Two weeks after visiting Denmark and Sweden I completed the Scandinavian trifecta by flying to Norway for a four-day weekend. I often tell people
that my homeland New Zealand is the most beautiful country in the world.
After visiting Norway I’m not so sure. It’s the fjords. I know that
sounds clichéd but they were simply stunning, almost indescribably so.
The highlight of my Norway trip was the day-long “Norway in a Nutshell”
tour. With one ticket I got to:
• take a train ride past lakes and into the mountains, with a
photographic-opportunity-stop next to a glacier.
• take another train down a step incline past nymph-infested
waterfalls. (The nymph part is true, something they do for the tourists).
• take a boat ride through the peaceful fjords, which are long,
narrow inlets carved out of the mountains by glaciers in times past and
now surrounded by cliffs that descend from 500 metres above sea level
straight down to 1000 metres below sea level.
• take a bus ride from a village at the end of a fjord up to the
mountains, the ride offering ever more scenic views back to the village
as the road ascends.
• pay exorbitant prices. To complete the experience of “Norway in a
Nutshell”, the ticket is expensive, like everything is Norway, so I
could only afford to eat dodgy falafel sandwiches during my trip.
Norway was a poor country until the 1970’s and was reliant on American
aid to maintain what living standards they had. The things that make the
country beautiful - mountains, glaciers, and fjords – don’t provide for
good farm land. However in the 1970’s enormous oil reserves were found
in Norway’s waters and as a result Norway is the 2nd richest country in
the world (per person), and therefore one of the most expensive
countries for tourists. I don’t think I will visit Norway again until a
long lost uncle dies and leaves me his fortune.
Oslo is the capital of Norway but Bergen, the second biggest city, was
much nicer. It was 20 degrees in the city centre near the sea yet
mountains partly surrounding Bergen still had snow. From near the centre
of Bergen I took a 10 minute “funicular” train ride up the mountain to a
forest and spent the afternoon hiking. With the long Nordic summer days,
it was still light at 11pm and the sky was already brightening again at
1:30am.
I took a night train from Bergen back to Oslo, intending to sleep
through the journey. However I got seduced by the Norwegian scenery
again. The train passed through the snowy mountains and the full moon
hung low over the mountain tops giving everything an eerie glow. I spent
a good part of the trip staring, staring, staring out the window, even
though I was tired enough to fall sleep the moment I laid down.
Naturally Denmark and Norway play the Viking card a bit. Both countries
claim to be THE home of the Vikings. Both countries have 1000 year old
Viking longships in museums. Both countries sell tacky tourist hats with
Viking horns. After meeting the friendly people in Scandinavia I find it
hard to believe that their Viking ancestors raped and plundered all over
Europe for 300 years.
Saturday, June 19, 2004
Scandinavia Month Part 1
I’m at home with my windows open to let in the cool air of a German
summer evening. Every now and then I hear a human roar sounding from the
pubs and cafés in my neighbourhood. The European soccer championships
are being held this month in Portugal and as I write Holland is playing
Czech Republic. The roaring I hear occurs whenever a goal is scored. To
say that Germany is soccer-mad at the moment is an understatement. The
evidence:
I was away for business this week and hence ate in restaurants the last
two nights. In both restaurants the waiters were more interested in the
soccer action on the big screen TVs than they were in serving food. I
innocently asked a waiter the score of a game I missed and got more than
I wanted. He told me the result, as well as his analysis of every game
played so far and a prediction of who would win and why. He wanted to
continue with stories from the previous European soccer championships,
but I reminded him that he hadn’t actually taken my order yet.
Now to the topic of my e-mail: In the last month I made two long weekend
trips to Scandinavia. The first was by overnight train to Denmark.
Stepping off the train in Copenhagen, a harbour city on an island, I got
an immediate feeling that I would like this place. I could taste the
fresh sea air that you don’t find in Germany. The people were naturally
warm and friendly. And there were free bicycles for tourists to use all
over the city. You simply put in a coin and the bike lock is released,
then you return it to a special stand and the coin is returned.
Before long I noticed Australian flags in the streets alongside Danish
flags. I found this mysterious until I heard that the next weekend some
Tasmanian woman would be marrying the Prince of Denmark. I guess this
was big news Down Under but it hadn’t hit the German headlines. All of
Denmark was keen on Australia. While I was there the Aussie band
Powderfinger performed in the “Rock and Royal” concert, a sailing race
was held on the harbour between Denmark and Australia, and the Danish
brewery Carlsberg was selling a special commemorative Royal Wedding beer
made from Tasmanian hops and Danish malt.
In Copenhagen I visited an unusual suburb called Christiania. In the
70’s a group of free-lovin’ artistic hippies started squatting in a
deserted army barracks in Christiania, and declared it to be an
independent country with its own rules. Those rules, as far as I could
tell, were centred on regular – no, continuous smoking of marijuana.
There were plenty of men with grey pony-tails openly smoking and
marijuana was openly sold in the cafés. Over the years the residents
have grown in number, shrunk in short-time memory capacity, and
experienced occasional violent conflicts with the Danish government and
police force. I wandered right through this suburb and after fighting my
way through the initial dense fog of sweet smelling smoke I found many
houses in a small forest near the water, still a part of this squatters’
kingdom, on what must among the best real estate in Copenhagen.
Later I took a train to Elsinore, a town and castle where Shakespeare’s
Hamlet is set, about an hour north of Copenhagen. The castle is on the
water’s edge and many locals were using the castle grounds for fishing.
The castle itself was unremarkable but for the view across the water to
some mountainous land that I figured had to be Sweden. The idea of
SEEING a country and not VISITING it was killing me so I headed to the
ferry terminal and made an impromptu visit to the Swedish city
Helsingborg, bought myself some dinner and an ice-cream, then took
another ferry back. The whole Swedish episode, including travelling
time, lasted about 2 hours.
summer evening. Every now and then I hear a human roar sounding from the
pubs and cafés in my neighbourhood. The European soccer championships
are being held this month in Portugal and as I write Holland is playing
Czech Republic. The roaring I hear occurs whenever a goal is scored. To
say that Germany is soccer-mad at the moment is an understatement. The
evidence:
I was away for business this week and hence ate in restaurants the last
two nights. In both restaurants the waiters were more interested in the
soccer action on the big screen TVs than they were in serving food. I
innocently asked a waiter the score of a game I missed and got more than
I wanted. He told me the result, as well as his analysis of every game
played so far and a prediction of who would win and why. He wanted to
continue with stories from the previous European soccer championships,
but I reminded him that he hadn’t actually taken my order yet.
Now to the topic of my e-mail: In the last month I made two long weekend
trips to Scandinavia. The first was by overnight train to Denmark.
Stepping off the train in Copenhagen, a harbour city on an island, I got
an immediate feeling that I would like this place. I could taste the
fresh sea air that you don’t find in Germany. The people were naturally
warm and friendly. And there were free bicycles for tourists to use all
over the city. You simply put in a coin and the bike lock is released,
then you return it to a special stand and the coin is returned.
Before long I noticed Australian flags in the streets alongside Danish
flags. I found this mysterious until I heard that the next weekend some
Tasmanian woman would be marrying the Prince of Denmark. I guess this
was big news Down Under but it hadn’t hit the German headlines. All of
Denmark was keen on Australia. While I was there the Aussie band
Powderfinger performed in the “Rock and Royal” concert, a sailing race
was held on the harbour between Denmark and Australia, and the Danish
brewery Carlsberg was selling a special commemorative Royal Wedding beer
made from Tasmanian hops and Danish malt.
In Copenhagen I visited an unusual suburb called Christiania. In the
70’s a group of free-lovin’ artistic hippies started squatting in a
deserted army barracks in Christiania, and declared it to be an
independent country with its own rules. Those rules, as far as I could
tell, were centred on regular – no, continuous smoking of marijuana.
There were plenty of men with grey pony-tails openly smoking and
marijuana was openly sold in the cafés. Over the years the residents
have grown in number, shrunk in short-time memory capacity, and
experienced occasional violent conflicts with the Danish government and
police force. I wandered right through this suburb and after fighting my
way through the initial dense fog of sweet smelling smoke I found many
houses in a small forest near the water, still a part of this squatters’
kingdom, on what must among the best real estate in Copenhagen.
Later I took a train to Elsinore, a town and castle where Shakespeare’s
Hamlet is set, about an hour north of Copenhagen. The castle is on the
water’s edge and many locals were using the castle grounds for fishing.
The castle itself was unremarkable but for the view across the water to
some mountainous land that I figured had to be Sweden. The idea of
SEEING a country and not VISITING it was killing me so I headed to the
ferry terminal and made an impromptu visit to the Swedish city
Helsingborg, bought myself some dinner and an ice-cream, then took
another ferry back. The whole Swedish episode, including travelling
time, lasted about 2 hours.
Friday, April 09, 2004
Cologne Germany: Life in Germany
While picking bits of cheese from my clothing that got stuck there a result of a cooking accident this evening, I realised it's been a while since I wrote an update on what I have been doing. I haven't really been travelling since Christmas so I haven't felt like there was anything to write about. But actually with the weekend trips and other things I have already been to Belgium, Austria, Switzerland and Spain this year. There is something to be said for this European life, even with the relentless winter weather.
A couple of trivial things about German life first:
In early February I went to Sound of Music territory in Austria to visit an Aussie friend who lives there. He lives and works in a small village on an alpine lake that was actually used in the filming of The Sound of Music. We were joined by two British guys we met in the Baltic countries last year, a little backpackers reunion. We went to one of the three local pubs in the evening and found a traditional dress party going on. It was full of people in their twenties wearing lederhosen and felt hats and dirndls (think Julie Andrews), an accordion band provided the entertainment, and I even convinced someone to do a demonstration of yodelling. It is one of the few times I have seen people in traditional dress when they weren't just doing it for the tourists. It was also the coldest weekend of the Austrian weekend, with temperatures not even getting close to zero. I think we had a maximum of minus 12 degrees and a minimum of minus 30 degrees, but my brain was so numb I don't quite recall. Sounds awful but the sky was perfect in the daytime so it made for some great photos as we visited the towns in the area. I don't understand the physics of it, but the cold was making steam come off a lake where a snow-draped village is more or less carved into the mountainside. This village is my nomination for Worst Place to Live - it is on the north side of a steep mountain so it doesn't get any sun for the entire winter.
In late February I was itching for some warm weather so I made a trip to South Europe where it is usually a bit warmer. Spain is well known for being warm, right? So I went to Spain's Basque region on the Atlantic coast near the French border. Somehow, like Austria, I was there in the coldest week of the Spanish winter. The weather varied between rain, snow, hail, and thunderstorms. The main Spain-France highway crossing was completely snowed in as well as hundreds of villages. I almost got stuck in Pamplona because of the snow. Pamplona is the place where they have the famous "Running of the Bulls" each year in July, an event where lots of drunk Americans join the Basque men in running through the narrow streets while being chased by angry, frightened and very heavy bulls. Nothing like that when I was there, just snow.
Bilbao, the Basque capital, is a city I liked a lot. It stretches along a river in a valley to the ocean and was a rundown, depressed small industrial city until a decade ago. It has been remarkably transformed into a place worth visiting. It has the Guggenheim museum on the riverbank, a titanium clad building built a few years ago that was designed to resemble a something between a fish and a ship. The museum building itself is even more interesting than the modern art inside and has become a landmark. Up and down the river old areas are becoming shiny and new.
I enjoyed the Spanish trip a lot, despite the snow. The food was great and affordable, especially compared to German food and I gorged myself on tapas and Spanish omelettes. People were friendly and helpful too.
In March my company sent me to Zurich for a week. I didn't get much time for sightseeing though. My hotel was 100 metres from where I worked during the day, so actually I could have been anywhere in the world for much of the time. I've been working for an entire 5 weeks now, although it's been mostly free time, because the project they want me to work on is not ready to start. It is a bit boring, but I am getting paid for the waiting time so I have no complaints. It gives me plenty of time to plan my next trips.
That's all for now. It's 10 minutes to midnight, and tomorrow is Good Friday. I've got to stop typing because the clicking noise might disturb the neighbours.
A couple of trivial things about German life first:
- It is illegal to move house in Germany on Good Friday, as well as on two other days throughout the year. One must be very quiet on such a day. I have no idea how they punish transgressors.
- When I jaywalk or ride my bike 10 cm outside of the bike lane I usually get a stern lecture from a nearby German. Now I jaywalk not to save time but to see the way older Germans get red faced and wave their umbrellas at me when it happens.
- I was talking with a German yesterday about the genocide in Rwanda 10 years ago, and I suggested in some ways it was worse than the Holocaust. Ouch! Mistake! I was told that such a comment in Germany is considered antisemitic. They seem to be quite touchy on the subject. It makes sense, I guess.
In early February I went to Sound of Music territory in Austria to visit an Aussie friend who lives there. He lives and works in a small village on an alpine lake that was actually used in the filming of The Sound of Music. We were joined by two British guys we met in the Baltic countries last year, a little backpackers reunion. We went to one of the three local pubs in the evening and found a traditional dress party going on. It was full of people in their twenties wearing lederhosen and felt hats and dirndls (think Julie Andrews), an accordion band provided the entertainment, and I even convinced someone to do a demonstration of yodelling. It is one of the few times I have seen people in traditional dress when they weren't just doing it for the tourists. It was also the coldest weekend of the Austrian weekend, with temperatures not even getting close to zero. I think we had a maximum of minus 12 degrees and a minimum of minus 30 degrees, but my brain was so numb I don't quite recall. Sounds awful but the sky was perfect in the daytime so it made for some great photos as we visited the towns in the area. I don't understand the physics of it, but the cold was making steam come off a lake where a snow-draped village is more or less carved into the mountainside. This village is my nomination for Worst Place to Live - it is on the north side of a steep mountain so it doesn't get any sun for the entire winter.
In late February I was itching for some warm weather so I made a trip to South Europe where it is usually a bit warmer. Spain is well known for being warm, right? So I went to Spain's Basque region on the Atlantic coast near the French border. Somehow, like Austria, I was there in the coldest week of the Spanish winter. The weather varied between rain, snow, hail, and thunderstorms. The main Spain-France highway crossing was completely snowed in as well as hundreds of villages. I almost got stuck in Pamplona because of the snow. Pamplona is the place where they have the famous "Running of the Bulls" each year in July, an event where lots of drunk Americans join the Basque men in running through the narrow streets while being chased by angry, frightened and very heavy bulls. Nothing like that when I was there, just snow.
Bilbao, the Basque capital, is a city I liked a lot. It stretches along a river in a valley to the ocean and was a rundown, depressed small industrial city until a decade ago. It has been remarkably transformed into a place worth visiting. It has the Guggenheim museum on the riverbank, a titanium clad building built a few years ago that was designed to resemble a something between a fish and a ship. The museum building itself is even more interesting than the modern art inside and has become a landmark. Up and down the river old areas are becoming shiny and new.
I enjoyed the Spanish trip a lot, despite the snow. The food was great and affordable, especially compared to German food and I gorged myself on tapas and Spanish omelettes. People were friendly and helpful too.
In March my company sent me to Zurich for a week. I didn't get much time for sightseeing though. My hotel was 100 metres from where I worked during the day, so actually I could have been anywhere in the world for much of the time. I've been working for an entire 5 weeks now, although it's been mostly free time, because the project they want me to work on is not ready to start. It is a bit boring, but I am getting paid for the waiting time so I have no complaints. It gives me plenty of time to plan my next trips.
That's all for now. It's 10 minutes to midnight, and tomorrow is Good Friday. I've got to stop typing because the clicking noise might disturb the neighbours.
Thursday, October 16, 2003
Bamboo Rafting in the Thai Jungle
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
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
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
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