Underneath the hills of Kremnicke Mountains there is a small city of Kremnica. It was very important gold city during the whole history of Europe. Gold was dug in the Kremnica mountains and coins were striked here for long centuries, continuing till today.

And in the Kremnicke mountains there is very popular event every year – White trail, which is a competiton in ski running.  And therefore there are superb possibilieties do do ski running – clasics and also skating. Look your self and anytime you are welcome to try some of them

A tunel made in 1703, used for gold shifting between Banska Bystrica (the main city of that time Slovakia) and Kremnica (gold mine and coin producing city). Many times used for fleeding by Austria-Ungary emperors and lokal rulers. Later used during WWII by slovak partisans and generals of the Slovak National Uprising.

For already two weeks it is in Slovakia very hot. The snow is melting, air´s temperature is over plus 2 degrees, everything is wet, full of water everywhere – I am only waiting till it get frozen in advised cold coming in few days. But anyhow, now when the only remembrance of snow are the watery transparent blocks of dirty snow, I always go in my reflections in the heavy snowed High Tatras during our New Years holyday.

For greeting the New Year we arrange to go to West High Tatras called Roháče (in translation it is Horns, because of sharp horned peaks). We spent there some unforgettable days of our lives – having fun, skiing, trekking and having good time with our friends, who were independently also there.

The last two days, when it got unexpectedly hot, over plus six !!, we refused to ski and went for some nice trek to the mountain lakes and mountain waterfall.  It was wonderful, mostly because of the fog. I do not like for, I love it! Anywhere, anytime, always. Only by the wheel not.  But in hills it´s something magic. Have a little trip through my photos and you will see.  Hope you will like it …

Our first attempt to find the waterfall (we got lost, but found the mountain lakes ).

Bilberies under snow.

Climb to the mountain lakes.

We found an old route.

Mountain lake, one of the some here in the Western High Tatras.

Above the frozen lake, going to the another one, placed little bit higher under the mountain saddle.

Sunset on the hills.

Next day attempt to reach the waterfall.

Steep climb to the waterfall.

Finally the waterfall, misterious in the cold fog.

Beautiful blue water ice.

Our way down. It was funny because everything was icy and slippery.

Alive and kicking ! Alive down in base

Hope you liked Slovakian High Tatras, see you hopefully one day here.

Last two weeks I am still reading Lonely Planet travel book. I have to plan the complete journey, the precious day to arrive (because in some cities later on the buses depart only on precious days in the week), schedule the days of trekking, resting in cities, by the lakes, travelling between the points, and seen most of everything. During the day I do work, so I read mostly shortly before I go to sleep and then the real journey begins.

You, who travel a lot and mostly by your own, you know it. It is some kind of travel fever. In my dreams I walk along the tiny routes to the mountain lakes, make tent on the shores of the lakes, sleep there watching the stars, meditate at the sight on the snowy high mountains above us in distance. Walk with bag on my back though the wilderness, dusty streets of the cities, easting yogurt balls and schaschlik. Visiting bazaars and local shops, drinking tee with locals.

I wonder if the reality will be so pink as my dreams are. We will see. I am so excited I can barely wait. In July – we´ll rock.

But before that it will take us lot of time to prepare everything. Supplies and trekking stuff, travel schedule, flight tickets, and most of all the maps. Keeps your fingers crossed

Best wishes in the New Year, Me+Jojo

When we ordered third round of beers for our group of five people, the barman sent young boy to the city for some more bottles. When we ordered fourth round, the barman sent us to the city for the bottles. So we left hotel bar and ventured into the night life of the sleeping little Byblos. We did not walk for long when we found small grocery. We wanted to buy our stuff and left, but the shopkeeper hold us for the talk. He brought plastic table and some chairs (they were less then were us, so we had to sit on the pavement), opened the bottles and we talk. About everything. From the everyday problems, to the multi  cultural and evolutional problems of mankind. He knew English very well, so some of us we ashamed by his speaking ability.

We talked also about religions in the country and around. Mostly about Israel, Jihad, Hezbollah, Palestine, Syria and Jordan. We were going to see Syria and Jordan as well so we were curious about all that stuff. He also told us about Palestinian camps and about their life there.

These refugees are people without papers, without home, without identity. They do not have immigration, or exile, papers, nor passports. So they do not exist in that country. That is why they can not get work, buy a flat, build a home, put children to school. The work under the counter, sometimes without payment, only for food. They are unwanted here, they are unwanted in place of their birth. They can not go back, they can not stay. So for many years now they are stuck in that camps, waiting, hoping, giving birth to their children.

Some days later we passed by such a Palestinian camp. It was rather a big settlement than a camp. We stopped quickly by the crash barrier on the main road and saw the city laying in ruins. Smoke was still going up for this mountain of bombed house blocks. It had 70 thousand Palestine inhabitants. But they were revolting. So the Lebanese president asked them to leave or he will raze the city to the ground. All of them left except for the core consisting of three hundred rebels. The Lebanese president bombed the city, leaving it smoking in the shape of burnt mountain of concrete, as a living warning memorial for the future tendencies.

Suddenly the light went off in the shop, and in the second we all set in the dark black night. “You know, before, there was electricity all the time. Now they stop it for the night time, or we do not have it completely.  But we do have our own generators.” And he pulled up a battery-operated neon light on the table. We drank all of his beer and went sleep. Tomorow we are heading to Tyre.

We entered the country from Syria, trough Masnaa border, coming from Damascus. After our journeys to Russia we remembered very strongly how they left us waiting on the borders for eight hours, without water, toilet, or any place to rest. So we were worried a little bit what would happen here. In this kind of countries you never know. Sometimes we had feeling that even they don’t know. But to our astonishment nothing happened and after a while we were heading to Baalbek, centre of Hezbollah movement, Phoenician Sun City of the ancient world, the most impressive ancient site in Lebanon.

When we travelled here we saw for the first time the Palestine Camps enclosed by a barbed wire, with their poverty shouting loud, muddy ground underneath the shabby tents, and in between parked old Mercedes and steel bicycles, tyres and hanged washing waving in the wind. And around them rich green plains full of grain, corn, vegetables, and round water reservoirs dag in the ground and isolated with plastic foil, through the whole Bekaa Valley. The contrast was breathtaking. But another breathtaking view was the Anti-Lebanon Mountains with their white caps on top, so unbelievable in this 40 degrees Celsius heat. Lebanon was famous for its possibility to ski in the morning, bath in see in the evening same day, drinking delicious Lebanon wine. Yes, there was tourism long ago, before the rumours killed all the courage to travel here.

But now we were completely alone here. When we left bus, stepped onto the dusty ground, all the eyes moved toward us. The local craftsmen and souvenir selling guys did not have many customers these days. The last foreign foot which whirl dust into this air was here quite long ago. The souvenirs were old, dusty, grey from everyday sun. Even the sellers were too burned to move and force us to buy something really needles but cute. For two pens and one lighter we handled yellow Hezbollah T-shirt with green fist holding a gun.

The site war barred. Losing the breath of ancients day by day. The hot sun shining on our heads through the roofs that once was here was gradually turning out the feeling of power, might, glory and grace. Originally was here a temple dedicated to Baalbek built around 1000 B.C. It is supposed to be used for all manners of sexual forms of worship. Sacred prostitution and insatiable bloodlust featured in cults were practiced here. After the conquer of Alexander the Great the city was renamed into Heliopolis, but the temple worshiping the ancient gods remain untouched. Only in 60 A.D. began the construction of Temple of Jupiter. Somewhere around 140 A.D. starts the construction of Temple of Bacchus, and although both temples are almost complete, they were never finished.

It is supposed that such a great and majestic buildings had rather politic and social character than spiritual. It was an answer to the spreading Christianity to keep the pagan worship as long alive as possible. It was a great mixture of cults. Like glorious cake of beliefs and gods with all kinds of spices and ingredients cocked in a giant pot of this valley. It might have been a powerful divine centre once. But now we could not wait until we leave for the shore – direction Byblos.