Month: October 2023

Categories
Azerbaijan Georgia

Azerbaijan and Georgia.

At the airport in Muscat we queued up for our Arabian Air flight to Baku in Azerbaijan. I felt sorry for the people behind us because I was a long time waiting for my boarding pass. Unknown to me they wanted to see my travel insurance document, which I didn’t have because the only other time it has been requested was for Belarus, and then I had been given notice of the requirement. I explained it was based on my credit card and started trying to find something online that might help. The man went away to talk to his superior about this stupid old man, several times, and eventually was all smiles and I was let through. The driver at the other end who took us to our Airbnb apartment in Baku had a common problem, no change, and scored an extra $5 from me. I might be cynical but I never believe drivers who tell me that. Luckily we had arranged him through our apartment host, otherwise we would never have found our way in. We drove into a shambolic large courtyard and he led the way through two doorways, up a flight of stairs, outside to an attached lift shaft, up a couple of stories, up some steps, through another door, and there we found the key under the mat. No lock boxes here. It was a nice spacious and central apartment and we soon got used to getting in, although you wouldn’t want to argue with the lift which had a very definite and speedy method of operation.

Baku has a rather European feel to it and fronts on to the Caspian Sea, the water of which has a luminous quality owing to its surface because there are lots of oil wells in it. No one seems to go swimming. Azerbaijan is one of those countries lucky to have an oil industry and the attendant riches do not appear to have been spent as wisely and as widely as those in Oman. However, the big city and capital, Baku, has got a fair bit of it as evidenced by some stunningly modern buildings. One, which has not yet been completely finished, looks like a big shiny upright circle, although Paul tells me it represents the crescent moon. It’s a moslem country. The most stunning are the three Flame Towers that deservedly dominate the skyline and at night are lit to look like they are on fire. We booked the usual free walking tour and were the only customers for our nice young female guide. The only problem with that was she would know exactly who had tipped how much at the end and, being from NZ, we were not sure if we were mean or overly generous, so we also bought her a coffee and asked more questions.

Azerbaijan has the usual old history of this area, continuing invasion and destruction, with a brief interlude of independence in the 1920’s. After exiting from the defunct Soviet Union it was once again independent and ruled by a guy who handed his title to his son who is the current dictator. Every town has at least a park and street named after the family and you can’t miss the photos. Any idea that they are not responsible for everything new and wonderful is soon squelched when you read the signs attached to places like the carpet museum we visited. This building is in the shape of a rolled up rug and the many people “working” there had no sense of humour at all. This dour and unsmiling behaviour seemed common in public places.

After our tour we decided we would go and conquer the metro system and take the three rides to the bus terminal we were to leave from in a couple of days. The Lonely Planet said it is large and confusing so we didn’t want be trying to find our bus without some knowledge of the place. We got there and sort of circled around ticking off places that were not what we wanted, and eventually found the right ticket booth and bought some tickets. Walking back to our apartment from the metro we found the street our balcony looked over was lined with shiny new black vehicles and I thought it would make an interesting photo. While I was taking it I noticed a guy in jeans, amongst all the uniformed ones, who seemed to have noticed me. About five minutes later there was a very aggressive bashing on our door, and there he was. He demanded I delete the offending photo, demanded our passports, and carried on asking stuff about what we were doing. At some stage Paul asked who he was and he briefly flashed a badge that apparently meant he was a police person. It was all a little worrying but not stomach churning and eventually he left, probably convinced we were not some Armenian assassins. Given that it is a dictatorship that had just chucked thousands of Armenians out of Nagorno-Karabakh I should have been a lot more sneaky about my photo.

When we returned to the bus station a couple of days later it was to start on our way to a little village called Lahich in the mountains north of Baku. We made sure we had plenty of time and got to Bay 2 where we were met by several gentlemen talking loudly but incomprehensibly to us We showed our tickets and one took them off to the ticket office, came back smiling and escorted us into his bus which immediately left half an hour before originally planned. The bus took us to a small town where we found a taxi driver who said he would take us to our village. When we got to the main entrance it was closed and he didn’t have any idea about alternatives despite asking lots of people. Eventually we bumped up a rudimentary rock-lined road to the back entrance of a place where we were not staying. Luckily the owner spoke a bit of English and we were pretty close to our objective so we paid off the driver, walked through the not-our- place and eventually found ours. It was a Hostel and a bit basic but we had a room each and a shared bathroom. The man in charge was called Rashid, I think, and the only words he said that we understood were “No problema”. And nothing was a problem apart from the power being off and consequently neither Google translate or maps were available to help. Just like the old days and it was fun. We looked around, eventually found the more commercial street, watched a guy making nails, found a feed, avoided breaking an ankle on the river stone paved skinny roads and managed to arrange a ride back out the next day.

Our driver was definitely a local, he had a Lada Niva which is neither big nor especially comfortable and he also had a mobile phone that he used all the way back to the main road while driving. I was in the front unfortunately. The road was unsealed, essentially single-laned, and of the variety that has big cliffs above one side and big cliffs below on the other. When we got past that danger we had a lot of roadworks to pass along and he stopped using the phone and slowed down so everyone passed us. When the road works finished he sped up considerably and started passing everyone. In town he was even more adventurous and when we finally got to our next place my right foot hurt from all the phantom braking I had been doing. Having said that, it was an attractive drive beside the foothills of mountains that sometimes had snow on, and the bushy woods are all turning gold at present.

Sheki is a small historic town in the mountain foothills that was once part of the routes for trade from Asia and even has a small silk industry still. Or so we were told. Which of course means you have to buy a scarf or a carpet. The former is easier to carry. We had quite a flash hotel this time and visited all the sights which invariably meant walking up and down hills. The next stop was the border with Georgia.

Our driver dropped us off in front of the very large gates out of Azerbaijan which were firmly closed. We had a sort of chat with a Belarusian truck driver who was on his way to Kazakhstan, and eventually we were beckoned through, being the only walkers there. The exit side was easy and friendly, there was a fair walk up a long badly paved path to Georgia where all went well and there we were in a new country. There were a couple of taxis waiting for targets like us and eventually a deal was reached and we set off for another historic old town on a hill, Sighnaghi. It has the distinction of being in the centre of the largest wine area of Georgia and it’s way above a plain looking out to the Caucacus Mountains, which we couldn’t see because of the haze. Our accommodation was the Dabid Zandarashvili Guest House, which I mention because should you ever go to Georgia, and you should, staying here is a cultural blast. It’s not luxurious but acceptable and the first thing that happens on arrival is David gives you a tour of the property, the first stop being his rudimentary winery where he lifts the lid off a big vat of red wine, dips in a glass each and hands them to you. Of course you have to taste and its perfectly drinkable. Then we were sat down at the considerable remains of what was either a late breakfast or early lunch and told to dig in, no cost, including more red or white (orange to be more technical). We then escaped for a wander and, as I suspected, I had been in the town before. We were booked in for an evening meal at David’s and previous experience helped me mentally prepare for it. There were 2 young Slovenian guys, a Canadian and an American couple, a lone US guy, a lady from Hong Kong, a French/English couple, and 2 NZers. I was considerably older than any of them. Our host and official toast master was David who undoubtedly has done it hundreds of times before but he was very good and sincere. The food keeps coming and the wine flows with no limits. After a while the toasts start, to visitors, to family, to women, and the list continues each one with a not-short speech. You are supposed to empty a full glass with each toast but I knew this had a predictable end so sneakily sipped. Eventually the wine is replaced by chacha which is the local grappa. The first to give in was the lady from HK who took a good sip of chacha and declared she was drunk and left. One of the Slovenians was well gone by the end, and Paul was smiling a lot and shifted to be with the youngsters where the talk was getting louder. I avoided the strong stuff and sipped wine but ended up at probably three times my usual limit of 2 glasses. The next day most of us went on a wine tour which got off to a quiet start. We are all now experts about the singularity of traditional Georgian wine making.

David drove us to the bus station and sorted out our Marshrutca ride to Tblisi. That’s in a van and is what locals use. We arrived at a busy station for these vehicles and none of the taxi drivers approached wanted to drive into the centre. So we found the metro, sorted a card, and got on. Being Soviet era the lines are very deep and the escalators very long. On the way out and up I think I was trying to straighten up my bag, and I think managed to get against the side, and suddenly found myself flying backwards through the air and landed some steps below where I started from, sprawled over the steps, and wondering what I had broken, apart from a woman I must have hit on the way down. Luckily, the only thing wrong was a bleeding forearm which was missing a bit of skin and the woman seemed all right. I got tidied up in a nearby cafe, stopped shaking after a while, and all was fine. I rather suspect Paul was wishing he was somewhere else while the fun happened. That evening I accompanied him to a few craft beer places and all was well. We once again did the free tour which was with a big group this time and we all learnt lots. Tblisi has lots of fairly friendly dogs wandering around, all with a coloured button thing attached to their ear. Our guide told us this indicated they had been neutered and the population was expected to diminish. By the time we finished the tour 5 of them were attached to us and got quite noisy if their canine logic told them we were threatened. The guide wasn’t always easy to hear. We had a very nice apartment with a balcony which is a greatly desired feature in Tblisi, and no room for fancy black vehicles in the road below. As I said a mere seven years ago, I like Georgia and I still do. The quality of wine helps and the graffiti is clear about youthful political leanings – “Fuck Russia” is very common. Interestingly, the present government is tilting towards Russia and trying to fire the President, who has little power, as she was appointed by the previous Western-oriented lot. Paul found an intriguing sounding museum a couple of stops out on the metro. It looks like one guy’s obsession about the very wonderful Stalin and the building is where he and others clandestinely printed communist stuff the first decade of the 1900’s. The man in charge asked where we were from and commented that NZ was OK, not like those fascists from the USA.

One of the interesting things about travel is the brief encounters with people and the later realisation that you will never know the full story about things they say. Did our Omani guide and driver really hate being at home with his wife, or was he just making excuses for trying to make as much money as he could in the tourist season? Did the solo American guy at David’s have an interesting reason why he converted from R.C. to Orthodox? He was in the army from age 17 so he could get to uni free and had seen a lot of the world since. How about the waiter from our last meal who told us he had a Nigerean father and Georgian mother. Why did the father get stuck in Georgia, and eventually marry the only female he knew who spoke English? Today I had an email from a guy we talked to in a wine shop in Slovenia. He had told us he was very keen to visit NZ and I said “happy to help.” The email says he is arriving in February so that’s one encounter that might get further explanation.

I’m presently looking down on Georgia on my way to Dubai. The last time I tried to make this flight I arrived at the airport exactly one month late. You wouldn’t believe how many times I have checked to be sure there would be no repeat.

Dennis.

Categories
Oman

Oman.

I cannot remember exactly why I wanted to have a look at this country, but something has had it on my list for a long time. We, my son Paul is looking after me, have only been here for a week and have spent time in two cities, Muscat and Sur, been up into the mountains, into a sandy desert, walked and climbed around forts and castles and looked at villages in ravines which have enough water to produce some green vegetation. Along the way we have had one spectacular and vertiginous day’s drive, seen a truly awesome wadi (canyon), spring filled water holes, many date palms, had the compulsory camel ride and desert sunset, wandered around not very exciting alleyways and been very HOT.

There are two groups of people in Oman. The locals and the immigrants. The local men usually wear a long white tunic, dishdash, and a brimless cap. Other colours are allowed but nothing too bright. The women’s outside wear is usually a black cover all outfit with varying degrees of face covering. Judging by the alternative female clothing seen in the souks they can be very bright, sparkly, and slinky when out of the public view. All the usual Arabic stuff. The tourist advice says men should not really wear shorts, and we have been pretty obedient, but I have been naughty on the last couple of days when the thought of hot longs was too hard to deal with. We have not seen a local male doing anything manual, like lifting something heavy or delivering you a meal, but they do drive taxis. The immigrants all seem to be from India, mostly Kerala, Pakistan, or Bangladesh, with the exception, in our Sur hotel, of some Philippinos. Given that we are travelling a bit before the tourist season this has helped us in watching a few cricket games in places where the real workers have control of the TV remote. We presume that the many large and grand government buildings have lots of under-worked local bureaucrats.

Local people we met, male only, are very hospitable and friendly. If you are in a shop and get chatting, a small coffee and dates are always offered. Or you will be beckoned in and the offer made. Because coffee makes me itchy, my polite refusal is greeted with an almost imperceptible hint of wonderment. Omani food includes a lot of rice, plenty of meat, and all in big portions. A meal that costs less than $NZ10 might have soup, salad, a big bowl of rice and more meat than I can eat. If the eating place is very local cutlery has to be requested because I am not well equipped for using my right hand to shovel food in. Luckily most of the restaurants are owned or run by the main immigrant group so good Indian food is available. Alcoholic drinks are a rarity but delicious cold fruit ones are not. Our favourite one being mango, and for me, lemon and mint a close second. The local currency is over $NZ4 for 1 dinar, so prices seem ridiculously cheap until you do a bit of arithmetic.

The first place we stayed was in Muscat, the capital and largest city. We got there after a 6-hour bus ride from Dubai. (One of the more boring places to be stuck in according to me.) I expected it would be mostly through arid country with not much development. The arid part was right, but most of the way there were built up areas along the coast that morphed into towns every now and then. Muscat sort of straggles around the coast line with different bits built into the ravines that go down to sea. The population is 1.7m out of a national total of 4.5. Our first impression when we walked from our hotel down to the waterfront was that half the shops were for "Ladies Tailoring" and the rest for second-hand furniture. Subsequent experience showed that the former was consistent in most urban areas but the furniture was a local thing. It has a waterfront corniche, but only a few places there for eating and drinking because only a nutter would want to sit out in the heat. There is a very tidy and modern souk with an area trying to sell you souvenirs but not in the shirt-grabbing way you get in some other countries. There is also a gold selling area which seemed to have no real security, which is consistent with a country where the vendors don’t bother to bring in their outside stock when they close for the night, or the midday to 4 resting time.

Politically the country is an absolute monarchy. The Sultan is the final decision maker for everything and also the minister of all the serious administration matters. The present one is a newbie now in his third year. His cousin was the previous one who clocked up 50 years in the job, and is greatly revered it seems. If you are a poor third world country, with a history of Sultans dying mysteriously, and then find you have reasonable amounts of oil and gas, then this country sounds like it was lucky to have had this long term ruler. There are no blatant signs of ridiculous wasting of money. The infrastructure is impressive with very good main roads, education seems to be a priority, important historical sites have been renewed, and there is a feeling of sensibility about the place. The roads have one downside which is a seemingly obsessive liking of speed humps, but we weren’t in a hurry. Part of the sensibility might relate to the British military educational influence on these gentlemen but I suspect it also reflects a national attitude. Of course, as with any dictatorship, all is not just sweetness and light. It is also a moslem dictatorship so not a good place to be gay, or married and fooling around with another married person. Both crimes can see you in jail. Women are naturally inferior to men and there is a special police force for dealing with any unruly people, like football fans, in whatever way they like. They cannot be identified either. Critics of the Sultan do not have a happy time, and I expect that the present younger generations, who do not know what things used to be like, will find the present system a problem in time.

In the museum and tourist literature there is plenty of stuff about the wisdom of the Sultans and not very much about the usefulness of the country having oil and gas reserves. In the bits about Omanis having been great boat builders and traders in the past, there is rarely a mention of their very important role in the slave trade. But when you compare Oman with its neighbours it seems a very sensible place. For tourists it is a very safe place with nil chance of someone emptying your pocket without permission.

In Sur we visited a dhow building yard and a maritime museum. The building seemed restricted to fixing up old ones and making models, although there was a big one being built from scratch for the tourist trade. The men doing the work had a pretty rudimentary set of tools and I couldn’t help thinking a belt sander or two would greatly improve productivity. We also came across a small shop that made models and the workshop was out a side door. We were invited to go in and have a look, which we did but only briefly because the air was thick with polyurethane which was being sprayed on a piece of work, without any sort of a booth or protection. A big dhow model, about 2m long, cost around NZ$16,000 and we did wonder quite what you would do with it.

We did a short 3-night tour with a delightful driver guide. He was very happy the tourist season was starting because it meant he could work seven days a week and not have to go home and argue with his wife. Apparently she is keen on "Ladies Tailoring" and she never has anything suitable to wear. The day we spent travelling up to a place in the mountains was the highlight for me. We took a shortcut on a track that was originally made by the army for its use and it is certainly not for normal cars. 4WD is a necessity although some tourists apparently have a go in their rental car because it is on Google maps. They would have an unforgettable experience and we did see one little Toyota car, stopped, and no doubt wondering if they could turn around and get back. Our man had done it all before but was very careful, thankfully, as often we were creeping along the side of a steep mountain with the bottom a thousand metres below. We were sort of following a very large canyon with forays up the side and luckily the drop was usually on the driver’s side. At one stage he pointed to a far away peak a long way above, and laughed as he said "We go there". It turned out he wasn’t joking and we ended up there, a bit over 2,000m up. From the place we stayed in it was a short drive to look at the starting point of this canyon. The sides went straight down for about 1500m, various figures were provided, and health and safety was minimal. I am all right with heights if there is something suitable stopping me from falling over, but here I crept carefully close to the edge, made my stomach go woop, and retreated. Apparently a couple of months ago some local guys were fooling around with chairs by the edge, and one went over. The nice thing about being up high was a considerable drop in temperature. We left by another very civilised road.

On the matter of safety, one of our hotels had a lift with no internal door, so if you leant against it while in motion a slicing effect would happen. Being very observant we kept well clear.

Outside of areas where there are springs, which are tourist attractions, and limited irrigation is possible, green vegetation is limited to small low solitary shrubs. In the mountain areas there aren’t even those. It’s all brown and grey and steep and rugged. It would be very easy to get lost. They do have some sandy desert which is a nice golden colour for a change, and on our drive to the place where we had to ride a camel for about 3 minutes we were discussing getting lost in a desert. It happened to Kay and me in Libya when both our driver and guide managed to get completely confused and we had to start thinking about how much water and food we had. This time it was our Omani friend who began looking around and slowing down and then stopped, having realised he wasn’t where he should be. Paul and I enjoyed discussing this with him as he turned around and sorted the situation.

Oman is an interesting place and certainly worth visiting. If you like walking there are lots of opportunities in the mountains of varying grades of difficulty, and the scenery is memorable. The people are very affable and while not a cheap place it’s a lot better value than Dubrovnik. It is also visa free now and you don’t have to catch a bus from Dubai. We just wanted to see the country.

Tomorrow we are off to Azerbaijan, as long as Armenia doesn’t do anything silly tonight.

Dennis.

Categories
Croatia Hungary

Croatia to Budapest.

When I was planning this trip the only thing I could not do in advance was to book a train from Ptuj in Slovenia to Zagreb in Croatia. Eventually I found out you can only buy international rail trips from Slovenia at a railway station. Apart from wondering why this rule exists I wasn’t concerned, because I was assured by the hotel owner in Ptuj that there were plenty of trains and all would be well. So when we got there I had a chat with a nice lady in the ticket office and obtained 3 tickets for the next trip which had a change in Maribor, the second city in Slovenia. When we set off very early the following day and arrived in Maribor I found a red-capped railway guy on the platform and asked what platform the next part of our trip left from. He looked at the printout I had for quite a while, and finally told me the train it said would go to Zagreb did not exist. This was not good news. In the ticket office, another nice lady was equally bemused as to how a nonexistent train could appear on a printed itinerary, and after a fair bit of fiddling on her computer came up with another way to Zagreb. It meant we had about 5 hours to look around Maribor, which we did, then once on the train went a long way back towards where we started, then waited at a station in a river ravine which existed only because a line went south from there. There was no town and for most of the hour and half we were there we were more than half the number of people waiting. Eventually we made it to Zagreb after 10 hours of travel instead of 3.

Zagreb is a nice city to look around with plenty of history and a very good tram system. Trams are something I like using so we sorted out what was required and bought day passes for the first day which went well. That evening we decided to ride out to the edge of town the next morning and go on a cable car up a mountain. So I went and bought another lot of day passes to avoid having to do it in the morning. But it turned out the next day was a “free travel on the trams” day, and that the cable car was under repair and not working until October 11. There was no on-line advice about the latter and we saw plenty of other mugs arriving after us looking equally surprised. We left the unused tickets on the table of our apartment. In Zagreb we did the usual free tour, the ladies went to a chocolate museum, we all went to The Museum of Broken Relationships which was surprisingly interesting, we climbed up a tower, did lots of walking, and generally got into the mode of being obedient tourists. That was important because next on the list was pure tourism.

The only train to Split left very early and we had to get up at a time starting with 5. When we got outside it was raining, lightly, but enough to count as the first on the trip. Much to my relief we were not the only ones waiting for a tram at that hour, which meant they were running frequently, and without any complications we eventually joined lots of other foreigners on the 6.5 hours journey to Split. It is one of the more scenic train rides I have been on and the sun even came out for the most interesting parts. However, our arrival in Split coincided with a downpour which included thunder and lightning but didn’t last long but long enough to have us drenched. I think we are the only people I know who have not previously been to coastal Croatia so I don’t have to go into lots of detail. We stayed in an apartment in the walls of Diocletian’s Palace and were right in the middle of all the action, although it was around a few corners and up a few stairs so was pretty private. Luckily our host met us at the Silver Gate to show where the apartment was because we would never have found it ourselves. The first thing we discovered was that the price of living had suddenly increased, and secondly there were thousands of tourists just like us. On our second day we decided to take a bus to a little place nearby called Trigor, which was a sort of small Split, and we weren’t the only ones who thought it would be a good place to go to. But it was all old and cute. We had 3 nights in Split which we all agreed is a pretty interesting place, and then went on a Kapitan Luca catamaran ferry to Korcula. It took about 400 people and there was a big queue for boarding with each newcomer asking the ones in front “Is this going to Korcula”, and getting the reply “I hope so”.

Our apartment there was in the old town and ever so easy to find according to the Google map. Our initial confusion was because Google had the ferry landing on the wrong side of the narrow isthmus so nothing made sense until we sorted that out. Then the name of the bar where we had to turn uphill into a narrow pedestrian street had been changed, which neither Google nor the host seemed to know about. Eventually we arrived, were met and shown our apartment. When I had been booking these places I was not aware of how clever some people can be with the photos they show to entice you into their care. This one seemed to clearly show two roomy bedrooms and plenty of space. When we walked into the main living area I was very surprised to see a large double bed at one end, and quickly realised I should have previously checked if it was in a room of its own. We also quickly realised that it was a cleverly done loft conversion and a lot of the space could only be used by bending over, or crawling, and care had to be taken to avoid needing an H.I.A. (for non rugby people this stands for Head Injury Assessment). However it had great views from the few windows and a little private terrace so the 3 of us coped. The restaurants overlooking the sea were a few steps away and we ate at one the first night. It was beside a Michelin starred place that seemed to have more nicely uniformed waiters than guests, and it was fun watching them put down their smokes and all get in line for their food delivery act. In contrast our place had about two staff who never stopped moving. The next day we caught a local bus to a little town called Lumbarda and had a lovely walk along the coast and inland through vineyards. This included a few highly regarded beaches that we tried not to be condescending about, a memorable lunch at a little beachfront restaurant that we had to ourselves, and a wine tasting at a place that sold almost all its production direct from the winery. One of the whites was very good, and I was spot on with my guess that it would cost close to $40 a bottle, but it made a very nice change from the usual quite dry and acidic whites we were being forced to drink. The grape is called Grk because it probably came from Greece originally, and it only grows in this small area. Kay is very fussy about what wine is provided to her and reds are excluded, so for “home” consumption Melanie and I had to conform and white was the usual pre dinner fare.

Our female contingent had from the first day of our trip developed a taste for Aperol Spritz, an orange coloured drink, which varies greatly in price depending on the quantity of tourists present. It has the great advantage of looking necessary and apparently tastes all right because it is on the list for our Xmas celebrations. I have been extremely disciplined and mostly been on a diet of Coke Zero until about 5.30 each evening.

We departed the nice and small town of Korcula on another ferry and headed for Dubrovnik. I knew it would be a scrum in the Old City so had booked a place in a nearby suburb. It was very nice with large patio area and not far from the bus stop and everything else needed. (Kay – not sure why D hasn’t mentioned how far it was above sea level and how many cobbled steps we had to ascend to reach it). It was a Friday so we decided to go into the old city in the afternoon and do the cable car up to the top of the hills behind the big attraction to avoid weekend queues. You have to be impressed with the Old City and it looks pretty good from above. Then we ventured in and there were more people per square metre than in Venice. We sat at a table and ordered two iced coffees and my usual – NZ$20 for each coffee and $10 for the smallest bottle of Coke. So we walked through one side to the other of the Old City and went home. Next day we walked around the top of the walls which was almost worth the money, did a bit more internal walking, and decided this time we would go a little way outside for lunch, partly because it was so hot inside. It was very nice and I didn’t look at the prices on the bill so equanimity was maintained. A feature of Dubrovnik not mentioned in any guides is that it has more ATMs per square metre than anywhere else in the world, an obvious correlation with the density of visitors, but even out of the hot spots it seemed over done.

Croatian Air flew us back to Zagreb in a Dash 8 which is a skinny prop plane from Canada and a new experience for me. The next day we wheeled our bags to the main bus station, having done a recce the afternoon before to check for hills, cobblestones and rough paths. All was flat and easy, and we caught our Flixbus for a nearly 5 hour ride to Budapest. Hungary appears to grow a lot of corn and the reviewer of Flixbus who said they didn’t stop for a toilet break was wrong. We got 20 minutes break halfway through with all facilities.

Budapest is a top city for visitors. We stayed in a nice big apartment with a very helpful host. We walked for miles, went across the Danube 4 times, saw all the main sights and a few obscure ones, some of us did some shopping, and we had a variety of meals and of course a few local wines. Our host even took us to an Irish pub to watch the ABs play Uruguay, and won the money for our little bets on the score differential. With Hungarian money you get a lot of 0s for not much value.

I had read a lot about Hungarian history and politics and I think the main thing learnt was that they are good at backing the wrong side in conflicts. The second thing is that they don’t seem to value democracy too much, which is shown in the popularity of the current political leader who is effectively an elected dictator. All the usual tactics of creating enemies to scare people with, getting rich mates to buy up the media, nobbling the justice system, and systemic corruption are being used. I only had a couple of discussions with locals and they understand what is happening, but politely mentioned that less well educated citizens were all quite happy to believe what they are told by the captive TV. Sounds familiar. Having not been beyond the biggest city in Hungary it’s hard to make any more informed comment. There seem to be statues and sculptures everywhere in Buda and in Pest and I doubt you are ever out of sight of one in the centre of the city, and they are not all old men on horses. Our free tour guide also pointed out some very small sculptures that a local artist makes and then surreptitiously mounts somewhere suitable but not easily seen. The guide said how many have been done but he hadn’t found them all. One of us, not me, found two. On a corner just down the road from our apartment was a very ordinary little bar that had the seats outside and did a bit of food. I liked it because it was very local and far from pretentious. Whilst sitting there we noticed people eating what they called a toasted cheese sandwich. It was a thick piece of bread about as long as your forearm and a normal loaf wide, with one side with toasted cheese on the top and the other side au natural. After Kay and Melanie left me all alone, while waiting to go to the airport late in the evening of departure day, I went and ordered one. It had some sort of pate stuff under the cheese and was delicious. When I paid they were happy to take my pile of coins and put the balance on my trusty Wise card. It was a nice way to end my time in Budapest.

I am now in Dubai awaiting my son Paul for the next stage which will be a bit more adventurous. The area I am staying in is interesting and not very flashy. In my brief forays out into the heat today, topped at 40 degrees, I managed to find a bargain pair of shoes I was looking for while in Europe, and had lunch and dinner for an astoundingly moderate price. Being on my own after 5 weeks of company is a little strange, but it does mean I have been able to cross roads whenever I want without being advised that I should not.

Dennis.