Usually when I go to a new country I have read the relevant Lonely Planet about the history and have an understanding of the country’s politics and economy. I have to admit that since finishing in Poland I have been wandering around in almost blissful ignorance, gleaning the odd bit of information now and then, without too much of a prepared plan. I haven’t arrived anywhere with a list for each day, apart from the first day in Vienna, and although it’s not a bad thing to do I feel a bit like the remarks that littered my youngest son’s school reports: “Could have done better”.
As an example I knew there was a train connection from Krakow to Bratislava in Slovakia and I figured if it was problematic I could catch a bus. It turned out not to be that simple and I had only one choice which was to catch a train at 7.30, with a transfer in an unknown town that included a couple of hours wait. The Polish train was very local and in no hurry and the Slovakian one was much the same. The good thing was when I got to Bratislava the temperature was nearly ten degrees warmer, but the walk to my hotel showed a city where people with spray cans had the upper hand. When checking in was completed a guy who looked a lot older than me, about the Agricultural Correspondent’s age, whipped in front of me and in an interesting, slightly antipodean accent, asked for two of his cans of beer. He then told me his room fridge was bloody useless and didn’t get the beer properly cold. So I figured he was from Australia, but he was definitely an Indian, and later on, in a bar down the road he told me was originally from Malaysia, was a retired school teacher of wood and metalwork, was in the throes of a divorce, and was in Bratislava for an old friend’s big birthday and they were paying for everything. When he went to Australia the only teaching job he could get was in a Catholic school with a horrible controlling priest in charge, who he happily told me ended up in jail. The next school was also Catholic with a nice priest in charge, but sadly he suffered the same fate. Then he decided to work for government schools. He had an itinerary that included a wine trip and generously suggested I might like to join in. My prompting was very subtle. And so I got to go to the Little Carpathian vineyards, which I had researched, and enjoyed a very old wine region that has a few goodies amongst the forty varieties of grapes they grow.
Our guide was the owner of quite a large guiding company, and a Rotarian, who knew lots about history and economics, as you would expect. Did you know that Slovakia produces more cars per head of population than any other country? I didn’t. If you like ugly cars and have a Porsche Cayenne that’s where it came from, along with plenty of other lesser brands. Apparently this industrial surprise was a result of low wages and a surplus of skilled workers who had been employed in armaments manufacturing, which was stopped after Czechoslovakia became western. I think there were also some good tax deals done as well. While at a big modern winery we were tasting with the manager who was saying how hard it was competing with the bigger European countries because they had higher subsidies. I asked why any of them had subsidies, and was met with a look of wonder at what sort of an idiot could think that any agricultural business could do without. My brief explanation as what happens when they are removed seemed incomprehensible to all of them including the Rotarian. This place has a large collection of Warhol art and apparently he had Slovakian parents. I have already won a free beer on a bet about his origins so keep it in mind. They were originally called Warhola.
Before leaving NZ I had contacted Ruediger in Vienna who had been our expert group leader in North Korea. He had suggested getting a boat down the Danube to my next stop in that city, and it was a very pleasant way of travelling. Especially when the landing was only ten minutes walk from my hotel. As mentioned I had a plan for one of my three days, which was to see all the Hundertwasser buildings and museum, and to go to another museum and see the biggest collection of Bruegel the Elder paintings. Why? Well, in 1973 when I was in a bar in the port area of Tunis I ended up squatting behind the bar while a fight took place. Next to me was another white guy who turned out to be Hundertwasser. I had never heard of him. He invited me stay on his boat and I was amazed at his paintings, and he was a complete Aoteoroa devotee, so when you visit his toilet up north you know someone who met him. The Bruegel bit goes back to 1968 when in my first uni year I met a lot of Art History students, was introduced to his paintings and bought a real size print of the Winter Hunters, and that along with ten others was what I went to see.
Being a leading NK expert Ruediger is a bit busy at present but we managed to have a nice long meal with lots of wine to go with the roasted goose and sauerkraut. He thinks the only way to make NK end its isolation is a variation of the “blue jeans and rocknroll” that helped the Soviet empire crumble, and that sanctions reinforce the position of the existing regime. The beginnings of capitalism are there and human nature will expand on them, but the more threatened the regime feels the more it will seek to step on these nasty imperialist practices. I think he’s probably right because short of a catastrophic war how else do you get rid of a regime that’s all powerful, only interested in its survival, and doesn’t care at all about the conditions for the people it rules.
The Austrian elections were on while I was there but nothing really would have told you that. I have always felt the home of Hitler was an historically sneaky place and the main mover in the election was a party that is playing down its neo-nazi roots. Apparently in the schools the history of the Nazi takeover is portrayed as Austria being the first to suffer under the onslaught of the Germans. Just a bit different from what I learnt. However Vienna certainly shows evidence of plenty of refugees, and my hotel was just off the main touristy part of town and had a fair mixture of nationalities. The nicest meal I had was in a Syrian restaurant with delicious Lebanese wines. The Prater transport centre was close by and had the biggest selection of drunks I have seen. A bit of a contrast to the fancy cafes a kilometre away.
After finishing with the glories of the Hapsburgs and all that I bravely set off for Mikulov, just over the border in Czeckia, or whatever it is they call themselves now. The land of Skodas. I went by a couple of trains that stopped at nearly every station and I helped time pass by keeping a rolling average of the time spent between each stop, which was just under 6 minutes. I had to wait a while in a town called Breclav and I tried about five ways of pronouncing it and I’m pretty sure none of them were correct. Then we got down to the real stuff with a 25 minute ride in two very old big railcar things that got pretty speedy between stops, and ended in the small and very nice town of Mikulov, where the owner of my equally nice b ‘n’ b picked me up. The first thing he asked was how did I enjoy their train? This place is one of the centres of the Moravian wine area, which I had done bit of homework on before arriving. I hadn’t organised anything in advance, thinking I could find someone to drive me around vineyards while I met delightful local winemakers and sampled their products. My host quickly explained it wasn’t like that and one sampled in vinotekas which are wine bars/shops in town, and straying into a winery would not be appreciated. So I did as told and found some of the nicest small country producer whites I have tasted. Really good stuff and my favourite variety was called Palava, which at least is easy to say and I caused no confusion when requesting it. Because it was a small place, after walking in and around the castle in the middle, up on a rocky hill, I did wander out around the autumnal vineyards, but kept out of them, just in case the gun shots I could hear were not only for scaring birds.
After two nights I found the railway station in the morning mist and waited an extra half an hour for the old train which had been delayed for “technical reasons”. Why can’t they tell you what really happened ? In this case I reckon the driver probably had had a big night because he looked a bit delicate when the train finally arrived. By the time we got back to Breclav the connection to Prague was going to be problematic so I rapidly got a ticket and jumped on to a very full intercity train with not many spare seats, but by the first stop I had one without a little yellow ticket saying it was booked. I was surrounded by women of a certain age, who I surmised were school teachers, so going to sleep was unlikely.
Apart from printing a Google map showing me how to find my hotel I knew absolutely nothing about Prague. When I got a map at my hotel reception I found it had a river, which was a surprise, and the map didn’t name it so I had to Google that. Another never heard of, but it starts with Vlt and runs into the Elbe. The map had all the sights in yellow and most I have looked at, along with about 200,000 other tourists. If this is the future of tourism in NZ let’s lock the gates now. Going over the Charles Bridge (the number one attraction, for the few of you who haven’t been there) was like being in the crowd after a big test match and far from fun. Even the Chinese seem subdued and moved aside when necessary. However, as usual there are only a few places like that and it is a nice city away from all the hassle. I guess the tourist money is an attraction for the beggars and difficult looking people, and I assumed all the badly tattooed English of both sexes were there for a soccer game. After two and a half days of sights, both sides of the river, I got some alternative walking route books from the info place and did one of those on my last day. It was a long way from the people holding up umbrellas and tour flags and I spent a pleasant five hours. I wasn’t so sure about it when getting to the start of the walk meant using a long underpass which had about 15 vagrants living in it, including one who had a little gas cooker and it smelt like bacon as I scuttled past trying not to step on any of the “beds”. One of the listed attractions was the street art around a metro station and there was one big work that deserved that description. There, and pretty much everywhere else, was a display area for miscreants whose only talent is the ability to press the top of a spray can.
Usually when I have to head for the airport and go home I feel a bit longer would have been nice, but this time I am ready to fly. I think I must have been too long on my own because today I found myself telling me out loud what direction to take next. I looked around to be sure nobody heard me, and luckily I was alone. Also I have a nearly overwhelming desire to give the next person who puffs cigarette smoke over me a sharp kick in the shins. Which would not be a good career move. I just hope Kim 3 doesn’t decide to drop the big one on Seoul tomorrow because I will be there for a while.
I am looking forward to my first glass of a certain Waipara Riesling.
Dennis.
