Author: Dennis

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.

Categories
Vietnam

Vietnam the Easy Way

In 2007 I bought a Lonely Planet for Vietnam and Cambodia but for various reasons we never used it until now, but like me, despite its age, it still has a reasonable amount of usefulness. Just about everyone we know has already been to Vietnam and I can confirm that, yes, the food is still good and the people are friendly. Due to the 3 year break from travel and the rigmarole of trying to recover covid-stopped airfares I decided to book the airlines through a local agent and found a travel agent in Hanoi to sort out the trip. So we have been met at airports, had a car and guide in each stop, and generally avoided a great deal of the angst that travel uncertainty can occur. We have had a couple of small concerns so far, but none of that stomach churning worry about is this the right bus or is this taxi driver really going where I want, and are we going to have an argument about the fare. And no repeats of arriving in an airport to find my flight left exactly one month ago.

We were told by the agent that Hanoi might be a little chilly in the evenings so came equipped for that, but mid 20s is not exactly cool so we have a bit of useless luggage. What I wasn’t really ready for was the great delight to be back in the organised chaos of an Asian city, as in our first stop in the Old Quarter of Hanoi. This is my sort of happy place. All the footpaths taken up by foodstalls, parked motor scooters, people welding stuff, little low seats for coffee drinkers, and everyone hustling for a living. As long as you don’t get run down by a scooter person it’s all wonderful. Saigon, no-one calls it by it’s official name, is reputed to have 8,000,000 motor scooters and when you see the unending river of them passing by in rush hour the number is believable. It is also fun doing the slow deliberate road crossing in the midst of all this traffic. The only real complication is that scooters seem to be allowed to go whichever way they like, including on the crowded footpaths, so a degree of all-round vision is required.

We flew into Hanoi for 3 nights; went to Lan Ha Bay which is an extension of Ha Long Bay for a delightful overnight cruise on a much better quality boat than expected, along with about 30 similar boats; flew to Da Nang and on to Hoi An for 3 nights; had a look at Hue for a night; then flew to Saigon for 3 nights. In each place we did interesting stuff outside of the town, and as I write this we are on a cruise up the Mekong which will take us into Cambodia. Given that Vietnam is far from a capitalist democracy I suspect the government decides what will be a tourist attraction, and then builds the suitable infrastructure to allow hordes of tourists to go there. Apparently tourism is at about 40% of previous levels which means I would not want to be here when it is back to full throttle. I have been surprised at how large the tourist industry is even now.

The boat we are presently on is owned by an outfit called Pandaw who specialise in river cruises in slightly out of the way places. There are 20 passenger rooms (ours is far grander than a cabin) and it’s all in a sort of colonial style with lots of dark polished wood, brass fittings, ringed by three levels of decks, anxious-to-please staff, and I intend to do more of this with the same company. The wine list isn’t perfect but that is a small problem.

On our first night, in Hanoi, we found that a restaurant, suggested by friend Di Fabricious, was still in existence and nearby so we went there. It was called Cha Ca Da Vang and you entered into the front room of a house, got pointed up some stairs that just fell short of being a ladder, and arrived in a very ordinary dining room. Further pointing had us at a bare table, Kay was given a small tatty plastic covered card that said “Only one dish in our restaurant GRILLED FISH price 170,000VND per person not included drink.” We nodded and within 5 minutes had a frying pan with the fish cooked in it, a little gas cooker and a plate of vegetables to be added to the fish. The price was about NZ$11 each. Other meals have ranged from a couple of semi-European ones to a delicious street vendor filled roll with bbqed meat and lots of tasty other stuff, and as expected none of it has been disappointing. I have tried the local white wine twice – the first time it had obviously been open for a few days and the second convinced me to not try again. On one of our visits to a local village we were induced to have taste of Mekong Whiskey which is distilled rice wine. It bought back a long forgotten memory of a beach in Thailand where there was no accommodation so I bought a half bottle of this stuff to help go to sleep under a palm tree. When I woke up late the next morning I was a surrounded by local fishermen going about their business, and giving me sympathetic looks as they saw the empty bottle. That was 50 years ago.

Vietnam is governed by its communist party and I gather all of the men involved are from the north. The odd comment from the south suggests that Hi Chi Min is not their favourite person but up north he is revered. It’s easy to forget that the war we remember was initially a civil war that escalated with Russian help to the north and US intervention in the south. To the victors go the spoils so the north has the political power and the army has lots of business operations. Corruption has been mentioned by all our guides and that is no surprise. But at least the government had the sense to open up to the world in the 90s and now I get the impression they are doing what China did when Deng was in charge – private enterprise is allowed within guidelines and getting rich is OK as long as you don’t challenge the government. The richest man has a string of big businesses that all have names starting with “Vin” and he began his career selling noodles off a bicycle. He even produces cars called Vinfast which apparently are based on BMW components, and assistance. They look pretty good as well. The infrastructure is also a little like China with plenty of multi laned expressways, and some impressive bridges including three big ones we have been under today. Also in the main cities there are huge apartment developments, hopefully they are not too closely following the Chinese model in that area. (It has all turned to dross there.)

The Asian obsession with religions and superstition is alive here as well. Buddhism seems to be the main one with with bits of all the others in the area, and Catholic churches are part of the skyline thanks to the French. I think people like to have a bit of a foot in most camps just in case the other ones are for real, and the desire for good luck means you should cover all bases. I have long thought the Asian attitude to religions is essentially transactional in that they are happy to worship as long as they get wealth and happiness in return. Although that is probably no different than the rest of the world, they are just more open about it. There is a very strange and colourful, literally, local religion which is a mixture of just about every religion along with a few literary people including Shakespeare and Victor Hugo. We paid its headquarters a visit and our guide enthusiastically explained that their worship was a mingling of music and chanting. He was very keen on the word mingling, and when we got have a look in their very bright and impressive church there was a great deal of it going on.

Amongst the various touristy things that had to be done we have been for several river rides ranging from a little tin boat for 3 rowed by a guy using his feet only, a canoe for 4 rowed by a lady but Kay and I helped with the spare oars until the rain got too heavy, a lovely peaceful trip on an old midsized boat with a putt putt internal engine and only us a passengers, through to the big cruiser we are now on. The war museum in Hanoi was the usual one-sided propaganda device you get in dictatorships. The Cu Chi tunnels were interesting as well as presenting me with a new mental phenomenon – when my turn came to bend over and waddle through a tunnel I had a sudden attack of claustrophobia and decided not to risk having to turn around in the middle which was something new and interesting. I have been to many temples but never before seen one where horses and goats are worshipped. And on this cruise I have been walking around on land visits with a transponder hanging around my neck and an ear piece to listen to our guide – I never thought I would do that, but it is a practical solution to a problem. Another such solution occurred when we were transferring from Hanoi and were dropped off at our travel agent’s office building. We had been there before so looked at the sign that said it was on the 8th floor and got into the lift, only to find there were just 7 floors. The solution was to stop at each floor and wander the corridors – eventually striking gold on the 4th. One day I will feel financially able to get a sim card in foreign countries and just ring people in such situations.

Most of the other passengers on our cruise are English so it is a polite and restrained group. I have noticed that one needs to be a bit careful about suggesting Boris is a liar and that Brexit has been a considerable negative for their country. There is one guy from Plymouth whose accent is very difficult to translate, but generally they are an affable crowd and we have been enjoying the happy hour (“free” cocktails) and dinners. I was a little surprised by one of the ladies who was not very keen on getting into one of the canoes, and when it did a bit of a wobble used a string of expletives that made her discomfort quite clear.

And now on to Cambodia.

Dennis, and Kay.

Categories
Australia

Two weeks to Broome.

It was a road trip with friends and neighbours Rosie and Tony Dickens, starting from Perth and staying at Geraldton, Kalbarri, Denham, Coral Bay, Exmouth, Tom Price, 80 Mile Beach, and Broome. We had a Renault SUV thing with a funny name that was roomy and reliable, and we nearly had two of them because that’s what the rental company had organised for us on our arrival. Tony sorted that, but maybe we took the wrong one because ours became very unlucky. Towards the end we managed to have our windscreen hit by a stone from a strange looking yellow caravan which quickly became a long crack and unrepairable; then we hit a Wallaby which caused some damage that the hire company may possibly not find; then a day from the end we got a flat tyre (after dark) and were unable to get it repaired. So the expectation is lots of correspondence and dollars will change hands with Avis. We shared the driving based on 90 minute stints and I secured the record for the longest straight at 36 kms. The main roads were very good, the traffic sparse, and driving was pretty easy. I didn’t like passing the big long roadtrains, which was really no problem because they indicate when you can, but hanging out on the wrong side of the road for much longer than I am used to created a degree of internal concern. We are now experts in what a real aussie male needs to drive around Australia. You start with a large 4wd ute or SUV, and add on the biggest bull bars with winch and heavy hook. Then you need anti-stone flaps across the width at the back, an extended wing mirror, a heavy duty tow bar, huge knobbly tyres, a fat long aerial or even better, two of them, a commodious roof rack, and most importantly an aggressive looking snorkel. You either tow a suitable caravan or some sort of complicated trailer that probably has an extendable tent-like deal along with all the other paraphernalia needed. Finally you add on a boat, canoes, surf boards, or anything else necessary for complete self sufficiency in hostile territory. The suitable caravan ideally is dual axle, high ground clearance, metal construction, and preferably painted black and grey so it looks rugged and able to go anywhere. The best place to see all of this is in one of the huge camping grounds available along the way.

We stayed in a couple of the camping grounds using their chalets which were pretty good and comparatively reasonably priced. The further you get from Perth the more expensive places to stay become. At Tom Price (more detail later) we reached the peak with a motel room that from the outside looked like it was some sort of detention centre and the impression was only a bit diluted when you stepped in. Ours was very small and dim, one of two lights didn’t work, and later we found the shower door was missing. All of this for a mere A$270 a night, and there were 133 rooms that looked mostly occupied. It’s a Rio Tinto mining town and there is not really any other place to stay.

Most of the places we visited are small and isolated and apart from Tom P were on or near the coast. So there were lots of pretty beaches with fine white sand and the surf breaking on reefs often very close to the shore. Tourquoise Bay lived up to its name and was one of the nicest beaches I have seen. The coastal roads are essentially flat because that is the landscape and we would describe the vegetation as scrubby. There are no big trees because there is not a lot of fertility in the always red soil. I used to wonder why so much of Australian art featured red dirt and now I know. As Mrs Marsh said “It really gets in” but this time it was dust in clothes, not teeth and toothpaste. Apologies to anyone not about when that advert appeared on TV.

Meals were sometimes fun. Tony managed to be forgotten by the staff 3 different times, so the rest of us got on with eating while he pretended to be patient. Early on Rosie and Kay ordered a Thai salad and were shocked when it had lots of chilli to the point where the delicate palates couldn’t cope. They got a quick and free replacement. We were strongly advised to stop at a place called Northampton, a bit north of Perth, and find the cafe that sold its world famous vanilla slice. I was told it was very good and there seemed to a lot in one serving. At 80 Mile Beach there is only a camping ground which boasts a well stocked mini mart, so we decided to see what we could find there for our evening meal. At check-in I was told that it was chicken parmi night for $19 each if we wanted. We said yes and later collected a box each, with a generous pile of chips and a round thing which was reconstituted chicken with a bit of ham and cheese on top. I had no problem dealing to it. At the other end of the scale we also had some delightful meals in very nice restaurants. As the sommelier of the group I have visited a lot of booze shops along the way and no matter what brand they were the selection was the same. Plenty of red choices, but 99% of the whites were Sav Blanc and Chardonnay and 1% Moscatto or funny Reisling mixtures. I did also see a bottle of Chenin Blanc once. But we haven’t gone thirsty.

The tourist sights are many kilometres apart and not always what they are supposed to be. At Kalbarri there was a sign that said we could see pelicans being fed so we rocked up along with others, but the birds didn’t appear. We went the next day and one turned up, and I reckon it was the one I saw earlier on the beach menacing a kid who had a little fish on his line. Then there was the time we paid a fee at Monkey Mia to watch dolphins landing on a beach for a 300gm feed of fish. Lots of us were there and after a couple of hours left sorely disappointed. The locals must laugh at the dumb tourists. On the other hand, at Exmouth, Rosie and Tony went out on whale spotting boat and saw so many whales doing whale stuff they never need to do it again. Prior to that we had dutifully gone out in a boat with windows on its side so you could sit and look at a coral reef and associated fish. The coral there is more brown than the Pacific stuff and the fish not as plentiful. But it was an easy way of having a look and the coral is very healthy and varied. Spotting some of the local wildlife when not expected is fun. Emus sometimes cross roads with seemingly no regard for the big lumps of metal speeding along them. Rock wallabies blend in well with their surroundings, but once you see one there are usually more. Large lizards also like crossing roads and the dingos we have seen are very handsome animals. During the last few days there have been the remains of several cattle in the side of the road and thankfully we haven’t had a close up experience of that.

Geographically nothing much happened until we went inland to Tom Price, unless you are a fan of flat land and straight horizons. Eventually we had hills, the bigger of which are called mountains, and lots of interesting and extremely old rocky stuff. Like the oldest known and 3.5 billions years old. Tom Price was the manager of a big US mining company who spent many years trying to get the WA government to build the roads and ports necessary to develop the Pilbara area for mining. Eventually he retired from the fray, went home and had a fatal heart attack without knowing approval had been granted. So the little town and Rio Rinto mine were named after him. We went on a tour of the mine, and I thought we would see a huge hole in the ground with big trucks circling around the inside. Actually there are many big holes over thousands of hectares, and conveyor belts of up to 40km long. They have their own power plant that also supplies the town, and the longest private railway in the world. The trains that take the ore to the coast are over 2km long and the load is worth about A$3,000,000 plus, depending on quality. If you meet the beginning of one at a crossing the wait is apparently long enough to have a cup of tea. The trains are basically autonomous but by local law have to have a driver in when they get to the port. The whole setup is immense .

Nearby is the Karijini National Park which Rio Tinto were allowed to put their railway line through, and another mine encroaches on it. Guess who has the real power in WA. The park has some very attractive gorges and nice hidden pools which we clambered in and about, sometimes quite precariously. They are colourful given the reddish rock although sort of small, compared to what we are used to.

The locals we have met, mostly briefly, seem friendly and I haven’t been subjected to any NZ sheep jokes. The reception staff since leaving Perth give you a very strong impression that tourists are a boring nuisance and they would rather be somewhere else. The only exception was the place in Tom Price which was managed by nice Sri Lankans. The motel we stayed in Denham was memorable for the worst mattress ever and no reception person at all. There was a note on the office window telling you your room number and that the key was on your table. TripAdvisor reviews suggest the gentleman who owns it is not someone you really want to meet. Our last and reasonably nice place in Broome threatens you with surcharges of $100 and $200 should you not wash your dishes or not take your rubbish outdoors to the wheelie bin. We of course dutifully complied but I also used most of the liquid soap in the shower to wash my jeans.

When you look at a map of Australia Perth to Broome is not a large part of its circumference, which certainly shows the obvious – Australia is a big place. Driving it has been a positive experience and Tony wants to go across the North some time to complete the full job having already done the rest. I think I will be happy with what we have done by the time we finish. Now we fly back to Perth, pick up another car which hopefully is a friendly one, and spend the next fortnight in the south. This will involve less driving than the 3000+ks just done, and we have packed our summer clothes to bottom of our bags in anticipation of a considerably cooler climate.

Dennis.

Categories
Romania

I may have found my limit.

When I finished the last email I had just been out of the Hello Hotel in Bucharest looking for food and water. In the clear sunny morning the next day I discovered that my previous night’s left turn out of the front door was wrong.  It lead to raucous drunks and who knows what else, when turning right would have lead to several pleasant cafes and, if not paradisical conditions, certainly acceptable.

I was a bit late getting into gear that day and had to take a taxi to the start of the “free” walking tour and I suspect I was robbed of about $4 by the driver.  I like these tours because the guides have to make your experience enjoyable or they won’t get paid, as it is “pay what you want to” at the end.   This guide was a young law student who knew she shouldn’t be studying law but didn’t want to not finish.  She was funny, delightfully cynical, and unable to understand why her grandmother always voted for the political dinosaurs.  Her main message was that things in Romania might look and sound a bit unfortunate, but they are a lot better than it was a few years ago.  We started in front of Ceausescu’s huge ornate and useless building that the parliament is based in.  Even self-important politicians can’t use half of it.  Our guide said C. returned from visits to China and North Korea fascinated by the massive flag waving and placard turning displays he had seen, and wanted a balcony grandiose enough to conduct his own from. Unfortunately for him and his missus they were shot before it was finished.  If you wish to watch this execution it can be seen on facetube.  The building is so heavy it is gradually sinking.  It cost a huge amount of money the country didn’t have, and the cost of maintenance will be rather large.  A person with a financial background would say they should blow the thing up now and make it disappear. 

Bucharest is not really a must see apart from the above.  They have lots of old French style buildings, interspersed with ones gradually falling apart, and a series of big boulevards with parallel parks and walkways.  In common with the rest of the country the main sport is smoking, and second is using spray cans to scribble wherever possible.  I had a go at seeing the mansion where C. had actually lived.  It was a long and quite pleasant walk but when I arrived I was told I had to wait an hour because I could only go with a tour.   I  walked away to find a cafe, and the further I went the more I realised seeing a big house decorated in opulent bad taste wasn’t really what I wanted to do.  Much better would be the Peasants Museum, and I detoured there, another nice walk, to find it closed.

Two days was enough.  So I headed north to Sighisoara on a train trip of 6+ hours that got slower and slower.   I had splashed out on First Class, so it was comfy and the scenery was interesting and the time didn’t matter.  On arrival I got out the Google map that I had printed off long ago, and followed the directions.  Where I was staying was in the old citadel part which was built around a hill.  The final map instruction said “Take the steps” and I did, with my bag.  The steps went much further than seen from the bottom and got steeper.  When I got to the top I stopped to look at the view, for a little while, and noticed I was right beside my antique hotel which had dinky little tables outside and uniformed waiters wondering if I needed a drink.  And asking why hadn’t I availed myself of the complimentary pickup they offered. 
This small town is in Transylvania and has lots of medieval stuff well preserved, and not surprisingly is a tourist destination.   The big star is Vlad 111, Prince of Wallachia, aka Vlad the Impaler, aka Dracular in a book supposedly based on him.   He was born in Sighisoara so you could fill several cars with all the associated tourist junk that is available.  I read that a good impaling doesn’t pierce any vital organs, which got me thinking about what a complicated way of killing it was.  First you need a suitable tree trunk that can hold a man’s weight but not be so rough and thick to cause immediate death.  Then I  guess it would need the bark taken off and the top sharpened.  I am not sure how deep the impalement is, but it would be a top heavy load to place in the ground for the edification of others. Vlad probably had a specialist unit in his army because he did lots of them.  I  saw all the sights and finished half a day early.  I  should have done a walk to the forest of ancient oaks but reviews suggested it was easy to get lost on the way, and when you got there it was not hugely inspiring.  So I had a beer with lunch followed by the inevitable little lie down.  That made the afternoon go away and confirmed a diminishing personal tourism drive.
Luckily there was only one more place to go and I got back on the train for Brasov.  The old part is large and lovely with more places to eat outside than I have ever seen.  I arrived on Saturday evening and it was packed.  The main square was winding up an international youth festival of some sort, and overnight all the stuff for that went away, to be replaced by more stuff for a marathon on Sunday.  I decided I would do a bit of research into Romanian wines on my last evening and did a small tour of the three places that said they were wine bars.  One did pizzas so I figured they weren’t serious, but the other two helped me decide the wine is not up to Moldovan standards.  Which allowed me to retire in good shape and watch the US Open with my tourism drive completely gone.

All that is left is a horribly long series of flights home.  Presently I am wasting time at the Bucharest airport which I got to by Uber.  “So what?” you may say, but it was my very first Uber and half the price of a taxi, assuming I had an honest one.  And you all know what assumptions do to us.

I  am looking forward to a glass of Pegasus Riesling.  There is no doubt we make the best white wines in the world.
Just not as sure about our rugby team.

Dennis

p.s.  A couple of hours later For the first time in 45 years I was actually keen to get home after this trip.  So what happens ?  I get to Istanbul after the first part of the homeward flights, all geared up for the next 10 hours to Bangkok, to find my flight has been delayed 5 hours. This means I miss the connecting flight to NZ and have to spend a day hanging around Bangkok.  Turkish Airlines tell me they pay and all I have to do is find their desk at Bangkok airport and all will be sorted.  That’s bound to be easy.

Categories
Moldova

Moldova.

Moldova.

It is squeezed between Ukraine and Romania; takes about 10 hours to drive from one end to the other; has its own breakaway “state” Transnistria; they speak Romanian a bit like Scots speak English; and I like it.

The population is about 2.5m with another 1.5m working outside, half of those in Russia. Until recently it was the poorest European country but tough times in Ukraine mean they now hold the title. It doesn’t feel poor, although in the country you do see families trotting along in a horse cart and the old ladies have peasant-type scarfs over their heads. I think there is still a lot of family supporting other members, and remittances from those working overseas are a major economic factor. I haven’t seen more than a few beggars and little evidence of anyone sleeping rough.

The Ag Correspondent would love it – huge big paddocks with fertile black soil being cultivated by very large tractors, some of which were green. I gather in the chaos after getting out of the Soviet Union in 1990 land was cheap and gathered up by what are now large businesses. The biggest crops seen were sunflowers and corn. All the houses in the country have a garden full of food. But the best known crop is grapes and wine is the 4th biggest export. (Strangely a list I just looked up ranked insulated wire top).

And that is the reason I visited Moldova. I organised a three day wine tour and discovered this place makes what must be the best value, good quality wines I have ever come across . On my last night there, in the capital Chisinau (pronounced Kooshinow), I finished my wine tour off by buying a superb bottle of chardonnay in a restaurant for NZ$40, at home it would easily have been more than double that. The excellent meal I had with it was rabbit in a mustard sauce, with braised asparagus, and creme bruleè to finish and it cost $30. The only problem with going out at night is there are no street lights and getting back to one’s hotel after a glass too much is problematical as the footpaths are variable in height and construction. I managed perfectly.

They have a way with merlot that makes that usually unexciting variety into something quite racy, well, at least in the wineries I visited. I went to a small family one called Et Cetera where I stayed in their smart little hotel, and had a great time, ending up with the staff sitting around a bonfire late at night. There was another guy doing the tasting with me and the owner, he was apparently a wine writer doing a book on east European wines. He certainly had all the descriptive words and found things to say about the wines that left me for dead. During our dinner, after the tasting, he introduced me a man he knew from the USA who told me his occupation was a “miracle maker”. After listening to his rather tedious spiel for a while I asked if he could miracle Trump away with a bullet or two. It turned out he was a big Trump fan, which made sense.

I also went to a few other wineries we would regard as big which were more touristy. Not that there are a lot of tourists here, certainly no hordes of Chinese. The last one was all underground in limestone which had been excavated and tunnelled for the purpose of winemaking in the Soviet era. It had 120 kms of tunnels and a hell of a lot of wine stored there . Not coincidentally there was a jail nearby that supplied the labour for the construction.

Moldova’s exports of wine all used to go to Russia until a few years ago, but in 2013 the Russians decided they weren’t going to buy anymore and threw a very big spanner into the presses. Not only were new markets required but wine styles had to change. The Russians like sweet red and not many others want that. I gather China is now the biggest customer.

The relationship between Moldova and Russia is just a bit complicated. There was an election earlier this year which I heard described as a revolution. A coalition of parties favourable to Europe won, but the Russian-leaning government refused to hand over, saying the election was illegal. I gather a fair bit of international pressure was applied and after a few weeks the defeated left their offices and two governments reduced to one. The oligarch who was the real power behind that government disappeared, it is assumed to the USA, where he can play golf with his mate the president. This man had bought off everyone he needed to and the government did as he wanted. Unsurprisingly, he was the richest guy in the country and Moldova was pretty high in the corruption lists. Reports say the corruption is endemic. Of course the new government is going to change all that and a few ex-ministers are in jail, but whether they will actually clean the place up is yet to be seen. My driver said the police don’t often take bribes now and maybe that is an indication. Apparently they use body cameras and you can look up incidents.

Then there is Transnistria, this is a sliver of Moldova on the eastern border area that fought not to be part of Moldova when it got independence. It is supported by Russia, possibly because there is a huge weapons dump in the area. The majority of the population are Russian-speaking Ukrainians and the country is run for the benefit of, and by, two ex secret service gentlemen whose company owns everything from telecoms to the football team and a compliant political party. And guess who went there very briefly ? My driver and l walked over a dam to Transnistria on a quiet Sunday morning without any police or soldiers being seen. He was very surprised, but the relations between Moldova and it’s orphan are peaceful, so maybe we were not all that clever.

That was as adventurous as it got. It’s a country of people getting on with their lives and making the most of what they have. I didn’t see any of the visible gangster types you see in other ex-Soviet places. This is maybe because they keep a low profile, and there did seem to be a lot of Porsch Cayennes for a poor place. My driver, Marcel, is 47 and spent 2 years working illegally in Italy before getting a proper job driving for the US army in Baghdad for another 2 years. From this he bought two apartments and is still married to his doctor wife, while now driving locally in his own vehicle. He told me Moldova is famous for two things – good wine and beautiful women. Of course I was concentrating on the former, but did pay a bit more attention to the later so I could tell him he was dreaming. But I think there may have been a grain of truth in his claim.

I am now in Romania and very pleased Kay is not with me here in my hotel by the railway station in Bucharest. It was late when I arrived and I went out to buy a sandwich – given the behaviour of the night people out in the streets I suspect this is not a nice middle-class area. I got my food and water and scuttled rapidly back to the Hello Hotel, which isn’t quite as couth as the photos indicated. But I am sure all will be well in the morning.

Dennis.

Categories
Faroe Islands Iceland Ireland (Republic) Northern Ireland Scotland United Kingdom

Viking drains still work

The last three weeks we have been whizzing about learning even more new things:

Atlanta Airport at 10 am is not crowded and is very efficient.  The immigration people were pleasant and friendly!

Boston airport later in the day is different.  One should not say, “That is bloody ridiculous,” when ordered by a security person to remove one’s handkerchief from one’s pocket before going through a metal detector.  One’s wife was also not happy about one’s response. 

Iceland sits on the edges of two big tectonic plates thus the big cracks in the ground, thermal activity, and volcanoes that like causing airlines problems.

Twenty years on from our last visit Dublin is still scruffy around the edges.  The pavements have lots of traces of spilt liquids and cigarette butts.  There are plenty of street sleepers and old pissed guys talking to themselves.

Belfast is similar but the accent is harder to deal with and they have a big wall to separate the the two tribes.  I didn’t know they still lock gates in it at night.

In Northern Ireland you can make a reasonable living milking 130 cows.

When you are driving on the wrong side of the road it is possible to smash the passenger side wing mirror on a roadside pole without doing any panel damage.  I  would rather have not learnt that  –  it rather spoilt our first day in the Faroe Islands and cost a lot.

The starting point for working out how expensive things are there is to double NZ prices and then begin adding more.

Edinburgh during its Festival is crazy.  But it has a tramway from the airport right into the middle of the city.  How civilized.  Why can’t Auckland do the same?

The Orkney Islands are mostly flat and the local buses drive very fast. 

Viking era drains can still work.

The shortest scheduled air flight in the world is between the islands of Papa and Westray in the Orkneys, and we timed it at 1 minute 18 seconds.  You can watch it take off on one island and land on the other. 

We left Mexico City early one dark morning and arrived in Dublin after a night in Iceland, and were in need of a little lie down. I had done something new which was to book my first airbnb accommodation there.  The instructions were to pick up the key from Connor at a nearby bar in the Smithfield area.  It was about 2 in the afternoon so I went to the bar, which wasn’t open.  I executed a series of knockings and kicks on the 3 doors and eventually a young guy appeared who wasn’t Connor and knew nothing about a key.  After 3 phone calls he found it and we got into a quite nice modern apartment which had an extremely uncomfortable bed.  I can sleep on most surfaces and under a towel, which allowed Kay to fold the duvet in half and cover the sensation of being assaulted by multiple springs.  After two nights we bussed into new territory, Northern Ireland, starting in Belfast.  I think it is compulsory to do the black taxi tour and view all the public displays of how to make sure the violent years are not forgotten.  So we did it and on a lesser scale it was a bit like going to Auschwitz, in that you know all about it, have seen all the photos and TV programs, and yet actually seeing it is more worrying than I thought.  All the memorials and murals are basically glorification of a conflict that each side justifies by pointing at what the others did.  I think it can be simplified as a conflict between colonisers and the colonised with an overlay of religion and nationalism.  It has gone on since the 1600s and still isn’t finished.  The mural that I found the most disturbing was a Unionist one promoting the wonderful Stephen “Top Gun” McKeag who was the person with the highest score of killings of Catholics.  One is tempted to say it is so stupid, but of course that doesn’t help.  Just after we left there was a stabbing incident while one side was annoying the other with provocative bonfires.  Segregated schooling helps perpetuate the situation, although it seems the common ground of the city centre becoming an entertainment area, and integrated tertiary education are promoting some mutual understanding.  But to an outsider it looks like the people who are involved in the provocations are neither well educated or responsive to reason.  

When we left Belfast for a few days drive around we had lunch in Enniskillen with two couples, two of them being distant relations of mine.  Of the men one was the 130 cow dairy farmer, and the other was a retired policeman who had been in the old RUC and the new integrated police force.  He took us for a tour before lunch and slowed by a nice peaceful park, pointed out the station he used to work in about 300m away, and then motioned at the park and explained that was where a mortar attack on the police station came from during the troubles.

There are quite a few of you who like fancy whisky and by coincidence we stayed right beside Jamesons in Dublin, and very close to Bushmills in the north.  I had a quick look in the former and saw a lot of smiling noisy people, but I wasn’t tempted.  Our next stop was Edinburgh and the airport duty free had about ten different wines, and hundreds of local whiskies.  We had a night in Edinburgh to go to the amazing Tattoo and wander in the madness of the Festival.  I would leave town for the duration if I lived there but it was fun just being on the streets.  On the way out to the Faroe Islands flight I bought a couple of unknown wines at the airport which turned out to be a wise financial move.

The Faroe Islands landscape is dramatic and treeless.  Driving our soon-to-be trimmed hire car the 50km into Tórshavn was an experience because of the very different scenery, and also the tension of driving on the wrong side of the road through very long tunnels with not much lighting in them.  The longest (11km) tunnels go under the sea between islands and seem to be never ending when you are the driver.  Navigator Kay didn’t enjoy the delights of getting in and out of the old part if Tórshavn where we stayed.  We got quite good at the out bit after four days, but never really nailed getting in.  We drove around four of the islands and saw lots of waterfalls, cute little villages, houses with grass roofs, lots of big fishing boats, and heaps of scenery.  The roads are either wide and good or very skinny with lots of small passing bays.  Pulling into one of these on the edge of a switchback up a very steep hill is no fun. The hills are green because of grass growing, and there are plenty of small sheep wandering about.  Occasionally things get less steep and hay was being made with pitchforks or funny little hand pushed tedders. But agriculture is a sideline to the major industry which is fishing.  These guys are serious players with lots of big fishing ships and each little village has a harbour with some sort of processing plant.  They also farm salmon on a large scale, and a report I read suggested there are a few seriously rich people in the fishing industry who have a lot of clout with the government.  The Faroes are nominally part of Denmark but that only applies to defence, the legal system, and foreign affairs.  Currently they are annoying Denmark by trading significantly with Russia (salmon) in defiance of the EU sanctions.  They do not belong to the EU so are happy to go where the money is.

The local people are descended from the Vikings and are not exactly smiley friendly, but not grumpy.  There are 52,000 of them and they produce a football team that occasionally beats a continental team. 

From there it was back to Edinburgh and on to the Orkney Islands.  Flying in there it looked very flat and covered in little paddocks of grass and about to be harvested crops, and lots of solid houses.  On the ground it was a bit undulating but completely different from the Faroes.  The people were friendlier and the local bus system relieved us of the need for a car.  We did the main archeological sites and now know that Norse people built houses there 6000 years ago, well before Stonehenge and the pyramids.  We did a ferry ride out to an island called Westray and had a lovely day looking at local stuff, including the Viking drains that still work.  We also stood on the edge of very high cliffs, in strong winds, and peered over the edge to see nesting gannets.  Unfortunately the last of the puffins had flown away a few days before.

People in Orkney have strong Norse heritage and several mentioned that if brexit happens they should leave the UK and join Norway.  Everyone in the UK we talked to is heartily sick of the brexit disaster.  If I owned a farm on the Scottish isles I would be worried as they have no ability to exist without the large subsidies they get.  Although they have been promised these won’t change after brexit, no one I spoke to has any confidence about that.  We listened to one Boris supporter but most are skeptical about him.  Interestingly very few people seem to appreciate the financial costs of leaving. 

Leaving Orkney involved the most inefficient and aggravating security check ever.  Kay is usually telling me to behave in such places, but she laughed in a rather cynical way when the guy did his interminable routine with her.  We think he missed out on being a school prefect and was now extracting revenge. 

We are presently on a train in Wales heading for my sister Ruth’s place for a couple of nights, and then Kay heads home and I head east for a few weeks.  We arrived in Cardiff to the Wales v Poms rugby which we watched in a pub where earlier we watched the ABs do good things.  The centre of the city was a big party after their victory and it was good to be able to talk about something familiar.  Everyone thinks the ABs will win the World Cup.  I am far from certain.

Categories
Mexico

Mexico.

I never intended we go to Mexico, but last year while I was away mothering three other guys through Siberia, Kay accepted an invite from friends Elle and Rob to join them in Puerto Vallarta. It seemed sensible to add on a trip to the Copper Canyon which is north of there. So why not see if Murray and Yolanda were going to be about and join us? They said yes, and then suggested they show us around some of their favoured places near Mexico City. One can’t turn down an offer like that, so visiting friends in San Antonio got deleted. I originally had booked a flight from there to Dublin, but it had been cancelled and it was easier to give it a miss and fly from Mexico. Or so it seemed. Three more flight changes followed, with the result of a night having to be spent in Iceland, and further compounded by the late realisation that 2 hours was never going to be enough time to get through all the US machinations of arrival in Atlanta and to catch an onward flight. Money solves most things when travelling and the original flight was abandoned for a new later one. And I don’t think we will use Aeromexico or Icelandic Air in the future.

So having dealt with all that, we did our annual couple of weeks in Fiji and then flew from there to LA and the next day arrived in Puerto Vallarta. It used to be a little fishing village but in 1964 was the place where a film called The Night of the Iguana was made starring Richard Burton. He turned up with his new girlfriend, Elizabeth Taylor, and apparently the world was agog and the little village started to become a big tourist town. There are still iguanas, some definitely bigger than you would expect, and there is now everything else tourists could ask for. We stayed up the coast a little at Nuevo Vallarta which is property developer’s dream, with wall-to-wall condos and hotels. Rob and Elle had got hold of an apartment 6 floors up and right on the beach and we were very happy to be there . I had to buy a fake panama hat because it was sunny and hot, but I didn’t buy any of the t-shirts urging Trump to do something to himself that is physically impossible. I suspect his disapproval rating in Mexico would be more than 99%. I did buy a t-shirt another day which is a brand called Señor Frog. This must be a hugely successful business because S.F. is everywhere, and when we finally gave in and went into one of the shops I found out why.

For part of our 10-day stay we had a hire car and did some trips to the old town, and once up into the surrounding hills to visit some nice villages. Coming back from there we drove through a severe electrical storm and one lot of lightning hit the ground in a field about 100m away. Elle’s sister, Jan thought it was exciting and exhilarating. I was trying to remember what happened when lightning struck a car and if I should put on my jandals or not (I did).

We did lots of good eating and drinking and Kay has developed a liking for Margaritas, which I am hoping will finish when we leave this country. The seafood was exceptionally good with the shrimps my favourite. They were big, with a lovely texture and perfectly suited to cooking with butter and garlic. My long-unused words of Spanish were reappearing so I could get by at a basic level of asking questions and usually understanding the answer.

Eventually the lotus eating ended and we left our generous hosts and got on a bus heading north to Mazatlan. When I asked how long it would take, the ticket guy said 7-8 hours, which seemed a bit vague, but getting further clarification was beyond my linguistic competence. It ended up being 8.5 hours and the uncertainty was because of a lot of roadworks early on, which Kay told me about. I was catching up on sleep and the bus was good for that. Once we got on the motorways the main interest was what would we find at the next toll gate. Quite a few were “occupied” by protesters, seemingly for various causes. The bus had wifi so I had a bit of a look and apparently it has become a popular thing to do. The president isn’t happy about it, despite supposedly being a man of the people, and there were 6 trucks of soldiers heading toward the last one. Coincidence probably, but he was reported as going to send in the army .

This new president, Obrador, is not from the old political class and was elected on a platform of vague socialism and promises to cure criminal violence and corruption. Good luck with that. The murder rate for the first 3 months this year was nearly 10% above last year’s record high at 8493, and one of the states we have been in was right up there. That was Jalisco and we are now in Sinola which is synonymous with drug cartel violence . So far I don’t have any sightings of such activies.

In Mazatlan we stayed across the road from the beach which is nice in the day time, but extremely noisy at night. A combination of people having fun after being in the bars down the road, and the anti-social hoons with sound systems in their cars that would be adequate for a large stadium concert. Good wax earplugs nearly do the job but can’t keep out the base vibrations. I had visions of how satisfying it would be to have a nice little artillary piece, the one with the square bit of armour to hide behind, set it up in the middle of the road, and efficiently blow the bastards up. Apart from that it is a lovely old town.

So far everything has been very cruisey and peaceful. Probably because the Agricultural Correspondant is not with us to culturally misbehave.

Hasta Luego.

Dennis.

Categories
Mexico

Mexico dos

The second part of our time in Mexico was spent with Yolanda and Murray Bindon who spend half their time there, and half in NZ.  For non-Hamiltonians, Murray is a retired lawyer and occasional adventurer, and Yolanda is his lovely Mexican wife.  They met on some enchanted evening, across a crowded room, on a boat on a big river in China.  It’s a good story but this is not the place.  At present Murray is using crutches because of a medical adventure, not because of anything exciting like abandoning a burning yacht in the middle of the Pacific which he did a few years ago.
Our time together started in Los Mochis on the north west coast, which we bused to and they flew in from Mexico City.   There was initial situational confusion  about meeting up but it didn’t last long, and we arrived at a restaurant in time to help drink Yolanda’s birthday bubbly.  This was the start of an exceptional four day tour of the Copper Canyon.  If you have never heard of it look it up.  It makes the Grand Canyon look like a cool baby. And not only is it a huge spectacular geographical wonder, it comes with a special cultural ingredient.  These are the Tarahumana people, who ended up living in this difficult to enter place to escape from persecution.   You may have heard of people from Mexico who are the world’s best ultra-distance runners, they are the Tarahumana.   Gustavo, our really excellent guide, is only part Tarahumana, but is/was one of these crazy guys who run nonstop up to 100ks on rough mountain tracks.  They run up and down heights of over 2000m wearing homemade sandals, don’t do special training, have communal drinking parties before starting and it’s just part of their existence.  There’s a book called Born to Run that tells you more.  Their isolation has changed with tourism and roads being built, but they still have an arms -length existence with government.  From what we saw their agriculture is pretty much for their subsistence, and selling their hand-made stuff to tourists is the main money making endeavour.  Wherever tourists might stop they have little stalls, and in the major tourist stops there are almost too many.  The government built a big marketplace building in one area which has never been used.   Partly because they didn’t find out what the locals really wanted, and partly because it was built by the very people, in their opinion, who chased them into the canyon.  There are other examples like that one. A train line goes through this area and at times goes very close to a part of the canyon.  It is one of the more interesting train rides in the world.  ( You could call it iconic, but if ever a word has suffered from overuse it is that one.)  On the first day we went up to the Canyon area on it.  The best part was leaning out an open window at the end of the carriage, right beside a sign saying the window must not be opened or leaned out.   For the rest of the tour Gustavo drove us.  Some of the places we went with him were more than a bit scary.  Murray would be the first to admit he doesn’t like being too adjacent to big drops, and Yolanda is much the same.   Kay seems impervious to such things and I am ok if there is something seemingly well anchored to hold on to.  So Gustavo got plenty of on the spot guidance from some of us in the tricky bits of driving just above 1000m cliffs, and once from all four of us when he seemingly backed right to the edge when turning around.   He showed me there was really nothing to worry about when we got out, as the tyre tracks ended about half a metre from the point of no return.   I  think in his quiet and very nice way he enjoyed that and probably had done it many times before.  

There are about 200 canyons in this whole complex and it covers a huge area.   We saw a great deal more than most tourists would and that was only a small part of it. It qualifies as one of the more interesting places I have been. 
We ended up in Chihuahua, yes, the same name as the stupid little dogs, and then flew to Mexico City.  We were on a buget airline which doesn’t hand out boarding passes because you can print them out or show them on your phone.  We didn’t have access to a printer so I pioneered the phone approach.  The documents came as a pdf and I have never known where they end up on my phone after being looked at.  I carefully kept them in a sort of limbo and proudly showed them at the two checks into the final departure area.  Then when needed, for boarding, they disappeared to the unknown place.  The wifi there was useless and wouldn’t let the airline website reproduce the thing and I  was saved by a savvy local who used her app of the airline.   Lesson learnt, and I  now have the apps of the next four airlines.   I also fluked finding the stupid pdf, along with a great many more, the next day.  But much more exciting was watching Yolanda at check-in, when she was advised one of their bookings did not include luggage and was to cost another $100 to rectify.  Talk about latin temperament.  Luckily the line behind them did not include anyone with a gun because it took quite a while before payment was made. 

Not long after we arrived in the Bindon’s Mexico City apartment I tried to open a louvre window in our bathroom.  It did a funny click and broke a piece off one louvre.  Good start I thought, and then went to confess.  It was no problema because there was a place over the road to get a replacement.  This road was originally the main road through a village, and although the village has been hoovered up by the city it still has lots of little retailers covering most things needed.  The glass place was there and my rudimentary Spanish resulted in an exact replacement for $NZ4.  I also found my way to the man under a plastic sheet cover who squeezes orange juice for about $3 a litre.  I  do enjoy being in places like this country where if you don’t help yourself you will find it hard to eat.  What I like is seeing the myriad of ways people are trying to make a dollar  –  juggling or gymnastics at intersections, little streetside bbqs, the parking “helpers”, up to restaurants on the footpath and road with tables, and the guy who sets up by the entrance to the apartment on weekends selling roast lamb tacos.   A couple of years ago he turned up in a brand new red Ford pickup. That caused some local wonderment.

We did a few fun things in the city.  One was punting at Xocomilco on the old canals left from Aztec times. This probably conjures up pictures of peaceful gliding along the water in your mind, but it was one of the most chaotic and noisy activities I have ever tried.  You hire the very colourful punt which is about 10mx2m with the punter and his long bamboo pole.   We only had 4 on ours but others seemed to be up to 20, along with plenty of beer and tequila, and there were a hell of a lot of others.  It was like dodgems on water and bashing into other punts was all part of the excitement.   Filling the small gaps were little punts selling food and other enticing stuff, and then there were the mariachi bands on their punts who could pull alongside and for a fee make a lot of noise.  Our man had apparently fallen in the water 3 times in his career.

We also did a road trip north for five nights, two each in the beautiful old colonial towns of San Miguel de Allende and Guanajuato.  The first is named after a leader of the revolution of 1810 against the Spaniards and like most of the other leaders he got executed, but they are now much revered.   It is a lovely place with the requisite plaza and old churches and plenty of nice things for tourists.  Guanajuato is the same but with differences.   As we drove in we went through a seeming labyrinth of road tunnels most of which had cars parked along one side.  It’s a hilly place and the book says these tunnels were underground rivers.  This approach caused a us fair amount of concern, but eventually we popped out above ground not far from our hotel on a thin oneway street with no parking.  So it was pull up and whip out the luggage so the car could go on to a distant parking place.  This city has a population of 160,000 of which 20,000 are students so the centre of town is very lively at night.  It was fun just being there, especially the bit where you join a group, lead by moonlighting student, to walk around parts of the town with a noisy mariachi band leading the way.
Yolanda was the driver and Murray had the phone with the directions.  Yolanda had no faith in the lady who says where to go and Murray was very patient.  On the first day she stopped to ask for directions three times, and each time the lady hiding in the phone was correct.  So Yolanda seemed to accept the possibility that there might be something useful in the instructions .  But on the second day the lady made an obvious error and we were back to disbelief.  The following day Murray admitted he has mispelt the destination the day before and the pendulum swung back a bit.  Overall it was probably a draw, but subsequent driving in Mexico City seemed to indicate that the lady was gaining acceptance.

We covered a fair amount ground and two things impressed me.  Firstly the scale of industry we saw, from petrochemicals to vehicle parts and lots of huge buildings with no signs.   Secondly, the extent and intensity of the agriculture.  Maize, or corn, is the big one which is not surprising given the local diet.   This is not a country of people sitting around under sombreros.   These people know how to work.

At present there is a great detail of uncertainty about the future.  Late last year a seemingly socialist President was elected, changing the polical scene completely.  His name is Obrador and he has promised lots of things apart from stopping corruption and decreasing violence.  The old political class never did too much about the very obvious inequality in Mexico and it is hard to see how the change should have been a surprise to the locals.  Those with money and businesses are more than a little concerned about the future, and it seems that investment is not happening while there is this uncertainty.  I  will be watching with interest.

Is Mexico safe?  The murder statistics are awful, but they largely relate to drug cartels being splintered by the removal of leaders and the consequences of the turf wars that follow.  These gangs have the money to recruit militias better armed than the police and to buy off just about anyone.  It’s all down to drug demand from USA and it is hard to see anything changing that, apart from legalisation of all drugs in the USA.   Which is probably a while away.  In the mean time Mexico is 23rd on a list of murders per head of population according to a list I just looked at, and it has 7 out of the top 20 most murderous cities in the world .  We saw nothing of this. What we found were polite and considerate people who are very welcoming.   It’s like anywhere  –  if you want trouble it’s not hard to find.  Actually this country appears to have always been a place with a streak of violence, as shown in the many murals in museums and other public buildings that illustrate the history of Mexico.   Most of the scenes seem to show someone being killed in a lurid way.

Finally, there is some very drinkable wine made in Mexico.
Adios.
Dennis