Funny how you romanticise your homeland when you travel. I was looking forward to coming back to Melbourne for a short time and riding my bike almost daily in the pleasant Melbourne spring. Somehow I forgot that the words "pleasant", "Melbourne", and "spring" can only be connected in a sarcastic tone. I am currently taking shelter from the enduring rain.
Well, enough complaining, and enough about the weather. I arrived in Melbourne a few days ago after two superb weeks in Thailand. I began with a three day jungle trek in Thailand's northwest with a group that consisted mostly of Canadians. The trek included walking, elephant riding, climbing up a limestone-encrusted cascading waterfall, staying with small hill tribe villages, rafting on flimsy bamboo rafts, playing cards late at night by candlelight, and trying to elude malaria-carrying mosquitos. The rafting was particularly fun. I think the rafts were designed to disintegrate easily. One of the Canadians did his best to help, diving off his raft swimming over to ours, undoing the flax that held the raft together, and leaving me stretched across the raft, trying desperately to hold all the planks together. And all because I "accidentally" pushed him into the water.
The highlight of the trek was the presence of Marc, a 42 year old French Canadian waiter from Quebec. With facial hair in a fashion last popular with the Habsburg emperors of Austria and a fair bit of extra weight, he looked like he wasn't going to be a good addition to a group of backpackers doing a reasonably strenuous trek. But everybody's opinion of him changed when it turned out the only things he had in his backpack for the three days were Werthers Originals sweets, bottles of whisky, and a Bruce Lee headband. Really, what more does one need for a jungle trek? He also had an uncanny ability to procure a guitar no matter where we were and sing rock and roll classics in a strong French accent.
After the trek I quickly headed to the other end of Thailand, so I could witness firsthand the Full Moon Beach Party I had heard so much about from other travellers. Held each month on the night of the full moon (obviously!) on an island beach, thousands of people come in boat after boat from all around the island and neighbouring islands and spend the night dancing by the light of the moon. Entertainment is provided by a dozen DJ's, fire throwers, unusual fireworks, and very drunk English guys who don't realise they are getting picked up by Thai transvestites until it is all too late. The party doesn't stop until well after sunrise, and it was quite a sight to look around at 7am at a beach still seething with people dancing in the early daylight.
After the full moon beach party I was ready for a few days of relaxation, so I travelled to Bottle Beach, an isolated beach only accessible by boat. I stayed in a simple bungalow on the beach, and I snorkelled, read, talked, ate, swam, and slept until it was finally time to race to Bangkok to catch a plane to Australia.
The single best thing about Thailand for me was the massages. For prices ranging between $4 and $10 Australian, you get an hour long brutal treatment, seemingly based on the assumption that your body is made of clay. Your spine makes cracking noises at times, the massager treads on your back, and afterwards you may have various amounts of bruising. Well it hurts a bit, but it feels so good everybody goes back for more.
Now I am staying in Melbourne for a couple of weeks before heading straight back to Thailand en route to Europe again
Thursday, October 16, 2003
Tuesday, September 23, 2003
Scotland: Into The Maelstrom
OK, for those of you planning a European trip in the next year or two, I have an exercise. Make a list of the places you want to visit. Then at the very top, write "Edinburgh". Warning: in the next paragraph I wax lyrical.
Before I came to Scotland I did my typical pre-travel reading - browsing the guidebooks and reading a novel or two set in Scotland. A couple of times I read the claim that Edinburgh is "Northern Europe's most beautiful city" or "one of Europe's most beautiful cities". Well, you can read that about almost any city, so I was a bit doubtful. However it is entirely true. Land that was once volcanic has produced a series of rocky scarps and outcrops, now built over with Renaissance and Victorian buildings. In the very centre is Edinburgh castle, standing on a bluff with only one way up, a street called The Royal Mile. It seems that everywhere you look, every street you pass, there are still more beautiful buildings that combine in a consistent way. From the high points you can see the sun shine over Leith, the Edinburgh port town a few miles away.
When I travel I sometimes arrive in a city which instantly makes me think "This is a place I could live". For example, Budapest with its cafes and thermal baths, or Berlin with its cosmopolitan atmosphere. Edinburgh has been added to that list. On the negative side:
a) because all the buildings are made out of a dark grey stone I imagine it could be a very grim place to spend the Scottish winter.
b) many Scottish people have an accent "so thick you could carve it". I often have conversations with shopkeepers, etc, where I could be talking to a Mongolian for all I know. That is, a kilt-wearing Mongolian with pasty white skin who while riding horseback took a wrong turn in outer Siberia and found himself in Edinburgh, and decided to stay despite haggis and other appalling examples of the local cuisine. The shopkeeper sounds vaguely English, so I just nod agreeably, hoping that it is appropriate, and I haven't agreed to allow my intestines to be used for the next batch of haggis.
Yesterday I made a visit to the world's third largest naturally formed whirlpool, or maelstrom. Due to a combination of geographic and tidal features that I won't bother describing, the ocean waters of the west coast of Scotland produce in the gulf of Corryvreckan a constant bubbling, boiling, tempestous area with standing waves and a maelstrom. We travelled there in a rigid inflatable boat with 10 other brave hearts to see seals, exotic sea life (they work in exotic dance clubs at night), wild deer, abandoned island houses, and finally the maelstrom. Unfortunately there was a strong swell, which (a) made it difficult for my breakfast to stay in my stomach and (b) made the whirlpool not so visibly potent.
Today I am in Fort William in the Highlands of Scotland. Last night was extremely cold, so I wasn't too surprised to look out the window during breakfast to find the first snowfalls of the season have covered some nearby hills.
Before I came to Scotland I did my typical pre-travel reading - browsing the guidebooks and reading a novel or two set in Scotland. A couple of times I read the claim that Edinburgh is "Northern Europe's most beautiful city" or "one of Europe's most beautiful cities". Well, you can read that about almost any city, so I was a bit doubtful. However it is entirely true. Land that was once volcanic has produced a series of rocky scarps and outcrops, now built over with Renaissance and Victorian buildings. In the very centre is Edinburgh castle, standing on a bluff with only one way up, a street called The Royal Mile. It seems that everywhere you look, every street you pass, there are still more beautiful buildings that combine in a consistent way. From the high points you can see the sun shine over Leith, the Edinburgh port town a few miles away.
When I travel I sometimes arrive in a city which instantly makes me think "This is a place I could live". For example, Budapest with its cafes and thermal baths, or Berlin with its cosmopolitan atmosphere. Edinburgh has been added to that list. On the negative side:
a) because all the buildings are made out of a dark grey stone I imagine it could be a very grim place to spend the Scottish winter.
b) many Scottish people have an accent "so thick you could carve it". I often have conversations with shopkeepers, etc, where I could be talking to a Mongolian for all I know. That is, a kilt-wearing Mongolian with pasty white skin who while riding horseback took a wrong turn in outer Siberia and found himself in Edinburgh, and decided to stay despite haggis and other appalling examples of the local cuisine. The shopkeeper sounds vaguely English, so I just nod agreeably, hoping that it is appropriate, and I haven't agreed to allow my intestines to be used for the next batch of haggis.
Yesterday I made a visit to the world's third largest naturally formed whirlpool, or maelstrom. Due to a combination of geographic and tidal features that I won't bother describing, the ocean waters of the west coast of Scotland produce in the gulf of Corryvreckan a constant bubbling, boiling, tempestous area with standing waves and a maelstrom. We travelled there in a rigid inflatable boat with 10 other brave hearts to see seals, exotic sea life (they work in exotic dance clubs at night), wild deer, abandoned island houses, and finally the maelstrom. Unfortunately there was a strong swell, which (a) made it difficult for my breakfast to stay in my stomach and (b) made the whirlpool not so visibly potent.
Today I am in Fort William in the Highlands of Scotland. Last night was extremely cold, so I wasn't too surprised to look out the window during breakfast to find the first snowfalls of the season have covered some nearby hills.
Tuesday, September 16, 2003
A Wee Highland Trip
Off the west coast of Scotland are some islands known as The Hebrides or The Western Isles. Some ancestors of mine came from The Isle of Harris, the outermost of the inhabited islands in The Hebrides, so I made a little pilgrimage there. It's an ancient land with a small population, rapidly shrinking - in numbers, not in height. As far as I know they are still as tall as they were 10 years ago, but they are 20% fewer. The land is inhospitable, not suited to modern farming, the weather is shockingly terrible, and conservation bodies block any attempt at creating new industries. I had a feeling of being at the edge of the world. When I mentioned this to a particularly intelligent local, he pointed out that in the days before cars, trains, and planes dominated transport, the region was often visited by ships on their way from Europe to North America, and in those days definitely wasn't at the ends of the earth.
As we arrived by ferry, I thought I was seeing the surface of the moon. Although it was stark and inhospitable, the scenery was quite captivating. The entire Harris part of the Isle is dominated by such rounded rocky outcrops, and was filmed by Stanley Kubrick as the surface of Jupiter in 2001: A Space Odyssey. As we drove through the island, I could see that the rocks hid many small lochs and waterfalls, and allowed small patches of grass and shrubs to grow, although barely a single tree. The road was shared with sheep, grazing where they could, who used the rocks to hide from the persistent gusty winds and sleeting rain. Surprisingly there are some beautiful, white, sandy beaches on the western side with excellent surf.
I found the place on the sea that according to locals was probably the small property where my great-grandfather lived. Unfortunately due to erosion over the years, the place is now not so much on the sea as it is under the sea. My dream of finding a seaside property that I could claim on behalf of my family was literally washed away.
The entire island was once owned and controlled by the "Macleod of Macleod" clan, and hence even today, people with the surname McLeods and Macleods make up a large part of the population. It was a bit odd travelling around a place where every fourth business and landmark had my name. Macleod Hotel, McLeods Transport, The Stone of Macleod, and the tomb of the Chieftan Alexander Macleod were just a few.
I had the chance to see some ancient stone circles and monoliths, of which the afore-mentioned Stone of Macleod was one. The island, and indeed much of Scotland has many of these Stonehenge-like structures. They consist of massive slabs of stone arranged in patterns based on the seasons, the sun, and the moon. These were mostly built about 4500 to 5000 years ago by ancient Celts, for reasons unknown although many theories exist. In one small patch of the neighbouring island there were 3 stone circles within 5 miles. The effort to build these in non-mechanical days would have been enormous, and it seems some were built over a period of several hundred years. The biggest mystery to me is this: 5000 years ago, when the earth's population was so small and there was so much space, why would people choose to live in such a cold and wet place instead of on the Mediterranean or in the Caribbean?
Another thought: People say that the world would be better without television, because then more people would be outside doing things. But consider the ancient Celts. They had no television, and all they could think to do was cart enormous slabs of stone around the countryside.
Lord Leverhulme, the man who owned the Unilever soap company which made him very rich, once bought the entire island, and had a number of crackpot schemes to stimulate the island's economy. All failed. One such scheme involved turning a town with practically no sea access into a ocean-going fishing industry. Another scheming person, from Germany, tried to launch the world's first rocket-delivered mail service in the area.
After visiting the island, I stayed a night in a castle in the Highlands, now used as a youth hostel. When the owner died in the mid 20th century, it was donated to the Scottish Youth Hostel Association. The halls are lined with statues and artwork donated with the castle, there are grand staircases, a watch-tower, and even a secret passage, opened by turning the base of a particular statue. I ate dinner in a pub 15 minutes walk away, reached by walking through the fields, down country lanes, and over a footbridge. The way back in the dark could have been hard, but the castle was illuminated on its hilltop, which as a beacon, is a pretty hard thing to miss.
As we arrived by ferry, I thought I was seeing the surface of the moon. Although it was stark and inhospitable, the scenery was quite captivating. The entire Harris part of the Isle is dominated by such rounded rocky outcrops, and was filmed by Stanley Kubrick as the surface of Jupiter in 2001: A Space Odyssey. As we drove through the island, I could see that the rocks hid many small lochs and waterfalls, and allowed small patches of grass and shrubs to grow, although barely a single tree. The road was shared with sheep, grazing where they could, who used the rocks to hide from the persistent gusty winds and sleeting rain. Surprisingly there are some beautiful, white, sandy beaches on the western side with excellent surf.
I found the place on the sea that according to locals was probably the small property where my great-grandfather lived. Unfortunately due to erosion over the years, the place is now not so much on the sea as it is under the sea. My dream of finding a seaside property that I could claim on behalf of my family was literally washed away.
The entire island was once owned and controlled by the "Macleod of Macleod" clan, and hence even today, people with the surname McLeods and Macleods make up a large part of the population. It was a bit odd travelling around a place where every fourth business and landmark had my name. Macleod Hotel, McLeods Transport, The Stone of Macleod, and the tomb of the Chieftan Alexander Macleod were just a few.
I had the chance to see some ancient stone circles and monoliths, of which the afore-mentioned Stone of Macleod was one. The island, and indeed much of Scotland has many of these Stonehenge-like structures. They consist of massive slabs of stone arranged in patterns based on the seasons, the sun, and the moon. These were mostly built about 4500 to 5000 years ago by ancient Celts, for reasons unknown although many theories exist. In one small patch of the neighbouring island there were 3 stone circles within 5 miles. The effort to build these in non-mechanical days would have been enormous, and it seems some were built over a period of several hundred years. The biggest mystery to me is this: 5000 years ago, when the earth's population was so small and there was so much space, why would people choose to live in such a cold and wet place instead of on the Mediterranean or in the Caribbean?
Another thought: People say that the world would be better without television, because then more people would be outside doing things. But consider the ancient Celts. They had no television, and all they could think to do was cart enormous slabs of stone around the countryside.
Lord Leverhulme, the man who owned the Unilever soap company which made him very rich, once bought the entire island, and had a number of crackpot schemes to stimulate the island's economy. All failed. One such scheme involved turning a town with practically no sea access into a ocean-going fishing industry. Another scheming person, from Germany, tried to launch the world's first rocket-delivered mail service in the area.
After visiting the island, I stayed a night in a castle in the Highlands, now used as a youth hostel. When the owner died in the mid 20th century, it was donated to the Scottish Youth Hostel Association. The halls are lined with statues and artwork donated with the castle, there are grand staircases, a watch-tower, and even a secret passage, opened by turning the base of a particular statue. I ate dinner in a pub 15 minutes walk away, reached by walking through the fields, down country lanes, and over a footbridge. The way back in the dark could have been hard, but the castle was illuminated on its hilltop, which as a beacon, is a pretty hard thing to miss.
Wednesday, April 30, 2003
Baffled in Bulgaria
I finished my first Eastern Europe trip with a visit to a country named after a wise old Womble, Bulgaria.
Bulgaria was the perfect ending to end my trip. Monasteries in the mountains, skiing till the end of April only 30 minutes travel from the center of the capital city, Roman ruins, European architecture heavily influenced by 500 years of Turkish rule, and best of all, locals who are both friendly AND not out to get tourist's money.
However not all was good. Before I tell you more, let me get some things of my chest. Amongst the bad and the ugly is an overt presence of so-called "Mafia", that is, organised criminals who feed off corruption and control a lot of the nightlife. The average income in Bulgaria is USD$400 per month, so when you see a sleek black Mercedes driven by a young guy, chances are his wealth is based on violence and crime. You don't get in the way of these guys. I met fellow travellers who had innocently found themselves in the path of such a person, and suddenly they were lifted up and thrust aside by thugs wearing dark suits. Thugs wearing dark suits...where I come from they are called consultants :-)
Also among the bad in Bulgaria...heard of the Cyrillic alphabet? As far as I can tell it is a means to leave the foreigner always lost and confounded. As used in Russia, it has backwards R´s and N´s, H´s pronounced as N´s, B´s pronounced as V´s, and strange letters I had never seen before. It makes finding streets and hotels a game of chance. In a perfect world every country would have English as its national language, use the Latin alphabet, and sell my favourite chocolate biscuits from home in every cornerstore.
My first stop in Bulgaria was a city called Veliko Turnovo. I decided to stop here simply to break up a long train journey from Romania. I'm glad I did. It was once the capital of Bulgaria, before the Turks invaded in the 15th century. For a short time after arriving it seemed to be just an annoying city with hills everywhere, leaving me exhausted as I tried to find accommodation. Until...as I turned a corner, a gap between the houses revealed a view of a deep green valley, a river looping around a giant monument to Bulgarian independence that gets lit up at night, and castles and churches on the mountain tops. In another direction is a view of a great canyon.
Next stop was Plovdiv, an ancient Roman city built on three hills, and hence in Latin called "Three Hills". Quite a brilliant piece of naming, that. Plovdiv has a 2000 year old Roman theatre used for performances throughout the summer. Surprisingly nobody knew of its existence in the middle of town until a freak landslide in the 1970's revealed it. Plovdiv is one of those European towns where the old centre is a maze of twisty passages, all alike. Getting lost is easy; finding a specific museum or attraction is difficult. So one has no choice but to stop for delicious Bulgarian coffee every hour or so. No choice at all...
In Plovdiv I met Ivan. Ivan surpised me, because normally when a local acts overly friendly to me when travelling, I immediately suspect ulterior motives - like robbery. To get out of the rain I ventured into a pub and ordered a drink. Ivan is the pub owner and was sitting nearby. He speaks English, so when he realised I was an English speaker he introduced himself. He said only about once a year does a native English speaker come into his pub. Before I knew it he was paying for my drinks, and he took me out to dinner in an old Russian reading room, now a restaurant. He invited me to join him and his wife the next day, to see the land around Plovdiv.
In Sofia, the capital city, I again found such friendliness. I met with three Kiwi girls for dinner on April 26th, celebrating Anzac Day a little late. In the restaurant the young Bulgarians at the next table began talking to us, then invited us first to an Easter midnight celebration that night, and then to a party. A young couple at the party appointed themselves as my guides for the rest of my stay in Bulgaria. They drove me to see the Rila Monastery, an ancient monastery in the mountains that helped kept Bulgarian language, culture, customs, and religion alive throughout 500 years of Turkish rule. They took me to museums and translated the cryptic Cyrillic alphabet for me. They took me to scenic chairlifts, and even escorted me to the train station when it was time to leave. As far as I could tell, their motivation for this remarkable friendliness was sheer pride in their country, and the chance to share it with a visitor.
Something unique to Bulgaria when compared to other Eastern European lands is that the Bulgarians are still warm towards Russia. Where other countries have removed all Soviet-era memorials, Bulgaria shows them with pride. Streets and suburbs are named after celebrated Russians. In the 1870's Russia fought to free Bulgaria from the Turks. Russia lost 200,000 soldiers, which I suspect equated to about 1 Russian death for every 5-10 Bulgarian citizens at the time. It was an enormous toll, and the Bulgarians are still grateful.
Having completed my Eastern European trip, I think the region is a hidden gem. Like France, Italy, or Spain, there are ancient ruins, castles and cathedrals, breathtaking landscapes, skiing, mediterranean beaches, and more. Unlike France, Italy, or Spain, the cities and beaches are not overrun with tourists, and the costs of travel are half or less.
Footnote: What´s a Womble? A British children´s TV show that was popular in New Zealand when I was very young. See here for more details: http://womble.designwest.com/womble_intro.html
Bulgaria was the perfect ending to end my trip. Monasteries in the mountains, skiing till the end of April only 30 minutes travel from the center of the capital city, Roman ruins, European architecture heavily influenced by 500 years of Turkish rule, and best of all, locals who are both friendly AND not out to get tourist's money.
However not all was good. Before I tell you more, let me get some things of my chest. Amongst the bad and the ugly is an overt presence of so-called "Mafia", that is, organised criminals who feed off corruption and control a lot of the nightlife. The average income in Bulgaria is USD$400 per month, so when you see a sleek black Mercedes driven by a young guy, chances are his wealth is based on violence and crime. You don't get in the way of these guys. I met fellow travellers who had innocently found themselves in the path of such a person, and suddenly they were lifted up and thrust aside by thugs wearing dark suits. Thugs wearing dark suits...where I come from they are called consultants :-)
Also among the bad in Bulgaria...heard of the Cyrillic alphabet? As far as I can tell it is a means to leave the foreigner always lost and confounded. As used in Russia, it has backwards R´s and N´s, H´s pronounced as N´s, B´s pronounced as V´s, and strange letters I had never seen before. It makes finding streets and hotels a game of chance. In a perfect world every country would have English as its national language, use the Latin alphabet, and sell my favourite chocolate biscuits from home in every cornerstore.
My first stop in Bulgaria was a city called Veliko Turnovo. I decided to stop here simply to break up a long train journey from Romania. I'm glad I did. It was once the capital of Bulgaria, before the Turks invaded in the 15th century. For a short time after arriving it seemed to be just an annoying city with hills everywhere, leaving me exhausted as I tried to find accommodation. Until...as I turned a corner, a gap between the houses revealed a view of a deep green valley, a river looping around a giant monument to Bulgarian independence that gets lit up at night, and castles and churches on the mountain tops. In another direction is a view of a great canyon.
Next stop was Plovdiv, an ancient Roman city built on three hills, and hence in Latin called "Three Hills". Quite a brilliant piece of naming, that. Plovdiv has a 2000 year old Roman theatre used for performances throughout the summer. Surprisingly nobody knew of its existence in the middle of town until a freak landslide in the 1970's revealed it. Plovdiv is one of those European towns where the old centre is a maze of twisty passages, all alike. Getting lost is easy; finding a specific museum or attraction is difficult. So one has no choice but to stop for delicious Bulgarian coffee every hour or so. No choice at all...
In Plovdiv I met Ivan. Ivan surpised me, because normally when a local acts overly friendly to me when travelling, I immediately suspect ulterior motives - like robbery. To get out of the rain I ventured into a pub and ordered a drink. Ivan is the pub owner and was sitting nearby. He speaks English, so when he realised I was an English speaker he introduced himself. He said only about once a year does a native English speaker come into his pub. Before I knew it he was paying for my drinks, and he took me out to dinner in an old Russian reading room, now a restaurant. He invited me to join him and his wife the next day, to see the land around Plovdiv.
In Sofia, the capital city, I again found such friendliness. I met with three Kiwi girls for dinner on April 26th, celebrating Anzac Day a little late. In the restaurant the young Bulgarians at the next table began talking to us, then invited us first to an Easter midnight celebration that night, and then to a party. A young couple at the party appointed themselves as my guides for the rest of my stay in Bulgaria. They drove me to see the Rila Monastery, an ancient monastery in the mountains that helped kept Bulgarian language, culture, customs, and religion alive throughout 500 years of Turkish rule. They took me to museums and translated the cryptic Cyrillic alphabet for me. They took me to scenic chairlifts, and even escorted me to the train station when it was time to leave. As far as I could tell, their motivation for this remarkable friendliness was sheer pride in their country, and the chance to share it with a visitor.
Something unique to Bulgaria when compared to other Eastern European lands is that the Bulgarians are still warm towards Russia. Where other countries have removed all Soviet-era memorials, Bulgaria shows them with pride. Streets and suburbs are named after celebrated Russians. In the 1870's Russia fought to free Bulgaria from the Turks. Russia lost 200,000 soldiers, which I suspect equated to about 1 Russian death for every 5-10 Bulgarian citizens at the time. It was an enormous toll, and the Bulgarians are still grateful.
Having completed my Eastern European trip, I think the region is a hidden gem. Like France, Italy, or Spain, there are ancient ruins, castles and cathedrals, breathtaking landscapes, skiing, mediterranean beaches, and more. Unlike France, Italy, or Spain, the cities and beaches are not overrun with tourists, and the costs of travel are half or less.
Footnote: What´s a Womble? A British children´s TV show that was popular in New Zealand when I was very young. See here for more details: http://womble.designwest.com/womble_intro.html
Thursday, April 10, 2003
Romania: Rebuffed at the Border
I am surprised at how much the culture and personality of European nations change as you cross borders. Hungarians tend to be very reserved, unlikely to talk conversationally with a stranger, although they are exceedingly polite and helpful. Their neighbours in Croatia, however, tend to be gregarious. I discovered this myself when travelling from Hungary to Croatia. Despite spending two weeks in Hungary I only once engaged a Hungarian in general conversation. At the Hungarian-Croatian border I got off the Hungarian train, and got on the Croatian train. Before I even sat down, a Croatian guy in his early 20's started talking to me. We spent the train journey comparing Australian life to Croatian life, and discussing the 1990's warring between the Balkan states. He pointed out sites where battles had taken place and where villages had been destroyed, then walked me around the city of Osijek showing me how every street still had at least one building with pock marks from gunfire and grenades. Finally he helped me find a place to stay and we went to a pub for some pizza.
I am currently in Romania, the land of Dracula and Transylvania, and of horse-drawn carts that share the highways with communist-era cars and modern Mercedes. Getting here proved to be difficult, as I will explain.
I caught a train from Budapest to Romania, under the impression that with my New Zealand passport I could buy a visa at the border. What gave me that impression? My Lonely Planet travel guide, the official Romanian tourism web site, and an independent web site that specialises in visa information. However the law was changed last July, so that now Kiwis and Australians need visas purchased in advance from an embassy or consulate. The Romanians neglected to tell the New Zealand and Australian governments about this rather important change of law.
After travelling for four and a half hours I reached the border, only to be escorted off the train by gun-toting border guards. At the border I had to wait on the side of the train tracks until a train passed that could return me to Budapest, on another four and a half hour journey. Strangely enough I didn't mind too much. You see, I was sharing my train compartment with two travellers, an American man and his Ukrainian wife, who I was about ready to throw out the train window. They talked non-stop; when I tried to read, they still talked to me, about the weather, Hungarians, the Iraq war, American politics, and how beautiful East Slovakia is (they repeated this about 738 times on the train journey). They also insisted on talking to Hungarians who didn't understand English, in very loud pidgin English. So it was sweet relief to have to leave the train. Otherwise I would have had no choice but to do very bad things to them.
The border guards were not hostile - in fact, like most Romanians, they were quite friendly. As I am travelling on my New Zealand passport, one of the guards started asking me about Jonah Lomu, the star NZ rugby player. Another noted my surname is the same as the main character from the Highlander movies, and started miming sword fights, resulting in the pretend sword being driven into my stomach. Strangely this Highlander connection happens to me often in Europe. I introduce myself as Steve McLeod and get the immediate response, "of the clan McLeod", especially from border guards.
I had a frustrating few days back in Budapest trying to obtain a Romanian visa. At the Romanian consulate in Budapest bureaucracy is very much alive. I needed all sorts of documents, some of which involved painful international phone calls, and wandering all over Budapest. I will spare you the details, but frustratingly, when I went to the consulate to pick up my visa, I handed over all the required documents, to find that the consulate official didn't even glance at the documents - he simply put the visa in my passport based on me claiming they were the right documents. Fortunately I met some laid-back Americans and an English girl who helped me pass the time while going through this charade.
I almost gave up on Romania with the visa troubles, but I am glad I didn't. It has already become a highlight of the trip, as I describe elsewhere.
Finally a quick run down on where I have been lately:
I am currently in Romania, the land of Dracula and Transylvania, and of horse-drawn carts that share the highways with communist-era cars and modern Mercedes. Getting here proved to be difficult, as I will explain.
I caught a train from Budapest to Romania, under the impression that with my New Zealand passport I could buy a visa at the border. What gave me that impression? My Lonely Planet travel guide, the official Romanian tourism web site, and an independent web site that specialises in visa information. However the law was changed last July, so that now Kiwis and Australians need visas purchased in advance from an embassy or consulate. The Romanians neglected to tell the New Zealand and Australian governments about this rather important change of law.
After travelling for four and a half hours I reached the border, only to be escorted off the train by gun-toting border guards. At the border I had to wait on the side of the train tracks until a train passed that could return me to Budapest, on another four and a half hour journey. Strangely enough I didn't mind too much. You see, I was sharing my train compartment with two travellers, an American man and his Ukrainian wife, who I was about ready to throw out the train window. They talked non-stop; when I tried to read, they still talked to me, about the weather, Hungarians, the Iraq war, American politics, and how beautiful East Slovakia is (they repeated this about 738 times on the train journey). They also insisted on talking to Hungarians who didn't understand English, in very loud pidgin English. So it was sweet relief to have to leave the train. Otherwise I would have had no choice but to do very bad things to them.
The border guards were not hostile - in fact, like most Romanians, they were quite friendly. As I am travelling on my New Zealand passport, one of the guards started asking me about Jonah Lomu, the star NZ rugby player. Another noted my surname is the same as the main character from the Highlander movies, and started miming sword fights, resulting in the pretend sword being driven into my stomach. Strangely this Highlander connection happens to me often in Europe. I introduce myself as Steve McLeod and get the immediate response, "of the clan McLeod", especially from border guards.
I had a frustrating few days back in Budapest trying to obtain a Romanian visa. At the Romanian consulate in Budapest bureaucracy is very much alive. I needed all sorts of documents, some of which involved painful international phone calls, and wandering all over Budapest. I will spare you the details, but frustratingly, when I went to the consulate to pick up my visa, I handed over all the required documents, to find that the consulate official didn't even glance at the documents - he simply put the visa in my passport based on me claiming they were the right documents. Fortunately I met some laid-back Americans and an English girl who helped me pass the time while going through this charade.
I almost gave up on Romania with the visa troubles, but I am glad I didn't. It has already become a highlight of the trip, as I describe elsewhere.
Finally a quick run down on where I have been lately:
- Croatia, where I visited Osijek and Zagreb, and went hiking in the mountains where the last of the winter snow is melting away. In Zagred I was told that having an Australian passport meant I could charge a willing Croatian girl US$10,000 for a marriage of convenience.
- Slovenia, where rollerblading is the national religion. In Ljubljana, the capital city, most streets have a lane reserved for cyclists and rollerbladers. I also travelled through kilometres of underground caves here.
- Czech Republic, where I visited Prague, Kutna Hora, Cesky Krumlov, and Brno. Through a chance encounter on a bus I found myself invited to stay at the home of Czechs in Brno. I also explored old silver mines underneath Kutna Hora.
- Slovakia, where I climbed a wind-swept hill where a ruined castle looks across the Danube to Austria. This castle stood for hundreds of years and helped repel the Turks in medieval times as they fought for central Europe. Finally Napolean came along and blew it up because it was a symbol of Slovakian nationalism.
Sunday, February 16, 2003
A Perfect Cuban Night
I had an excellent time in Cuba. It was every bit as good as I expected it to be. The old colonial buildings, often crumbling into ruin, the Cuban music and salsa dancing in every bar and in the plazas, the old American 1950's cars left from before the revolution, and the warmth and colour of the people. The highlight was the music and dance.
A group I was travelling with went to a bar in Trinidad. This is a town with well-preserved Spanish colonial architecture, and a reputation for good Cuba music. The bar was in a courtyard, with the stars shining through a ceiling of vines. We went to the bar to see a show featuring Cuban music and dancing. Unfortunately the power to the town went down just as we walked into the bar. But never mind, within minutes candles appeared, torches came out, and we found our way to a table. As we were the only customers at that stage, the band left their electronic equipment behind, formed a semicircle in front of our table, and gave us a personal performance using only acoustic instruments. They were a bunch of middle-aged and old men, in clothing that has seen better days, but masters of their music. For 45 minutes they performed song after song. When they finally stopped, loud applause filled the bar - the music was so absorbing, I hadn't noticed that the bar had steadily filled while they performed.
That performance characterises the Cubans' ability to persevere, make do with what they have, and continue their lives despite Cuba's constant economic and infrastructure problems. A 40-year economic blockade by their closest neighbour, USA, and the loss of Russian support when the USSR fell apart means that life is tough in Cuba. And yet there is a sense of liveliness in the Cubans missing from much wealthier nations. For example, when I went to a government-run money changing shop, a popular song came on the radio. All the staff, while still serving the customers, started to sway their hips and sing along to the music. I almost expected them to start drinking rum and give an impromptu salsa dancing performance. Nevertheless I got my money changed with no mistakes made.
One negative thing about Cuba was that in the biggest cities there is almost constant hustling by guys trying to sell cigars, advice, and women. Prostitution is a big problem in Cuba, exacerbated by some middle-aged white men who seem to travel to Cuba simply for that reason. When the official average monthly income is only about USD$10/month, the money that can be made hustling foreigners is just too alluring for some.
A group I was travelling with went to a bar in Trinidad. This is a town with well-preserved Spanish colonial architecture, and a reputation for good Cuba music. The bar was in a courtyard, with the stars shining through a ceiling of vines. We went to the bar to see a show featuring Cuban music and dancing. Unfortunately the power to the town went down just as we walked into the bar. But never mind, within minutes candles appeared, torches came out, and we found our way to a table. As we were the only customers at that stage, the band left their electronic equipment behind, formed a semicircle in front of our table, and gave us a personal performance using only acoustic instruments. They were a bunch of middle-aged and old men, in clothing that has seen better days, but masters of their music. For 45 minutes they performed song after song. When they finally stopped, loud applause filled the bar - the music was so absorbing, I hadn't noticed that the bar had steadily filled while they performed.
That performance characterises the Cubans' ability to persevere, make do with what they have, and continue their lives despite Cuba's constant economic and infrastructure problems. A 40-year economic blockade by their closest neighbour, USA, and the loss of Russian support when the USSR fell apart means that life is tough in Cuba. And yet there is a sense of liveliness in the Cubans missing from much wealthier nations. For example, when I went to a government-run money changing shop, a popular song came on the radio. All the staff, while still serving the customers, started to sway their hips and sing along to the music. I almost expected them to start drinking rum and give an impromptu salsa dancing performance. Nevertheless I got my money changed with no mistakes made.
One negative thing about Cuba was that in the biggest cities there is almost constant hustling by guys trying to sell cigars, advice, and women. Prostitution is a big problem in Cuba, exacerbated by some middle-aged white men who seem to travel to Cuba simply for that reason. When the official average monthly income is only about USD$10/month, the money that can be made hustling foreigners is just too alluring for some.
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