• Robert Fyfe
kesäk. – heinäk. 2018

A Pre Brexit European Tour

Started Shawlands, Glasgow Lue lisää
  • Matkan aloitus
    4. kesäkuuta 2018

    A Night in the Cells!

    4. kesäkuuta 2018, Englanti ⋅ ⛅ 17 °C

    Following last year’s marathon Trans Siberian / Japan railway journey, I thought I would follow up this year with a rail tour of Europe, before Brexit kicks in, with its threat of border controls, visas and queues for non Europeans. I have always longed to go Inter Railing, but it was for years seen as the province of the under 26s. Now there are Inter Rail passes for adults and even seniors. I opted for the 4 week pass covering (most of) Europe from the UK all the way to Turkey, and decided to splash out on a 1st Class pass. Well, if you can’t treat yourself when you retire, when can you?

    Although the Inter Rail pass covers you for unlimited travel in most countries, it only allows one outward and one inward journey in your home country. So, on Monday 4 June 2018, following a 10 minute trip on the Cathcart Circle from Shawlands to Glasgow Central, I boarded the 0940 Virgin Pendalino train to London Euston. Soon I was tucking into my Great British Breakfast and watching Scotland slip into England on a smooth journey. The train hostess patiently explained all the options available for breakfast, including eggs benedict or crushed avocado and bacon, when a wee Glasgow voice pipes up: ‘Can I jist hiv a roll and fried egg and tottie scone, hen?’

    Rather than squander my hard earned cash on an expensive London hotel, I opted for Clink 78 - a former Court House close to Kings Cross, where Punk band The Clash had stood trial and where Charles Dickens once worked. The old Court has been transformed into a lively hostel with quirky decor and real cells as accommodation.

    A pleasant walk round London and then off to the Southwark Playhouse to see a rarely performed musical - The Rink - written by Kander and Ebb, composers of CHICAGO and CABARET. Then back to me cell in time for curfew…
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  • The fast train to Switzerland

    5. kesäkuuta 2018, Sveitsi ⋅ ⛅ 19 °C

    After a fairly comfortable night’s sleep in my cell, and a good shower, I took advantage of the Clink continental breakfast - a snip at £2 (only £1 if I had booked the night before - drat!). Somewhat surprisingly, porridge was not on the menu.

    A grey morning and a short walk led me to St Pancras International. What a magnificent Victorian Station - to think it was once earmarked for demolition. A smooth check-in and I was soon on board the 0922 Eurostar to Paris. With Standard Premier Class you get (another) continental breakfast, served by pleasant uniformed attendants reminiscent of air hostesses. After a stop at Ashford, Kent, the conductor announced we would shortly be entering the Channel Tunnel. How exciting! Although I have been fortunate enough to travel by Eurostar on a few occasions, it never ceases to amaze me when, after only 20 minutes in the tunnel, you suddenly emerge into the French countryside.

    On arrival at the gargantuan Paris Gare du Nord station, I took the Metro two stops to the Gare du Lyon. Regrettably I didn’t have time for lunch at the magnificent Le Train Bleu restaurant, created for the Exposition Universelle in 1900. Ah well, maybe next time. I had to make do with a Croque Monsieur from the Buffet Car as I boarded the 1423 TGV-Lyria express to Switzerland. Leaving the grey, graffiti daubed suburbs of Paris behind, the train soon entered rural France, and the mist lifted and the sun shone throughout the afternoon. The flat, patchwork fields gave way to the lovely tree-lined gorges of Burgundy as we passed through Dijon (no stopping for mustard!), and on to Basle, Switzerland where I had to change trains for the last hour of the journey to Zürich. A very pleasant, smooth trip.

    Three very pucker elderly English ladies across the compartment from me commented on how they enjoyed train travel. ‘But I wouldn’t do what Margot did’ said the eldest. ‘She went right across Russia herself on the Trans Siberian. But then she’s not afraid of anything. Did you notice she’s got her head completely shaved?’ (And after a pause). ‘Strange she never married’.

    Casa Heinrich in Zürich was a pleasant guest house, 10 minutes walk from the station. There is no reception and you use a code to gain entry. Had a walk round the lovely old Altstadt this evening and had a tasty meal of whole roast pork knuckle (sorry, Betty) washed down with local beer. The place was like an old fashioned Germanic beer keller - the young blond waiter looked like he had just stepped out of a poster for Hitler youth, and all that was missing was Ann Blyth belting out operetta hits while balancing frothy beer steins on her bosom. Legend has it that Wilhelm Tell’s crossbow was kept here.

    A lovely stroll to the lakeside finished off a very pleasant evening. Zürich really is a most attractive place to visit.
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  • Beautiful Bernina Express

    6. kesäkuuta 2018, Italia ⋅ 🌧 24 °C

    Up at 05.30 to catch the train from Zürich to Chur and join the UNESCO World Heritage rail journey on the famed Bernina Express. Boarded my (1st class) observation carriage to enjoy a 4.5 hour journey in the Alps. And what a perfect day for this thrilling, breathtaking trip. Lush meadows and aquamarine rivers gave way to snow-clad mountains punctuated with tunnels, bridges, viaducts and waterfalls - absolutely gorgeous! I wondered if Switzerland would really be like those chocolate box pictures of yesteryear - and it didn’t disappoint. Beautiful alpine flowers and camel-coloured cows with large cow bells looking like the wrapping from the Milka chocolate bars from Lidl. All that was missing was Shirley Temple as Heidi playing with her kid goats.

    After stuffing his face immediately on departure with a variety of foodstuffs, the rotund Japanese man across from me promptly fell asleep on top of his long suffering wife, then after an hour suddenly woke up to exclaim to me ‘isn’t it beautiful scenery?’ - as if he would know.

    I eventually gave up trying to take photos - there were so many spectacular views. The pristine train with its gleaming observation carriages and friendly staff only added to the occasion. An absolute highlight of my trip - and it’s only day 3.

    All too soon we arrived at the Bernina Express destination - Tirano - just across the border into Italy. A pretty little tourist town. After the obligatory gelato, I moved next door to the main line station and caught the train on my 2.5 hour trip to Milan. This was a pleasant journey which made its way down the Eastern shore of Lake Como, where Campbell and I had enjoyed a holiday last year. I even caught a view of the wonderful Bellagio - but alas no sign of Mr Clooney!

    The 1930s monumental terminus of Milan Central Station is one of my favourite railway stations. Mussolini wanted the station to represent the power of the Fascist regime - and boy, did he succeed! What a grand place to end a trip on surely one of the great railway journeys of the world.
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  • Magnificent Milano Centrale

    6. kesäkuuta 2018, Italia ⋅ ⛅ 24 °C

    Thought this behemoth deserved a footprint of its own.

  • Sleeper to Sicily

    7. kesäkuuta 2018, Italia ⋅ 🌬 26 °C

    At 20.10 last night, I boarded the overnight sleeper train from Milan all the way to Sicily. A marathon journey of some 19 hours 38 minutes. And if I was expecting a luxurious travel experience, I was about to be sorely disappointed - the Venice Simplon Orient Express this was not. The train resembled the kind of graffiti-decorated transport that you might expect of Italian railways on a short local journey from Roma Termini to San Pietro. My 2 berth 1st class compartment had certainly seen better days with little by way of creature comforts. Unlike the meticulously uniformed crews of the Polish and Russian trains last year, with their peaked caps and efficient welcome, this train attendant resembled an overweight and unkempt Reg Varney from On the Buses. With an ill-fitting uniform and grubby shirt which was too tight to fasten, he sported at least two days of grey stubble.

    And if I had expected fine dining in the restaurant car washed down with a glass of Valpolicella, again it was not to be. Not a buffet car nor even a trolley appeared to exist - and on a journey which was to take the best part of 20 hours. How glad was I that I had had that McD’s earlier when accessing their free WiFi. All that was left for dinner was a half eaten packet of crisps, a bag of Mint Imperials and a bottle of water so warm I could have easily have made a cup of tea with it - if only I had a tea bag.

    My travelling roomie embarked at Genoa. He was a tall, bearded Italian who spent some time rearranging our tiny space, with a great deal of moving luggage, ladders, toiletries etc, while parading around (if one can parade in such a tiny space) in his briefs - why have Italian men never heard of boxers?

    Our Trenitalia ‘Welcome Pack’ included amongst other bits and pieces, an eye mask. After being dazzled by the evening lights outside our blind-less window, I decided to make use of them to get to sleep. The underside of the bunk above me was covered in a full-length mirror, and when I awoke I was startled to see who looked like Lady Isobel Barnett from ‘What’s My Line’ staring down at me.

    In spite of this, my lower berth was remarkably comfortable and I got a reasonable night’s sleep. After devouring the last of the Mint Imperials for breakfast, I was amazed to discover by accident that refreshments were available from a cubbyhole at the end of the compartment. A long-life apricot croissant and an espresso later and I began to feel human again. Even Reg Varney came up trumps in converting our two berths into a relatively pleasant sitting area with a few clicks and pulls of levers.

    My Italian friend disembarked at Rosarno in Calabria at 10.00, and I had the compartment to myself for the remaining leg of the trip. The train hugged the coast all the way with terrific views of the Tyrrhenian Sea. This wasn’t so bad after all.
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  • Is it a train? Is it a ship?

    7. kesäkuuta 2018, Italia ⋅ 🌬 26 °C

    On arrival at the ferry terminal at San Giovanni, there was no need to disembark - the train rolled on to the ferry in two halves - one of the few places where this actually happens. It was exciting to watch, with the train rolling on, then our half reversing off and then travelling back on to lie parallel with the front half. We were able to leave our belongings and go up on deck as we crossed the Straits of Messina to one of Sicily’s main cities, Messina. It was good to get some fresh air and a walk about. The crossing only took about 30 minutes, just like going to Bute, although Messina had a bit more life about it and a good deal more sunshine than Rothesay usually does.

    The train reunited, we journeyed down Sicily’s east coast, passing the lovely Taormina and the shadow of Mount Etna, the most active volcano in the world, apparently - I think I’ll just stay on the train. Olive and orange trees and giant cacti lined the tracks here. As we pulled into our final destination I felt, like that Rodgers and Hart musical, one of ‘The Boys from Syracuse’.
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  • Surprising Syracuse

    8. kesäkuuta 2018, Italia ⋅ 🌬 22 °C

    On arrival, Syracuse proved to be a bigger city than I had imagined. A bit careworn and unkempt, I was glad I was not staying near the station but across a short stretch of water in the attractive Old Town area of Ortigia, a 15 minute walk away. The Terre & Mare B&B was contained within an old palazzo just off the main drag. I pressed the buzzer and was told to come up to the 7th floor - you’ve got to be kidding, I thought, no lift and this heat and this luggage! However a charming young Sicilian rushed out to meet me - ‘sorry, I mean 2nd floor’. Grazie al cielo! He proceeded to provide me with a map and a suggested walking tour of the main sights of old Syracuse. He showed me my single room, small but perfectly formed, complete with WiFi, air-conditioning, ensuite shower room, designer toiletries, and bidet - all of which I put to good use within 10 minutes.

    The suggested walking tour was a hit, and I loved walking about the Old Town with its beautiful Duomo, Temple of Apollo, Castle and fabulous sea views, in the early evening sunshine. Syracuse was the birthplace of Archimedes, and they don’t let you forget it. The restaurant I ate in that night was called Arches. ‘It’s pronounced Arkes’ pointed out the owner, ‘after Archimedes’. And here was me thinking it was named after the 60s pop group who had a hit with Sugar, Sugar.

    I was struck by how many of the more mature ladies looked so glamorous, even when well passed their sell-by date. One particular lady out walking her small dog, looked like a latter day Marilyn Monroe, had she lived. Aged about 80, her hair was coiffed in a platinum blonde 1960s style, with pale makeup and ruby red lipstick. She even had a similar full-skirted white dress à la Seven Year Itch, the only saving grace being that there were no subway gratings nearby.

    The breakfast was a delight - served on the roof terrace with terrific views, and the staff were so friendly. The teenaged girl who giggled and brought endless coffee told me her dearest wish was to visit Scotland, where all the pretty houses had geraniums in their window boxes. Not the last time I was in Govan, senorita. I giggled back and left her to her delusions.

    I could certainly recommend the Terre e Mare B&B if anyone was visiting the area.
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  • Chaotic Catania

    8. kesäkuuta 2018, Italia ⋅ ⛅ 21 °C

    Back on the rails again. Got chatting to a couple from Melbourne who had spent 8 days in Syracuse. ‘Don’t get me wrong’, he said, ‘we loved it, but it does need a bit of TLC and some of these old buildings want demolishing’. Ah, the Aussies…

    Today’s trip involved taking the train to Catania where after a 2 hour break there was a connection to Sicily’s capital, Palermo. The first train was brand new, with comfy leather seats and welcome air-conditioning. The only problem was that it was packed with over-excited teenagers on their way to Rome, and an even more excited teacher who screamed at the top of her voice, constantly waving her arms, pulling passengers from their seats, waving bits of paper and yelling at her charges to sit in their assigned seats. After about 20 minutes her pupils were all finally seated when the train conductor arrived to break the news that they were in the wrong carriage. More yelling and waving of papers, but at last they departed.

    On arrival at Catania with 2 hours to kill, I asked at the Customer Service window if there was any left luggage facility. Without lifting her head from her Bella magazine, the Customer Service representative said ‘no’. Do you have any WiFi in the station? ‘No’. Well, do you know anywhere nearby where I might be able to access WiFi, such as McDonalds or Starbucks? ‘No. We have nothing like that. Nowhere.’ I wondered if she had contemplated a career with the Catania Tourist Information Service.

    I had a hot but interesting walk into the city centre, laden with luggage. The main Duomo Square was beautiful, but the rest of Catania looked like a poor relation of Syracuse, only bigger and more built up - and the litter - cigarette butts everywhere - where were the Glasgow Central Fag Police when you needed them?

    As it was a few hours since breakfast and I would be on the train to Palermo for the next 3 hours, I decided to take a packed lunch on board, given my experience of Trenitalia catering. I found a nice little coffee shop with a smiling senorita who explained she cooked everything herself and it was all health foods. By this time it was too late to make my escape, so I opted for a spinach and ricotta cheese flatbread. She cut me a square with the precision of a surgeon and carefully packed it in a crisp white grease proof envelope. ‘Van ov my desserts, perhaps?’ she suggested with the insistence of Frau Blücher from Young Frankenstein. I pointed to the least offensive - one of her whole meal chocolate and pistachio nut offerings and thought she wouldn’t win any prizes from Mary Berry. A bottle of home made Sicilian lemonade later and I started cramming the goods into my already packed backpack. ‘Oh no’ exclaimed Frau Blücher, ‘you must carry eet like thees’ and held the package up flat on her outstretched palm, a presentation worthy of the adoration of the Magi.
    I returned to catch the train balancing my precious goods and found an unoccupied table seat for four. As I reached for the luggage rack, my precious bakery item slipped from the envelope and landed ricotta side down on the floor. The two girls opposite thought this highly amusing, but I thought what the hell, and picked it up, dusted it down and ate it. Well it was either that or starve.

    I had bought a half kilo of cherries from a fruit stall outside and then proceeded to devour them instead of the nut tart. They were delicious, but the juice from an overripe one squirted over my shirt. By this time the girls were biting their lips and giggling helplessly. I couldn’t quite catch what they were saying, but it was something along the lines of ‘Poor old soul, he really shouldn’t be let out alone’. All I could think of was the lyric from that Francie and Josie song ‘Dae cherry stains come oot?’

    I enjoyed the journey to Palermo - lovely countryside with more oranges and lemons. I hadn’t realised how big Sicily was - the largest island in the Med, with a population similar to Scotland’s. Regrettably there wasn’t time to see much of the capital city, but I would love to come back. I found my way to the docks and boarded the GNV Ferry - Atlas - and was pleased with my cabin accommodation for my overnight sailing to Naples. So long, Sicily, it’s been good. Mostly.
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  • Ferry - Train - Ferry

    9. kesäkuuta 2018, Italia ⋅ ☀️ 24 °C

    The 4 berth cabin I had booked on the Sicily - Naples crossing was only made up for 2 - yes, no fighting for space. However, on catching sight of my bunk mate I suddenly wasn’t so sure. A hefty built Sicilian wearing leathers and chewing gum, I assumed he was one of the many bikers I had seen on boarding at Palermo. He was monosyllabic and made no attempt at conversation, despite my best efforts in pidgin Italian. He sported a permanently startled look with high eyebrows - wait a minute - he didn’t appear to have any eyebrows - could they have been painted on, like a bus conductress of old? Surely not - and yet if I closed my eyes I could just hear the gallus announcement of an SMT matriarch ‘this is a country bus, ye cannae get aff afore Faifley’.

    The sail away from Palermo harbour was beautiful. It was a lovely sunny evening as we pulled away from our moorings and the splendid back drop of rolling hills that surrounded the capital. I felt guilty I hadn’t seen much of the place, but the purpose of the trip was as much, if not more, about the travelling experience itself, and doing a bit of a recce for places I would like to return to. Arrivederci, Sicily.

    By the time I was tucked in my comfy berth, my room mate was getting ready to hit the nightlife of the Atlas, with a garish outfit which, coupled with the aforementioned eyebrows, gave him an uncanny resemblance to the drag queen, Divine. In the process of his ablutions, he managed to break the shower head off, leaving it in pieces on the floor. Ah well, I thought, it’ll be a Paisley boadywash for me in the morning.

    After the usual Italian disorganised disembarkation, I made my way to Naples Central and caught the train across the width of Italy to Bari on the Adriatic coast. Like most Italian cities, Bari grew on you with a little perseverance. Newly pedestrianised streets lined with designer shops, and a lovely old town complete with the ubiquitous cathedral. And then on to another ferry - this time from Bari to Patras in Greece. Here’s hoping Divine doesn’t have the same travel itinerary.
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  • Italy to Greece

    10. kesäkuuta 2018, Kreikka ⋅ 🌙 23 °C

    The first glimpse of Superfast 1 at Bari Harbour did not fill me with excitement. A long orange container ship that had seen better days. I remember travelling on the brand new Superfast lX and Superfast X when Scotland had its own international ferry sailings from Rosyth and thought they were better than a lot of cruise ships I had been on. Not so this earlier model. However, in fairness the passenger accommodation was pretty good and promised a comfortable crossing. Three young women from Uraguay were excited about their ‘cruise’ to Greece and immediately started on the ouzo. The Superfast brochure encouraged passengers to to take advantage of the facilities on board, including discos, restaurants, cocktail bars and swimming pools. The girls had clearly omitted to note the small asterisk which indicated that these facilities were not available on all vessels - and certainly not at all on Superfast 1. Undeterred, they proceeded to flirt with the friendly waiter, Alex, posturing and posing for selfies.

    Again our 4 berth cabin only had 2 occupants, and this time a tall, grey-haired, slim Greek man joined me. He resembled a latter day Captain Von Trapp or perhaps Captain Corelli himself. Well mannered and considerate, he scarcely made a noise as he disembarked at Igoumenista, Greece at the ungodly hour of 5am.

    We passed Corfu and then Kefalonnia, the setting for probably my all-time favourite novel, Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, if you can get through the first 100 pages that is. As I sat on deck in the already hot morning sunshine, my mind drifted and, wait a minute, could that be Pelagia laughing and running along the shore, and surely that was Mandras swimming with dolphins. Or was it just a cruel trick of the light and the sea?

    The three Uraguyans looked a bit worse for wear in the morning. Perhaps they had discovered hidden night spots on Superfast 1, and I noticed that their Alpha-Female was sporting a sizeable hickey on the left side of her neck. Perhaps Alex was even more friendly than we thought.

    Sadly the train no longer runs all the way from the Port of Patras to Athens. However, I managed to catch an express coach on the 2.5 hour journey, which surprisingly was a brand new toll motorway all the way. Greece seems to have benefitted from being in the EU. And what magnificent views of the Gulf of Corinth, including the new Rio-Antirrio bridge connecting the Peloponnese to mainland Greece, and passing close to the wonder that is the Corinth Canal.

    A hair-raising sprint across Athens by local bus and Metro brought me to the Port of Piraeus. I didn’t feel too bad about not lingering in Athens as I had been there a few times with Campbell and had enjoyed the some of the many treasures it had to offer. On arrival at the Blue Star Ferry terminal I was told that my overnight ferry to the island of Lesbos had been cancelled - no explanation offered - but that I had been re-booked on the same route with Swan Hellenic Ferries. As I boarded the Nissos Rodos I thought I had gotten the better deal. The ferry was well equipped with comfortable lounges and cafe/bars and a good self-service restaurant. After a tasty dinner of roast beef and potatoes (how do they get potatoes to taste that good?), I retired to my 4 berth cabin to meet my travelling companions. After a while the steward showed in a disheveled elderly man who resembled Zorba the Greek. I don’t know if it was the sight of me sprawled out on the lower bunk, but he began shouting about having booked a more luxurious cabin with Blue Star Ferries and stormed off, never to be seen again. A 4 berth en suite cabin to myself, I thought.

    However, just after midnight as I was dropping off, the cabin door was opened and closed suddenly. Was I being burgled on the high seas? I opened the door but there was no sign of anyone. Determined to get to the bottom of it, I marched up to Reception where I was told someone wanted to check in. ‘Three hours after the ship has sailed’, I queried. ‘Well he’s a soldier, and he’s been drinking with his mates in the bar up until now’ I was told. The thought of sharing my accommodation with a drunk, Greek soldier did not appeal, and after a fruitless search for him, the steward advised that he was probably staying the bar. I was told this was a far from unusual occurrence, and as the Army paid for his bunk anyway I could have it all to myself. Result.
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  • The Island of Lesbos

    11. kesäkuuta 2018, Kreikka ⋅ ☀️ 30 °C

    Where to stay on the island of Lesbos? Why, the Lesbian Hotel of course. Coming off the ferry at I walked round the bay of the capital Mitilini and found my charming small hotel bang in the centre at the waterfront. I asked if I could leave my bags until check-in time, but was told by the cheery manager that my room was ready. Indeed by 8.45 I was enjoying a delicious breakfast (for 7 Euros today, included tomorrow) on the balcony facing the sea. For a 3 star budget hotel this was a great deal. A little old fashioned, perhaps, but spotlessly clean and comfortable with free WiFi. The lift was a bit antiquated, and involved closing various doors and jumping up and down a bit to get it going. However I resisted the temptation to do a tap dance à la Mary Tyler Moore in Thoroughly Modern Millie.

    The owner’s equally friendly wife had arranged a splendid breakfast repast including locally produced feta cheese and olives and her own home-made apple pie, as well as the usual hot and cold favourites.

    After a surfeit of travelling round large cities, it was nice to be in a lovely quieter island, so I decided to head for one of the many beaches. ‘The closest is the city beach’ suggested the hotel owner, ‘but they charge to get in’. The city beach was only a short walk away, and with facilities including changing rooms, showers, toilets, sunbed and lounger included, I did not feel it was a rip-off at 2 Euros entry fee. There was a warning sign that naturist bathing was allowed, however I don’t think I offended anyone.

    How lovely to cool off in the sea. A Greek God, masquerading as a Life Guard, appeared to spend most his time snorkelling, eating or preening himself. ‘I think I’ll feign a drowning’ said a middle aged lady nearby to her friend. They both then giggled, blushed and returned to their sun worship. The Greek God carried on preening, oblivious to any catastrophes that might be happening to his charges out in the Aegean.

    Well everything seemed to be going to plan. My phone then rings and a caller from a ferry company tells me that my booked ferry the next day to Turkey has been cancelled. When I asked for more information all I could get from him was ‘your ferry is having a breakdown’. ‘I know how it feels’ I replied, but got the impression that it was lost in translation.

    I’ll think about it tomorrow, I thought. Let’s enjoy the sunshine.
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  • Greece - Turkey

    12. kesäkuuta 2018, Aegean Sea ⋅ ☀️ 30 °C

    Given I was to have an unexpected 2nd day on Lesbos, I thought I would try and see some more of the island. However there was no tourist office, and timetables of the local bus service were all Greek to me. I spoke to a young guy who seemed to know about transport and it turned out he was a refugee from Syria. He had been in Greece two years with a condition he could not leave the island. Well there are worse places to be stuck, I suppose. He suggested the best way to see some of the island was to hire a car - so that’s what I did. Fifteen minutes later I was driving my little blue Micra across the centre of the island heading north. It really was beautiful scenery - very green and mountainous in places. I traveled to Molivos - a medieval town with an impressive fortress atop. The day was very hot again and so I headed for another beach. Again a warning about naturist bathing but this time another sign ‘No textiles’. As the bay was completely deserted I thought, what the hell - when in Rome... The sheep grazing on the cliff tops above probably thought ‘the water must be awfully cold.’

    At the edge of the beach there was a small white building offering thermal baths. The large woman in charge resembled a Greek Bloody Mary who smiled and gestured to me to come in ‘you like?’ After I paid my 4 Euros, the smile disappeared and she barked instructions - ‘cold shower, then hot bath then again four times’. The hot spring bath was a pleasant experience but very, very hot. After the third time I couldn’t stand the heat of the bath any longer and made for the exit. ‘I say four times’ bawled Bloody Mary, and I meekly returned to the steaming cauldron. This time I was joined by a topless young woman wearing nothing but a g-string who proceeded to perform various double jointed athletic positions along the tiny poolside. The temperature rose further.

    The views driving back down the East coast of the island with the Aegean sea on your left were absolutely spectacular - although riddled with hairpin bends.

    I boarded the rescheduled tiny Turyol ferry at 18.00 and it was farewell to Greece - hello Turkey.
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  • Izmir, Turkey

    13. kesäkuuta 2018, Turkki ⋅ ☀️ 30 °C

    The short crossing from Mytilene, Lesbos, Greece to Ayvalik, Turkey took only 1.5 hours and it was a beautiful warm sunny early evening for the sailing. On arrival at Passport Control in Turkey however I was advised I had to pay 25 Euros for a Visa. ‘Now you can be in Turkey for 3 months’ an Immigration Official told me, even although I had already told him I would only be here for 3 days. ‘Yes, that’s correct, 3 months’ he insisted.

    I was a bit panicky that with the later crossing, it might be hard to get to my next destination, Izmir, by public transport, and I knew there was no rail connection. I caught a local bus to the bus station just in time to catch the 20.15 express coach to Izmir. This turned out to be quite the luxury coach with reclining seats, airline-style at-seat video screens, and complimentary refreshments on the 2.5 hour trip. And all this for the princely sum of £4.90. It was just like the Megabus Gold to Aberdeen (minus the tablet). Izmir is a huge city of 3 million inhabitants, and the Coach Station was somewhere on the outskirts. I was about to take a taxi but the helpful transport officer told me there was a free connection to the old town, some distance away, and I was even dropped off right at my hotel.

    Given the excellent value in Turkey, I had decided to splash out on the 5 star Renaissance Hotel Izmir. It is one of the best hotels I have stayed in. My room was almost a suite with separate bathroom and shower rooms - a far cry from my cell at the Clink in London. I chilled out with a glass of Merlot on the rooftop bar surrounded by the lights of the city. The breakfast was terrific, 2nd only to the Intercontinental Hotel in Singapore (courtesy of Mr Super Kenny tours!).

    In spite of my late night, I got up early to explore some of the sights of the old city, all within walking distance of the hotel. The impressive Smyrna Agora from Roman times; the old Bazaar selling everything from fruit, veg, fish and meat (including pigs trotters - sorry, Betty) to costumes which would look great in Aladdin; and the elegant Clock Tower, emblem of the city.

    Back at the hotel, there was time for a rejuvenating swim in the pool before heading off, all to soon, to catch the train to Bandirma port. Izmir surprised and is well worth a visit.
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  • En route to Constantinople

    15. kesäkuuta 2018, Turkki ⋅ ⛅ 22 °C

    The twice daily train from Izmir to Bandirma Port, known as the Eylül Express, left punctually at 14.00. The term Express was a bit of a misnomer as it trundled along so slowly at times that it might have been quicker walking along its single track. The train however was modern and air-conditioned, and I was glad I had made a free seat reservation as it was extremely busy. Relaxing with a welcome cup of chai from the trolley, the silence was broken by the wailing of 3 toddlers who appeared to take it in turns to scream at the top of their voices, much to the delight of their families, especially one granny, who beamed with delight every time one of them let go with a particularly prolonged outburst. Ah well, it’s only a 7 hour journey, I consoled myself. Two of the babies got off (with their parents) after 3 hours, but shock horror, another 3 got on! What is this - a baby boom? Is the telly so bad in Turkey? I searched my emergency medical kit: paracetamol, Diocalm, Ex-Lax - but no sign of Calpol or even Nurse Harvey’s Gripe Mixture. Lesson learned - be better prepared.

    The scenery was pleasant if unspectacular, and the Turkish countryside was lined with olive orchards for much of the way, with minarets dotting the villages and towns we passed through. The sun was beating down and it was nice to enjoy the cool of the carriage. In spite of the modern comfortable seating accommodation, the loo on the train was another story - literally a hole in the floor for squatting. I was wishing I had purchased one of the pads displayed on the mannequin in the pharmacy outside the station (see photo).

    What’s this? Only five hours after departure and all the little tots have dropped off to sleep. Bless the little darlings, they’re no bother at all.

    On arrival at its northern terminus at Bandirma, I made my way just across the street to the Panderma Port Hotel, an old inn full of character with a large double room facing the front. The interior was dimly lit and the colour scheme was from the 1970s - all browns and creams with illumination coming from 40 Watt bulbs. I could scarcely see the keyhole to my room in the dimness, but the fact I still had my sunglasses on didn’t help. I was pleased to see a late night café still open and made my way there, only to realise that 100 yards (or is it metres?) along the street there was a huge Blackpool-like resort waiting to be enjoyed. A sizeable funfair opened onto a veritable sea of attractions - side shows, candy floss stalls, tattoo parlours, outdoor theatres, hotels and literally hundreds of eating places. There was even an illuminated suspension bridge. The place was thronged with thousands of people all out enjoying themselves. For the first time on my trip I felt a bit out of place - you need company to enjoy funfairs and the like. Young people were queuing up to buy food from takeaway stalls - barbecued corn on the cob and what looked like pickled cucumbers.

    I opted for the safer option of a McDonald’s. Sitting outside people-watching in the still warm evening air, I watched four girls at a table in front of me, all made up to the nines, wearing the best designer gear, showing each other YouTube clips on their top of the range mobile phones, and generally having a good laugh. They got up and left without clearing their table. Seconds later two teenage boys came over and appeared to start clearing up. However they were actually emptying the leftovers of the fries into a packet each, and the dregs of the soft drinks into a cup each and made off with their complimentary Happy Meal. An old lady, heavily wrinkled and stooped with age berated them, waving her stick and shouting something unintelligible. She then sat at the table and proceeded to pick at the remaining scraps left by the young vultures. They had beat her to it. Such an illustration of wealth and poverty at one table in the space of five minutes.

    In the centre of it all, amidst the noise and hustle and bustle of the crowd, the Crier called the faithful to prayer from his minaret, high above the Sodom and Gomorrah scene below. The amplified sound was deafening.

    My comfortable stay at the Panderma Port included a substantial breakfast, all for £27. The three friendly waitresses rushed to greet me, the only diner in a room which was set for 50. ‘You would like an omelette?’ the eldest one said ‘with eggs and cheese?’ Well certainly with eggs I thought. ‘And what about some cheeses? This one is my favourite - and this one too’. By this time my plate was groaning with several large cubes of identical looking (and tasting) white cheese. When I returned to my table the omelette had arrived, complete with eggs and cheese, and tasted delicious. Some Turkish tea arrived in one of the fine fluted glasses I had become accustomed to, and which at home might be used to display small bunches of freesia. This version was very strong like Builder’s Tea, and tasted as if it had been stewing in a can for a fortnight. I gulped it down quickly and went back to the buffet for baklava, returning to see my Builder’s Tea being replenished with a smile.

    Thus fortified, I made my way to the IDO Ferry for the 10.00 sailing across the Sea of Marmara to Istanbul. What a great way to arrive in this grand city. I made my way to my hotel - the Senator, only to discover it had been taken over by Holiday Inn. It had all been refurbished and the room was terrific. I headed off to see the Grand Bazaar which I had missed on my last visit as it was closed. What an amazing place! Then a walk to the Sultanahmet area and a visit to see the Blue Mosque and the ginormous Hagia Sophia. Although both still magnificent, there was a lot of renovation work going on. Took one of Istanbul’s clean, efficient trams to the Galata Bridge and had fish for dinner in one of the many seafood restaurants. It was a lovely sunny evening and I enjoyed looking over the Golden Horn and the Bosphorus where numerous ferries plied their way back and forth. I’ll maybe pop over to Asia for lunch tomorrow.

    I discovered my hotel had a Hamam (Turkish Bath) available, and I took advantage of it to rejuvenate myself after walking about the hot streets all day. Bliss…
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  • Istanbul - Sofia

    17. kesäkuuta 2018, Bulgaria ⋅ ⛅ 17 °C

    After a good breakfast, I headed by tram to Istanbul’s Sirkeci Station where I reserved my berth for tonight’s overnight sleeper to Sofia, Bulgaria, the Istanbul - Sofia Express. It is a great pity that the train no longer leaves from Sirkeci Station, the original terminus of the Orient Express, as it has been closed indefinitely since 2013 for line work, and passengers have to take a bus (complimentary) to Halkali, an hours’s drive away. What would the Orient Express passengers think?

    I then took a ferry from the nearby terminal Eminönü across to Kadiköy on the Asian side. I was in Asia 20 minutes later. Another hot sunny day and everywhere was packed with visitors. Although most of the big attractions are on the European side, it was nice to visit here on one of the big, bustling ferries. I took advantage of a trip up the Bosphorus which was fantastic, passing beautiful homes, impressive bridges and fortresses. At only 15 Euros for a 2 hour trip it was great value.

    I returned by ferry back to Europe and took the Metro to Taksim Square, a popular tourist spot with trundling vintage trams, and packed with restaurants. At 20.30 I caught the free coach to Halkali through horrendous Istanbul traffic, arriving only 5 minutes before the train was due to depart at 21.40. I was sharing a very spacious and comfortable compartment with a former English teacher who was now living in Istanbul. I almost immediately fell asleep, only to be woken at 01.30 at the Turkish border station Kapicule. We all had to get off the train and stand in line waiting to have our passports checked. After an hour we set off, only to have the train stopped a few minutes later to have our details checked by Bulgarian Border Control folk - 3 times! Breakfast was served in the compartment by a surly, monosyllabic and unkempt attendant - a carton of warm juice of indeterminable origin and a packet of saltine crackers - no full English here.

    On arrival at Sofia, your first thought is that you wish you were somewhere else. Run down, graffiti covered and quiet, deserted streets - not what you would expect of a European capital city, and such a complete contrast to lively Istanbul. I made the 20 minute walk to my hotel - the Bon Bon - and the approach to it appeared anything but Bon. However inside it was small but clean and comfortable. I asked the receptionist if I could check in early, and although the place looked empty, she told me efficiently that check-in was 14.00. ‘It’s the rules’ she said without smiling, betraying a little of her communist era past.

    I was however permitted to leave my luggage and set off. I joined an excellent 2 hour walking tour of Sofia which was led by a professional but humorous young guide. He gave us a great insight into the history of the city including his memories as a child both before and after the fall of communism in 1989. He also taught us that nodding and shaking your head meant the opposite in Bulgaria. (This almost caused me problems later when a heavily made up woman near the Central Railway Station asked if I was looking for company).

    Although a land-locked country, Bulgaria has numerous hot springs, and our guide let us drink some water from one of these in the city centre. ‘Laydeez, drinking theez waters may increase your bosoms’ warned our guide. Well, they didn’t seem to have harmed my man boobs either.

    The tour finished at the magnificent St Alexander Nevski Cathedral, one of the largest Eastern Orthodox Cathedrals in the world. The sky darkened and developed into a mighty thunderstorm, bringing the first rain I had seen on my trip to date. I took the modern Metro to the small but interesting Museum of Totalitarian Art, with its fascinating collection of posters and statues from the communist era. At night I attended the Opera House to see a production of Rossini’s La Cenerentola (Cinderella). With shaky sets, falling props and dodgy wigs, it wasn’t exactly La Scala, but the singing was good and the 35 piece orchestra fairly belted it out. And I couldn’t complain at £15 for one of the best seats in the house.
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  • The Balkan Express

    17. kesäkuuta 2018, Serbia ⋅ 🌧 19 °C

    The Cyrillic alphabet is used throughout Bulgaria with very few concessions in English. Accordingly, in Sofia station only numbers are an indication of where you should be and when. The train departure board indicated that my train number was leaving at platform 4 so I made my way there only to find it deserted. The only passengers I could see were a couple of Norwegian backpackers on platform 5, so back down the stairs and along the underground passage and back up the stairs I eventually found my train there. The International Balkan Express consisted of only two carriages, both filthy, littered and covered in graffiti. There appeared to be only 6 passengers on board this once per day international train, so why reservations were essential was beyond me. I eventually found a seat at a window with minimal graffiti which I could actually see out of. Looking around I wished I had packed the G Tech vacuum cleaner Mum had bought us, to freshen the place up a bit. The toilet had no lock, seat, toilet paper, soap or towels and was already blocked before we left Sofia. I can safely say this is the dirtiest train I have ever had the misfortune to travel on. Given there were no catering facilities again on this lengthy journey, I had fortunately stocked up with provisions including what looked like a 4 pack of Greggs sausage rolls mounded into one, with the sausage meat cut up into bits. It was filling if nothing else.

    Again we were stopped at the Bulgarian border for passport checks, and the Border Police ordered passengers to stay in their seats while they searched the whole train - luggage racks, toilets, even ceiling panels and electrical equipment areas were removed by screwdrivers and meticulously searched. A similar procedure took place a little later at Dimitrovgrad as we entered Serbia. Two of the other passengers turned out to be train buffs from Dublin (one of them a driver on the Maynooth-Dublin train, Jennifer) who were excited when the Bulgarian engine shunted off and was replaced by its Serbian counterpart.

    As the train meandered across Serbia at a leisurely pace, the scenery became more mountainous and dramatic, and for a while followed the scenic route of a muddy, brown river. The heat rose, and by early afternoon the smell in the compartment had deteriorated. A Serbian couple a few seats in front fortunately managed to screw open a few windows. She then proceeded to strip off her top half standing in her bra for a good 10 minutes enjoying a cigarette (yes!) before fanning herself and putting her top back on. She had clearly never heard of deodorant.

    Serbia is not included in the list of countries where you can benefit from using your mobile phone at the same rate as your agreement allows in the UK. Neither was I offered the same deal of unlimited calls, texts and data for £4.99 by o2 as you are in some other countries. At £2 per minute per call, the phone would stay off until I got WiFi.

    Eventually, 11 hours after it left Sofia, the Boggin’, sorry Balkan, Express limped into Belgrade, Serbia. I was never so glad to disembark.
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  • Belgrade, Serbia

    18. kesäkuuta 2018, Serbia ⋅ 🌧 20 °C

    The 2 star Bristol Hotel in Belgrade where I was spending two nights is certainly faded grandeur. A bit tired and run down, it still exuded a certain old fashioned charm. And at a total of only £28 for two nights including free WiFi and breakfast how could I complain? It does have have a remarkable history, built in 1912 it is said to represent the pinnacle of Secessionist architecture in the city. Apparently at one time it was the centre of fashionable life in the whole of the former Yugoslavia, and previous guests have included members of the Rockefeller family and the British Royal family.

    I set off on a walking tour of the city. A bit down at heel in places, Belgrade reminded me a bit of Glasgow - lots of lovely buildings but you had to seek them out. A climb up to the Belgrade Fortress rewarded me with fabulous views of the confluence of the city’s two great rivers - the Sava and the Danube. Ah, the Blue Danube, or as my Big Granny used to call it, the Blue Daniel. A circular tour on the No. 2 tram helped me get my bearings. I had a delicious Serbian lunch sitting outside - pork chops with a creamy, mushroom sauce. When a thunderstorm arrived in the afternoon, I sought refuge in the beautiful Hotel Mockba (Moscow) where I enjoyed afternoon tea. It’s a hard life, but someone has to do it!

    The Church of Saint Sava is one of the largest Orthodox churches in the world. Although it is bigger than the one I saw yesterday, the Alexander Nevski Cathedral in Sofia, the interior is quite unfinished, and I much preferred the Sofia version.

    Well, I have walked my feet off today. Belgrade may not be my favourite city, but perseverance paid off and I enjoyed seeking out some of its treasures.
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  • Zagreb, Croatia

    20. kesäkuuta 2018, Kroatia ⋅ ⛅ 21 °C

    The 10.25 train from Belgrade, Serbia to Zagreb, Croatia was a bit better than its predecessor in that it was cleaner and more comfortable. However, again there were no announcements about which platform it left from, and none of the TV monitors or platform screens were working. Few of the railway folk spoke English so you really had to keep your wits about you or risk missing your train. After finding my carriage, I noted that the seat I had reserved was taken up by a young Serbian mum and her child. As it was very busy I had no option but to point this out, only to be shooed away by her. ‘You can sit elsewhere, and anyway I have a kid.’ The ‘kid’ looked like a spoiled wee brat and sneered triumphantly at me. Rather than argue, I moved along the carriage and found two unreserved seats. I remember as a child how my Mum taught us always to give up our seats for the elderly - how times have changed. And if that child played ‘Old Macdonald had a farm’ one more time on that bloody gadget of his, I swear I would have thrown it out the window.

    At the Serbian-Croatian Border, the by now usual searches involving screwdrivers, mirrors and panels coming off various train compartments were undertaken. Two black guys sitting behind me were quizzed about having no passports, which they said they had forgotten. After much arguing and toing and froing, they were huckled off the train and never seen again.

    Arriving in Zagreb, Croatia was a revelation - what a beautiful city. So clean, bright and well organised, unlike some of the other former communist states. Lovely squares and gardens appeared around every corner, and gleaming modern trams glided by silently. For the first time on my trip, I booked into an apartment for the night, just round the corner from the station in an old 19th century building. I had two large rooms plus bathroom all to myself and the young female owner seemed proud of her eclectic art collection. For the first time I had a piano in my bedroom - anyone for a singalong?

    In the building next door was a laundrette, and the woman who ran it helped me use it. What a pleasure it was to get all my laundry washed and dried while sitting outside with a local beer from the adjacent cafė run by the same woman. She’s got a good wee business there.

    As it got dark, I made my way to the large square around the corner where there was a free classical music concert taking place. How lovely it was on a balmy evening sitting listening to a 50 piece orchestra with a choir and soloists in this beautiful, manicured square with fountains that worked. As wee Jean McCormack would say ‘Aye, we’re anointed’.
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  • More Zagreb

    21. kesäkuuta 2018, Kroatia ⋅ ⛅ 23 °C

    Did I say what a beautiful city Zagreb was? Had a lovely walk around today again in the warm sunshine. Took in Ban Jelačić Square - the main meeting point; the twin towered Cathedral of the Assumption of our Blessed Virgin Mary - the emblem of the city; the Dolac fruit and vegetable market; the Botanic Gardens; and some of the lovely Art Nouveau buildings that dot the city. Took the world’s shortest passenger cable railway up to the Upper Town and it was even prettier, with its cobbled streets, St Mark’s Church and the Stone Gate.

    Not one for museums when the sun is shining, I couldn’t resist the Museum of Broken Relationships. This very unusual museum was recommended to me by my friend Lorraine Wilson, in her book Facing Forwards, about her 3 month solo train trip round Europe which has been an inspiration for my trip. Well worth a read. The exhibits have been donated by members of the public and each have a short explanation of how it related to the end of a relationship. It was powerful and I was in floods more than once. To console visitors, the attached café offered ‘beers as cold as your ex’s heart.’

    To recover from all that emotion, I treated myself to afternoon tea at the fabulous Esplanade Hotel, built in 1925 to provide top-notch accommodation for passengers on the Orient Express, which made one of its stops at Zagreb. Apparently the locals were shocked at a performance by provocative dancer Josephine Baker in 1929.

    All too soon it was back in the rails and off to the Croatian coastal resort of Split, with beautiful lush scenery all the way. But I loved Zagreb and will be back.
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  • Split

    21. kesäkuuta 2018, Kroatia ⋅ ⛅ 28 °C

    Although the train was late in the evening arriving, the front of the popular Croatian seaside resort of Split was bustling with bars and restaurants as I made my way to my lovely modernised studio apartment in the old town. What did we do before Google maps? The town reminded me of a very upmarket Blackpool, busy mainly with young people from all over Europe on holiday.

    After a good night’s sleep I set off to find the main attraction of Split - Diocletian’s Palace - built as a retirement home for the Roman Emperor Diocletian at the turn of the 4th century AD, only to find it was virtually on my doorstep. I enjoyed a guided walking tour of this fascinating place from a somewhat zany guide, who seemed like she had had had too many years on the wacky backy.

    Given the heat again, I headed for the city beach in the afternoon, only a 15 minute walk away and enjoyed a lovely swim in the sea. Two British lads were showing off their sporting prowess in the water - throwing a frisbee to each other while holding a can of lager. Then in the evening off to cross the Adriatic once again, only a bit further north, this time from Split, Croatia to Ancona, Italy.

    Farewell Croatia, it’s been nice getting to know you, even although it’s been all too short.
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  • So long, farewell Austria

    22. kesäkuuta 2018, Itävalta ⋅ ⛅ 17 °C

    The overnight SNAV ferry Aurelia from Split to Ancona was clean and comfortable and I was lucky to have a good sized 2 berth cabin all to myself. After dinner on board, I had an early night as the ferry docked in Italy at 06.30. With typical Italian inefficiency we then all stood in a Passport Control line for over an hour - and that was in the speedy European Union line - heaven help us after Brexit! After all the hanging about I was desperate for the bathroom, but I have to say the facilities at Ancona Ferry Terminal would not have won Loo of the Year Award. I won’t go into detail, but suffice it to say that some fellow passengers must have overindulged in curry and lager last night!

    I took the train from Ancona to Bologna and changed for Venice on the impressive new Frecciarossa (Red Arrow) service with leather seats and complimentary coffee. Most of the passengers were smartly dressed business men except for 4 loud Americans sitting opposite with their bare feet up on the seats. The two women were painting each other’s toenails and massaging their partners’ feet while shouting at every stop ‘are we at Venice yet?‘ The conductor tried to clarify ‘are you looking for Venezia Mestre or Venezia Santa Lucia?’ ‘Who cares’ yelled the older woman ‘all I want is a ride on a goddam gondola!’ Such finesse in Business Class.

    We dramatically travelled on the causeway over the lagoon before finally reaching Venice Santa Lucia. A few more metres and the train would have ended up in the Grand Canal. Regrettably I had no time to spend here, but had fond memories of a holiday Campbell and I had enjoyed in Venice some years ago.

    With 2 minutes to spare, I caught the once daily smart Austrian EuroCity train which leaves Venice Santa Lucia every day at 13:50 and arrives at Munich at 20:25.  It uses comfortable Austrian coaches with a proper waiter-service restaurant car, and travels via the beautifully scenic Brenner Pass. What a spectacular journey on a clean and well organised train. The scenery was outstanding. I was travelling in a 4 seat 1st Class compartment. One of my travelling companions was a heavy middle aged woman dressed in Austrian National costume, like a chorus member from St Wolfang Amateur Operatic Society’s production of White Horse Inn. She busied herself with sheafs of paper and an elaborate Kardex system - a sort of Susie B doppelgänger, taking bookings perhaps for the Society’s next production. The other person in the carriage was an IT manager from Padua who was very funny and sociable, telling jokes which were generally lost in translation, and insisting we shared his apple pie and wine. Susie B however was having none of it ‘can ye no see I’m oan a diet, and anyway you’re putting me aff ma tickets’ I think she was saying.

    The sun was splitting the trees as we headed over the spectacular Brenner Pass and through the Tyrol to Innsbruck on our way to Germany. A real highlight of my train trip so far.
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  • The Eagle's Nest

    23. kesäkuuta 2018, Saksa ⋅ ☁️ 12 °C

    As I emerged from the Munich S-Bahn at Marienplatz, I had a feeling of déjà vu. I remembered having been at this exact spot with Mum and Dad during our trip to Germany many, many years ago. We sat outside under an umbrella in the square opposite the famous glockenspiel Clock Tower enjoying a German beer. Mum was so taken with the fine lager glasses that she put two in her handbag and I believe still has them. Munich was busy with Friday night revellers, but I resisted, and had an early night at the comfortable Blauer Bock Hotel nearby.

    This morning I set out on a trip to visit the Eagle’s Nest - part of Hitler’s mountain retreat, the Berghof. After a pleasant train journey from Munich, I arrived at the charming town of Berchtesgaden. From there a bus took us to Obersalzberg location of the now demolished Berghof, which in the 1930s became, surprisingly, the 2nd seat of the Nazi government after Berlin. Then a further specially constructed bus to cope with the steep climb up the mountain to Kehlsteinhaus (The Eagle’s Nest), where, with its panoramic views, Hitler entertained special guests. It is virtually the only building not to have been bombed or demolished, and now serves as a restaurant / bar.

    To reach the summit you had to walk through a long tunnel constructed in 1938 and take a beautiful copper decorated lift to the top. What fabulous 360 degree views over the Bavarian Alps and Lake Konigsee. It is hard to imagine in this idyllic mountain setting that Hitler and his followers made world shattering decisions on war, persecution and genocide.

    I enjoyed bockwurst and potato salad and a cool, German lager in the main reception room, featuring a marble fireplace gifted by Mussolini, although it was a bit unsettling to see photographs of Nazi leaders and dignatories pictured in the same room. The excellent museum Dokumentation Obersalzberg provided a great insight into the Nazi takeover of this hitherto quiet mountain community.

    I did contemplate making the very short train journey over the border to Salzburg, Austria for some pink lemonade. Some light relief in The Sound of Music city would have been welcome. However I headed back to Munich for dinner and to get ready for the next part of my trip - the overnight sleeper train to Hamburg. Another very special day, sobering in part, but with breathtaking scenery.
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  • Three countries in one day

    24. kesäkuuta 2018, Ruotsi ⋅ ⛅ 14 °C

    On checking at Munich Central Station, I was advised that there were no 2 or 4 berth sleepers available. All I could get was a couchette in a 6 berth compartment. The thought of sharing a small compartment with 5 big Germans full of the joys after their World Cup match win did not appeal, but it was either that or sleeping in a train seat. I was pleasantly surprised therefore on boarding the 22.52 Nightjet train to be told by the attendant that, because of a mix up over booking, I had a 6 berth compartment all to myself - ya dancer!

    I enjoyed a good night’s sleep in my couchette compartment, as we thundered through the night from Bavaria in south Germany to Hamburg in the north. ‘Thundering through the night’ was an expression my good friend Jean McCormack used whenever we were driving in the dark, and she used to say it followed by a girlish giggle. She was a bit eccentric at times, but I still miss her.

    The attendant brought a welcome simple breakfast of coffee, crispy rolls and butter and jam. We arrived at Hamburg Hauptbahnhof exactly on schedule, and I was in ample time to make my next connection to Copenhagen. Similar to my experience in Sicily (which now seems ages ago), the train actually rolls onto the ferry at Puttgarden, Germany and crosses to Roedby, Denmark in 45 minutes. Another exciting experience. Everyone had to leave the train for security reasons. This time however the ferry was much more upmarket, with restaurants, bars and duty free. Elegant, blonde Scandinavians sat on deck and opened their neatly packed Ikea lunch boxes nibbling at carrot batons and the like, while I tucked into my grilled sausage on a bread roll with potato salad and lashings of ketchup and mustard - yecannaewhackit.

    An hour was all I had in Copenhagen before catching my next connection to Gothenburg. However I did manage to see some of the Tivoli Garden rides from the station platform. Some passengers passing through Copenhagen obviously had not changed any currency into Danish Kroner and were stumped at the entrance of the pay-as-you-enter loo. ‘It’s ok’ announced the efficient lavatory attendant ‘we take the credit card’. Well, I know Scandinavia is expensive, but who’d have thought you needed a credit card to spend a penny. I just hope it was Contactless for hygiene reasons.

    Less than half an hour after we left that Wonderful, Wonderful city, we were crossing the famous Oresund Bridge, at almost 5 miles long the longest combined road and rail bridge in Europe. I was particularly excited as the Oresund Bridge was the setting for the Nordic noir TV series The Bridge. (I meant to say that Split, Croatia was boasting it was one of the main locations for Game of Thrones, but I don’t watch that). A couple across from me, who were not in their first flush of youth, were very lovey dovey, and were constantly taking photos of each other on their mobiles with the bridge as a backdrop. I asked if they would like me to take a photo of them both, to which they reddened and explained that they shouldn’t be seen together. I decided not to press the matter further.

    Most of the trains I have been on have been very busy, and I was glad I had purchased a 1st Class ticket, as you were always guaranteed a seat, and sometimes extras like power sockets, free WiFi and refreshments. It was another sunny day as the railway hugged the coast as we sped up the Kattegat. On arrival at Gothenburg, I checked into the charming Hotel Royal, the oldest hotel in Gothenburg and family run. Complimentary coffee and cake was available in the foyer - a nice touch and very welcome.

    Had a nice walk about the city in the evening sunshine. It’s been many years since I was last here, and the place has changed quite a bit. A lot of folk were watching the World Cup on big screens. As I am only in Sweden for one night, I had brought some notes I had at home from my last visit, only to be told that they had been withdrawn last year! I therefore had to withdraw some cash from an ATM. When I tried to buy a bottle of water to get some change for the tram, I was told the shop did not accept cash. Swedish people pay everything by card I was told. Ah well, you live and learn…
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  • Hans Christian Andersen

    26. kesäkuuta 2018, Tanska ⋅ ☀️ 25 °C

    The Hotel Royal, Gothenburg offered a delicious breakfast, including several varieties of my favourite pickled herring - tasty. I made my way to the Stena ferry terminal to catch the 08.00 ferry to Frederikshavn in Denmark. The ferry was very busy and the ship well equipped with facilities including a discount store and duty free shops. I tried out a liberal spray of the Dolce and Gabbana eau de toilette spray, only to discover it was the ladies version. Well hello, honky tonk!

    It was a cooler, cloudy morning and the first time I’ve had to use my zipper, but the sun came out during the 3 hours 15 minute crossing to the top of Denmark. I caught the connecting 11.33 train to Odense. I couldn’t be in Denmark and not visit the birthplace of Hans Christian Andersen could I? Again I was glad to have a place in 1st Class. The stewardess brought a flask of hot water and left it for us with a variety of coffee and teas (even green tea, Anne), and delicious violet flavoured chocolate marzipans. You don’t get that on ScotRail.

    In the warm evening sunshine I had a lovely walk around the old town and a delicious steak dinner with a large glass of Merlot. Denmark, like the rest of Scandinavia, is certainly not cheap. As I walked back to my hotel I spotted a sign saying ‘Pee not here’. How did they know I was about to?

    Odense really is Hans Christian Andersen town. With a dedicated museum, his birthplace and his childhood home all there to visit, I really enjoyed this charming town on the island of Funen, bang right in the middle of Denmark. It brought back happy memories of being in the show Hans Andersen with the Apollo Players at the King’s Theatre, Glasgow in 1987 - can you believe it was 31 years ago! John Sinclair was Hans, Jim French was Otto, Jane Macdonald (Waterfield) was Jenny Lind and I was Max Claus. My niece Jennifer appeared as one of the children singing Thumbelina. Happy days.

    The lady in the birthplace museum was delighted to hear I was from Scotland. She smiled and recalled how she had had a happy school camping trip there in the 1970s. ‘We stayed at the beautiful village of Luss’ she explained ‘and every day I would stare at the lake, but I never did see her. I never saw my Nessie.’ I hadn’t the heart to tell her that that would be hard as she was at Loch Lomond.

    Well time for the off again and continue my train travels down through Denmark and then via Hamburg, Germany to Cologne. It’s been nice, Odense - thanks for all those lovely reminders of these great fairy tales.
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  • Heidelberg

    28. kesäkuuta 2018, Saksa ⋅ 🌙 18 °C

    Another loud American guy at breakfast (sorry, Sadie, I know not all Americans are loud, but there are a few!). He was big, heavy guy with a grey beard who was holding up the queue, eating as he was going. ‘Mmm… these bread rolls are so fresh and delicious, you must bake them on the premises.’ ‘Nein’ said the expressionless waitress, ‘I gets them from ze Lidl’.

    My train trip this morning from Cologne left from the main station in the shadow of the huge, gothic Cologne Cathedral. I remember making Mum and Dad climb to the very top of it. Not sure if even I could do it now. Pleased to see the station has still the same advert for 4711 Eau de Cologne which I first saw on a school trip in the 1960s. Had a lovely train journey down the Rhine valley passing castles and pleasure boats, the Lorelei Rock and charming riverside towns. On the way I thought I’d read some guest reviews of my next hotel. One said: ‘The staff are so friendly. I had an unexpected early visit from Aunt Flo, and the staff gave me some free sanitary products.’ Now, I didn’t know who Aunt Flo was, but I do now, and all I can say is ‘TOO MUCH INFORMATION!’

    Before I knew it, I had arrived at today’s destination - Heidelberg. I remember Sadie and Christine were here. It was just like The Student Prince with students drink, drink, drinking beer - only Kathy was missing. Did a 2 hour walking tour of the Old Town as suggested in my guide, which was hard going in the sweltering heat. Took the funicular railway up to the top of the mountain and visited the castle on the way back. The guide suggested another walk on the opposite bank of the River Neckar - the Philosopher’s Way - where lecturers used to walk up and down. It was so steep it nearly killed me, but you did get a good view over to the castle. Tonight I attended a classical concert in the lovely Stadthalle. No less than 90 musicians in the philharmonic orchestra - what a fabulous sound, and not bad for 20 Euros for the front circle.

    Well the carousing in the town has gone strangely quiet tonight now that Germany has been put out of the World Cup. Anyway, after all that walking I’m sure I’ll sleep tonight…zzzz...
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