After my 4th calamity of my Egypt tour, a concerned fellow traveller asked if I was ok. "Oh yes", I assured her, "This is normal for me. My friends in London call me Calamity Jane, and I think you can see why". She looked at me, and nodded understandingly.
First Calamity
I walked into my single hotel room in Aswan, closed the door, and looked around. I needed to have a shower and rest after a long overnight train journey from Cairo, in time to regroup with my tour in an hour. My luggage was being taken to my room by a porter, so I went to reopen the door to see if they were almost there, when the door handle came off in my hand. Mmm... I tried to put it back in and turn the handle, but to no avail. I jostled a bit further, and realised quickly it was going to be a futile exercise to open it from the inside. The porter then arrived with my luggage, and I had to explain through a thick wooden door that I couldn't open my door, could he please try? He finally understood, and went to get someone. Meanwhile I call reception to tell them, and they also arrange to get someone.
Shortly, I had a congregation of Egyptians outside my hotel room, all trying to jostle open the door with a spare key, but to no avail. Occasionally they would drift out of my field of vision from the spy-hole in my door, and I would panic and call out 'Any luck? Pleeease!'. 30 minutes passed with no success.
Finally, one of the troupe called out that they could only open the door by dismantling the mechanism from the inside, so they were going to get someone to climb in through my room window. I ran to open the window and looked out. A sheer drop presented itself, with no ledge other than a very old and dusty air conditioning unit, that looked like it would drop with the weight of a pigeon. I ran back to my door spy-hole, and saw convexically the troupe explaining to my next-door-neighbours that they had to access their window to climb through it to get to my window. I couldn't help but laugh at the insanity of it all. I ran back to my window, and called out to no one in particular "Its madness to try! You'll die!". Eventually I saw the smiling face of an Egyptian porter sticking his head out the neighbouring window. We laughed, looked down, and I said "Don't even try, its not worth the risk!". He disappeared.
I ran back to the door spy-hole and one of the troupe called out that they were going to try accessing my window through the elevator shaft. What?! I ran back to the window, and sure enough, right by my window was the elevator shaft. In a few minutes, my friend the Egyptian porter could be seen suspended from the scaffolding-type structure encasing the elevator shaft. With quasi-acrobatic skill, he leveraged himself across the yawning gap between shaft and window, and propelled himself into my room. Hooray! Within another few minutes, he had unscrewed the door handle mechanism, and I was free! I was kindly moved to another room with working door handles, and rushed to have a shower. Unsurprisingly, I was a little late to my group briefing, but they understood (although were a little shocked) when I told them the reason.
Second Calamity
My tour included a 3-day cruise down the Nile from Aswan to Luxor. It was truly splendid. We stopped off along the way to visit temples and tombs. One morning, we stopped off to visit Komombo temple, by docking against another docked cruiseship, and walking through it to reach the gangway to the shore. The temple was beautiful, and I lost myself gazing at the 4000-year old hieroglyphics and architecture. We had to be back on the cruiseship before 2pm as our boat would sail off at that time, and at 1:55pm, I thought to myself "Oh, one last look around...", so I sprinted round, gathering the ambience one last time, and then headed back to the shore. That was when I realised I had no idea which boat I had to get through to get to my boat. There were dozens docked along the shore, and it was 1:58pm. I started to panic. I ran down the shore to where I thought it was, but realised I had no clue, and was utterly disoriented. I broke out in a cold sweat. I asked a guard where the 'Nile Jewel' was, and he looked confused into the distance. A passing local noticed my panic, and said 'Nile Jewel? Follow me, I know where it is'. So I followed him down the shore, but when I got to where he pointed, I found it wasn't my boat. It was now past 2pm, and things were looking grim. To make matters worse, the little man asked for a baksheesh, the Egyptian equivalent of a tip, but which apparently has no relationship whatsoever to quality or accuracy of service. I refused, and ran the other way up the shore, asking other guards. The little man followed me, saying 'Nile Jewel, its this way', and pointing in entirely the opposite direction to where he initially had taken me. I was getting annoyed. I said 'Look, you don't know where it is, I am not paying you anything, please leave me alone', but undeterred, he kept following me, pointing at random points and saying confidently 'Nile Jewel!'. Eventually, I found a guard who had an idea, and found my boat. The guards kept the little man away from me, and I arrived breathless and relieved in the reception area of my cruiseship, just as it undocked to leave. Phew!
Third Calamity
I began my trip by approaching potentially dodgy food with suspicion. Very quickly that evaporated, as I am hopeless when it comes to self-control and food. Particularly on a cruiseship, with a gorgeous buffet for lunch and dinner. So I gorged myself constantly. It came to haunt me on Christmas morning, as I awoke early to the vibration of my stomach. I knew what that gurgle sensation meant, and ran to the toilet. Oh yes, after a week save from harm, I finally was struck by tummy troubles on Christmas Day of all days. But in typical me-fashion, it wasn't to be normal diarrhoea... no, that would be too convenient. Instead, it was accompanied by what I will describe as child-birth contractions. Searing galling stomach cramps that came in waves, with a pain so acute that I literally was screaming and writhing in pain. Literally. It was horrific. The diarrhoea was nothing, it was treated with a little Imodium. The stomach cramps kept me in unbelievable agony all day. I couldn't even stand up, because if I did and a wave hit me, I would collapse. I was so miserable - I was homesick and lonely sitting in my little cabin all by myself while my fellow tour group members toured Karnak in Luxor. But I experienced true Christmas kindnesses. One of my tour friends came and kept me company for an hour, and read to me from a tour book so I could take my mind off the pain. He kindly looked away or closed his eyes when I moaned in agony, and didn't mind when I ran to the bathroom to throw-up. Eventually I fell asleep, and that seemed to heal the pain a little. One of the other guys on my tour came back from the visit to Karnak with a Christmas present for me, wrapped in National Geographic magazine pages! It was two little papyrus paintings, really sweet and pretty. I was so touched I started to cry. It was my only present that Christmas, and for it to come from a little Taiwanese boy who felt sorry for my agony, was a true Christmas blessing.
Eventually the pain subsided a little, and now, two days later, the waves of cramps come only every 30 minutes or so, and with significantly less intensity than before. Its just a shame I missed Christmas, but words cannot describe how grateful I was to be in my own little sweet cabin, with my own bathroom, and a 24 hour English movie channel on my own TV. Heaven!
Fourth Calamity
After visiting the tomb of Queen Hetshepsut (where terrorists had a killing spree on tourists in 1997), we were walking back to our tour bus, and I was laughing at a fellow tour leader for carrying such heavy bag, when my laugh was cut short by a plank of wood splintering against my head. Turns out by not looking where I was walking - not terribly unusual for me, I agree - I had walked into a plank of wood that was at head height along my path. Other people walk under it, but I had to smash it against my forehead.
So you can see why after so many calamities in the space of a week, my fellow tour members could already see why I was dubbed Calamity Jane. Nevertheless, I am fine, alive and happy. I am heading up to Cairo on the overnight train tonight, and then head to Dahab for a week of diving and beach relaxation. Fingers crossed I don't get the bends!
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Key of Life
Egypt is officially the most different country I've ever been to. Culturally, geographically, socially, its all very exotic and so different from Western societies.
Firstly, they home deliver KFC. Tee hee... sorry, just noticed a congregation of KFC motorcycle delivery men out the window of this internet cafe. Now that is an interesting concept...
The items of wonder I am referring to are a little more interesting than home-delivered fried chicken. The most awe-inspiring site is that of the pyramids, of course. Its been described a multitude of times, its been shown on TV and movies endlessly, but there is something quite moving about your first view of a pyramid. Particularly the Giza pyramids, as you approach them through a wildly chaotic road, with cars beeping their horns instead of using their indicators to signal lateral movement on the roads, and endless estates of red-brick half-finished apartment blocks (left deliberately unfinished for when the grand kids arrive and they need to expand their block!). Then out of the pollution-stained hazy sky, you see an incongruously tall structure with elegant straight edges. Its seems unreal at first, this juxtaposition of hectic mad city with graceful monuments to eternity. You approach the pyramids, and at first you think to yourself "Gee, I thought they'd be bigger", until you see humans at the base of them, and realise that their size is difficult to gauge without a basis for comparison. And they are huge. Each stone is the height of a human, though from afar, they look like teensy steps. They tower into the sky, for the most part still completely intact, which is staggering considering they are almost 4000 years old. Its humbles you when you think about how long ago that was.
So the pyramids have been great. On other days we happen to casually see them as we drive, and the sight still shocks me... modern day ugliness with ancient beauty in the background. The sphinx as well, very impressive... you are aware you are doing the touristy things, but you cannot help but gasp as the grandeur and legacy of these ancient egyptians.
Modern Egyptians, on the other hand, well, they are a mixed lot. Now, I have travelled in many places where people try very hard to sell to you, and men try to seduce you, but here its been a challenge, particularly as a single woman. The selling I can cope with... its annoying and makes you cynical and unfriendly to any new person you meet, but its not unusual. The 'seduction' is very annoying... I was well-prepared with what to expect, but it still upsets you a bit, when almost every man you meet gives you a full look up and down, asks if you have a husband, proposes to you, or wants to sidle up to you. Eek. I've taken to pretending that a oldish man on the tour is my husband, much easier to pretend!
Culturally, its fascinating. We had a cab driver who had no idea how to find our hotel, even though we asked him several times before we boarded "Do you know where this is? Are you sure?". Of course, he had no idea, and even after he did - and I kid you not - 8 U-turns on a busy highway, he was still insisting he knew where it was. In the end, we recognised a building, and directed him back to our hotel ourselves. Hmmm... Then there is the practise of answering every question with "If you like". So, we ask our tour guide: "Do we need to check out of our hotel before our tour today?", "If you like", was her non-commital answer. "Do we need a sleeping bag on the train tonight?", "If you like". "It is worth going into the pyramid for 100 Egyptian pounds?", "If you like". To be honest, I am not sure if this is an example of egyptian culture, or the complete incompetence of our tour guide. We all are starting to suspect the latter. Last night, after forgetting to book a restaurant we had told her we wanted to go to, she suggested another place, spoke in Arabic to three taxis to take us there, then she got into a fourth. At the destination, we were left on a busy road, the taxi driver pointed vaguely in the direction of about 5 restaurants and drove off. We stood for 40 minutes out in the cold waiting for her. She never arrived. In the end we found a place ourselves, and struggles through the arabic menu. She never turned up. Or even more amusingly, during our orientation meeting, she spent 90 minutes laboriously writing down our insurance and flight details onto a piece of paper, while we all sat awkwardly waiting for some introduction or smile. Nothing. In the end I had to start asking everyones names and getting the conversation going... then the next night, she said her office told her the flight information needed to be written in our handwriting (why??!), so could we all write it down now. So asked her if she had the original sheet so we could copy it from there, rather than finding our flight tickets again in our rooms... oh no, she didn't have it anymore. AAAHHH.... I'm wingeing, I know, our whole tour group has been, she is truly terrible. But its only been two days, maybe it will get better.
Anyway, we are off tonight on a train south to Aswan and Luxor, then a 3 day Nile cruise, where I will be for Xmas. I may not have a chance to be online again til then, so have a wonderful Christmas and New Year! I miss you all.
Oh, and why have a titled this entry the Key of Life? Two reasons. The Key of Life is the symbol that looks like a Christian cross, but with a loop at the top rather than a fourth branch. It was used by ancient egyptians as an offering on death to the gods, as a petition for eternal life. Its also the name of the essential oil perfume I bought today at a perfume factory. Very musky and delicious!
Firstly, they home deliver KFC. Tee hee... sorry, just noticed a congregation of KFC motorcycle delivery men out the window of this internet cafe. Now that is an interesting concept...
The items of wonder I am referring to are a little more interesting than home-delivered fried chicken. The most awe-inspiring site is that of the pyramids, of course. Its been described a multitude of times, its been shown on TV and movies endlessly, but there is something quite moving about your first view of a pyramid. Particularly the Giza pyramids, as you approach them through a wildly chaotic road, with cars beeping their horns instead of using their indicators to signal lateral movement on the roads, and endless estates of red-brick half-finished apartment blocks (left deliberately unfinished for when the grand kids arrive and they need to expand their block!). Then out of the pollution-stained hazy sky, you see an incongruously tall structure with elegant straight edges. Its seems unreal at first, this juxtaposition of hectic mad city with graceful monuments to eternity. You approach the pyramids, and at first you think to yourself "Gee, I thought they'd be bigger", until you see humans at the base of them, and realise that their size is difficult to gauge without a basis for comparison. And they are huge. Each stone is the height of a human, though from afar, they look like teensy steps. They tower into the sky, for the most part still completely intact, which is staggering considering they are almost 4000 years old. Its humbles you when you think about how long ago that was.
So the pyramids have been great. On other days we happen to casually see them as we drive, and the sight still shocks me... modern day ugliness with ancient beauty in the background. The sphinx as well, very impressive... you are aware you are doing the touristy things, but you cannot help but gasp as the grandeur and legacy of these ancient egyptians.
Modern Egyptians, on the other hand, well, they are a mixed lot. Now, I have travelled in many places where people try very hard to sell to you, and men try to seduce you, but here its been a challenge, particularly as a single woman. The selling I can cope with... its annoying and makes you cynical and unfriendly to any new person you meet, but its not unusual. The 'seduction' is very annoying... I was well-prepared with what to expect, but it still upsets you a bit, when almost every man you meet gives you a full look up and down, asks if you have a husband, proposes to you, or wants to sidle up to you. Eek. I've taken to pretending that a oldish man on the tour is my husband, much easier to pretend!
Culturally, its fascinating. We had a cab driver who had no idea how to find our hotel, even though we asked him several times before we boarded "Do you know where this is? Are you sure?". Of course, he had no idea, and even after he did - and I kid you not - 8 U-turns on a busy highway, he was still insisting he knew where it was. In the end, we recognised a building, and directed him back to our hotel ourselves. Hmmm... Then there is the practise of answering every question with "If you like". So, we ask our tour guide: "Do we need to check out of our hotel before our tour today?", "If you like", was her non-commital answer. "Do we need a sleeping bag on the train tonight?", "If you like". "It is worth going into the pyramid for 100 Egyptian pounds?", "If you like". To be honest, I am not sure if this is an example of egyptian culture, or the complete incompetence of our tour guide. We all are starting to suspect the latter. Last night, after forgetting to book a restaurant we had told her we wanted to go to, she suggested another place, spoke in Arabic to three taxis to take us there, then she got into a fourth. At the destination, we were left on a busy road, the taxi driver pointed vaguely in the direction of about 5 restaurants and drove off. We stood for 40 minutes out in the cold waiting for her. She never arrived. In the end we found a place ourselves, and struggles through the arabic menu. She never turned up. Or even more amusingly, during our orientation meeting, she spent 90 minutes laboriously writing down our insurance and flight details onto a piece of paper, while we all sat awkwardly waiting for some introduction or smile. Nothing. In the end I had to start asking everyones names and getting the conversation going... then the next night, she said her office told her the flight information needed to be written in our handwriting (why??!), so could we all write it down now. So asked her if she had the original sheet so we could copy it from there, rather than finding our flight tickets again in our rooms... oh no, she didn't have it anymore. AAAHHH.... I'm wingeing, I know, our whole tour group has been, she is truly terrible. But its only been two days, maybe it will get better.
Anyway, we are off tonight on a train south to Aswan and Luxor, then a 3 day Nile cruise, where I will be for Xmas. I may not have a chance to be online again til then, so have a wonderful Christmas and New Year! I miss you all.
Oh, and why have a titled this entry the Key of Life? Two reasons. The Key of Life is the symbol that looks like a Christian cross, but with a loop at the top rather than a fourth branch. It was used by ancient egyptians as an offering on death to the gods, as a petition for eternal life. Its also the name of the essential oil perfume I bought today at a perfume factory. Very musky and delicious!
Monday, December 12, 2005
An attempt to summarise
Goodness, its been ages since I last updated this blog, I do apologise. In my attempt to get up to date as quickly as possible, I am going to shamefully summarise the last month's key points in one large entry... horror, I know, but necessary.
Getting to know you
After girlie roadtrip, Kath departed and Melli and I headed on to Italy. In Bari, we ended up waiting several hours for a bus that had broken down, but we entertained ourselves with the 'Getting to Know you' game. Its an excellent one - you ask the other person a random question, ie. 'What did you want to be when you grew up?', or 'Describe your happiest moment', or 'What food could you eat every day for eternity', etc. Then you answer the question as well, and then its the other persons go. Its a great game!
Dodgy Naples
We finally got on the bus to Naples. We were very nervous about Naples, as every person and book we had gleaned for info warned about the dodginess and corruption of the city. Over the next few days, we had many occasions to go in and out of Naples train station, and can now attest that it is every bit as dodgy and scary as they say. People with dark circles under their eyes, and an aura of evil and corruption stare at you, encircle you, stand close behind you... Melli and I were constantly on full guard, and were always fine, but my goodness, there were some icky moments.
Pompeii fantasy
Pompeii was a highlight. It wasn't at all what I expected. I've been to loads of ancient ruins, and thought it would be the same, a small area with some random vague ruins. Oh no... Pompeii is truly a full city, with avenues, streets, buildings, markets, baths, etc, all still very much in tact. And its vast, we walked around for hours, and still only saw a fraction of it. And its wonderful fun, especially at this time of year, when there were no crowds but it was still warm, we often had ruined palaces and market stalls entirely to ourselves, so we amused ourselves by role-playing in the deserted ruins: we were wool merchants, sacrifical victims, noblemen's daughters, etc. It was a wonderfully evocative day.
Capri-cious
Another fun diversion was the island of Capri. We went there for two days of peaceful walking and exploration. Its every bit as stunning an island as they say. We also went on a boat trip circumnavigating the island, exploring the caves scattered throughout the coast. It was gloriously beautiful, and perfectly climaxed by a visit to the Blue Grotto: a water cave you have to visit on a tiny dinghy (exorbitantly priced, what scoundrels!), but once inside, the water literally glows with a bright sky blue light. Its undescribably peculiar. Our dinghy driver sang opera as we splashed for all of 3 minutes inside the cave, then he proceeded to request a hearty tip, which after the 20 euro boat trip, and the 8 euro dingy ride, we thought a bit excessive... we gave him a euro, and he gave us the most withering stare you can imagine. We were haughtily indignant.
Sicilian silliness
We had planned to explore the Amalfi Coast, but after seeing Sorrento, which was the umpteenth resort town that was completely dead off-season, we decide to give up on the rest of the coast and head down to Sicily a day earlier. We boarded an overnight ferry, and in the comfort of our own cabin, proceeded to have a dress-up and dance disco with my little ipod speakers. We had a ball! Sicily was lovely. We would have loved to have been there for longer, there was a lot to see and do. We did manage to go for a hike in a beautiful seaside nature reserve with our hostel owner, which included one of the yummiest sandwiches I've ever eaten, but other than that, we just explored Palermo. The main limitation was that I got terribly ill on my last day, and couldn't get out of bed.
Change of plans
My original plans were to go to the south of France after Sicily, whilst Melli was to return to Canada via London for a night. I was heart-broken at the thought she was finally going to spend a night in London, and it wasn't going to be with me. It was just wrong, after 4 years of living there, for us never to have coincided. Then it hit me... I could go back! I didn't HAVE to be anywhere, and frankly, I didn't think I could handle another seaside resort town dead off-season. I was tired of travelling, and wanted a break. And I missed my friends in London, and I missed London. I had lots of administrative things I still needed finalising, and it would have been so much easier to do them in London. So, on a whim, I bought a one-way ticket to London with Melli. It was the BEST thing I have ever done.
Flight horror
My flight back to London was easily the worst flight I have ever had. I had a fever, and I hadn't had time to buy any pain-killers. I boarded the flight, and begged a Ryan Air attendant for some Panadols. The usual ensued... avoidance, ignorance, deference to anyone else so they didn't have to deal with the request. In the end, they said they couldn't give me anything due to blah blah, and they couldn't ask anyone on the plane either because blah blah... I was aghast. The pain in my head escalated, and I became delirious with fever. I writhed and moaned as the agony engulfed me. It was the first time I have endured flight turbulence without fear, because I actually thought to myself "If this plane crashes, at least it will take me out of this misery!". Finally, some kind (and no doubt disturbed) fellow passenger donated some pain killers to me, and in grateful blindness, I consumed it, and began to feel vaguely human again. The horror was not over yet though. As the plane started to descend, my congested head started to hurt, and the pain got worse as we descended more. The pain became like a knife, with the pressure so strong that I felt my head was going to explode. I began to get really worried... I wiggled my ears, my nose, swallowed, blew my nose, but nothing would even vaguely lessen the agony. I started to wimper, yes, indeed, I did. Melli, bless her, grabbed a flight attendant and asked for some chewing gum. The useless brainless child working on the flight said, "Oh, she'll be fine, there's nothing we can do", and Melli retorted with "No, trust me, chewing gum works and she is in pain", but of course, the moronic child of ignorance that Ryan Air uses as staff washed his hands of my distress and walked away. Luckily, again, a fellow passengar had heard my moanings and offered me his gum. So somehow, I managed to survive the flight and the landing, exhausted and in dire pain, but alive!
Night of madness
Once off the plane, Debbie in London called me to confirm whether we were all going out that night... I said that I didn't think I could make it, after being so ill. Debbie asked if I was sure, there were going to be lots of friends there... aaah, she knows me well, that Debs. Suddenly, it was as if all the pain and anguish vanished, and I felt ok again. "Oh, you know, I do feel a lot better, maybe I can make it out afterall". Melli is staring at me in horror, mouthing "Are you mad??!! You cannot go out tonight!". But its amazing what potential fun can do for my immune system... I not only made it out that night, but stayed out til 10:30am... and oh my goodness was it worthwhile. I finally, FINALLY, have my two best friends, Melli and Debs, together for the first time, see them get along, and have a wild and wonderful night of great dancing, finally, after so many disappointing attempts during our holiday, was worth the week of illness I still suffered after that night. Thanks to Broc as well for making it out, and entertaining us girls!
London luxury
My time in London was heavenly. I didn't do that much partying... just a little. But I mainly relaxed, strolled around, caught up with friends, got my yellow fever injection, bought my hiking gear for Africa, arranged more shipping to Sydney, tried to fix my ipod, etc... dull things, but not really. I was able to help Debbie move into the flat she just bought. I was able to have a final special night with Philippa. I got to spend time with a harassed and stressed Kat. I was able to get a massage from two very kind friends. And I could attend Stephen's charity auction, which had a poetic beauty about since I organised the first one, and it was lovely to see how glorious Ste could make the event. All in all, I spent a nurturing and needed two weeks in London, a perfect end to 3 months of very intense travel.
Getting to know you
After girlie roadtrip, Kath departed and Melli and I headed on to Italy. In Bari, we ended up waiting several hours for a bus that had broken down, but we entertained ourselves with the 'Getting to Know you' game. Its an excellent one - you ask the other person a random question, ie. 'What did you want to be when you grew up?', or 'Describe your happiest moment', or 'What food could you eat every day for eternity', etc. Then you answer the question as well, and then its the other persons go. Its a great game!
Dodgy Naples
We finally got on the bus to Naples. We were very nervous about Naples, as every person and book we had gleaned for info warned about the dodginess and corruption of the city. Over the next few days, we had many occasions to go in and out of Naples train station, and can now attest that it is every bit as dodgy and scary as they say. People with dark circles under their eyes, and an aura of evil and corruption stare at you, encircle you, stand close behind you... Melli and I were constantly on full guard, and were always fine, but my goodness, there were some icky moments.
Pompeii fantasy
Pompeii was a highlight. It wasn't at all what I expected. I've been to loads of ancient ruins, and thought it would be the same, a small area with some random vague ruins. Oh no... Pompeii is truly a full city, with avenues, streets, buildings, markets, baths, etc, all still very much in tact. And its vast, we walked around for hours, and still only saw a fraction of it. And its wonderful fun, especially at this time of year, when there were no crowds but it was still warm, we often had ruined palaces and market stalls entirely to ourselves, so we amused ourselves by role-playing in the deserted ruins: we were wool merchants, sacrifical victims, noblemen's daughters, etc. It was a wonderfully evocative day.
Capri-cious
Another fun diversion was the island of Capri. We went there for two days of peaceful walking and exploration. Its every bit as stunning an island as they say. We also went on a boat trip circumnavigating the island, exploring the caves scattered throughout the coast. It was gloriously beautiful, and perfectly climaxed by a visit to the Blue Grotto: a water cave you have to visit on a tiny dinghy (exorbitantly priced, what scoundrels!), but once inside, the water literally glows with a bright sky blue light. Its undescribably peculiar. Our dinghy driver sang opera as we splashed for all of 3 minutes inside the cave, then he proceeded to request a hearty tip, which after the 20 euro boat trip, and the 8 euro dingy ride, we thought a bit excessive... we gave him a euro, and he gave us the most withering stare you can imagine. We were haughtily indignant.
Sicilian silliness
We had planned to explore the Amalfi Coast, but after seeing Sorrento, which was the umpteenth resort town that was completely dead off-season, we decide to give up on the rest of the coast and head down to Sicily a day earlier. We boarded an overnight ferry, and in the comfort of our own cabin, proceeded to have a dress-up and dance disco with my little ipod speakers. We had a ball! Sicily was lovely. We would have loved to have been there for longer, there was a lot to see and do. We did manage to go for a hike in a beautiful seaside nature reserve with our hostel owner, which included one of the yummiest sandwiches I've ever eaten, but other than that, we just explored Palermo. The main limitation was that I got terribly ill on my last day, and couldn't get out of bed.
Change of plans
My original plans were to go to the south of France after Sicily, whilst Melli was to return to Canada via London for a night. I was heart-broken at the thought she was finally going to spend a night in London, and it wasn't going to be with me. It was just wrong, after 4 years of living there, for us never to have coincided. Then it hit me... I could go back! I didn't HAVE to be anywhere, and frankly, I didn't think I could handle another seaside resort town dead off-season. I was tired of travelling, and wanted a break. And I missed my friends in London, and I missed London. I had lots of administrative things I still needed finalising, and it would have been so much easier to do them in London. So, on a whim, I bought a one-way ticket to London with Melli. It was the BEST thing I have ever done.
Flight horror
My flight back to London was easily the worst flight I have ever had. I had a fever, and I hadn't had time to buy any pain-killers. I boarded the flight, and begged a Ryan Air attendant for some Panadols. The usual ensued... avoidance, ignorance, deference to anyone else so they didn't have to deal with the request. In the end, they said they couldn't give me anything due to blah blah, and they couldn't ask anyone on the plane either because blah blah... I was aghast. The pain in my head escalated, and I became delirious with fever. I writhed and moaned as the agony engulfed me. It was the first time I have endured flight turbulence without fear, because I actually thought to myself "If this plane crashes, at least it will take me out of this misery!". Finally, some kind (and no doubt disturbed) fellow passenger donated some pain killers to me, and in grateful blindness, I consumed it, and began to feel vaguely human again. The horror was not over yet though. As the plane started to descend, my congested head started to hurt, and the pain got worse as we descended more. The pain became like a knife, with the pressure so strong that I felt my head was going to explode. I began to get really worried... I wiggled my ears, my nose, swallowed, blew my nose, but nothing would even vaguely lessen the agony. I started to wimper, yes, indeed, I did. Melli, bless her, grabbed a flight attendant and asked for some chewing gum. The useless brainless child working on the flight said, "Oh, she'll be fine, there's nothing we can do", and Melli retorted with "No, trust me, chewing gum works and she is in pain", but of course, the moronic child of ignorance that Ryan Air uses as staff washed his hands of my distress and walked away. Luckily, again, a fellow passengar had heard my moanings and offered me his gum. So somehow, I managed to survive the flight and the landing, exhausted and in dire pain, but alive!
Night of madness
Once off the plane, Debbie in London called me to confirm whether we were all going out that night... I said that I didn't think I could make it, after being so ill. Debbie asked if I was sure, there were going to be lots of friends there... aaah, she knows me well, that Debs. Suddenly, it was as if all the pain and anguish vanished, and I felt ok again. "Oh, you know, I do feel a lot better, maybe I can make it out afterall". Melli is staring at me in horror, mouthing "Are you mad??!! You cannot go out tonight!". But its amazing what potential fun can do for my immune system... I not only made it out that night, but stayed out til 10:30am... and oh my goodness was it worthwhile. I finally, FINALLY, have my two best friends, Melli and Debs, together for the first time, see them get along, and have a wild and wonderful night of great dancing, finally, after so many disappointing attempts during our holiday, was worth the week of illness I still suffered after that night. Thanks to Broc as well for making it out, and entertaining us girls!
London luxury
My time in London was heavenly. I didn't do that much partying... just a little. But I mainly relaxed, strolled around, caught up with friends, got my yellow fever injection, bought my hiking gear for Africa, arranged more shipping to Sydney, tried to fix my ipod, etc... dull things, but not really. I was able to help Debbie move into the flat she just bought. I was able to have a final special night with Philippa. I got to spend time with a harassed and stressed Kat. I was able to get a massage from two very kind friends. And I could attend Stephen's charity auction, which had a poetic beauty about since I organised the first one, and it was lovely to see how glorious Ste could make the event. All in all, I spent a nurturing and needed two weeks in London, a perfect end to 3 months of very intense travel.
I am now in Spain, again relaxing, this time with family. Lots of food, alcohol, and bowling. Aaah....
OK - I am now up to date!
Monday, November 28, 2005
Finally more photos
I have finally uploaded all the photos from my girlie trip to Croatia and Italy, plus many of my photos from the Baltic states and Poland.
Here are the Croatia/Italy ones
And here are some of my Eastern Europe ones
Enjoy!
Here are the Croatia/Italy ones
And here are some of my Eastern Europe ones
Enjoy!
Friday, November 25, 2005
Girlie roadtrip
As promised, here is an update on the rest of my girlie roadtrip, which I promise, will make you giggle, yearn, and feel educated. Not a bad reward for reading all I have to write, eh?!
Croatian ramparts and picnics
I love the word 'ramparts'. Its funnier the more times you say it, plus I love the imagery that it conjures: castles, ancient cities, knights defending their people, etc. So it was with excited expectations that Kath, Melli and I prepared for our rampart walk in Dubrovnik. Apparently it was the most celebrated attraction in Dubrovnik, and we were blessed with a summer-perfect blinding-blue-skied day to traverse the walls. As you can see from these photos, it was a rather spectacular day...
It was an especially special day, for many reasons: firstly, it was Melli's first time in a European city, and it was a joy to see her awe at the stunning harbour, old monuments, and mediterranean ambience. Secondly, for all of us, it was the first time in a very long time we had been in warm weather, and boy, did we relish it!
And lastly, it was the first sunny day of our trip, and it was filled with the excitement and anticipation of many more days together.
Two amazing things happened that day. Firstly, we had the perfect picnic: we bought delicious snacks, including capsicum paste and olive tapenade, tuna, crackers, brie, and wine, and sat down to dine on a deserted pebble beach in the late afternoon sun.
Words were not only unnecessary, but incompetent, to describe the glorious sensation of that golden afternoon. Here are some photos which capture some of the magic:
The other amazing thing was that we discovered the best way to cover all we wanted to see wasn't on a bus, but in our own car. In the space of a few hours, we had planned an itinerary, taken our car, and hit the road on the way to Hvar. The drive up was spectacular: coastal scenery, sunset, and filled with songs and games.
Our weekend
We caught a car ferry to Hvar, and found ourselves in the picturesque but very very quiet island town. It did, however, give us one of the best meals on the trip, a seafood platter bursting with freshness.
We then caught another car ferry, this time to Split in the north of Croatia, purely (this is rather sad in retrospect) because we had heard there was excellent clubbing to be had there. It was a Saturday night, and after experiencing the ghost towns that were Dubrovnik and Hvar at night, we were desperate for some excitement and city pulse. We were so ramped up for a big night out, that we spent four hours getting ready... showers, hair, dress-ups, accessorising, pre-party drinks, i-pod dancing in our hotel... it was tremendous fun, and we were in very high spirits for our destined night out.
Unfortunately, it was not to be. Oh yes, there was a pulse and some very busy nightclubs (we went to three), but they all without exception played Croatian polka music. We stood in awe and watched hundreds of beautifully attired Croatians squeal and dance wildly to music that we just didn't get. We tried, but we just couldn't find muster enthusiasum for music that we just didn't get. With dejected sighs, we returned, fruitless, to our hotel and went to bed.
Bosnian surprise
The next day contained one of the hardest yet most rewarding days of driving we had experienced.
It was a seven hour drive from Split to Sarajevo, and with the sun setting at this time of year at 5pm, it meant that we drove for several hours in the dark. And despite my usually impeccable map reading skills, I unfortunately managed to get us lost a few times, which added much time (and a little stress) to our journey. But oh my, was it beautiful... Bosnia was a totally unexpected joy. Sweeping mountains, lush valleys, breathtaking lakes, and most moving of all, house after house riddled with recent bullets and shells. We had been warned by our guidebook not to walk off paved roads, as the threat of landmines is still very real. This combination of beauty and peril seared Bosnia into all our hearts.
Sarajevo was very much worth a seven hour drive to reach. Not only is it a very pretty bustling city, but it oozes history. On this bridge, Arch Duke Franz Ferdinand was shot, which was the event that triggered World War 1. You can visit the Holiday Inn, which was the centre of world journalisn during the recent war, and its particularly scary to visit, as you have to walk down a highway that was dubbed 'Sniper Alley' during the war, due to the number of deaths by Serbian snipers shooting from the nearby hills. Its so eerie to walk down a street that 10 years ago saw so much violence and brutality. We gawked at the number of bullet-ridden buildings, it was actually a shock to see one that wasn't damaged. We became so fascinated by this recent history that we all bought books on the history and politics of the war, and read furiously for days about the psychology, rationale (what little there was), and effect of the war.
In summary - if you are interested (I didn't know any of this beforehand, its so fascinating!): Bosnia has always been a very multicultural country, accommodating Christian Croats, Orthodox Serbs, Muslim Bosnians, plus other national groups like Albanians and Montenegrans. Generally they lived quite harmoniously, operating within the concept of 'merhamet', a muslim term meaning unity, forgiveness, tolerance. However, during World War II, nationalist feelings were stirred, and there were horrific atrocities incurred upon millions by fellow Slavs, ie. Croats killing Bosnians, Serbs killing Croats, etc. Almost everyone lost a family member during this war. Once peace was declared, what should have happened was that the people should have had the space to mourn their loss and deal with the underlying issues that caused the civil violence. However, what actually happened was Communism was declared by President Tito, and for 40 years, no other narrative was permitted to describe history other than what his government permitted, that is, that the War was a partisan victory that created this great Yugoslavia. Anyone that even hinted at believing any other history was executed or imprisoned, in typical Communist crowd-control style. So for 40 years, everything was bottled up, and there was a forced peace amongst the national groups.
This all lasted until Tito died. Then Nationalist groups reformed in an attempt to gain control of Yugoslavia, and in their political machinations, used the unresolved anger and hatred from 40 years ago to stir emotions. This was done particularly well by the Serbian government, who used a platform of paranoia and supremacy to make all Serbians, plus Serbs living in Croatia and Bosnia, feel they should unite and defend themselves against possible attack by other Slavs. Much of this hysteria was kept secret, so that when their (as they saw it) pre-emptive attack on Bosnia began, it was a complete surprise. In the space of a month, everything changed: one day you have a neighbour who invites you to dinner, or a best man at your wedding; in a few weeks, he is now arresting and torturing you. It was literally that swift, and that betraying. I won't go into detail as to the atrocities that were committed, but both Melli and I were repeatedly sickened while reading our books, to discover what humans could inflict not only upon other humans, but most disturbingly, on their former friends, colleagues, neighbours.
The United Nations didn't step in til very late in the war, and then initially all they did was evacuate women and children from the supposed 'UN Safe Zone', leaving 20,000 men to be summarily slaughtered by the Serbs in one day. Sarajevo was a city under seige: surrounded on 3 sides by Serbs, and on one side by the United Nations who were deliberately not getting involved as part of their deal with the Serbs. The only way they could get weapons or food was by a secret tunnet they built under the airport. We actually visited this tunnel, now called the Tunnel Museum, under a non-descript house at the end of a non-descript country alley (it took us AGES to find, as it was all so necessarily non-descript). We talked with the ex-soldier who lives in the house, and to my dying days I'll remember his face when he answered my question of "What was it like living here during the war?" with "You could never understand, and if you could understand, you would never forget." After reading about some of the atrocities committed in the concentration camps, I began to understand, and sure enough, its burnt into my mind forever, making me a little older, a little more jaded.
End of roadtrip
We eventually drove back to Dubrovnik via a little Bosnian village called Mostar, famous for its bridge that was demolished in the war, and recently rebuilt, a sign of rebirth and hope in a torn country. Back in Dubrovnik, we finished off the girlie roadtrip with a bit of a midnight dip in the cold Croatian ocean, with very little on! ;-) Very fun!
So there you go: did I live up to my promise? Have you smiled a little, yearned a little, and educated you a little? Its what we all got out of our adventure!
Croatian ramparts and picnicsI love the word 'ramparts'. Its funnier the more times you say it, plus I love the imagery that it conjures: castles, ancient cities, knights defending their people, etc. So it was with excited expectations that Kath, Melli and I prepared for our rampart walk in Dubrovnik. Apparently it was the most celebrated attraction in Dubrovnik, and we were blessed with a summer-perfect blinding-blue-skied day to traverse the walls. As you can see from these photos, it was a rather spectacular day...
It was an especially special day, for many reasons: firstly, it was Melli's first time in a European city, and it was a joy to see her awe at the stunning harbour, old monuments, and mediterranean ambience. Secondly, for all of us, it was the first time in a very long time we had been in warm weather, and boy, did we relish it!
And lastly, it was the first sunny day of our trip, and it was filled with the excitement and anticipation of many more days together.Two amazing things happened that day. Firstly, we had the perfect picnic: we bought delicious snacks, including capsicum paste and olive tapenade, tuna, crackers, brie, and wine, and sat down to dine on a deserted pebble beach in the late afternoon sun.
Words were not only unnecessary, but incompetent, to describe the glorious sensation of that golden afternoon. Here are some photos which capture some of the magic:
The other amazing thing was that we discovered the best way to cover all we wanted to see wasn't on a bus, but in our own car. In the space of a few hours, we had planned an itinerary, taken our car, and hit the road on the way to Hvar. The drive up was spectacular: coastal scenery, sunset, and filled with songs and games.
Our weekendWe caught a car ferry to Hvar, and found ourselves in the picturesque but very very quiet island town. It did, however, give us one of the best meals on the trip, a seafood platter bursting with freshness.
We then caught another car ferry, this time to Split in the north of Croatia, purely (this is rather sad in retrospect) because we had heard there was excellent clubbing to be had there. It was a Saturday night, and after experiencing the ghost towns that were Dubrovnik and Hvar at night, we were desperate for some excitement and city pulse. We were so ramped up for a big night out, that we spent four hours getting ready... showers, hair, dress-ups, accessorising, pre-party drinks, i-pod dancing in our hotel... it was tremendous fun, and we were in very high spirits for our destined night out.
Unfortunately, it was not to be. Oh yes, there was a pulse and some very busy nightclubs (we went to three), but they all without exception played Croatian polka music. We stood in awe and watched hundreds of beautifully attired Croatians squeal and dance wildly to music that we just didn't get. We tried, but we just couldn't find muster enthusiasum for music that we just didn't get. With dejected sighs, we returned, fruitless, to our hotel and went to bed.
Bosnian surprise
The next day contained one of the hardest yet most rewarding days of driving we had experienced.
It was a seven hour drive from Split to Sarajevo, and with the sun setting at this time of year at 5pm, it meant that we drove for several hours in the dark. And despite my usually impeccable map reading skills, I unfortunately managed to get us lost a few times, which added much time (and a little stress) to our journey. But oh my, was it beautiful... Bosnia was a totally unexpected joy. Sweeping mountains, lush valleys, breathtaking lakes, and most moving of all, house after house riddled with recent bullets and shells. We had been warned by our guidebook not to walk off paved roads, as the threat of landmines is still very real. This combination of beauty and peril seared Bosnia into all our hearts.Sarajevo was very much worth a seven hour drive to reach. Not only is it a very pretty bustling city, but it oozes history. On this bridge, Arch Duke Franz Ferdinand was shot, which was the event that triggered World War 1. You can visit the Holiday Inn, which was the centre of world journalisn during the recent war, and its particularly scary to visit, as you have to walk down a highway that was dubbed 'Sniper Alley' during the war, due to the number of deaths by Serbian snipers shooting from the nearby hills. Its so eerie to walk down a street that 10 years ago saw so much violence and brutality. We gawked at the number of bullet-ridden buildings, it was actually a shock to see one that wasn't damaged. We became so fascinated by this recent history that we all bought books on the history and politics of the war, and read furiously for days about the psychology, rationale (what little there was), and effect of the war.
In summary - if you are interested (I didn't know any of this beforehand, its so fascinating!): Bosnia has always been a very multicultural country, accommodating Christian Croats, Orthodox Serbs, Muslim Bosnians, plus other national groups like Albanians and Montenegrans. Generally they lived quite harmoniously, operating within the concept of 'merhamet', a muslim term meaning unity, forgiveness, tolerance. However, during World War II, nationalist feelings were stirred, and there were horrific atrocities incurred upon millions by fellow Slavs, ie. Croats killing Bosnians, Serbs killing Croats, etc. Almost everyone lost a family member during this war. Once peace was declared, what should have happened was that the people should have had the space to mourn their loss and deal with the underlying issues that caused the civil violence. However, what actually happened was Communism was declared by President Tito, and for 40 years, no other narrative was permitted to describe history other than what his government permitted, that is, that the War was a partisan victory that created this great Yugoslavia. Anyone that even hinted at believing any other history was executed or imprisoned, in typical Communist crowd-control style. So for 40 years, everything was bottled up, and there was a forced peace amongst the national groups.
This all lasted until Tito died. Then Nationalist groups reformed in an attempt to gain control of Yugoslavia, and in their political machinations, used the unresolved anger and hatred from 40 years ago to stir emotions. This was done particularly well by the Serbian government, who used a platform of paranoia and supremacy to make all Serbians, plus Serbs living in Croatia and Bosnia, feel they should unite and defend themselves against possible attack by other Slavs. Much of this hysteria was kept secret, so that when their (as they saw it) pre-emptive attack on Bosnia began, it was a complete surprise. In the space of a month, everything changed: one day you have a neighbour who invites you to dinner, or a best man at your wedding; in a few weeks, he is now arresting and torturing you. It was literally that swift, and that betraying. I won't go into detail as to the atrocities that were committed, but both Melli and I were repeatedly sickened while reading our books, to discover what humans could inflict not only upon other humans, but most disturbingly, on their former friends, colleagues, neighbours.
The United Nations didn't step in til very late in the war, and then initially all they did was evacuate women and children from the supposed 'UN Safe Zone', leaving 20,000 men to be summarily slaughtered by the Serbs in one day. Sarajevo was a city under seige: surrounded on 3 sides by Serbs, and on one side by the United Nations who were deliberately not getting involved as part of their deal with the Serbs. The only way they could get weapons or food was by a secret tunnet they built under the airport. We actually visited this tunnel, now called the Tunnel Museum, under a non-descript house at the end of a non-descript country alley (it took us AGES to find, as it was all so necessarily non-descript). We talked with the ex-soldier who lives in the house, and to my dying days I'll remember his face when he answered my question of "What was it like living here during the war?" with "You could never understand, and if you could understand, you would never forget." After reading about some of the atrocities committed in the concentration camps, I began to understand, and sure enough, its burnt into my mind forever, making me a little older, a little more jaded.
End of roadtrip
We eventually drove back to Dubrovnik via a little Bosnian village called Mostar, famous for its bridge that was demolished in the war, and recently rebuilt, a sign of rebirth and hope in a torn country. Back in Dubrovnik, we finished off the girlie roadtrip with a bit of a midnight dip in the cold Croatian ocean, with very little on! ;-) Very fun!
So there you go: did I live up to my promise? Have you smiled a little, yearned a little, and educated you a little? Its what we all got out of our adventure!
Sunday, November 13, 2005
"Why are you here now?!"
Apologies, I am seriously delayed in my blog writing, to the point now where to avoid being scared off the duty of updating everything appropriately, I will have to update some things mediocrely.
Summary
To summarise the last 13 days briefly, I flew on three flights to get from Krakow to Dubrovnik (insane, I know), to meet my best friend Mellissa and her other best friend Kathleen for our long awaited girlie holiday. The plan was to spend 8 days in Croatia, then two weeks in southern Italy. But plans, thankfully, tend to act only as a basis for changing things around, as after two nights in Dubrovnik, we decided to have a bit of a roadtrip.
I love nothing better than a roadtrip. Me, a map, and the winding Slavic roads. There is nothing like it.
We began driving up the coast from Dubrovnik towards a town from which we supposedly could catch a car ferry to an island called Hvar. It was a completely delightful drive up the Dalmatian coast, with a sunset-painted glittering sea and huge jutting islands always to our left. Kathleen proved to be an incredible driver, despite it being her first time driving on the right-hand side of the road. We girls sang songs, played word games, told stories... it was everything you would imagine a girlie roadtrip to be, and it was fabulous.
Our Guardian Angel
Earlier that day I had made a rather strange purchase of, and I kid you not, a Christmas decoration in the shape of an angel made entirely out of different kinds of gold-painted pasta. It seemed quirky and it took my fancy. We christened her Gabrielle, and she became our mascot. We hung her in the position normally commanded by fluffy dice - off the rear view mirror - and we asked for her blessings often. She didn't let us down.
We made it to the town with the car ferry 30 minutes before the last ferry of the night was to leave, Gabrielle clearly helping us out there. As we were waiting in the dodgy tiny port bar, the song 'Needing You' came on the radio, which until that time - and for all the time afterwards - was playing cheesy Croatian classics... Very unexpected, and made all the more spooky by the fact that its Melli's all time favourite dance song, and has incredible memories associated it involving us dancing together when we were younger. We had a bit of a dance in the dodgy bar, I don't think the ancient men sitting in the corner had ever seen such activity in that bar! This got us talking about what song would affect the rest of us equally, and I of course said my song was 'Silence' by Delerium.... hold that thought...
We eventually got onto the car ferry, and onto Hvar. Hvar was described as being beautiful and chilled, so we were looking forward to seeing it. However, once off the ferry, it took us so long to get to the main town. The roads were narrow, windy, and it was dark. We couldn't see what was in the darkness off the edge of every hairpin curve, and perhaps that was a good thing... We all started to get car sick and dizzy with the drive, but eventually, by 10pm, we made it to the main town, and found a nice little B&B to stay in. Exhausted but hungry, we drove into the main square to find food, only to find everything shut by this time, and the town deserted. This was to be a common theme for the rest of our trip: if we were here in summer, it would be heaving, but in the off-season, everything shuts down. Dishearted, we returned to our hostel to eat leftover groceries, watching the TV as we ate. Imagine our shock when the movie we were watching suddenly played 'Silence' by Delerium... in the space of a few hours, both my and Melli's favourite songs ever were played in unexpected surroundings... we took this as a good sign!
Loads more lucky coincidences happened to us... buses that were unusually late meaning we were in time to catch it, the right person passing us at the right time to help us when we were lost, etc. We were constantly thanking Gabrielle for her divine blessings!
Empty or shut!
However, there were many areas we were not so blessed. The main one was our pursuit for a good ol' dance. We kept spending a few hours getting ready, doing our research, hitting the town, only to be thwarted each and every time. It has now become a bit of a joke. In Dubrovnik it was mid-week and off-season so everywhere was closed or empty. In Hvar, it was mid-week and off-season so it was a ghost town. In Split (where we went after Hvar purely to go out) it was a Friday night, but each place we went to (and we went to three) was either empty or playing hard-core Croatian polka music. In Bosnia it was busy but we were so tired after an 8 hour drive we were in bed by 9pm, despite it being a Saturday night. Back in Dubrovnik we found some people to go out with, but the bars were totally empty and they were playing easy-listening favourites to encourage people to leave. In Naples, everything was deserted. In Capri we tried three places as it was a Friday night - all shut for the season. We went back to Naples last night, convinced we would finally be lucky: it was a big city on a Saturday night, SURELY something must be happening!! Well, we did find a happening place: it was full, the music was ok, and excitedly we approached the bar to buy our first celebratory drink. I ordered two tequila shots, and the bargirl said it was 20 Euros. I thought I misheard, and asked again, but yes, she was saying it was 20 Euros... I gasped in disbelief, and told Melli. She gasped and asked me to make sure, so I asked a third time... and it turns out I was wrong, it was 20 Euros for one, that is, it was 40 Euros for two shots of tequila!! We must have had the funniest look of shock on our faces! We made our apologies and left the bar drinkless. Without a drink, the club lost its allure: it was overcrowded and full of rude jostling people, and the music had become folkish. So we left. Every place we tried afterwards was either similarly priced or empty. Finally we found a place that seemed to be playing good house music, and had people inside... so for 30 glorious minutes, we danced, until the club shut.
It was galling and frustrating to continually psyche ourselves up for a fun night, and to be consequently disappointed. Amusingly, the one thing we were constantly asked at each point in our quest by people we asked for help, was "Why are you here?"... They didn't seem to believe we would choose to come to Croatia and Italy in November for a holiday, and we began to understand why.
Anyway, enough rambling for now... still got loads more to cover, but you are probably all drifting to sleep now. Next entry I will describe the life-changing experience that was Sarajevo, the Italian pout, our exploration of Pompeii, and more!
Summary
To summarise the last 13 days briefly, I flew on three flights to get from Krakow to Dubrovnik (insane, I know), to meet my best friend Mellissa and her other best friend Kathleen for our long awaited girlie holiday. The plan was to spend 8 days in Croatia, then two weeks in southern Italy. But plans, thankfully, tend to act only as a basis for changing things around, as after two nights in Dubrovnik, we decided to have a bit of a roadtrip.
I love nothing better than a roadtrip. Me, a map, and the winding Slavic roads. There is nothing like it.
We began driving up the coast from Dubrovnik towards a town from which we supposedly could catch a car ferry to an island called Hvar. It was a completely delightful drive up the Dalmatian coast, with a sunset-painted glittering sea and huge jutting islands always to our left. Kathleen proved to be an incredible driver, despite it being her first time driving on the right-hand side of the road. We girls sang songs, played word games, told stories... it was everything you would imagine a girlie roadtrip to be, and it was fabulous.
Our Guardian Angel
Earlier that day I had made a rather strange purchase of, and I kid you not, a Christmas decoration in the shape of an angel made entirely out of different kinds of gold-painted pasta. It seemed quirky and it took my fancy. We christened her Gabrielle, and she became our mascot. We hung her in the position normally commanded by fluffy dice - off the rear view mirror - and we asked for her blessings often. She didn't let us down.
We made it to the town with the car ferry 30 minutes before the last ferry of the night was to leave, Gabrielle clearly helping us out there. As we were waiting in the dodgy tiny port bar, the song 'Needing You' came on the radio, which until that time - and for all the time afterwards - was playing cheesy Croatian classics... Very unexpected, and made all the more spooky by the fact that its Melli's all time favourite dance song, and has incredible memories associated it involving us dancing together when we were younger. We had a bit of a dance in the dodgy bar, I don't think the ancient men sitting in the corner had ever seen such activity in that bar! This got us talking about what song would affect the rest of us equally, and I of course said my song was 'Silence' by Delerium.... hold that thought...
We eventually got onto the car ferry, and onto Hvar. Hvar was described as being beautiful and chilled, so we were looking forward to seeing it. However, once off the ferry, it took us so long to get to the main town. The roads were narrow, windy, and it was dark. We couldn't see what was in the darkness off the edge of every hairpin curve, and perhaps that was a good thing... We all started to get car sick and dizzy with the drive, but eventually, by 10pm, we made it to the main town, and found a nice little B&B to stay in. Exhausted but hungry, we drove into the main square to find food, only to find everything shut by this time, and the town deserted. This was to be a common theme for the rest of our trip: if we were here in summer, it would be heaving, but in the off-season, everything shuts down. Dishearted, we returned to our hostel to eat leftover groceries, watching the TV as we ate. Imagine our shock when the movie we were watching suddenly played 'Silence' by Delerium... in the space of a few hours, both my and Melli's favourite songs ever were played in unexpected surroundings... we took this as a good sign!
Loads more lucky coincidences happened to us... buses that were unusually late meaning we were in time to catch it, the right person passing us at the right time to help us when we were lost, etc. We were constantly thanking Gabrielle for her divine blessings!
Empty or shut!
However, there were many areas we were not so blessed. The main one was our pursuit for a good ol' dance. We kept spending a few hours getting ready, doing our research, hitting the town, only to be thwarted each and every time. It has now become a bit of a joke. In Dubrovnik it was mid-week and off-season so everywhere was closed or empty. In Hvar, it was mid-week and off-season so it was a ghost town. In Split (where we went after Hvar purely to go out) it was a Friday night, but each place we went to (and we went to three) was either empty or playing hard-core Croatian polka music. In Bosnia it was busy but we were so tired after an 8 hour drive we were in bed by 9pm, despite it being a Saturday night. Back in Dubrovnik we found some people to go out with, but the bars were totally empty and they were playing easy-listening favourites to encourage people to leave. In Naples, everything was deserted. In Capri we tried three places as it was a Friday night - all shut for the season. We went back to Naples last night, convinced we would finally be lucky: it was a big city on a Saturday night, SURELY something must be happening!! Well, we did find a happening place: it was full, the music was ok, and excitedly we approached the bar to buy our first celebratory drink. I ordered two tequila shots, and the bargirl said it was 20 Euros. I thought I misheard, and asked again, but yes, she was saying it was 20 Euros... I gasped in disbelief, and told Melli. She gasped and asked me to make sure, so I asked a third time... and it turns out I was wrong, it was 20 Euros for one, that is, it was 40 Euros for two shots of tequila!! We must have had the funniest look of shock on our faces! We made our apologies and left the bar drinkless. Without a drink, the club lost its allure: it was overcrowded and full of rude jostling people, and the music had become folkish. So we left. Every place we tried afterwards was either similarly priced or empty. Finally we found a place that seemed to be playing good house music, and had people inside... so for 30 glorious minutes, we danced, until the club shut.
It was galling and frustrating to continually psyche ourselves up for a fun night, and to be consequently disappointed. Amusingly, the one thing we were constantly asked at each point in our quest by people we asked for help, was "Why are you here?"... They didn't seem to believe we would choose to come to Croatia and Italy in November for a holiday, and we began to understand why.
Anyway, enough rambling for now... still got loads more to cover, but you are probably all drifting to sleep now. Next entry I will describe the life-changing experience that was Sarajevo, the Italian pout, our exploration of Pompeii, and more!
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
When two princesses travel...
In Russia on my tour, I met Tanya. We could very well have been sisters, we were so similar. We kept discovering uncanny similarities between ourselves - we had similar histories, similar personalities, similar penchants. She was a Canadian from Vancouver who came to London for adventure and a new start a few years ago, and despite the many challenges that London threw at her, she persevered and built a fabulous life for herself. She is very much a princess, like me, we both travel with luxury beauty items, put make-up on each morning, like nice things in life, but also like me, we can put up with a few inconveniences for the sake of travelling and adventure. We immediately clicked and became bosom buddies during Russia.
But it was after Russia that our friendship truly blossomed. We discovered we had similar travel plans after Russia, so decided to pair up and explore Eastern Europe together. I could not have asked for a better companion. She organised my accommodation in Estonia, emailed me with 'Tanya's Travel Tips' to help me catch a bus to Tallinn, and taught me how to budget and the importance of living cheaply while backpacking. We had such fun giggling and chatting together, playing games, sorting out accommodation and transportation... she was bubbly and vibrant, with a toughness and inner will that belied her pretty petite exterior. She was so little, but with the most voracious appetite I have ever seen... she HAD to be fed every few hours or her spikes would come out, and she would devour a plate of food before I had swallowed my first bite.
The most amazing thing though was how well she put up with my little travelling idiosyncracies... those who know me know precisely what I am referring to. My dithering, my ditziness in the face of stress, my lack of common sense at times, my clumsiness, my need to walk back and forth between my bag, the bathroom, my bed and back to my bag again about five times before I find everything I am looking for. I drive myself nuts, I don't know how others put up with me, yet Tanya did, with an occasional well-deserved growl in my direction. She kept me on track and in line, and I adored her.
I just wanted to write this piece in thanks for such a great new friend and travel companion. I left Tanya in Krakow after an extremely ditzy unorganised morning, and it was hurried and sweaty, and left me feeling I didn't do our relationship justice by such a swift farewell as I scurried to the airport. I felt a sincere welling of emotion as my taxi pulled away and she waved me goodbye outside our hostel. I fondly remembered our recent adventures:
- Squealing as we travelled the cable car up the Zakopane mountain top
- Dragging her to four clubs in one night, despite her protests, and eventually taking her to her first gay club!
- Training her to appreciate and like red wine
- Our extremely decadent last dinner together, at the finest restaurant in Krakow, and being served by men in tuxedos while we wore hiking boots and jeans
- Trying to make sense of the Polish rain system together
- Our double breakfasts, double lunches, double dinners... generally at the ubiquitous Double Coffee cafe chain
Sunday, October 30, 2005
A sombre day
I went to Auschwitz today.
You've heard it all before, seen it all before, nothing I will describe here about the experience will be very new to you.
Nevertheless, its necessary to state how powerful the experience is, despite knowing beforehand it would be powerful. How can a human ever fathom how such calculated cruelty could be performed by so many humans to other humans? It boggles the mind.
One of the unexpected themes of these travels for me has been human cruelty justified by political or religious rhetoric. I didn't realise when I set out that I would come across so many instances of insanely violent and coldly calculated genocide and repression. I knew I would find it in Russia, but I have found it in Hungary, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Poland and Bosnia. In each country I have managed to have fun in bars and cafes, but have also explored the historical remnants of a history too obscenely bloody to comprehend. The juxtaposition of lively town squares and beautiful vistas with images of corpses in concentration camps and smoking ruins is startling, and leaves me silent for hours. Auschwitz did that to me.
The day was beautiful: sunny, bright skied, delightful breeze. I'm wandering around a field surrounded by autumnal trees and brilliant green grass. Yet on this very soil 50 years ago, untold agonies were felt. Its a sobering experience - I don't know whether to revel in the beauty of today, or cry for the pain of yesterday.
This is my theory: as a human today, it is our duty to try to understand as much of our global history as possible, to visit these places, ask questions of the locals, read what material you can. By this attempt, we are both offering our metaphoric shoulders for the long-past dead to weep on, and ensuring we teach our children what is necessary so this never happens again. But more so, we need to absorb all this, have a moment to feel sorrow, and then smile. It is our duty to lift our chins high, and vow we will not be broken as humans, and to go out and celebrate life. So many millions have died and suffered because of who they were and a belief that humans should live freely and with abundance in a beautiful world. I firmly believe it is our duty to make their sacrifices worthwhile, by proudly being who we are, and to live with joy and beauty. And as a laugh merrily, or buy pretty clothes, or plan my next holiday, I will silently give thanks that I am so unbelievably blessed that I can do these things without persecution or concern. I will take advantage of every opportunity I can, because I can, and that is a rare and treasured thing. I will aim for as much as I can out of life, because for now, it is delivering, and its worthwhile that someone can enjoy that.
I will live so that their sacrifices were worthwhile. That is my theory for life based on what I have learnt about the suffering of those before me.
Saturday, October 29, 2005
Krakow - Nuns, Vodka, Flowers and Tonsilitis
Tee hee.... I went to type in a Title into this blog entry, and it was auto-filled with what some other person using this computer typed in before me... so I thought I'd keep it. Makes for an intriguing juxtaposition of images... nuns, vodka, flowers and tonsilitis... what on earth was this person doing?!
My impressions so far are a little different. My string of words would be: "Corpses, cobblestones, castles and computers". Why?
Corpses
One of the attractions of Krakow is the Church of the Reformed Christ (strange name for a church, eh?), which besides being stunning inside, with its vaulted roof painted with stars and clouds, also has a crypt where dead monks were laid in state. What is absolutely fascinating about this is that for some unexplained reason, instead of decomposing, they mummified themselves! The proposed reason is that the crypt has its own microatmosphere which has kept the bodies from rotting. Tanya and I were curious, so went to have a look, but found the crypt locked. Luckily, a small group of Polish people were also waiting and managed to communicate to us that a monk would soon take them personally down into the crypt. So we waited, and aren't we glad we did! We eventually had a small private guided tour by a monk in a brown tunic (yes, that still wear them!) into a dark vaulted underground crypt with piles of coffins, and a few open ones, where yes indeed, lay corpses, out in the open, there for me to touch if I wanted! They still had skin, albeit black and flakey, and teeth, and fully formed hands. It was the most eerie and intriguing thing I've seen! Wandering about seeing corpses out in the open, that are 500 years old... crazy! Once we finished, the crypt was locked and we left - it was pure chance we were able to see this amazing sight!
Cobblestones
Speaks for itself really - Krakow is a beautiful old city and full of darling cobblestones streets and ancient ornate facades. Its just stunning. Everything you have heard about Krakow is true - its spell-binding.
Castles
This is my favourite story about Krakow so far. As legend has it, the Hindu god Shiva cast to earth seven stones of spiritual power, akin to the chakras in our bodies. They landed in seven places in the world, and bestowed these places with spiritual and restorative powers. One of these places is the north-east corner of the courtyard within the Wawel Castle in Krakow! People supposedly come here and rub their backs to the wall, hoping to glean some of its enlivening powers. However, our tour guide this morning said that some workers restoring the castle accidentally found the stone, and unaware of its legendary status, cast it away casually, lost forever...
Computers
I have been in Krakow a little over 24 hours, and have spent over 6 hours in front of a computer. Why? Because I am the worlds biggest faffer. I faff - as anyone waiting for me to get ready will attest. I have been trying to decide on my Africa itinerary, and have researched so exensively I can tell you the itineraries of every tour offered by every carrier, and have not been able to reach a decision. I decided I would make a decision yesterday, but faffed and researched more... after my first 3 hour stint, I left for dinner in a huff with myself, and said I would wait for a sign... should I do the Geckos tour or the African Travel Company tour? At dinner in the hostel, there were people talking, and I overheard one guy say "Oh, Jane is going to Africa for a safari, isn't that cool!", so I interjected and asked Jane (I'm making up her name): "Oh, who are you going with?". She responded: "With Geckos". I burst out laughing! There was my sign - thank you Powers that Be. So I went down to the Internet Cafe and finalised my entire 2 month itinerary in Africa. A lot of computer time, but a huge sense of satisfaction and closure at the end of it!
Now, surely that is more interesting that Nuns, Vodka, Flowers and Tonsilitis??!
My impressions so far are a little different. My string of words would be: "Corpses, cobblestones, castles and computers". Why?
Corpses
One of the attractions of Krakow is the Church of the Reformed Christ (strange name for a church, eh?), which besides being stunning inside, with its vaulted roof painted with stars and clouds, also has a crypt where dead monks were laid in state. What is absolutely fascinating about this is that for some unexplained reason, instead of decomposing, they mummified themselves! The proposed reason is that the crypt has its own microatmosphere which has kept the bodies from rotting. Tanya and I were curious, so went to have a look, but found the crypt locked. Luckily, a small group of Polish people were also waiting and managed to communicate to us that a monk would soon take them personally down into the crypt. So we waited, and aren't we glad we did! We eventually had a small private guided tour by a monk in a brown tunic (yes, that still wear them!) into a dark vaulted underground crypt with piles of coffins, and a few open ones, where yes indeed, lay corpses, out in the open, there for me to touch if I wanted! They still had skin, albeit black and flakey, and teeth, and fully formed hands. It was the most eerie and intriguing thing I've seen! Wandering about seeing corpses out in the open, that are 500 years old... crazy! Once we finished, the crypt was locked and we left - it was pure chance we were able to see this amazing sight!
Cobblestones
Speaks for itself really - Krakow is a beautiful old city and full of darling cobblestones streets and ancient ornate facades. Its just stunning. Everything you have heard about Krakow is true - its spell-binding.
Castles
This is my favourite story about Krakow so far. As legend has it, the Hindu god Shiva cast to earth seven stones of spiritual power, akin to the chakras in our bodies. They landed in seven places in the world, and bestowed these places with spiritual and restorative powers. One of these places is the north-east corner of the courtyard within the Wawel Castle in Krakow! People supposedly come here and rub their backs to the wall, hoping to glean some of its enlivening powers. However, our tour guide this morning said that some workers restoring the castle accidentally found the stone, and unaware of its legendary status, cast it away casually, lost forever...
Computers
I have been in Krakow a little over 24 hours, and have spent over 6 hours in front of a computer. Why? Because I am the worlds biggest faffer. I faff - as anyone waiting for me to get ready will attest. I have been trying to decide on my Africa itinerary, and have researched so exensively I can tell you the itineraries of every tour offered by every carrier, and have not been able to reach a decision. I decided I would make a decision yesterday, but faffed and researched more... after my first 3 hour stint, I left for dinner in a huff with myself, and said I would wait for a sign... should I do the Geckos tour or the African Travel Company tour? At dinner in the hostel, there were people talking, and I overheard one guy say "Oh, Jane is going to Africa for a safari, isn't that cool!", so I interjected and asked Jane (I'm making up her name): "Oh, who are you going with?". She responded: "With Geckos". I burst out laughing! There was my sign - thank you Powers that Be. So I went down to the Internet Cafe and finalised my entire 2 month itinerary in Africa. A lot of computer time, but a huge sense of satisfaction and closure at the end of it!
Now, surely that is more interesting that Nuns, Vodka, Flowers and Tonsilitis??!
Friday, October 28, 2005
Leithy in Lithuania
Ok - I just had to do an entry taking advantage of the pun potential between my name and the wonderful country of Lithuania. Leithy in Lithuania... how melifluous sounding!
If you had told me anytime before last week that I would not only visit Lithuania, but that I would love it, I would not have believed you. I didn't even know where Lithuania was, nor what was special about it.
But the wonderful thing about travel is that it can be serendipitous, and you end up in places you would never have imagined you'd end up in, and find they were exactly where you needed to be.
I was in Riga with my newfound travel buddies, and Tanya and Jason were keen to go, and I didn't have anywhere better to be, so I decided to tag along with them, and then Adrian decided to tag along too. So our happy little travelling foursome continued a few days more. We bought a bus bound for Vilnius, the capital of Lithuania.
For those who don't know - Lithuania is a little country below Latvia and next to Russia. It is - together with Latvia and Estonia - known as a Baltic State, as its an ex-Soviet state that sits on the Baltic Sea. It has a similar history to the other Baltic States - repression by Communist Soviet party, then by the Nazi German party, then again by the Communist Soviet party... but they have all been recently liberated and are now free sovereign republics. Do you know how they did it - I love this story: two million people from Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania joined hands across 600 miles and sang national songs (that were forbidden by Russia). Its called the Singing Revolution, and it brings tears to my eyes. All three Baltic States have incredible museums dedicated to describing the political, cultural and human impact the repression of the last 50 years has had on their countries. Estonia had videos showing the Singing Revolution; Latvia had the best museum I have been to ever, with so much interesting memoribilia, such clear description of events, and even mock-ups of how the concentration camps were like; and Lithuania had the most disturbing of all, the building of the KGB that was used for imprisonment, torture and executions... I have never felt such a pre-sentient chill as I did when I walked into the Confinement Cell were prisoners were sent before they were to be executed, or when I felt the hole where bullets that had just killed innocent people entered the stone wall. It was eerie, awful, sickening stuff. But so essential - if ever you want to feel humble or put your life's woes into perspective, book a trip to Eastern Europe, and then prepare to be silenced. The terror and inhumanity these countries have seen is more than anything I can imagine. And - I go to Auschwitz and Birkenau tomorrow.
Anyway, notwithstanding the horrific history of these countries, what has impressed me most is the degree of forward-looking going on. Compared to Russia which I found stuck in its horrific past, the Baltic States have shaken off the vomit, taken a few painkillers, and are now well into a recovery. The customer service is superb, the people are happy and positive, they are welcoming tourists and building appropriate infrastructure... its a complete joy to travel around these countries.
And Lithuania - well, it just impressed me. Not so touristy as the others, but very ready for tourists. The best clubs I have been to in Eastern Europe by a long stretch. The most lovely food, cheap and good quality. And I stayed in a wonderfully homey hostel, where we very quickly met everyone, and had a large group of people from all over the world to explore the city and clubs and bars with.
We even did a day trip out to the Hill of Crosses, a surreal spot 3 hours out of Vilnius where people have erected crosses to commerorate their dead. Over the years, millions of crosses stand or hang from other crosses, covering a hill, and creating the most surreal tinkling noise as the breeze moves through the forest of crosses.
During Soviet days, the hill was bull-dozed as the Communists sought to destroy all religious activities (because religion might create a spiritual resistance to their oppression), but each night, unseen people risked their lives and freedom to replant more crosses, in defiance of their oppressors. Its wonderful to stand in a spot where so much emotion and passion has been felt. There is a saying here, that during the oppressive Soviet times, Estonia was the brawn of the resistance, Latvia the brains, but Lithuania was the soul. I loved Lithuania for it.
If you had told me anytime before last week that I would not only visit Lithuania, but that I would love it, I would not have believed you. I didn't even know where Lithuania was, nor what was special about it.
But the wonderful thing about travel is that it can be serendipitous, and you end up in places you would never have imagined you'd end up in, and find they were exactly where you needed to be.
I was in Riga with my newfound travel buddies, and Tanya and Jason were keen to go, and I didn't have anywhere better to be, so I decided to tag along with them, and then Adrian decided to tag along too. So our happy little travelling foursome continued a few days more. We bought a bus bound for Vilnius, the capital of Lithuania.
For those who don't know - Lithuania is a little country below Latvia and next to Russia. It is - together with Latvia and Estonia - known as a Baltic State, as its an ex-Soviet state that sits on the Baltic Sea. It has a similar history to the other Baltic States - repression by Communist Soviet party, then by the Nazi German party, then again by the Communist Soviet party... but they have all been recently liberated and are now free sovereign republics. Do you know how they did it - I love this story: two million people from Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania joined hands across 600 miles and sang national songs (that were forbidden by Russia). Its called the Singing Revolution, and it brings tears to my eyes. All three Baltic States have incredible museums dedicated to describing the political, cultural and human impact the repression of the last 50 years has had on their countries. Estonia had videos showing the Singing Revolution; Latvia had the best museum I have been to ever, with so much interesting memoribilia, such clear description of events, and even mock-ups of how the concentration camps were like; and Lithuania had the most disturbing of all, the building of the KGB that was used for imprisonment, torture and executions... I have never felt such a pre-sentient chill as I did when I walked into the Confinement Cell were prisoners were sent before they were to be executed, or when I felt the hole where bullets that had just killed innocent people entered the stone wall. It was eerie, awful, sickening stuff. But so essential - if ever you want to feel humble or put your life's woes into perspective, book a trip to Eastern Europe, and then prepare to be silenced. The terror and inhumanity these countries have seen is more than anything I can imagine. And - I go to Auschwitz and Birkenau tomorrow.
Anyway, notwithstanding the horrific history of these countries, what has impressed me most is the degree of forward-looking going on. Compared to Russia which I found stuck in its horrific past, the Baltic States have shaken off the vomit, taken a few painkillers, and are now well into a recovery. The customer service is superb, the people are happy and positive, they are welcoming tourists and building appropriate infrastructure... its a complete joy to travel around these countries.
And Lithuania - well, it just impressed me. Not so touristy as the others, but very ready for tourists. The best clubs I have been to in Eastern Europe by a long stretch. The most lovely food, cheap and good quality. And I stayed in a wonderfully homey hostel, where we very quickly met everyone, and had a large group of people from all over the world to explore the city and clubs and bars with.
We even did a day trip out to the Hill of Crosses, a surreal spot 3 hours out of Vilnius where people have erected crosses to commerorate their dead. Over the years, millions of crosses stand or hang from other crosses, covering a hill, and creating the most surreal tinkling noise as the breeze moves through the forest of crosses.
During Soviet days, the hill was bull-dozed as the Communists sought to destroy all religious activities (because religion might create a spiritual resistance to their oppression), but each night, unseen people risked their lives and freedom to replant more crosses, in defiance of their oppressors. Its wonderful to stand in a spot where so much emotion and passion has been felt. There is a saying here, that during the oppressive Soviet times, Estonia was the brawn of the resistance, Latvia the brains, but Lithuania was the soul. I loved Lithuania for it.
Russian proverb
The church is close
But the road is icy.
The bar is far away
But I will walk carefully.
Old Russian proverb.
Something in that for all of us. Courtesy of Jason - the most knowledgeable man in the universe, my new gay travel buddy.
But the road is icy.
The bar is far away
But I will walk carefully.
Old Russian proverb.
Something in that for all of us. Courtesy of Jason - the most knowledgeable man in the universe, my new gay travel buddy.
Sunday, October 23, 2005
Estonian road trip
My previous post proposed that coincidences are not the product of pure chance, but a signpost from the powers-that-be. Here again is another tale of happy coincidences and the adventures they accompany.
It all began when I said I am a fag hag.
My Travel Friends
I had met a lovely Canadian girl - Tanya - on my Russian tour, and as we were planning on travelling through Eastern Europe at the same time, we decided to go together. Along the way we met a charming Canadian guy - Adrian - and the three of us spent an enjoyable day and a half in Tallinn, Estonia, which I heartily recommend to anyone. Its a gem of a teensy city, full of cobblestones, beautiful facades, and funky cafes.
It was in one of these funky cafes that I mentioned my numerous gay friends and my affection for their company. Adrian then raised the fact that there was a gay American guy in his dorm room. I expressed interest in meeting him (after all, it had been a good two weeks I hadn't been in the company of a gay man, I was suffering withdrawals!). So, he kindly arranged to invite the gay guy, Jason, to dinner with us the next evening.
Within minutes, I was cackling with side-splitting laughter. What is it about gay men, they just amuse me so.
Adrian, Tanya and I had been planning on travelling to Riga in Latvia the next day, and discovered its cheaper and infinitely more comfortable to hire a car and drive ourselves rather than go via coach or train. So when Adrian invited Jason to join us on our road trip, we had a ready made group made for fun!
Start of the road trip
The next morning, after only 4 hours sleep (Tanya and I HAD to sample Estonian nightlife the evening before! very fun!), we wake up to a wet grey dreary morning. Not so great. Then we see the car that we were to travel in. Yellow. Bright New-York cab-type yellow. Not so great. We piled into the vehicle, and thus began our road trip from Tallinn to Riga via the Lahmea National Park and Tartu.
After several wrong turns (yes, I was directing, but it was the fault of the maps, they were just so unclear!), we finally made it onto the highway, and progressed through the plummeting rain. Jason thankfully kept us in hysterics - imagine a slimmer Jack from 'Will & Grace' with glasses, and you have Jason. He works for British Airways (of course), but is on his way to Azerbaijan (yes, supposedly it is a country!) to volunteer for the United Nations democratic election supervisory committee... and he speaks fluent German. Handy.
Anyway, we get to the Lahmea National Park, which Lonely Planet assures us is pictureque, but unfortunately on this day was just wet and murky. However, we insist on driving into one of the coastal villages, hopefully to find something to see, and a toilet. Instead, we find everything boarded up for the winter, and desolate (and no toilet). However, we do find a walking trail through the woods, and Adrian (our designated driver) proceeds to insist upon driving down it rather quickly... off-roading Estonian style, apparently. It was the epitome of a modern-day hike, a bush-drive if you will.
Arriving into Riga
Anyway, we eventually accept that the rain will not clear, and abandon any hopes of exploring the national park outside of the car. We drive on to Tartu, through many a funny named Estonian town (think of a cross between Finnish and Russian words, and you have Estonian). We stop for food in Tartu (a pretty little university town), and then head for the Estonian-Latvian border crossing. We get a little lost just before the border, and need to stop to ask for directions. We sidle up in the car to what appears to be a policeman, and I whisper to Jason "Don't be too American!". So Jason begins with "Te're" - the Estonian word for "Hello", and to my surprise speaks in a very even neutral accent. We get guided appropriately over the border.
We eventually make it into Riga, Latvia, in the driving rain and murky darkness. We make an attempt to enter the old town to our hostel, only to find they have exceeded London's Congestion Charge fee, and charge a whopping 5Euros per HOUR to enter the old town. We decide, unsurprisingly, not to enter. Instead we come up with the brilliant idea of all driving to the car drop-off point, then collectively catching a cab to the hostel. Brilliant. On the way to where we think the Agency is, Jason gives directions that turn lead us not onto a road, but onto a tram track... a one-way tram track, with us going the wrong way! Adrian appears to consider reversing, but when Jason said in a flummox "Wrong way... but we'll have a longer way to go if we don't go down this route...", Adrian went off-roading for a second time that day, and accelerated along the cobblestones accompanied by the shrieks of the female passengers! We passed a tram full of people gawking at our little vehicle, but before anyone could notice, we were onto a normal road again.
Returning the hire car
Jason then pulls out the car rental agency address, and informs us confidently its on "Ganibudambis"... which was met with hysterical laughter from the vehicle as we were certain he was simply speaking gibberish. To our immense shock, when we read the street sign, we found that "Ganibu Dambis" was indeed a street name, and we spent the next 24 hours repeating the hilarious sounding street name and falling into giggly piles. However, finding the desired street wasn't enough... we then had to find the Agency. We had the street number, but couldn't find any clear signs for it on the busy wet dark road. We drove up and down a few times, to no avail. We then noticed the alley ways off the main road, so thought the Agency might be located down one of them. We drove down, with trepidation as the dark dingy alley reminded us of those horror movie scenes when cars full of sweet normal people disappear forever. Due to the darkness and rain, we had to travel with our windows down if we were to have any chance of reading the signs we slowly drove past. All of a sudden, my heart stopped! We were being attacked by a white monster!! I screamed in horror! Only to find the white monster was a large ferocious Alsation dog about to leap through my window to devour me! I frantically struggled to wind the window back up, waiting for the frantic dog to jump in and kill me... I made it just in time! Of course, the dog was chained up, but my imagination (and that of everyone in the car) went haywire amidst the scary ambience of the alleyway.
We drove past the dog, further into the alleyway, and found a burly looking man standing suspiciously by a dimly lit door. Our hearts were beating, our nerves told us to turn back, but we were utterly lost, tired, and had no idea where to go. So we sidled up to the man, and Adrian called out "You wouldn't by any chance speak English?", which was met with a look of complete noncomprehension. We were about to collapse in despair, when Jason popped out with "вы говорите русского", or "Do you speak Russian?" as we later found out... yes, indeed, our little gay companion apparently studied russian for two years and could speak it fluently. And as Latvia until 13 years ago was a Russian state, almost everyone can speak it, so we were in luck! The dodgy man and Jason spoke in Russian to each other, and lo and behold, we were given directions that helped us find the Agency!
Jason and Adrian leave us girls in the car (nice and dry, very chivalrous) to go into the Agency to find out what we had to do. They were closed so we were told to organise key drop-off with the night guard. Waiting in the car, Tanya and I started to tell each other urban myths about axe murderers jumping up and surprising people in cars in dark Baltic towns, and managed to work ourselves up into a slight hysteria, when we saw the boys bolting back to us across the car park! We were terrified! Of course, the boys were just running to make us panic... it was all ok.
Jason jumped into the car and said breathlessly: "You wouldn't believe what just happened! We went in, found the night-guard, and I asked him if he spoke English. And would you believe it, the man looked blankly at me and said 'Seulement français!'. What on Earth is a frenchman doing in Latvia?!". "So what did you do??" I urgently asked, praying that the drama was soon to be over. "Well," Jason said, "I asked him to order us a cab to take 4 people and luggage...". "What?!", I exclaimed, "you speak French as well??". "A little...", Jason said with a shy grin.
So it seems, throughout the day, Jason could speak whatever language was required to get us out of every tight situation. What a man! Honestly, a gay man is a woman's most essential travel accessory. I can't believe I've contemplated travelling without one!
It all began when I said I am a fag hag.
My Travel Friends
I had met a lovely Canadian girl - Tanya - on my Russian tour, and as we were planning on travelling through Eastern Europe at the same time, we decided to go together. Along the way we met a charming Canadian guy - Adrian - and the three of us spent an enjoyable day and a half in Tallinn, Estonia, which I heartily recommend to anyone. Its a gem of a teensy city, full of cobblestones, beautiful facades, and funky cafes.
It was in one of these funky cafes that I mentioned my numerous gay friends and my affection for their company. Adrian then raised the fact that there was a gay American guy in his dorm room. I expressed interest in meeting him (after all, it had been a good two weeks I hadn't been in the company of a gay man, I was suffering withdrawals!). So, he kindly arranged to invite the gay guy, Jason, to dinner with us the next evening.
Within minutes, I was cackling with side-splitting laughter. What is it about gay men, they just amuse me so.
Adrian, Tanya and I had been planning on travelling to Riga in Latvia the next day, and discovered its cheaper and infinitely more comfortable to hire a car and drive ourselves rather than go via coach or train. So when Adrian invited Jason to join us on our road trip, we had a ready made group made for fun!
Start of the road trip
The next morning, after only 4 hours sleep (Tanya and I HAD to sample Estonian nightlife the evening before! very fun!), we wake up to a wet grey dreary morning. Not so great. Then we see the car that we were to travel in. Yellow. Bright New-York cab-type yellow. Not so great. We piled into the vehicle, and thus began our road trip from Tallinn to Riga via the Lahmea National Park and Tartu.
After several wrong turns (yes, I was directing, but it was the fault of the maps, they were just so unclear!), we finally made it onto the highway, and progressed through the plummeting rain. Jason thankfully kept us in hysterics - imagine a slimmer Jack from 'Will & Grace' with glasses, and you have Jason. He works for British Airways (of course), but is on his way to Azerbaijan (yes, supposedly it is a country!) to volunteer for the United Nations democratic election supervisory committee... and he speaks fluent German. Handy.
Anyway, we get to the Lahmea National Park, which Lonely Planet assures us is pictureque, but unfortunately on this day was just wet and murky. However, we insist on driving into one of the coastal villages, hopefully to find something to see, and a toilet. Instead, we find everything boarded up for the winter, and desolate (and no toilet). However, we do find a walking trail through the woods, and Adrian (our designated driver) proceeds to insist upon driving down it rather quickly... off-roading Estonian style, apparently. It was the epitome of a modern-day hike, a bush-drive if you will.
Arriving into Riga
Anyway, we eventually accept that the rain will not clear, and abandon any hopes of exploring the national park outside of the car. We drive on to Tartu, through many a funny named Estonian town (think of a cross between Finnish and Russian words, and you have Estonian). We stop for food in Tartu (a pretty little university town), and then head for the Estonian-Latvian border crossing. We get a little lost just before the border, and need to stop to ask for directions. We sidle up in the car to what appears to be a policeman, and I whisper to Jason "Don't be too American!". So Jason begins with "Te're" - the Estonian word for "Hello", and to my surprise speaks in a very even neutral accent. We get guided appropriately over the border.
We eventually make it into Riga, Latvia, in the driving rain and murky darkness. We make an attempt to enter the old town to our hostel, only to find they have exceeded London's Congestion Charge fee, and charge a whopping 5Euros per HOUR to enter the old town. We decide, unsurprisingly, not to enter. Instead we come up with the brilliant idea of all driving to the car drop-off point, then collectively catching a cab to the hostel. Brilliant. On the way to where we think the Agency is, Jason gives directions that turn lead us not onto a road, but onto a tram track... a one-way tram track, with us going the wrong way! Adrian appears to consider reversing, but when Jason said in a flummox "Wrong way... but we'll have a longer way to go if we don't go down this route...", Adrian went off-roading for a second time that day, and accelerated along the cobblestones accompanied by the shrieks of the female passengers! We passed a tram full of people gawking at our little vehicle, but before anyone could notice, we were onto a normal road again.
Returning the hire car
Jason then pulls out the car rental agency address, and informs us confidently its on "Ganibudambis"... which was met with hysterical laughter from the vehicle as we were certain he was simply speaking gibberish. To our immense shock, when we read the street sign, we found that "Ganibu Dambis" was indeed a street name, and we spent the next 24 hours repeating the hilarious sounding street name and falling into giggly piles. However, finding the desired street wasn't enough... we then had to find the Agency. We had the street number, but couldn't find any clear signs for it on the busy wet dark road. We drove up and down a few times, to no avail. We then noticed the alley ways off the main road, so thought the Agency might be located down one of them. We drove down, with trepidation as the dark dingy alley reminded us of those horror movie scenes when cars full of sweet normal people disappear forever. Due to the darkness and rain, we had to travel with our windows down if we were to have any chance of reading the signs we slowly drove past. All of a sudden, my heart stopped! We were being attacked by a white monster!! I screamed in horror! Only to find the white monster was a large ferocious Alsation dog about to leap through my window to devour me! I frantically struggled to wind the window back up, waiting for the frantic dog to jump in and kill me... I made it just in time! Of course, the dog was chained up, but my imagination (and that of everyone in the car) went haywire amidst the scary ambience of the alleyway.
We drove past the dog, further into the alleyway, and found a burly looking man standing suspiciously by a dimly lit door. Our hearts were beating, our nerves told us to turn back, but we were utterly lost, tired, and had no idea where to go. So we sidled up to the man, and Adrian called out "You wouldn't by any chance speak English?", which was met with a look of complete noncomprehension. We were about to collapse in despair, when Jason popped out with "вы говорите русского", or "Do you speak Russian?" as we later found out... yes, indeed, our little gay companion apparently studied russian for two years and could speak it fluently. And as Latvia until 13 years ago was a Russian state, almost everyone can speak it, so we were in luck! The dodgy man and Jason spoke in Russian to each other, and lo and behold, we were given directions that helped us find the Agency!
Jason and Adrian leave us girls in the car (nice and dry, very chivalrous) to go into the Agency to find out what we had to do. They were closed so we were told to organise key drop-off with the night guard. Waiting in the car, Tanya and I started to tell each other urban myths about axe murderers jumping up and surprising people in cars in dark Baltic towns, and managed to work ourselves up into a slight hysteria, when we saw the boys bolting back to us across the car park! We were terrified! Of course, the boys were just running to make us panic... it was all ok.
Jason jumped into the car and said breathlessly: "You wouldn't believe what just happened! We went in, found the night-guard, and I asked him if he spoke English. And would you believe it, the man looked blankly at me and said 'Seulement français!'. What on Earth is a frenchman doing in Latvia?!". "So what did you do??" I urgently asked, praying that the drama was soon to be over. "Well," Jason said, "I asked him to order us a cab to take 4 people and luggage...". "What?!", I exclaimed, "you speak French as well??". "A little...", Jason said with a shy grin.
So it seems, throughout the day, Jason could speak whatever language was required to get us out of every tight situation. What a man! Honestly, a gay man is a woman's most essential travel accessory. I can't believe I've contemplated travelling without one!
Thursday, October 20, 2005
Coincidences
I have adopted my own philosophy whilst on this journey. It may sound quite superstitious or even religious, but I propose that its actually an entertaining way to view the world, and on occasion it can be a solace and guide.
My philosophy is as follows: coincidences are the sign-posts of your true path. They are what highlight that you are on the right path, and that good things await. They also serve to guide your decision-making.
The fun of this way of thinking is that it makes you super-aware of the world around you. I am constantly lingering, looking into things further, hyper-sensitive to events and things around me. Which is a wonderful thing when you are travelling! The significance of this way of thinking is that I feel some comfort and almost spiritual accompaniament, which is soothing when travelling far from home and friends and family. I like to believe some divine spirit is watching over me, and communicating to me via coincidences. Its not necessarily what I actually believe, but its soothing to act like I believe it.
So... coincidences... there have been quite a few startling ones. Here are just a few of them: (Note, Ste, this is me taking your advice and adding sub-headings to break my sagas up a bit!)
1. St Nicolas in Myra
I was sitting in my pension called St Nicolas Pension, in the area called Myra (in Turkey). I had just left my 10-day tour and was by myself for the first time, unsure if I'd made the right decision. I was waiting for my breakfast, and leafing through an activities pamphlet on my table, with the heading on the cover 'St Nicolas - Myra'. I closed the pamphlet, picked up my novel 'The 2 1/2 Pillars of Wisdom', and went to the paragraph I was up to. The sentence began 'Have you heard of St Nicolas, who was the bishop of Myra in the 4th Centure AD?'.
I was breathless and stunned. To be sitting in St Nicolas Pension, in Myra, having just read the words 'St Nicolas - Myra', and then to read the same words in the book I was reading right at that point in time... the odds are scary. Coincidence, or divine sign? Well, I took it as a sign that I had made the right decision to leave the tour and head to this place on my own...
2. Amazing mazes
I was on my last full day of my first leg of my journey, in Seville. I had been a bit lonely after Turkey, everything else had paled in comparison, and I hadn't met any people vaguely as interesting as I'd met in Turkey, and I was yearning for some good company. All I had met were young silly Aussies and Americans, more intent on getting drunk on cheap vodka in their rooms than exploring places, or more intent on saving every cent than exploring what a city had to offer. The night before I had gone out with a few people from my hostel, nice but not terribly exciting. The only thing I remember was a story one girl had told me about this couple she had met in Cordoba: they were a married couple but were forced to sleep in separate rooms as the dorms in this hostel were not mixed. They were supposedly an interesting couple as they were researching Spanish food before heading back to Sydney to open a funky Tapas restaurant... I found this interesting for obvious reasons (yes, Damien, you are that reason!)
Anyway, back to the next day. I was lonely and a little sad. I was about to head back to London the next day, and I wanted desperately to have a fun experience with a kindred spirit. Then I found a maze! I had been wandering through the incredible gardens of the Alcazar in Seville, these majestic thrilling gardens created by kalifs and kings. I have a thing about mazes (similar to the thing I have for ruins!), so was rather excited by my find. I ventured into the maze, in awe and in wonderment - it was the most wonderful maze, thick and lush and wild and confusing. I fell into almost a daze, almost dizzy with glee. It was such fun to wander alone, with the smell of orange blossoms and honeysuckle in the air, and the sound of birds chirping... When I finally came out of my trance, the first thing I saw was this couple, running around chasing each other in the maze (the maze reached eye-level, so you could see other people in the maze). They were having so much fun, it reminded me of my friends and what we would have done in such a maze. We ended up falling into conversation, and helped each other out of the maze. They introduced themselves, they were in Spain researching Spanish food as they were going to open a tapas restaurant in Sydney...
... Can you imagine my shock! I did a double-take and said to them "Oh my god, I know you! You were in Cordoba a few days ago, and you are married, and you couldn't sleep in the same room as they weren't mixed dorms!" My look of shock was quickly reflected in their faces! "How do you know that?!" they asked. "Aah, I'm magic" I grinned... then told them how I knew. We fell into conversation, and did not move from that spot outside the maze for an hour as we chatted incessantly about the best jamon we had tried, the best place to try sherry, how the salmorejo in La Coruna was divine... I had found my food kindred spirits!!! After an hour we arranged to meet up that night to go out. We ended up having the most wonderful time together, doing a tapas crawl of Seville, trying everything, moaning about the flavours, discussing our lives... they are a very cool couple! We then found an underground flamenco bar, and watched in awe as wild woman pounded the floor with their heels. What a night! What a find! Coincidence?? Or a sign?
3. Russian Museum encounter
My last night in London was spent at Pip's farewell party. She and her boyfriend were off to travel before heading back home, like me. Anyway, fast forward two weeks, and I'm in the Russian Museum by myself, once again after finishing my tour. I was having a lovely time gazing at art, but then, for some reason, I thought to myself "Why aren't there any beautiful people in Russia?" because indeed, I had found it a particularly unattractive place to people-watch. So at that moment, I turned from the art on the walls and surveyed the large room I was in to see if there were any pretty people around. My eyes went to one guy who had just walked in the room, he was the best looking person in the room... then I noticed who was on his arm... Pip! Yep, Pip had just walked into my room in the Russian Museum just as I was surveying it. Very weird! We tried to arrange to meet up that night, but her phone wasn't receiving or sending messages, so it never happened, but it was a funny coincidence nonetheless. What does it mean? Not sure yet.
So there you go... weird hey? Coincidence or divine messages... not sure, but its more fun to believe its the latter!
My philosophy is as follows: coincidences are the sign-posts of your true path. They are what highlight that you are on the right path, and that good things await. They also serve to guide your decision-making.
The fun of this way of thinking is that it makes you super-aware of the world around you. I am constantly lingering, looking into things further, hyper-sensitive to events and things around me. Which is a wonderful thing when you are travelling! The significance of this way of thinking is that I feel some comfort and almost spiritual accompaniament, which is soothing when travelling far from home and friends and family. I like to believe some divine spirit is watching over me, and communicating to me via coincidences. Its not necessarily what I actually believe, but its soothing to act like I believe it.
So... coincidences... there have been quite a few startling ones. Here are just a few of them: (Note, Ste, this is me taking your advice and adding sub-headings to break my sagas up a bit!)
1. St Nicolas in Myra
I was sitting in my pension called St Nicolas Pension, in the area called Myra (in Turkey). I had just left my 10-day tour and was by myself for the first time, unsure if I'd made the right decision. I was waiting for my breakfast, and leafing through an activities pamphlet on my table, with the heading on the cover 'St Nicolas - Myra'. I closed the pamphlet, picked up my novel 'The 2 1/2 Pillars of Wisdom', and went to the paragraph I was up to. The sentence began 'Have you heard of St Nicolas, who was the bishop of Myra in the 4th Centure AD?'.
I was breathless and stunned. To be sitting in St Nicolas Pension, in Myra, having just read the words 'St Nicolas - Myra', and then to read the same words in the book I was reading right at that point in time... the odds are scary. Coincidence, or divine sign? Well, I took it as a sign that I had made the right decision to leave the tour and head to this place on my own...
2. Amazing mazes
I was on my last full day of my first leg of my journey, in Seville. I had been a bit lonely after Turkey, everything else had paled in comparison, and I hadn't met any people vaguely as interesting as I'd met in Turkey, and I was yearning for some good company. All I had met were young silly Aussies and Americans, more intent on getting drunk on cheap vodka in their rooms than exploring places, or more intent on saving every cent than exploring what a city had to offer. The night before I had gone out with a few people from my hostel, nice but not terribly exciting. The only thing I remember was a story one girl had told me about this couple she had met in Cordoba: they were a married couple but were forced to sleep in separate rooms as the dorms in this hostel were not mixed. They were supposedly an interesting couple as they were researching Spanish food before heading back to Sydney to open a funky Tapas restaurant... I found this interesting for obvious reasons (yes, Damien, you are that reason!)
Anyway, back to the next day. I was lonely and a little sad. I was about to head back to London the next day, and I wanted desperately to have a fun experience with a kindred spirit. Then I found a maze! I had been wandering through the incredible gardens of the Alcazar in Seville, these majestic thrilling gardens created by kalifs and kings. I have a thing about mazes (similar to the thing I have for ruins!), so was rather excited by my find. I ventured into the maze, in awe and in wonderment - it was the most wonderful maze, thick and lush and wild and confusing. I fell into almost a daze, almost dizzy with glee. It was such fun to wander alone, with the smell of orange blossoms and honeysuckle in the air, and the sound of birds chirping... When I finally came out of my trance, the first thing I saw was this couple, running around chasing each other in the maze (the maze reached eye-level, so you could see other people in the maze). They were having so much fun, it reminded me of my friends and what we would have done in such a maze. We ended up falling into conversation, and helped each other out of the maze. They introduced themselves, they were in Spain researching Spanish food as they were going to open a tapas restaurant in Sydney...
... Can you imagine my shock! I did a double-take and said to them "Oh my god, I know you! You were in Cordoba a few days ago, and you are married, and you couldn't sleep in the same room as they weren't mixed dorms!" My look of shock was quickly reflected in their faces! "How do you know that?!" they asked. "Aah, I'm magic" I grinned... then told them how I knew. We fell into conversation, and did not move from that spot outside the maze for an hour as we chatted incessantly about the best jamon we had tried, the best place to try sherry, how the salmorejo in La Coruna was divine... I had found my food kindred spirits!!! After an hour we arranged to meet up that night to go out. We ended up having the most wonderful time together, doing a tapas crawl of Seville, trying everything, moaning about the flavours, discussing our lives... they are a very cool couple! We then found an underground flamenco bar, and watched in awe as wild woman pounded the floor with their heels. What a night! What a find! Coincidence?? Or a sign?
3. Russian Museum encounter
My last night in London was spent at Pip's farewell party. She and her boyfriend were off to travel before heading back home, like me. Anyway, fast forward two weeks, and I'm in the Russian Museum by myself, once again after finishing my tour. I was having a lovely time gazing at art, but then, for some reason, I thought to myself "Why aren't there any beautiful people in Russia?" because indeed, I had found it a particularly unattractive place to people-watch. So at that moment, I turned from the art on the walls and surveyed the large room I was in to see if there were any pretty people around. My eyes went to one guy who had just walked in the room, he was the best looking person in the room... then I noticed who was on his arm... Pip! Yep, Pip had just walked into my room in the Russian Museum just as I was surveying it. Very weird! We tried to arrange to meet up that night, but her phone wasn't receiving or sending messages, so it never happened, but it was a funny coincidence nonetheless. What does it mean? Not sure yet.
So there you go... weird hey? Coincidence or divine messages... not sure, but its more fun to believe its the latter!
Monday, October 17, 2005
A land of palaces and sorrows
| This is my first post from Russia. Its been a whirlwind of activity up until now, as tours tend to be. I was on a 9 day tour that went through Moscow, Pskov, and St Petersburg, which all in all was very informative and a wonderful cushion for then exploring Russia on my own a little. So that is where I am now: alone on my 10th day in Russia, and with the first opportunity to really consolidate my thoughts on this incredible country. Its a land of staggering contradictions and immense hardship. I still cannot comprehend how so much can happen to one country. One the one hand you have the grand legacy of the tsars, with their gilded palaces, tremendous collections of art, and riches literally beyond your wildest dreams. Tsarinas with 50,000 dresses (yes, that even outstrips me!), 50 gilded carriages, jewels and artefects so ornate they take your breathe away, not only because of their beauty but at how so much wealth can be spend on something that will only ever be (and has only ever been) kept in a museum showcase. Then you have the poverty of a nation that seems to be present throughout its turbulent history. This is the type of poverty that inspires uprisings, its so prolific and deep. I see images of it in the artwork, we learn about the riots and protests through the centuries as the starvation and deprivation of the masses inspire violence and revolution. Post-war poverty reached new heights, with people supposedly boiling their shoes to soak up whatever nutrients are left in the leather. And even today, I read about it in the excellent English-written St Petersburg Times, a free publication that chronicles the political and economical situation of the country today, which I have been avidly reading. The minimum wage in this country is four times less than the minimum standard of living cost. Teachers and nurses earn in 1600 rubles in a month - to put it in perspective, an average meal here costs about 200-300 roubles. Horrific. What amazes me is the degree to which the domination of Communist propaganda and a history full of despots has affected the people. Actually, it doesn't surprise me, its very understandable. If you subject people to decades of torture and death and imprisonment when they express any free will or yearn for something greater, then you teach them to not think, to not act outside the square, and to do the least necessary to get by. So is it any wonder that its impossible to get anyone to smile at you, to go a little out of their way for you, to offer a decent level of service. For example, my hotel room has no heating, so is glacially cold. I requested a heater and had to wait two days to receive it. I went to a fascinating Political History museum, and was kicked out unceremoniously at 5:40pm because the museum closed at 6pm. When I protested I was rudely yelled at by an old woman. I tried to explain the irony of being scolded so rudely when surrounded by relics from the Communist era when people where tortured and subjugated, but I think the sentiment was lost on her. Food is served late and cold, taxis scandolously overcharge, public transport is a nightmare to work out... all in all, it can be a hard place to be, and I am often tempted to be furious at the people, when I remember they are a product of their history and environment, and earnestly wish them the best in the future. Anyway, its been great fun. I went to supposedly St Petersburg's best nightclub and was surrounded by supermodel type woman, very fun. I have had a Russian sauna, which involves sweating in a sauna then being beat by birch twigs then running outside and diving into a freezing pond. Mmmm... I have seen wonderful art and beautiful palaces. I have learnt so much about how Communism seduced then raped the country. All in all, its been tremendous, an adventure, despite the hardships. |
d
Sunday, October 02, 2005
Finally fun in Cadiz
Just a quick update to my previous post - for those wondering if indeed I did end up having the fun I was searching for in Cadiz, you will be pleased to hear that I did.
The hostel I went to this time had been recommended by various people, so I had high hopes. And they were satisfied... although it was disappointing from the perspective that as everyone was a budget-conscious backpacker, no one was interested in hitting the various tapas bars with me... so I bought some delicious chorizo iberico and manchego cheese, plus a lovely bottle of rose, and offered these up for sharing in the common room of Casa Caracol hostel. It was well received, and I began to meet my fellow travellers.
I met a lovely German girl living in London, and a very pretty Swiss girl, and a buxom and beautiful Italian girl. The German girl looked like Zoe Ball so we called her Zoe, the Swiss girl was a younger version of Samantha from Sex & the City so we called her Kim (ie. Catrel), and the Italian girl we named Italy (wasn´t my idea, but it stuck). There were also three German mechanical engineer students with Gallagher brother styled hair-dos. Amusingly I had been bumping into them all over Cadiz again and again, so it was a relief to finally meet them. They were very amusing. So we were a very merry posse, and we planned to hit the bars eventually. Eventually was very slow in coming though, so I assumed my Organiser role (as I tend to do, annoyingly I know at times, but other times a godsend, if I do say so myself!), and asked the locals working at the hostel for recommendations for where to go, and then managed to organise the group (of an extended size of about 2o people) first to the bottle shop to buy some alcohol, then through the maze of streets to a plaza that I was assured would be heaving with students partying in the open square. It was quite a challenge to coordinate such a large group, but I do think I managed it whilst still keeping the energy alive (tee hee!).
On my way to the big square, I started to have minor panic at the realisation that I was leading 20 people to a square purely on my research, and that if it were crap, I would have 20 disgruntled people staring at me. My panic increased as I realised that the recommendation was given to me by a 60 year old man at the hostel... and that may not be the ultimate source for a group of young people... but my worries were relieved as we entered the square to a view of hundreds of chattering students and young people, drinking their bottles of wine and beer, around a fountain in an old beautiful square. It was wonderful fun, and I was congratulated for my organisational skills! tee hee
During my time on the square, ´Zoe´and ´Italy´and I discussed a compelling new business idea... you see, youth hostels are great, not just because they are a cheap way to travel, but they are the best means to allow solo travel as its so easy to meet other interesting people, that you just don´t have the opportunity to meet when staying in hotels and pensiones. And we lamented that they were aimed at youths, when certainly old people would also benefit from such an arrangement... and then it hit us... of course it would!! Divorcees and widow/ers, as well as elderly people, may want to spend a few months travelling, but cannot find anyone else to go with, nor can afford hotels for that length of time. Why shouldn´t they have hostels?! Furthermore, deep down, most divorcees and widow/ers dream of finding new love on holidays, and again, hostels are an optimal way to meet other people in a non-threatening casual environment. The main objective of the holiday of course would be the travel, but if they find romance as well, even better! Sooooo.... we want to start the Mature Youth Hostel Association, dedicated to building quality hostels aimed at middle aged and elderly people, with dorms, common areas, etc. Anyway, we got very excited with our idea...
After a few hours, I gauged it was time to progress to a new venue... I again did some research (chatted to other students in the square) and worked out a bar to move on to. I again, miraculously I think, coordinated the large group through the maze of streets with my trusty map (I´m always map girl!), and got us to the entrance of the bar, only to be told by the bouncer it had a cover charge, and by one of the guys in the group that it was crap and he had been there 4 times in the last week. So I sighed and asked the guy to give an alternative that would not leave my drunken posse lost and down. He rose to the occasion, and led us to a corner of Cadiz that had a row of heaving bars and clubs. Excellent!
We bar hopped a bit, and then progressed to a venue that had particularly good house music coming from it. It was wonderful fun... until I started to notice the men kissing other men all around me. Now, I am of course completely fine with this, it generally means better music, better looking people, and no harrassment from men for me. But the German boys were not so comfortable, so after half an hour, they convinced everyone to leave. But it was a most amusing half hour!
Anyway, that is my tale of fun from Cadiz. Not ground-breaking in its fun levels, but entertaining and satisfying nonetheless. I am so deeply pleased that I came back to Cadiz for that one night, and that it lived up to my expectations. I left for Seville the next day with a wistful smile.
Friday, September 30, 2005
Random roadside flamingos
Despite the fact that I like to consider myself a decisive person, in actual fact, I am not really. I am driven by all sorts of winds of indecision, and nowhere has that been more evident than in the last few days.
I came to Cadiz because of a story that was told to me 8 years ago. My cousin Carlos told me about the madness that is the Cadiz carnavale... of Romeo & Juliet Venice Beach proportions: costumes, craziness, carnality. It attracted me, and for years I yearned to come to this city by the sea that promised Andalucian antics.
So I came. Admitedly, as with Greece, it suffers from end of season emptiness. I roamed the streets trying to find fiesta, but found empty bars and doldrum restaurants. I was devastated: where was my fabled paradise?
So in exasperation, after having stayed out til 2am trying my hardest to find that little pocket of mayhem, I decided to leave Cadiz. My Lonely Planet book suggested that Tarifa would be enticing due to its bohemian spirit and crumbling Moorish ruins, so I packed up my rucksack and jumped on a bus bound for the windy southern-most Spanish city of Tarifa.
It was a beautiful place. A 10km long beach tuffeted by winds and a breath away from exotic Morocco, and a beautiful old town full of Moorish ruins and fountained plazas. Lovely. But there I was as the evening approached, desperate to have a wild night, and my hostel companions had settled down to a dinner of hostel-cooked pasta and 80c cask wine. Determined not to be stuck inside a dingy hostel, I ventured out solo. I ate alone, which I have no issue with: in fact, it worked out well as there were a group of drunken Spaniards just behind where I was eating, falling over themselves in their stupor, and the waiter was so mortified that he kept giving me free alocohol. I then ventured out to a bar.
Now, the hardest thing I have had to do on this trip is walk into a bar and find people to talk to. Its hard. And very scary. But I braced myself, held my head high, and strode in. And I managed ok. I went to one bar, then went to another where there was dancing. Its was nicely average.
I got back to my hostel late, woke up, and thought to myself: I havent given Cadiz a proper chance yet. I just felt terribly guilty and weak that after yearning for Cadiz for so long, I had given up on it after 2 days. So in classic Me-style, I packed up my bags, and got back on a bus to Cadiz!
I turned up in Cadiz, and I am writing to you now from a rather more social hostel than where I was staying before. Its fabulous here, so I am now drinking cheap rose and trying to convince sufficient people to go out with me for the evening, to give Cadiz a proper farewell. I am off to Seville tomorrow, and I know that will definitely be more social. But for now, I just want to leave Cadiz thinking that it has lived up to the visions of my youth.
As to the allusions of this entrys title: on the way back from Tarifa to Cadiz today, my bus passed a swamp that had a bog full of flamingos. I have never seen flamingos in the wild before, and they struck me as a tantalisingly ridiculous thing to see on a swampy roadside. I loved it! Bring it on, I want more random roadside flamingos in my life! That says it all really.
I came to Cadiz because of a story that was told to me 8 years ago. My cousin Carlos told me about the madness that is the Cadiz carnavale... of Romeo & Juliet Venice Beach proportions: costumes, craziness, carnality. It attracted me, and for years I yearned to come to this city by the sea that promised Andalucian antics.
So I came. Admitedly, as with Greece, it suffers from end of season emptiness. I roamed the streets trying to find fiesta, but found empty bars and doldrum restaurants. I was devastated: where was my fabled paradise?
So in exasperation, after having stayed out til 2am trying my hardest to find that little pocket of mayhem, I decided to leave Cadiz. My Lonely Planet book suggested that Tarifa would be enticing due to its bohemian spirit and crumbling Moorish ruins, so I packed up my rucksack and jumped on a bus bound for the windy southern-most Spanish city of Tarifa.
It was a beautiful place. A 10km long beach tuffeted by winds and a breath away from exotic Morocco, and a beautiful old town full of Moorish ruins and fountained plazas. Lovely. But there I was as the evening approached, desperate to have a wild night, and my hostel companions had settled down to a dinner of hostel-cooked pasta and 80c cask wine. Determined not to be stuck inside a dingy hostel, I ventured out solo. I ate alone, which I have no issue with: in fact, it worked out well as there were a group of drunken Spaniards just behind where I was eating, falling over themselves in their stupor, and the waiter was so mortified that he kept giving me free alocohol. I then ventured out to a bar.
Now, the hardest thing I have had to do on this trip is walk into a bar and find people to talk to. Its hard. And very scary. But I braced myself, held my head high, and strode in. And I managed ok. I went to one bar, then went to another where there was dancing. Its was nicely average.
I got back to my hostel late, woke up, and thought to myself: I havent given Cadiz a proper chance yet. I just felt terribly guilty and weak that after yearning for Cadiz for so long, I had given up on it after 2 days. So in classic Me-style, I packed up my bags, and got back on a bus to Cadiz!
I turned up in Cadiz, and I am writing to you now from a rather more social hostel than where I was staying before. Its fabulous here, so I am now drinking cheap rose and trying to convince sufficient people to go out with me for the evening, to give Cadiz a proper farewell. I am off to Seville tomorrow, and I know that will definitely be more social. But for now, I just want to leave Cadiz thinking that it has lived up to the visions of my youth.
As to the allusions of this entrys title: on the way back from Tarifa to Cadiz today, my bus passed a swamp that had a bog full of flamingos. I have never seen flamingos in the wild before, and they struck me as a tantalisingly ridiculous thing to see on a swampy roadside. I loved it! Bring it on, I want more random roadside flamingos in my life! That says it all really.
Sunday, September 25, 2005
"Of Human Bondage" in Greece
As the name of this blog of mine suggests it will occasionally discuss fiction, its about time I actually do.
I am attempting a zen approach to book choice for this holiday: the appropriate book for me at that point in time will make itself known to me. And so far its worked better than expected. The "Von Ingelfeld Trilogy" awarded me my most startling coincidence of my life, thereby validating that I was on the right path. "Madame Proust and the kosher kitchen" was not fabulous, but I believe it was necessary for leading me to the next book I read.
I was at a hostel in Cappadocia and was wading through a box of books that I could swap my "Madame Proust..." book for... when I found a terribly tattered copy of "Of Human Bondage" by W. Somerset Maugham. I recognised the title as an English classic but knew nothing else about it. I flipped it open, and the first words I saw were "...Marcel Proust...". I took this as a sign I was meant to read this book, as my "Madame Proust..." book was all about the French writer Marcel Proust. So, I swiftly made my swap and launched into the 600 page novel written in 1915.
It is one of those books that makes you pause every few pages and shiver with glee. Maugham writes so simply yet with a subtle irony and humour that continually made me smirk and even giggle on occasion. Its supposedly semi-autobiographical, and it makes sense, because only if he was writing about his own experiences could he so accurately convey emotions of lust, betrayal, obsession, passion, despair and my favourite of all, joy when faced with beauty and freedom.
In brief, the book is about Philip Carey, an orphan crippled with a clubfoot raised by his indifferent elderly aunt and uncle. He suffers taunts and loneliness growing up, and retreats into a world of fantasy and intellectual pursuits, and yearns for the day he can be his own master. He travels to Germany to study, and then Paris to revel in the bohemian life of a painter, and finally London to study medicine amongst the poverty stricken slums of the south-east. Through it all he falls in love, loses everything, constructs his own sense of morality and faith, and searches continually for the meaning of life.
Its a beautiful book, and I am grateful for the new perspective on life, travel, art and beauty it offers. It is a sublimely appropriate book to read when travelling oneself, with its gentle humour and soaring philosophies. Its one of those books that I will come back to in a few years, and see so much more within its clever prose.
Unfortunately, because I love it so much, I cannot let myself swap it at a book exchange, so will need to invest in a new book... I wonder what book will make itself known to me now....
I am attempting a zen approach to book choice for this holiday: the appropriate book for me at that point in time will make itself known to me. And so far its worked better than expected. The "Von Ingelfeld Trilogy" awarded me my most startling coincidence of my life, thereby validating that I was on the right path. "Madame Proust and the kosher kitchen" was not fabulous, but I believe it was necessary for leading me to the next book I read.
I was at a hostel in Cappadocia and was wading through a box of books that I could swap my "Madame Proust..." book for... when I found a terribly tattered copy of "Of Human Bondage" by W. Somerset Maugham. I recognised the title as an English classic but knew nothing else about it. I flipped it open, and the first words I saw were "...Marcel Proust...". I took this as a sign I was meant to read this book, as my "Madame Proust..." book was all about the French writer Marcel Proust. So, I swiftly made my swap and launched into the 600 page novel written in 1915.
It is one of those books that makes you pause every few pages and shiver with glee. Maugham writes so simply yet with a subtle irony and humour that continually made me smirk and even giggle on occasion. Its supposedly semi-autobiographical, and it makes sense, because only if he was writing about his own experiences could he so accurately convey emotions of lust, betrayal, obsession, passion, despair and my favourite of all, joy when faced with beauty and freedom.
In brief, the book is about Philip Carey, an orphan crippled with a clubfoot raised by his indifferent elderly aunt and uncle. He suffers taunts and loneliness growing up, and retreats into a world of fantasy and intellectual pursuits, and yearns for the day he can be his own master. He travels to Germany to study, and then Paris to revel in the bohemian life of a painter, and finally London to study medicine amongst the poverty stricken slums of the south-east. Through it all he falls in love, loses everything, constructs his own sense of morality and faith, and searches continually for the meaning of life.
Its a beautiful book, and I am grateful for the new perspective on life, travel, art and beauty it offers. It is a sublimely appropriate book to read when travelling oneself, with its gentle humour and soaring philosophies. Its one of those books that I will come back to in a few years, and see so much more within its clever prose.
Unfortunately, because I love it so much, I cannot let myself swap it at a book exchange, so will need to invest in a new book... I wonder what book will make itself known to me now....
Thursday, September 22, 2005
Sunsets and donkey ass-hair
You would be fair in wondering why my sudden fascination in animal genitalia. Rest assured it is not a deliberate trend, but rather a very accidental one. Although as I type a cat is rubbing itself against my leg...
My last full day in Santorini was to be spend on a full day tour of the volcano and thermal springs just off coast of Santorini, followed by watching the sunset at an absurdly picturesque little village called Oia. I was looking forward to it, but the day began very warm, and due to a few last minute chores, I turned up to the meeting spot for the bus sweating profusely. This was to be the trend for the day.
We boarded a boat, along with apparently half the population of America and Australia. It was rammed, and there didn't seem to be enough seats to accommodate the crowds, especially not seating in the shade. So I sat in the sun, fanning myself hysterically, wondering why the boat didn't sail off rather than sit in dock as more and more people were crammed onto the small vessel. Eventually we set off, and landed on the shores of the top of an underwater volcano that can created the island of Santorini and a few other scattered islets.
The caldera (such is the name for these types of volcano tips) was visually stunning close up. Imagine you were Frodo approaching Mordor, with its violently black craggy path and crazy large sharp rocks all around you. The heat was incredible, and we trekked up to the top of the volcano sweating rivers. Worthwhile view though - from the top you could see the western coast of Santorini, impossibly sheer black cliffs capped with white-housed villages that looked like snow-capped mountain tops from a distance.
From there we were taken, sweatily and congestedly, to the 'thermal springs'. I put this in inverted commas as I think a marketeer working out how to pad out the daily tour with interesting sights thought, "Oh yes, tourists would love to swim into tepid orange water that stank of sulpur in the name of fun!". It wasn't great, and just left a rusty stain on our bodies. After our swim, we were all herded back on board, wet, sticky, hot and sweaty, to sit in the sun side by side again for another long and hot boat ride.
From there we were taken to the port of Oia where we disembarked and queued up (in the heat) for a donkey to ascend the torturous road up to the village on the top of the sheer cliff face. The ride up on the donkey was wonderful fun, as the ass cantered up the thin rocky path right on the edge of a sheer drop down to the ocean far below. However, my donkey was a little too enthusiastic, choosing to try and overtake other donkeys, but clumsily only resulting in making my knees rub up against the bottoms of the other donkeys. My sweaty legs proved a welcome sticking pad for many hairs from the donkeys bottom, or, if you will, the ass' ass.
And for some reason, the donkey ride to Oia only took you half way up, so we still had to plod on (in the heat) to the village. Once there, I managed to stub my big toe so badly it began to bleed profusely. I must have looked a state: red, sweaty, smelly, hairy, bloody, and reeking distinctly of eau de donkey. Needless to say, I was not overjoyed at the state of my body.
But of course, the day was not over: I had sunset to watch. The thing to do in Santorini is to watch the sunset at Oia. With its artistically architectured housing, westerly facing aspect, and peaceful ambience, its the perfect place to watch a sunset. But I was torn. I love to watch sunsets, but preferably when I am clean and well-kempt. With forbearance, I sat myself down on an old fort on the tip of Oia, and tried to not breathe in through my nose or look down at my toes while the sun sank slowly into the sea. It was breathtakingly beautiful of course. The golden light bounced off the white paint on the village housing, making the scene glow like some vision of a city in paradise. I managed to forget my earthly woes, and dived into the splendour before me.
Just want to add a special note of thanks to Sian for joining me on my Santorini jaunt. She was the most entertaining, delightful, amusing friend to have on holidays, and it will be a long time before I forget our experiences with evil hoteliers, insane russian gardeners with their chinese burns, the greek definition of 500 metres, and baked feta cheese.
My last full day in Santorini was to be spend on a full day tour of the volcano and thermal springs just off coast of Santorini, followed by watching the sunset at an absurdly picturesque little village called Oia. I was looking forward to it, but the day began very warm, and due to a few last minute chores, I turned up to the meeting spot for the bus sweating profusely. This was to be the trend for the day.
We boarded a boat, along with apparently half the population of America and Australia. It was rammed, and there didn't seem to be enough seats to accommodate the crowds, especially not seating in the shade. So I sat in the sun, fanning myself hysterically, wondering why the boat didn't sail off rather than sit in dock as more and more people were crammed onto the small vessel. Eventually we set off, and landed on the shores of the top of an underwater volcano that can created the island of Santorini and a few other scattered islets.
The caldera (such is the name for these types of volcano tips) was visually stunning close up. Imagine you were Frodo approaching Mordor, with its violently black craggy path and crazy large sharp rocks all around you. The heat was incredible, and we trekked up to the top of the volcano sweating rivers. Worthwhile view though - from the top you could see the western coast of Santorini, impossibly sheer black cliffs capped with white-housed villages that looked like snow-capped mountain tops from a distance.
From there we were taken, sweatily and congestedly, to the 'thermal springs'. I put this in inverted commas as I think a marketeer working out how to pad out the daily tour with interesting sights thought, "Oh yes, tourists would love to swim into tepid orange water that stank of sulpur in the name of fun!". It wasn't great, and just left a rusty stain on our bodies. After our swim, we were all herded back on board, wet, sticky, hot and sweaty, to sit in the sun side by side again for another long and hot boat ride.
From there we were taken to the port of Oia where we disembarked and queued up (in the heat) for a donkey to ascend the torturous road up to the village on the top of the sheer cliff face. The ride up on the donkey was wonderful fun, as the ass cantered up the thin rocky path right on the edge of a sheer drop down to the ocean far below. However, my donkey was a little too enthusiastic, choosing to try and overtake other donkeys, but clumsily only resulting in making my knees rub up against the bottoms of the other donkeys. My sweaty legs proved a welcome sticking pad for many hairs from the donkeys bottom, or, if you will, the ass' ass.
And for some reason, the donkey ride to Oia only took you half way up, so we still had to plod on (in the heat) to the village. Once there, I managed to stub my big toe so badly it began to bleed profusely. I must have looked a state: red, sweaty, smelly, hairy, bloody, and reeking distinctly of eau de donkey. Needless to say, I was not overjoyed at the state of my body.
But of course, the day was not over: I had sunset to watch. The thing to do in Santorini is to watch the sunset at Oia. With its artistically architectured housing, westerly facing aspect, and peaceful ambience, its the perfect place to watch a sunset. But I was torn. I love to watch sunsets, but preferably when I am clean and well-kempt. With forbearance, I sat myself down on an old fort on the tip of Oia, and tried to not breathe in through my nose or look down at my toes while the sun sank slowly into the sea. It was breathtakingly beautiful of course. The golden light bounced off the white paint on the village housing, making the scene glow like some vision of a city in paradise. I managed to forget my earthly woes, and dived into the splendour before me.
Just want to add a special note of thanks to Sian for joining me on my Santorini jaunt. She was the most entertaining, delightful, amusing friend to have on holidays, and it will be a long time before I forget our experiences with evil hoteliers, insane russian gardeners with their chinese burns, the greek definition of 500 metres, and baked feta cheese.
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