się we współczesnej Rosji na tyle silne, że ten symbol zamordyzmu czasów rewolucyjnych i porewolucyjnych, zdobywa wielu wielbicieli.

W przemówieniu na sesji komisji bezpieczeństwa Dumy, która odbyła się w czwartek, 18 września br. w związku z nadaniem medalu "130-lecia urodzin F. E. Dzierżyńskiego" szefowi związku b. pracowników urzędów bezpieczeństwa, Walentinowi Timofiejewowi, Kelesnikow wezwał do przywrócenia pomnika Dzierżyńskiego na swoje dawne miejsce, na Plac Łubiański, co spotkało się z aplauzem zebranych. Część parlamentarzystów postrzega Dzierżyńskiego jako bohatera narodowego, niektórzy twierdzą, że był on po prostu "częścią naszej historii", wreszcie pozostali chcieliby przywrócenia pomnika tłumacząc, że byłaby to "przestroga na przyszłość".

All I can say is d-d-d-daaaaam! My homeboy Ski just slid me this audio from one of Toronto's legendary parties from back in the day, Live At The BBQ with DJ X, John Bronski and a who's who in Toronto's hip hop from that era. This was long before my time in the city but between Kish's reference to Monica Deol, Maestro's performance of the rare cut, Hittin the Girls School and Motion shutting shit down at the end it's all worth adding to your collection.

Live At The BBQ 1991

Having never been the kind of girl that 'gets around', I can recall very few (if any) experiences in which I awoke in a strange and repugnant place early, quietly packed up my things, and burst through the door into the cold morning air feeling as though I'd just pulled off a prison break. This was such a morning, and I don't think I would've felt more relieved had I just swam to shore from Alcatraz.

I've never slept in a homeless shelter, but now I kind of feel like I can say I have – only I paid good money for the experience. Old men continued to pile in throughout the night (one arrived at 2am, two more at 3am), each adding their own brand of phlegmy cough, chainsaw snore, urine-soaked smell, and moaning – moaning like you might imagine in a medieval dungeon – to the terrible symphony. To my own utter amazement, I managed to think myself asleep by practicing some relaxation techniques I know from hypnosis. Admittedly, I was still awoken every couple hours and it would always take another 45 minutes to work through the range of emotions (horror, disgust, fear, misery, despair, etc.) and fall back asleep again.

It was also incredibly cold, which didn't help. The hostel had no heat (of course not. It wouldn't qualify as the single worst lodging on earth if it provided any kind of human comfort), and I don't remember being so cold in the night except for a couple times I went camping without proper equipment. I used to have this 1971 Volkswagen Westfalia and one time my boyfriend at the time and I went to a Native American ceremony up on Orcas Island in the San Juans. After a really long, strange, nauseating 18-hour 'ceremony' in a smoky teepee (the fire wasn't set up right, apparently), we stumbled back to the van to sleep. I woke up many hours later and my hair had frozen. Condensation had built up in the van from our breathing and gotten in my hair and it was like a solid block of ice in some places. This hostel was not quite, but almost that cold. And louder.

Anyway, when I woke up I saw that one of the guys had opened the windows. It was 6 Celsius out last night (about 40 degrees for those of us, such as myself, that know all but nothing of the metric and Celsius systems. I know that 40 celcius is over 100 and the Europeans consider that the same as melting in hell and 0 is freezing. Does anyone know: Why do we still use all those antiquated systems in the U.S. - ounces, miles, degrees?? Because we're stubborn?). Anyway, it was damn cold out there, but someone opened a window anyway. It sounded to me like some of those guys had emphysema or at least tuberculosis, but it's their funeral, I guess.

The worst of it – and I hesitate to mention this because the emotional scarring is still quite raw – was something I saw. For those of you easily nauseated, you may want to skip ahead. Okay, last night I left the room and went into one of the bathrooms to wash up, brush my teeth, and change into pajamas. At the time, the two men I originally mentioned (down and out Dennis Hopper and his friend) were not on the premises, It was my goal to get to bed before they returned. I had heard Dennis Hopper wheezing on the couch earlier (while he was awake), and figured we were in for a loud night.

Anyway, the door to the room (a room for ten people, despite the fact that my reservation was for the four-person room, and I'd paid extra for that) was ajar, and I walked in to find the two men standing there in black briefs (the cousin of tighty whiteys – tacky blackies?). and with obvious boners. As if just seeing them naked but for their underwear wasn't bad enough.

After I got over the relief that witnessing such a horror hadn't immediately turned me to stone, I realized they were talking to me in German and giggling like schoolgirls. I averted my eyes in what was intended to be a VERY obvious “I am so disgusted it is all I can do not to throw up” kind of way, put my toiletries in my bag, and climbed up to my bed (in a first, I moved myself to an upper bunk. I figured it would be harder to mess with me – the only woman in the whole joint besides the very heavyset and unfriendly Lithuanian girl in charge, now locked safely in her private heated room).

Okay, so do you ever have nightmares where something bad is happening and you cannot scream? Someone has come up on you in the stairwell of the hotel (this was a common one for me when I used to travel a lot for business, I would always take the stairs, and I guess on some level I was always a little afraid that something bad could come of that?) and you know you have one chance to alert someone else before this goes bad, but you can't make a sound? This is, of course, because your body paralyzes you while you're asleep so that you don't act out your dreams and hurt yourself.

Anyway, last night I dreamed that those two horrible old black underwear boner men were trying to molest me. One of them was reaching under my blanket and the other was climbing up the stairs to the bunk, and I tried and tried to scream and nothing would come out, and I was so disgusted and horrified and violently opposed to this that I put out one final effort and let out a blood curdling scream IN REAL LIFE. I swear to God. I screamed like I was being murdered at around 4am in a hostel bedroom because I'd seen two sleazy old men in their underwear five hours earlier.

I was asked in about six different languages if I was okay. Thankfully, I was. Moments later, the snoring and hacking and nose blowing and moaning recommenced.

So I'm out of there now, and slowly calming down and feeling better. There are some fun British people on the bus singing, “Riga, Latvia” to the 'Viva Las Vegas' tune. It's a rare and pleasant treat to be in an English-speaking majority (and a bunch with such sly senses of humor), and I'm relishing it.

When we got on, the local newspaper (Bakaru ekspresas) was in all of our seats, and the woman across the aisle from me was leafing through it. One of her friends asked what she was doing, and she replied, “I'm catching up on a bit of the local news. I'm looking at the pictures, if you must know.” Then she flipped to the back page, “Look, the stars! Diane, I'll read them to you!” Apparently my sign, Libra, is called “Svarstykles” in Lithuanian. I recognize one word in the last sentence: “Taclau vakaras zada romantikos.” I'm assuming that means, “You are not feeling the least bit romantic” or maybe, “You have just suffered unspeakable torment and may never experience romantic feelings again.” Either way.

As for Lithuania itself:

• They have a real thing for miniature Yorkshire Terriers. It's like the national dog or something. Every third person has one – in a basket on their arm, trailing them in the grocery store, under the seat on the plane, perched on their arm like a parrot. If only I could've borrowed one for a few days, I could've really “gone native.”
• The ketchup obsession continues. Latvians have it too. I've started collecting photographic proof.

• I went to the “Curonian spit” (the peninsula of land between Klaipeda and the Baltic Sea, where they bandy about the word 'spit' as if it's a common term we use for land). The area is famous for the amber that washes up on the shores and the extensive sand dunes along the coast. Apparently it's a big vacation spot in the summer. However, as you can see, it's vacant come winter...uhhhhh, September.
• I stand by my earlier post – friendly these folks are not. However, I've given it some thought and I offer them an out: For the last 225 years, the Baltic countries (Lithuania, Latvia, Estonia) have suffered greatly at the hands of Russia and Prussia (Germany). As near as I can tell, those who weren't rounded up and killed, rounded up and put into concentration camps (and then killed?), rounded up and sent to Siberia, or rounded up and put in Russian prisons (and then killed?) still didn't have it very good. I have kind of a mental image of some guy toiling on his farm and a truck comes by and someone screams out “You are Russian now!” and then fifteen years later they come back, “You are Lithuanian again!” and then ten years later, “You are German now!” and then again, “Lithuanian!” “Russian!” “Lithuanian!”

All this with a lot of bloodshed and suffering and loss and they're kind of a people that have hardened their hearts. They see any obvious signs of outsiderness, and they don't like it. Sometimes they're a little extreme in their reaction - I met a couple guys from Hong Kong who were chased down the street with people screaming at them in Riga. (They could only figure it was because they were Asian.), but we'll give these battered souls a couple generations to (hopefully) soften and come around.

Eastern Europe is a constant reminder of the worst of humanity (Hitler, concentration camps, the KGB, Siberia, communism, the Holocaust, etc.), and I can only hope that what I take away from all this horror could somehow contribute something good back to the world.

Case in point: I walked around the Pokrov Cemetery in Riga today, and there was a group grave for about a dozen orphans who died because the Nazis drained all their blood. I feel sad because the really nice guys from Hong Kong (who looked out for me last night in the weird hostel turned homeless shelter situation) were made to feel so terrible by people who probably didn't realize how racist and thoughtless they were being. I don't even know how to process people torturing children.

This I suppose, is both a good and bad of travel : Getting up close and personal with horrible things you kind of didn't want to know and the related desire to make a true positive difference in the world.

The Cardinal of the Kremlin details the continuing adventures of Tom Clancy's hero Jack Ryan, first introduced in The Hunt for Red October, as he becomes involved in the world of strategic defense system, Star Wars. As most offerings in the genre, Clancy's shares some of the defects of the genre: the characters are mostly one dimensional and the dialogue often unrealistic. Particular to Clancy's work is the heavy duty Regan Era optimism which translates into a story world in which good guys are true blue and technology always works. Regardless of the possible faults that one may identify, after two decades, the book has aged well; one is certainly still in awe of Clancy's ability to imagine his fictional world with the intricacy that he does and this incredible verisimilitude is perhaps the most rewarding aspect of his work.

Published in the late 80s at the time of the cost and reliability controversy over SDI—the strategic missile shield, also called Star Wars—Cardinal gives us an unmatched glimpse into the world of the military-industrial complex and superpower politics at the twilight of the 20th Century, offering an unusual synthesis of high tech weapons and espionage that reads almost like a case study for a course at an armed services college. Unlike in the real world, there is no room for doubt about the feasibility of the system in Clancy's book, which is written with authority and faith in the machines and the men who man them.

Plot is driven by the impact of technology on the strategic balance between the two super powers, specifically by the Soviet's constructing a laser antimissile system in the remote mountains of central Asia capable of destroying strategic ballistic missiles. This  development threatens to alter the balance of power between the US and the USSR: if the Soviets can shoot down  US missiles, then the  US arsenal's deterrent capability will be drastically reduced, if not entirely eliminated. Not only will the US be unable to launch a counterstrike, the Soviets may be emboldened by their new shield to launch an attack on the US without the risk of counterstrike reprisal. The stakes are high and the US needs to find out what the actual threat level of this new Soviet capability is. This need puts into play a highly placed CIA spy codenamed Cardinal. If you are familiar with Cold War history, you may be reminded of the Kuklinski affair.  Indeed Clancy seems to have been inspired, at least in part, by that story when writing Cardinal as here, too, a highly placed asset behind the Iron Curtain is extracted in a harrowing chase inside the Evil Empire.

As we follow the plot, we not only get a glimpse into the lives of US spies in Moscow and their elaborate work as they ferry Cardinal secrets to Washington, we are also treated to a glimpse into the internal politics of the Soviet Union's leadership as well. Clancy's range is impressive for his ability to portray a wide range of worlds related to the story: he moves seamlessly from Southern California's wonder workshops of the military-industrial complex, to the halls of power of the CIA and the White House, and to the creepy corridors of the Kremlin and KGB. No one has the same kind of grasp of the whole system and its constituent parts as does Clancy, which makes his novels fascinating.

There is a good amount of suspense and Clancy weaves a believable chain of events in his plot, masterfully using coincidence (as when a semi-retired KGB Major happens to observe a pass of the vital secret between a US spy and a Soviet  courier) to affect unexpected plot turns that upset plans and force contingencies. The plot is not something imposed from outside but emerges organically out of the world that the author has richly imagined.

Reading Cardinal is at times also like listening in on a White House briefing or a classified lecture as one is treated to a smorgasboard of information about the operation of espionage and the military-industrial complex and its secret programs. It is this ability on the author's part to not only imagine this secret world so well and with so much seeming authority but also to  entice us into it that is what makes this and many other works of Tom Clancy rewarding reading.

Technology and political maneuvering, however, take center stage at the expense of character development.  Some readers may find this a flaw. In this respect the book seems to be like many others in the genre where the dialogue is often wooden, mechanical and most often merely there to convey highly technical information about weapons and technology. In fact, the characters seem to spend so much time discussing and dealing with the politics and the technology of the plot that at some point they seem to become machine-like for the almost total absence of emotional human interaction; it's all business in the world of the military-industrial complex. Whatever relationships exist are often paternalistic. Power comes from access and security clearances and respect is earned by skill and prescient analysis of data. Politics, too, seem not to even be a factor in the making of national security decisions.

But it is not as if absence of character development is necessarily a bad thing in a book such a this because one reads, after all, books like Cardinal not for their character development but more for the glimpse that they offer into a hidden world of high technology and espionage and the machinations within. The greater the verisimilitude that such books offer, the more satisfying and successful they ultimately seem to be.

And one also has to fully consider the world that Clancy is writing about. The emphasis on technology rather than human heart in Cardinal probably comes as much from the peculiarity of the beast that Clancy is writing about as from the peculiarities of the  author's own vision in which all the good guys are good, blue is true, and they are all fighting the good fight against an Evil Empire for the sake of freedom.  The world he writes about has no room for errors or for doubt and internal conflict: data counts, those who know its ways go far, and relationships are based on patronage of the promising by the powerful. Indeed, in this world doubt and internal conflict would be seen as severe flaws of character. Clancy's characters are wizards of the military-industrial complex. And like most wizards they seem odd. He writes about the men who make key decisions, even if such men are not accountable or elected as spies and their masters never are. These powerful guys take special pride in grooming their underlings who show promise. and ideological synchopacy. The world they operate is often hard and emotion there is often a liability.  But a reader who thinks that Clancy ignores character development entirely is wrong, for Clancy does delve into the emotions of the men that he writes about—possibly the most developed character in the entire book is that of Cardinal himself. In Clancy's men, treading the murky byways of global espionage and the corridors of power, the highest emotions churn around questions of loyalty and patriotism, emotions that seemed incomprehensible and bizarre to the post-Watergate generation.

Clancy's vision is certainly simple and idealized, offering none of the gray that fills books like The Spy Who Came in From the Cold. And while this simplicity may seem unsophisticated to some readers, Clancy's vision is a fantasy about the world of the military-industrial complex, and perhaps also a wish that things were as the author imagines them to be. In this he reflects a longing for the kind of small town USA moral sensibility at the heart of the Reagan Era optimism of the 80s  when he paints men in uniform and their struggles on our behalf in such an idealized light.  This longing is not bizarre or reflective of stunted cultural development but reflects wider cultural currents where the tensions that the modern era has wrought provoke an anxiety and a desire for simpler times and values. It is a response to the uncertainties of the world, to the Watergate events, and to the loosening of morals of the 60s and 70s.

Cardinal of the Kremlin is dated in many respects, and there are plenty of things that once can take issue with, but the book remains  a satisfying read for its verisimilitude and vision of the unexplored intersection between technology, espionage and the struggle for dominance between the superpowers in the late 80s. If you want to read about the world-changing struggles of single men working within vast bureaucracies, and certainly if you love espionage and high technology, this book is a classic.

]]> http://wideawakeinwonderland.wordpress.com/?p=545 Mon, 15 Sep 2008 21:51:12 +0000 wideawakeinwonderland http://wideawakeinwonderland.pt-br.wordpress.com/2008/09/15/top-six-reasons-lithuanians-are-jerks/ Greetings from the bus to Klaipeda (the coastal region of Lithuania). i had actually planned to take the train (takes 6.5 hours instead of 4, but was cheaper by about $8 US, I can keep an immediate eye on my luggage, and it has toilets), but when my alarm went off at 6:00 a.m., I realized I needed more sleep. Everywhere I go lately, people are coughing and sneezing and hacking up a lung and not covering their mouths. If there's one thing I know about getting sick, it's that inadequate sleep is very hard on my immune system.

I wish I was one of those people that slept five or six hours a night and felt super, but I'm not. On six hours of sleep, I feel like there's sand in my eyes, and I start a task, go into a room, stand there stupefied and wonder, “Why did I come in here?” With just five hours and at a really boring meeting (or watching a colleague do a sales presentation I've seen a hundred times before), I've been known to actually nod off – like when your head starts falling forward and the sudden motion causes you to jerk and wake up. Like it or not, I need a solid eight hours to function properly.

I remember reading that Donald Trump sleeps something like three hours a night, and regards sleeping as a waste of time (of course he does). I suppose that's just one of many reasons why I'm on a public bus and am now on my way to a crappy hostel in the middle of nowhere, and he owns half of Manhattan. I have better hair though. And I bet he feels really damn tired sometimes.

I've noticed that my dreams all seem to have travel themes lately. Last night I dreamed that people were coming up to me and smelling me. At first I was really worried about it (Like, 'OH no!? Do I stink!?”), but then I realized I smelled quite lovely., so they were just drawn to me and taking it in - kind of alike a smell-based siren's song. In real life, as you've probably picked up, I've become relatively neurotic about icky human smells. I'm no hypocrite, this includes my own. I'm not a super clean freak, but I'm turning into one. Thus, when I'm in the retail part of a city or going by the duty free shop in the airport, I now go in and give myself a nice dose of Coco Chanel or another perfume that I have back at home. Usually, I rarely wear it and it takes me a decade to go through a bottle of perfume, but I'm also not typically carrying 40 pounds of clothes and gear while running through subways. Anyway, I'm somewhat hellbent on not becoming Europeanized in the stink department.

My obsession with cleanliness has also spread to my clothes. Whenever I can, i like to do my laundry, partly because I don't have that much stuff, but also because I love to just sit there and smell it when it's clean. I stick my face in a big pile and just breathe deep. Of the few things I've purchased and have added to the weight I'm lugging, one is a pack of moist dryer sheets (fabric softener, but the sheets are wet like a baby wipe). The one challenge to this new-found passion is that there's not much I hate more in the world than laundromats.

In my early 20s I put in more than my fair share of time in laundromats, and with each passing visit, i grew to hate them more and more. The dryers that take your money, but don't work. The dryers that burn everything to a crisp. The machines where someone has just finished doing some tie-dying or batik art and now everything you own is a muddy red. I remember Matt Groening (creator of The Simpsons) had a cartoon series “Life is Hell”. One of the featured characters were a gay couple, Jeff and Akbar. They both wore little fezzes and in drawings were kind of reminiscent of a primitive Bart Simpson. Anyway, a regular feature was that Jeff and Akbar would open a business together, and the whole frame would feature the store and the little signs and notices they'd hung up – like Jeff and Akbar's Falafel Hut. However, the one that sticks with me most was Jeff and Akbar's Laundromat, where posted in the window was a sign that read, “Suicides no longer permitted on premises.” That pretty much sums up how I feel about laundromats.

Lately I've been in places where they do the laundry for you and return it piled up. Prices can be hilariously high (around $10 US for a load), but what are you gonna do? Despite my strong feelings about laundromats, I don't really like other people doing my laundry. Not because I have anything special or delicate (it can all go in one load together without issue), but because I'm sensitive that it isn't clean and...it stinks. (See? What did I tell you? I really am developing some neurotic tendencies here!) Moreover, the stuff I run in smells REALLY bad, and when it's all in one bag together, then it all smells bad. Basically, i feel really awkward handing someone a big bag of my stinky clothes and asking them to deal with it.

However, $4 is a deal in the laundry world and all my pants were dirty, so I filled a bag and brought it to the girl. Last night I needed to get it back so I could pack up, but no one was around at the front desk. When I finally found an employee, she took me down to a basement room that I hadn't realized existed. It was a common room with a small TV and a computer, and there were a number of people gathered down there. All over the room, drying on any object with a flat surface, was my laundry.

it was like some kind of demented Easter Egg hunt, going around and gathering up my stuff while these people watched TV and played on the internet and looked at me bemused. For example, my socks were drying on top of the TV. My panties were hanging on doorknobs and hooks on the walls. My pants were suspended a few feet from the ceiling all across the room (kind of like streamers) on a line that would have been a proper clothesline, if it weren't in a family room. But my stuff was clean and it smelled nice and that's all I care about anymore.

Meanwhile, I am 25% Lithuanian and our last name is (allegedly) Lithuanian. Actually, I've come to be convinced that it was significantly altered when my great-grandfather hit Ellis Island. Or we're not Lithuanian. I don't know what he was up to, but he apparently decided it was a good time to invent a new identity. All the last names are these super long things ending in “kas” or “ics” or “ski' and not one surname is just six letters long. With six letters, they're just getting warmed up. There's still a “obieski” or “warsowkas” or something to be added on. I spent some time in the graveyard – just browsing – and didn't come across a single name that even reminded me of ours.

Although my dad remembers quite clearly that his paternal grandparents were Lithuanian, I'm developing a secret hope that they were lying. The people here are JERKS. Serious, serious jerks. I need to talk to him and see if he remembers his grandmother (with the suspicious first name of Stephanie) as a brutal, angry, non-smiling shrew. if so, then we may be onto something. If not, maybe we're from some friendly land like...??? Who's friendly besides the Irish? (which I already know I'm half, from my mother's side where she's 100% Irish).

Anyway, here are some of the intriguing little tidbits that have caused me to draw this conclusion about the fatherland:

1. Much like Poland, if you ask someone if they speak English, they ALWAYS say no. However, if you just keep talking to them anyway (in English), they understand. THEN, they make fun of you.

This morning I asked these two girls if the building behind me or the building across the street was the bus station. They stood there and repeated “Bus, bus, bus” to me (in my American accent – where we say “Buhs” and not “Boose”) over and over, laughing and laughing. “Yes, it's very funny,” I said to them, “But is it this one or that one?” One of them pointed across the street, “That one.” and I could hear them behind me, “BUS STATION” in an over-exaggerated and super-slow version of my accent and chortling and guffawing as I walked away.

This brings to mind a different angle: If they're this starved for entertainment in Lithuania, you could make a real killing with some half-assed stand up comedy here. Hell, just bring in someone with a Boston accent or a New York Jew to talk about nothing, and you'd have them rolling in the aisles. Sheesh!

2. If they want money from you (panhandling, begging) or to bother and hit on you, they speak great English. Until you say no, and they get pissed. For a split second, I thought this one guy (about my age, and kind of pudgy around the middle – who wanted money for 'the hospital') might spit on me.

3. The streets are very narrow and almost always made of cobblestone. The sidewalks are literally 7 inches wide, and no one will ever yield the right of way. In three days, I was always the one who had to step out into the street. In all fairness, the women here all wear 3 and 4 inch stilettos – even the old women and even in 40 degree weather and rain. They're quite the fancy dressers, maybe they're trying to compensate for the sixteen different patterns at once folk outfits of 100 years ago? Anyway, I love high heels and miss mine, but stilettos in a town of nothing but cobblestone? Even I would not be so bold.

So back to the jerks: The first day I got there it rained like crazy and was no more than 45 or 50 degrees. As I was walking down the road back to the guest house, people were coming down said narrow cobblestone roads in their cars at like 50 or 60 mph. I swear I'm not exaggerating. You would hear the engine gun and it was like a drag race. The cars (always nice ones like BMW or Lexus or Audi) would cut extremely close to the sidewalk, hit the giant puddles gathered there, and unload a wave of filthy puddle water onto my pants. This happened THREE TIMES. It was like the scene in the opening credits of Sex and the City (the early years), except it wasn't warm out, I wasn't wearing a pink tutu (thankfully), and by the third time it didn't seem to be accidental. Now you can also see why I had to go ahead and hire them to do my laundry.

4. They act as though you've come to rob them blind. I saw these Lithuania baseball caps in a shop window and went in to see how much they were (I'm fairly convinced I won't be back any time soon, so figured I might break my 'no space or weight capacity for souvenirs' rule and maybe get my dad, my brother, and I some gaudy hats. The Lithuanians share their color scheme with the Jamaicans – so you can imagine these are some pretty tacky numbers in red, yellow, and green). Anyway, I get in there and this young woman is right up on me within seconds. I mean she was within a foot of me, staring me down. First I smiled at her. No reaction. Then I said, “Yes?” Nothing. “Do you speak English?” Nothing. Then I started inching back toward the front of the store, darting looks over my shoulder, and she stayed on me. They had a whole section where they were selling all this amber jewelry in lit glass cases as if amber were really precious and not super cheap (HELLO) and everywhere I went, she stayed on me. I mean, the stupid stuff was behind glass!? However, when I went back outside she stayed put, presumably off to make someone else so uncomfortable that they decide not to buy anything. Hopefully she's not working on commission...

This trend continued at the National Museum. In every room, there's a woman working on her knitting or standing in the corner looking harmless enough...until you pull out a camera. They had these cool Lithuanian folk outfits (some really fun and funky get ups), and i thought it would be neat to take a picture of them, and about four middle-aged women came at me and nearly tackled me to the ground. A simple picture of a camera with an “x” through it would have sufficed. They also had these cool dioramas of the log huts where people used to live until the turn of the century [so my great-grandparents would have likely lived in a place like this] and English captions, so that was really interesting and photo-worthy. But alas...

Unfortunately, after that I was branded a criminal, and I had my own personal attendant with me through the entire museum. No matter where I went, she was within two feet of me. At first I felt self-conscious and would stare at the old books (under glass) and since the captions were in Lithuanian, muse to myself that I don't really know if I could tell the difference between a book from 1902 and a book from 1616. ”If I found this in an attic, would I recognize it as museum-worthy?” Or I would study these millions of boring paintings of monks and priests by “artist unknown” and try to look intellectual. Then the pressure started to get to me, and I turned rebellious. There was this inlay table from the 1700s that some guy maybe signed some religious proclamation or something on, and I touched it. Not a little bit either. I ran my hand across the whole top, and turned to the woman and smiled, “Nice table.”. She looked at me, aghast. I had to fight back urges to tear some ugly painting by “artist unknown” off a wall and run for the exit as fast as I could just to show them who's boss, and I put my hand through some KGB prison doors (I really wish pictures were allowed, because standing behind one clutching the bars would be a good one) and realized I could unlatch the thing. Now, if there'd been a padlock on it, that'd be another story, but my hands and forearms are small enough I could wriggle them through the bars and get to the latches. She didn't like that either, and said something angry in Lithuanian. Seriously though, they had about ten of these doors hanging around and they were just welded re-bar painted gray. Give me a blowtorch and I could probably make one of them myself. Seriously.

5. The toilets. I know they know about real toilets because my hotel has them. Normal human toilets where you can sit down and there's a lid and running water and toilet paper mounted somewhere in the vicinity. So that's why it baffles me that I had to pay about $.80 US today at the bus station to basically pee on a broiler pan. A really, really, REALLY bad smelling broiler pan. Oh, and I had my frigging bag on, so crouching down super low like that is INCREDIBLY hard. You will only find that move in the most advanced of strength-training classes. Since I'm a total freak about personal cleanliness now, I got all worried about splash back. I was freshly showered and laundered and feeling fine...I don't want to spend the day with my own pee on my legs. I briefly eyeballed the trash can (paper would absorb. No splash!) but decided to crouch even lower. it's not easy to relax when your thighs are trembling with strain, but I toughed it out and get my $.80 worth. But I had to work for it, and I think in that case it should be free.

6. They stole my damn guidebook.

However, I'm off to a new part of Lithuania, and maybe things will improve? It was raining in Vilnius, and now that we're about halfway there, the sun is out. No one is bothering me on the bus, I don't have to pee, and in the big picture, things are looking up...