Tuesday 30 September 2008

Becalmed at Lake Bled

How recent history repeats itself! Six months ago, the day after our wedding, Theo and I were both afflicted with various maladies, namely a stomach bug (in both our cases) and severe laryngitis in mine (which had robbed me of my voice for my wedding day). Today, half a year on, we have postponed our planned return to Italy because we've both been struck down by a chest infection. Well, struck down is maybe a little overdramatic. We don't feel too bad, but our lungs are rather tight and tickly and our voices have taken a husky dive into our boots. You would have thought with all this fresh mountain air and our reasonably healthy lifestyle would see us in the pink, but no. Still, you can't argue with Lake Bled as a stunning place to convalesce. The nights have a distinct autumnal nip in the air, but the sky is blue and it feels very warm in the Slovenian sunshine. Even the snowy caps on the alps overlooking the lake have quite melted away. We are now doing what invalids are supposed to - eating grapes, lazing around and reading books - while taking advantage of the pause in our journey to do a bit of laundry.

So I thought I would mention one of the other attractions of Slovenia aside from its stunning scenery. The Slovenians themselves.

The fact that they are multilingual, with just about everyone able to manage a bit of English, German and Italian as well as their own language, makes life much easier for the visitor. But time and time again we have also seen how friendly, helpful and kind they are - as well as having a sense of humour we can easily understand.

When we shopped at the large outdoor market in Ljubljana, one stallholder threw a few extra onions and small bulb of garlic into our bag after we had paid, another gave us each a generous slice of cake on the completion of our transaction. In Italy you get that sort of thing all the time if you happen to have a small child in tow, but this was just us.

You never get the impression that tourists are a necessary evil to be simultaneously endured and ripped off, as we have found in some other places. Here, the attitude is welcoming and patient. Letting visitors endlessly ring the bell in the church on the island in Lake Bled would surely drive most people crackers quite quickly, but here they encourage you to have a go. Mind you, it makes life confusing if you happen to be wondering what the time is.

Which leaves me wondering why my bank views Slovenia with suspicion and won't let me access my bank account online from here. Of all the Balkan countries, it's easily the most up-to-date and efficiently run.

Still, what do they know?

Monday 29 September 2008

Six Months Today

Kate and Theo have been married for six month today!!!!

Yay!!!

Sunday 28 September 2008

Bloody Gorgeous


...and the scenery isn't bad either.

We're in Slovenia and it's beautiful. Currently camping on the shores of the picturesque Lake Bled, looking forward to a spot of gentle rowing tomorrow.

Saturday 27 September 2008

Luvverly Ljubljana

If Bratislava was unprepared to become a capital city what of Ljubljana, the tiny, bijou capital of Slovenia? Ancient Emona (as was) founded, as legend has it, by Jason of the Argonauts - a case of bad navigation as they were trying to get back to Greece but mistook the Danube delta for the Dardenelles - was for years under the sway of either Venice, Vienna or, until 1992, Belgrade. It's a bit like Cornwall declaring its independence and Truro taking on capital city status.

However, of all the former communist cities we've visited, the Slovene capital seems to have suffered least from the usual contagion of concrete blocks. Or at least that's how it seemed to us as we admired the panorama from the top of the Castle's tower (like the city, the castle is tiny and understated but very pretty and well situated).
Instead the city makes the most of what both nature - in the form of the ring of snow capped mountains and forested hills surrounding the Sava River plain that it sits on - and previous rulers have bestowed upon it - quaint bridges, colonnades, art deco houses and market squares. It doesn't bowl you over, just gently seduces.

Ljubljana also has quite an alternative streak to it and we got a little taster of this. We had picked up a flyer in, of all places, the tourist information office, for a Tribal Infusion night, promising belly dancing, body paint, turbo folk, live music and DJs. Sounded fun (and it was free) so we headed along about 11ish (it went on til 6am!) to find that the venue was situated in some kind of artists' collective in a half derelict factory. If you are from Bristol, think The Black Swan meets The Cube. Donations on the door, dreadlocks everywhere, lasers, smoke... all that was missing was a few dogs on strings and we could have been back at the Rocket Festival. It was ace. We drank, danced and tried to take half-decent photos before finally calling it a night at 3am.

We love Ljubljana. Even if only Kate can say it properly.

Thursday 25 September 2008

Hats off, Cravats on

How on earth did we come up with "Croatia" as a pronunciation for the country actually called by the people who live there "Hrvatzka"? A pretty poor approximation, really - the word we use for the Croatia-created necktie, "cravat" is much closer. Not that the Croatians - the Hrvatski - seem to mind, the English rendering - or should that be mangling? - of their country's name is used almost interchangeably with the Slavic version.

Theo and I spent a little under three days in Croatia - just enough time to get thoroughly lost, stressed out and fed up trying to find a campsite close to the capital, Zagreb; a day to wander around and see its main sites; and another day extricating ourselves in the direction of Slovenia. Incidentally, Slovenes do pronounce their land as "Slovenia", so we were closer with that one.

Most would agree that Croatia's strongest suit is its incredible coastline, with more idyllic Islands to boast of than Greece and the dual jewels in its crown of Split and Dubrovnik. But Zagreb is not without its charms by any means.


The Dolac fruit and vegetable market was well worth a visit and there we got some of the sweetest plums and mandarins I've ever tasted - for a very decent price, too, although Croatia isn't nearly as cheap as, say, Slovakia ("Slovenske"...hmm).

The snappily named Cathedral of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary was also of interest, although its most intriguing feature was the prone effigy of a Cardinal on his way to sainthood and currently celebrating ten years since his beatification. He could be seen laying in state in a glass coffin and the brass emblem on its front was shiny from the number of hands reverently (superstitiously?) placed upon it by the people paying their respects.

That same ritualistic approach to Croatia's Roman Catholicism could also be seen at the Holy Virgin icon contained within a shrine at the 13th Century Stone Gate. Inside the gate, all was a-flicker with candles, there were a few people praying in the three pews placed before the shrine and the walls surrounding it were crowded with plaques proclaiming the grateful thanks of the faithful. As we watched, a crowd of noisy teenagers passed through the gate, but almost all of them crossed themselves as they approached the shrine, although they continued their conversations as they did so.


A final hats off to the splendid restaurant, Kaptolska Klet. Despite specialising in indigenous dishes and Zagreb specialities like strukli (a sort of savoury boiled cheesecake, which is much tastier than it sounds), it also offered the most extensive list of vegetarian options Theo and I have yet come across outside an exclusively vegetarian eatery. We were spoiled for choice and as a result, over-ordered and both had to leave half our very tasty main-courses uneaten.

Monday 22 September 2008

Bath Time in Hungary


It's hard to put your finger on the appeal of swimming in water that smells like it's just been used to poach two dozen eggs. There's the alleged healing qualities of the mineral-rich springs bubbling up from subterranean Hungary - does wonders for your rheumatism, I'm told. The novelty of doing the breast-stroke in an outdoor pool, kept comfortably warm by natural aqua thermals, while surrounded by pink and purple water lilies, must count for something. It's also kind of soothing to watch so many of the geriatrically challenged (I'm trying to be politically correct about the huge numbers of wrinklies and crumblies - oh, damn, sorry) bobbing about in their swimming caps and rubber rings.

Whatever the reason, Theo and I certainly enjoyed ourselves taking the waters at the world famous Heviz crater in Hungary, close to the largest European freshwater lake outside Scandinavia, Lake Balaton. The wooden-built bath house can be reached through a number of walkways jutting into the centre of the thermal pool. From the outside, the spa complex looks turn of the century. Inside, parts of it are so bang up to date, the lockers are managed by an electronic system where each bather is given a watch-type device which, when scanned in the changing room, allocates a vacant locker. Henleaze Swimming Lake it is not!

Theo and I spent an hour or so in the water, first swimming outdoors, then floating around and underneath the struts holding up the bath house and jostling for position close to the warmest part of the pool, where the thermal spring bubbles up at an initial temperature of 37 degrees C. By the time you get into the open air, the water has cooled to around 27 degrees, but is still very pleasant for swimming. Probably about the same temperature as the Adriatic when we swam in it near Rimini back in June, but not as murky.

I'm not sure if our sojourn in the thermal waters cured us of any bodily ailments, but they did have one dramatic result. The hydrogen sulphide (or whatever it was) giving the water its distinctive eggy smell reacted with the solid silver of our wedding rings turning them both an oily black. And despite both of us taking showers after our dip, it wasn't until the next day that we managed to wash away the subtle whiff of eau de scrambled oeuf.

Sunday 21 September 2008

Budapest - The Sociable City


I think our main impression of the Hungarian capital is how its citizens love to be part of a big crowd. On our first night in Budapest, we watched intrigued as several hundred young people wearing red or yellow armbands amassed in one of the city's main squares. As Theo drank dark Magyar beer and I sipped a palinka, they stood around in groups, then dispersed and re-grouped
with occasional breakaway contingents suddenly chasing one another pell-mell through the chairs and tables set up outside the bars. Our waiter was similarly nonplussed, but eventually he discovered it was a game of "Capture The Flag". We were greatly taken with the scale of the event, it made quite spectacle.

The next day our sightseeing was livened up by big screens, amplified music and a hell of a lot of flags. Twenty thousand or so Hungarians had taken to the streets in a pro-democracy march, concerned by the faltering economy and the country's vociferous fascist minority. "It's all a bit bullshit, really", commented the TV journalist who told us what the protest was about, "They don't really know what they want." It didn't stop us feeling impressed, though.


Mind you, it wasn't long before we saw the focus of those people's worries - particularly the sizable group of Roma demonstrators. Having just had an afternoon cuppa in the gorgeous, Art Nouveau cafe Lukacs, we intended to visit the Terror House - the museum chronicling the atrocities experienced in Hungary under the communists and before them, the Nazis. Ironically, our plan was scuppered by the appearance of another march, which turned out to be the modern fascists, the ultra right, complete with skin-head haircuts and racist chants.

As we watched the thousand or so marchers pass us on Andrassy Utca, the owner of Cafe Lukacs stood beside us, bemoaning the demo's effect on his business. "It's all a bit bloody bullshit, really," he told us. "They don't really know what they want."


The next day, Sunday, we decided to take a dip in Budapest's famous, century-old public thermal baths. Once again, there were crowds of people. Many were obviously tourists; as one French girl said to another "c'est plein d'Anglais". But many were clearly local and came to enjoy the twenty or so different pools, saunas and steam-rooms as much for the socialising as their health. It was a grand excuse to hang around and have a bit of a chit-chat with your mates or, indeed, a game of chess. We saw at least three boards set up on one side of the outdoor pool, while various middle-aged men stood chest-deep in the water, solemnly working out their moves.

If that wasn't enough, we also wandered through a free, green-themed street party, complete with children's games and outdoor concert and a market with another stage and yet more live music.

And then there is the willingness with which various people joined us in conversation. As well as the journalist and the businessman, a teacher of English and ice-skating had helped us on the trams and ended up sharing a bit of her life-story as we all negotiated the public transport disruptions. For all our wanderings in the various foreign capitals we have visited, we have seldom managed to talk to the people who live there, unless we already knew them. Budapest is different. It's a lively place and I think I can honestly say we both got thoroughly caught up in the action.

Thursday 18 September 2008

Vienna: Kate's Birthday City

Vienna is a confection. It can't help it, with all its elaborate Baroque stylings, its frills and whirls, its gold leafed edging and its ostentation. Very little is free in Vienna, but it costs nothing to stroll among its decorative architecture and manicured parks and you will always be given an unasked for glass of water when you order coffee. "Mit schlag", as the waiters say - topped, more often than not, with a ripple of whipped cream.

Vienna is very like one of its most famous cakes - the Sacher Torte. Very elegant and very rich with a hint of sour cherry lying just below the thick chocolate surface.


We saw it in the groups of street drinkers using the city's immaculate metro system to shelter from the cold. We saw it in the smoky cellars of the micro-wineries. We felt it as we were attacked by a ratty, one-legged pigeon with a psychopathic streak in one of the Austrian capital's genteel parks. And we couldn't miss the election posters emphatically proclaiming "unsere Osterreich, fur unsere Kinder" for the Right Wing.

Not so sweet, then. More like a well-bred but slightly eccentric elderly aunt. After all, Vienna is the city which turned an old chemical works into a building that could have been decorated by Gaudi on acid. And every year, amateur aviators crash a succession of bizarre machines into the Danube as they race to get airborne.

Vienna is Marie Antoinette, Mozart, Klimt and The Third Man. High culture abounds. But there is also a bar beneath an old railway bridge where you can hear the latest electronic music.

Sacher Torte? Perhaps the gateau best resembling Vienna would be a wedding cake - impressive on the outside and plenty of layers.

Wednesday 17 September 2008

Vienna

"London. Vienna. Unreal City." That's (roughly) the way the line goes in Eliot's The Wasteland. It couldn't be further from the truth. Many of the cities we've visited, even some of the bigger ones like Rome, Paris and Amsterdam, seem to be merely giant amusement parks, designed to entertain the world's tourists. You had to struggle to imagine people actually living and working there, and not just passing through for a couple of days sightseeing. Not so Vienna: this was a real city, with a strong sense of inhabitation and purpose, existing for reasons other than tourism. "Come here if you like," the Viennese seemed to say, "but don't expect us to pay much attention." This reverse-psycohology aptly employed by the birthplace of modern psychoanalysis definitely works - unlike the half-deserted, almost ghostly campsites we'd encountered in Prague, Krakow and Bratislava, the one in Vienna positively buzzed.

Once we'd ventured in we could see why the tourists flock to Austria's capital. It's strange but after only days in Berlin we had the (probably totally mistaken) sense that we'd seen and done all it had to offer us, or at least all we wanted to do and see. Ditto Paris. Not so Vienna: we could have stayed a week and still felt we'd left significant bits unexplored. Yet why is hard to say.

Vienna lacks a defining monument - it has nothing to rival the status of the Eiffel Tower or the Berlin Wall - but that probably works to its advantage. There's no one thing you can do or see to feel that you have "done" Vienna. Go to Pisa, see the leaning tower, tick box. Go to Cordoba, see the Mezquita, tick box. The closest you get in Vienna is going to coffee houses for torte mit schlagobers, a box we ticked several times, though even those listed in the guidebooks had a larger local contingent than a tourist one.

We did go to the Belvedere Museum to see Gustav Klimt's "Kiss", though I was more taken by some of his other, smaller pieces, plus other assorted artworks. We did wander along the Danube, taking a ride to the long, thin, Island park that runs between two of its widest channels. (I was actually quite surprised at both the size of the Danube this far from its mouth - it's huge! - and also at the fact that old Vienna isn't actually all that close to the river so synonymous with it. In fact the city is named after the Wien river which flows through it to the Danube.) We admired the various parks, museums, palaces, monuments and churches. Kate bought some new boots - shopping is definitely a prime tourist pastime in Vienna. And yet, from the U-bahn and tram windows we could see miles and miles of intriguing unexplored city stretching before us.

I'd happily go back.

Tuesday 16 September 2008

Travelling Top Trumps

Well, we already knew that we hardly ranked alongside Phileas Fogg or even Michael Palin in a Travellers Top Trumps set, but we didn't think we were doing too badly at being adventurous. Not just in where we've been and where we're going, but the lifestyle change it has meant for both of us, the huge down sizing required to live out of the van which has been our home for 5 months now.

Today though we met the Millers. This American couple with their FOUR children aged 6 to 12 have sold their house and quit their jobs to travel around Europe and North Africa for 15 months. By bicycle. Wow! We are in awe. Check out their website: www.edventureproject.com

It made a fantastic contrast to the (very friendly) antipodean types who rolled in to the Viennese campsite on the Kontiki Express. 22 countries in 46 days - made us feel knackered just thinking about it.

Monday 15 September 2008

Bratislava - The Accidental Capital

A rainy Monday is probably the very worst time to visit the Slovak capital, Bratislava. Not being the best endowed city when it comes to noble architecture and showpiece buildings anyway, a damp day only serves to enhance the considerable amount of concrete that holds the place together. Also, on Mondays almost everything is closed, including the inside of the old town hall, which enticingly offers a room of mirrors and English tapestries dating back to King James I to savvier tourists than us, who turn up on any other day of the week.

The next worst time to visit Bratislava is at the weekend, specifically Friday or Saturday night. Then the historical centre becomes filled with those excellent cultural ambassadors for the UK, hen parties and stag groups. Committed to the cause of plentiful cheap booze, they liberally spray the old town's streets with their urine and vomit, to the charming accompaniment of their shrieking and brawling.

Bratislava has only been the Slovak capital city for a short time. Previously, as part of Czechoslovakia, the country could look to Prague. In the centuries before that it was German (when it was called Pressberg) and at one time it was the seat of Hungarian royalty under the Habsburgs, although many of its finest buildings from that time have since been destroyed.

So it's not surprising Bratislava has the air of a city struggling to match up to the greatness that has been thrust upon it. The castle was once a very fine edifice and no doubt will be so again, but at the moment the place is a building site as work to restore it continues.

It's worth walking up to the castle, though, as its dominant position above Bratislava's centre affords a great view of the city as a whole. True, when Theo and I took in the cityscape, it was dank with persistent rain, so not a great advert. Among the landmarks that struck us was the ugly UFO new bridge, one of the Communist regime's gifts to Bratislava in the 1970s. We also marvelled at the rows and rows of slab-like housing blocks on the horizon. And above all was a huge Euro sign, rising above the rooftops like a prophet proclaiming the coming of a new dawn. January 2009 is when Slovakia is due to covert and you could put several thousand of the current koruna on a general twenty per cent price-rise soon after.

The Velvet Divorce - when the Czech Republic and Slovakia parted company in the 1990s - was not as kind to the Slovaks as it was to their Czech neighbours. Accounts suggest that there is a sense grievance about the parting of the ways among Slovaks, who were not consulted about the decision. The economic miracle affecting some former Eastern Bloc countries hasn't been seen to the same extent here. As you take the number 4 tram from the chemical works next to Zlate Piesky and on into the city, you are struck by how heavily graffitied it is. A sign, I suspect, of a lack of money to clean it all off.

But the Slovaks are doing their best with Bratislava. As well as the works on the castle, they've hit on a pleasing strategy to bump up the tourist experience by placing quirky bronze statues in unexpected places. A Frenchman leans on a bench, a workman peeks out of a manhole and a photographer waits to capture a snatched shot with his telephoto lens. It's all rather cute.

Bratislava doesn't need more than a day to take in its main sights and like the ubiquitous stags and hens, I have to admit that part of the appeal lies in the cheap food and drink to be had. Another part of the appeal lies in the Slovaks themselves. As a chatty Iranian checkout man pointed out to us in the supermarket, they are naturally warm and cheerful and respond very readily to overtures of friendship. He himself had chosen to move to Slovakia for that very reason.

The wonderful landscape of the Tatra mountain range is the other thing Slovakia has going for it. If you can ignore the insensitive industrialisation of the Communist era sticking dirty great power stations in areas of outstanding natural beauty, the countryside is really rather lovely.

Bratislava, although trying hard, still needs to grow into its role of capital city. And it can't help being massively overshadowed by its grand and ornate neighbour of only a few kilometres away, Vienna. We're going there tomorrow.

Sunday 14 September 2008

I wanna live like common people

So much of being a tourist, particular in Europe it seems, is checking out how the rich people lived. In towns and cities your guide books direct you to the posh bits, the former homes of burghers, merchants and bankers, with their richly decorated squares and attractive town houses. Or else you might go really up-market and check out the former abodes of royalty, the castles, palaces and mansions of lineages current and ancient. Even those represented in museums tend to be those better off, which is hardly surprising seeing as those with wealth were better able to document and preserve their lives in diaries, letters and business ledgers for those to come.

So yesterday in Slovakia we did the exact opposite. Heading to the Museum Slovenske Dediny (The Museum of Slovak Villages) just outside the Mala Fatra National Park, we spent an hour or so nosing round four preserved villages from different regions of Slovakia. With some of the earliest buildings dating back from the beginning of the 1700s this was a chance to see how the vast majority of people - landless peasants, farmers, cloth makers, weavers, hatters, smiths - lived while their so-called-betters were swanning it about in the various (now ruined) castles we've seen dotting this country's beautiful landscape.


It was a charming place, the buildings with their thatched roofs, cheerful market gardens and dark timbers giving the whole place a picture postcard look, especially in the warm autumn sunshine under clear blue skies. However there was no escaping the functionality of these buildings - there was no false glamour. Peering in through doorways or tiny windows we could see small rooms clearly used for both sleeping, eating and cooking and perhaps more: several were occupied by looms, spinning wheels and wool carders, the means by which agriculturalists would supplement their income on cold winter days.

Today we followed this up by detouring (on our way to Bratislava) via the little village of Cicimany which, our guidebook said, is a fine example of village tradition. The dark wooden houses decorated with geranium filled window boxes and painted white patterns on the timbers were charming as were the little wooden footbridges crossing the stream. But two things really made it for us. The first was venturing into a local cafe for a coffee at 10am and finding it full of merry male locals hard at work drinking beers and shots of Slovakian gin while singing at the tops of their voices. Brilliant. One of them spoke a bit of English and when we asked what the occasion was he simply said "alcohol." Apparently they'd been at it for three days. Hurrah! Equally entertaining was the "guide" in the village-life museum down the road. All the exhibit labels for the traditional costumes and craft items were in Slovak, so we asked if they had an English version. The receptionist obligingly put on a CD which then played on speakers throughout the museum describing for us what we were seeing. As far as we could tell the text was perfect English, but whoever was reading it had obviously little skill with the language. As a result the heavily-accented speech moved at a monotonal snail's pace, as the female narrator not so much stumbled as tripped, slipped and fell headlong over the words giving us such gems as "Frish Vorld Vah" (WWI). Special.



Although going from gorgeous city to gorgeous city is hardly a tiresome experience, it made an extremely refreshing change to go rustic for once.

Friday 12 September 2008

Ponderings about Polski

Reading the two previous blogs you'd be forgiven for thinking we were having a less than excellent time in Poland. True, the zany driving, the fact the entire country is being dug up for new roads and other public schemes (thanks, EU) and the stealing of Theo's sandals all gave us some trying moments. In fact, the disappearance of Theo's footwear is possibly a blessing in disguise as the weather has just become too chilly to wear open-toed shoes anyway and as they emitted a rather strong aroma, the prospect of stowing them in the van wasn't exactly enticing.

I digress. Minor inconveniences aside, Poland is a very likable country, as are the Poles themselves. The beauty of places like Wrocklaw and Krakow speak for themselves. Their inclusion on the UNESCO list of world heritage sites is fully justified and they deserve to be visited by all self-respecting Poland tourists. Also on the UNESCO list is the Auschwitz-Birkenau former Nazi death camp, an unholy testament to barbarity and inhumanity on an industrial scale and a chilling, yet fascinating place to visit.


It was at Auschwitz, as we perused the various exhibitions in the former dormitories, prison blocks and sanitarium, that the courage and indomitable spirit of the Poles came through. Millions of European Jews were murdered in the death camps, but Polish Jews fared the worst, with more than 2 million of their number being slaughtered by the end of the Second World War. Many Poles were put to death merely for being Polish - the Nazis had decided they were not racially acceptable and that they could never be trusted to behave under their occupation, so they exterminated them. Thousands more Poles died at the hands of the Bolsheviks and Ukrainians. Then, at the end of WWII, came a liberation which effectively delivered Poland into the hands of her old enemy, Russia.


We looked at an outdoor exhibition in Wrocklaw celebrating the organised protests against communist repression by the Solidarity union, Polish students and the Catholic Church at the beginning of the 1980s. Despite the movement being squashed by the regime, it went underground, continued unabated and resurfaced in the '90s to finally lead Poland to true self-determination. It made an interesting counterpoint to one of Woclaw's great tourist attractions - a huge panorama painting, 115m long, of Poland's death throes as a nation state in 1794. The enemy then was Russia.

These people have a history of suffering at the hands of their more powerful neighbours, of authoritarian rule and countless atrocities, yet the thing that strikes you most about the Polish is how cheerful they are. They are constantly chatting, smiling and laughing, are generally helpful and for the most part, seem to treat life as a chance to have fun.

And they have some great quirks. Their love affair with the Fiat 126, for instance. The little car is everywhere. I have a lot of sympathy with the Poles here, because my first car happened to be a 126. They may not go very fast, but only an old-fashioned Mini comes close for cuteness.

I also love the way foreign words are "Polishized". Generally by adding "ia" or, more frequently, "y" to the end of the word. Thus you get "delicatesy", "materialy", or my favourite, "komputery". Crisps are "chipsy".

I like their little street kiosk-shops, which sell everything. I can also recommend obwarzanki, crimped bread rings similar to bagels, traditional to Krakow, sold throughout and eaten by all.

True, there is plenty of ugly industrialisation and unappealing Eastern Bloc housing developments all over Poland. And boy, do those relentless roadworks sap your strength. But overall, the country has an optimistic air and it was a pleasure to visit. Meanwhile, Theo will just have to make do with his flip-flops. Though seeing as we went from summer to autumn overnight while in Krakow, he probably wont be wearing those much either.

Wednesday 10 September 2008

Tuesday 9 September 2008

Cross Town Traffic

It's true - the Polish really are terrible drivers. With the sole exception of Belgium (and elsewhere when it's Belgians doing the driving) we haven't witnessed such appalling impatience and blatant illegal manouvres anywhere else on our trips. Jumping red lights (not just going over them a fraction of a second late but having a look, thinking "oh well nobody's coming" and driving across), speeding, overtaking on suburban streets when you are doing the maximum, cutting up, beeping, flashing and generally being total, utter, ******* ***** (insert SJ Esau lyric here). I even saw - amazing!! - a guy in a tiny Fiat mount the pavement and drive along it 200 yards to turn right, rather than wait in the traffic queue. Kate reckons this is why First Bus was so keen to recruit Polish drivers for their Bath and Bristol routes. Those boys will stop at nothing to own the road.

And this was all before we got to Wroclaw. Arriving a 3pm we thought it would be relatively straightforward to find one of the two listed campsites as one was by the river and the other by the Olympic Stadium. Unfortunately we reckoned without the massive roadworks currently taking place, which of course made the already less than polite Polish drivers even less forgiving of two lost Brits attempting to navigate their way around. It took all of my Bristol-city-centre-in-rush-hour training to keep Sheena scratch free (touch wood). After consulting a map in a petrol station we eventually found one of the campsites. This nice riverside location was home to some not very welcoming New Age squatters and their even less welcoming, loud dogs. Hmmm.

Luckily some Germans turned up and being the organised types, they had a SatNav. Hurrah. After we telephoned the other campsite to check it actually existed, we had another fraught journey following a German caravan back across town through some very busy junctions and major roadworks to another, thankfully open, campsite. It was now 6.30pm. Perhaps sensing our urgent need, our new German friends graciously offered us some chilled Polish vodka which we very gratefully drank. We can understand now why the stuff is so popular.

Monday 8 September 2008

Prague

This has been my second visit to Prague and I've enjoyed my return - a very different experience to last time, though both trips were enjoyable in different ways. But while certain streets and sights were familiar - Prague Castle, the Old Town square, the Charles Bridge, the Jewish cemetery and, er, Tesco - I wouldn't claim to know Prague well. At all.

It's true that pretty much everywhere we've gone we've just seemed to scratch the surface, but it is especially true for Prague. If Bohemia and Moravia made it into our history classrooms it was merely as a mention in the list of Hapsburg possessions, or perhaps as the subject of the Munich Agreement. The amount that we knew about the Czech Republic - which seems almost synonymous with Prague in the English imagination - before we came here could fill, well, a short blog entry.

We're slightly more clued in now, but only slightly. We've learnt about Hussites, defenestrations and quite a bit about the Prague Spring thanks to several street displays marking the 40th anniversary of this ultimately doomed attempt to liberalise the Czechslovakian communist regime. Another helpful outdoor display alongside owls, peacocks and a wall of fake stalactites in the gardens of the Czech Senate taught us about the abdication of the last King in the Czech lands and about the last Czech King. However all these history lessons, while appreciated, always created more questions than answers; we were still no closer to understanding the Czech people or their history. Which is not surprising really, as we can't understand a word of their language and despite repeated attempts we still can't pronounce their word for "thank you": dekuji.

But we're going to have to leave it there. Tomorrow we're off to Poland, feeling slightly guilty that we're only visiting the capital of this 10 million strong nation and doing nothing to shake preconceptions of the Czech Republic as being the land of cheap beer.

It is cheap though.

Sunday 7 September 2008

Czech us out....

We're in Prague, staying in a slightly faded and decrepid campside by the river manned only by an old boy whose only English words are "whiskey" and "yes".

The adventure starts!!!

Friday 5 September 2008

Ich bin ein Berliner

Berlin. Of all the cities we have visited so far it's easily the one which has had the greatest emotional impact. Probably because some of Berlin's most significant historical events have happened within our lifetime, or at most, only a couple of generations removed.
As you stroll through the German capital you get the feeling the once-divided city is gradually becoming at peace with itself, as well as with the rest of the world. Theo remarked that it carries the weight of Germany's recent past and that is clearly something it takes very seriously.
We were both compelled and appalled as we read the searing accounts of the holocaust by some of its millions of victims in the bleakly honest information centre beside the Memorial For The Murdered Jews Of Europe.

The memorial itself is an extraordinary piece of work - an expanse of ground given over to thousands of "stelae", huge, dark grey slabs of concrete laid out in a grid. At first you look at it in some doubt as to what it signifies and what emotional response it demands. Then, when you walk among the stelae until they tower over you and you are completely surrounded, trapped and overwhelmed, you understand.

But only a few hundred metres away is the triumphalist Brandenburg Gate, the chariot on its summit turned to face west since the reunification of Germany in the '90s, signifying glory and a nation holding its head high.

I vividly recall my emotional reaction to the news the Berlin Wall had come down in November '89 and seeing some of the few remaining sections of the hated Mauer - the much-graffitied East Side Gallery and the recreation of the Death Strip in Bernauer Strasse - brought it back. As we read the history and looked at footage of the Wall's construction, the escapes and its ultimate demolition, I don't mind admitting that at times I was moved to tears.

Yet, even now there is an invisible East-West divide in Berlin, increasingly blurred though it is. Theo and I found ourselves most drawn to the East side, especially some of the anything goes districts like the grungy, alternative Friedrichshain or the laid-back cafes and bars of Prenzlauer Berg.

The latter set the stage for a somewhat alcoholic and suitably pan-European night out on the eve of our departure from Berlin after a four-day stay. We met up with Theo's doctor friend, Dora, her half Iranian boyfriend and a couple they knew, an Italian and a Greek who had met in San Francisco and now lived in Berlin. With neither speaking the other's language, English is their lingua franca, which certainly made life easier for Theo and me as our German is patchy to say the least.
We partied in four different bars, including one where you paid a Euro for a wine glass, refilled it as often as you liked then paid what you thought it was worth at the end of the night. With admirable stamina, as they all had to work the next morning (Dora having to start a 24-hour shift in the hospital from 0800), we parted company with our new friends after two. But, despite the late-night public transport's Teutonic efficiency, we didn't get back to our campsite at Kladower Dam until half past four.

Finally, it should be mentioned that Berlin is big. It spreads out over a great, flat expanse of land, further than the eye can see. As we stood looking out at the city from the Norman Foster-designed Reichstag glass dome, Theo and I marvelled at the widely-spaced, sprawl beneath us. There are scarcely any hills to be seen, the main landmarks being the once East German TV Tower, the Angel of Victory, the glass skyscrapers of Potsdamer Platz and the cranes building Berlin's next shopping super centre at Alexander Platz.

It is an impressive sight of an impressive, visceral, fascinating and compelling city.

Tuesday 2 September 2008

found it...

We´ve found the summer - it´s here in Berlin masquerading as Autumn.

Monday 1 September 2008

Round Berlin (for a fridge)

It shouldn't be possible, but today we managed to drive across the centre of Berlin, West to East then East to West, twice. I say this because just imagine trying to go across London or Paris. Not fun, not easy. But in Germany, crossing the capital city (population 3.5 million) was a bit of a cinch.

The reason for our grand traverse was that we had a couple of tasks to try to achieve today before we got on with the business of being tourists. Firstly we had to go to Steglitz to try to get our MacBook fixed - it's developed an annoying line down the middle of the screen. This meant an 8am departure from our campsite in Potsdam in order to be there when the shop opened at 10am. Now our experience trying to find glass for Sheena should have taught us a thing or too about how chains work. We had been to the Mac store in Amsterdam who had told us, after examining our laptop, that we needed a new hard disk, which would take a week to order. As we were leaving Amsterdam the next day this wasn't an option. However, we struck on a plan and with the help of my German friend Franzi, we had telephoned the Mac store in Berlin a week ago with this information, asking them to order in the relevant part ready for us. Unfortunately the store assistant (who hadn't seen our laptop) we spoke to decided he knew better than the technician in Amsterdam (who had seen our laptop), and said it wasn't a disk problem. Be there at 10am Monday and we should be able to get it done by Thursday. We were there at 10am Monday. "Oh it's probably a disk problem. This may take between a week and ten days." We should have known! Anyway rather than faff around any more, we've decided just to put up with the line - it only really impinges on our ability to watch films.

Our second task - to find a new fridge for Sheena, our previous one having expired in Lubeck - was succesfully accomplished. After a quick, google in German - an interesting experience, rather like attempting to buy clothes for somebody you've never met - we found a likely looking caravan centre. The extreme opposite side of the city. It being 11am we decided to go for it. We were there by 12pm. Driving in Berlin you see is simply a matter - based on one day's evidence - of surfing a massive green wave down long, straight 6-lane streets with amazing names like Karl-Marx Allee and Strasse Parisienne Commune, full of Eastern Bloc block housing. Once we got there and bought our new fridge (or rather, electric cool box) we realised that the campsite we wanted to go to was back the other side of town, in Spandau. Back we drove, this time going right past the Brandenburg Gate and the Reichstag and through the Tiergarten. Amazing.

You couldn't do it in London. In fact, 20 years ago, you couldn't have done it in Berlin. Perhaps that's why it's so easy now - the Germans are making up for all those years when you couldn't go West-East without passing Checkpoint Charlie (which I think we drove through) and are now determined to make it as easy as possible to traverse Berlin. It's bizarre to think the journey we did today in just a couple of hours would have been inconceivable 20 years ago. A strange notion for all, I suspect, excepting perhaps the residents of Jerusalem.