The Great Trans-Siberian

Although I am writing this post almost 4 months after this trip (!), certain parts of the trip still seem like yesterday- the endless days on the train journeying through the continuous Russian countryside, the frisky horses in Mongolia which tried to buck us off and the severe effects on our british-trained stomachs on eating chinese food in Beijing...(I'll let you draw your own conclusions there).
We started off our trip in St Petersberg- a sort-of Russian version of Venice, but without the gondolas. The Hermitage was awesome and tiring- there was actually too much art to see without needing regular naps. One of the oddest sights in St Petersberg was coming across scores of bridal couples posing for photos in a central park. We came across these smiling couples on our walking tour of the city, and according to our guide, this park was especially popular with weddings. Trailing after each couple was the bridesmaid and best man wearing sashes speling out their titles and the guests of the wedding. Apparently Russian weddings are always small affairs with the whole party following the couple for their public photos after the ceremony.
Next was Moscow, which was like the big, brash older sister of refined, quiet St Petersberg. We spent most of our days in the Red Square, visiting Lenin's creepy mausoleum, the ornate Disney-esque St Basil's church and posing with the eerily similar lookalikes of Stalin and Lenin at the edge of the square. The highlight was finding a Communist- style russian cafeteria at the top of a smart shopping centre near Red Square which served cheap, delicious traditional russian food. Sweet, cool apricot drink with a fat apricot suspended in the glass, soft pancakes full of cream cheese and sultanas, or mushrooms and parsley and tubs of pickled tomatoes... Needless to say we ate there most days, with even the russian waitresses starting to recognise us and our garbled russian requests.
After our tour of these Russian cities, it was time to board the Trans-Siberian train for our 41/2 day journey to Mongolia. We boarded the train with stacks of Mongolians pushing trolleys piled high with teetering suitcases and boxes. It all seemed very mysterious until the first long stop, when the Mongolians frantically jumped off the train and arranged their goods on the platform or hung clothes out the windows. The train doubled as a huge moving flea-market. As we continued on into the Siberian countryside, more and more locals congregated on the platforms to buy from the Mongolian sellers. Police and official looking men either turned a blind eye or just joined in.
The days on the train quickly settled into a pattern of sleeping, reading, staring at the constant Siberian countryside with blue and yellow houses and rushing off the train at every stop to purchase fresh food from the locals. The best of these stops was near the border with Mongolia, where we found lots of little ladies sitting with their saucepans of homemade pasties, dumplings and russian pastries. They were absolutely delicious. The food on the train however, left much to be desired. The extensive menu was merely an elaborate ruse, as there were only 3 dishes available- chicken, beef or pork with potatoes and salad. Even these choices diminished as the train moved further and further away from Moscow. It didn't help that the food was served by possibly the most sullen, angry and generally depressed waiter ever known. The whole dining car took on the waiter's grumpy mood, so that even the tablecloths looked depressed and lacklustre. We never ever saw anybody else eat there.
Four days later (!) we finally arrived in Mongolia- the highlight of the trip. We were escorted in Mongolia by our friendly local guide Ogi who chaperoned us around Ulanbataar and took us out to the ger camp. The ger camp was idyllic- each ger was ornately and colourfully decorated in pinks and yellows with matching wooden beds around a central fire. Though it was summer in Mongolia, it got very cold at night at the ger camp, but not inside the cosy ger tents where our guides lit a fire each night. Although the only people at the ger camp were other tourists, it did seem authentic, as our Mongolian hosts wore local dress, taught us to ride horses (with varying degrees of success) and took us to a local nomad camp where the nomad family made their own traditional mongolian food (which consisted of strange smelling dairy products in huge containers). Our horse-riding experience was short-lived though, when the frisky horses bucked one of our group off and led the rest of us in circles. We decided to go bushwalking instead.....!
The Mongolians were very friendly, welcoming people- keen to show you their culture, whereas many Russians we met seemed quite grumpy or just pissed-off. In Beijing, the Olympics had just ended but the locals were still keen to greet each tourist with the friendliness that our tourist dollars promised. Unfortunately we only had a day and a bit in Beijing and we would have liked more, but we still managed to pack in Tiananmen Square (a bit ghostly), Forbidden City (huge!) and Peking Duck (carved on our table complete with the duck's head). Beijing was great, clean, friendly and bustling- with public transport all in english (thanks to the olympics).
So after our long intrepid journey across three countries in a rickety old train, we were quite keen to get back to our little flat in London. What a trip!

Viva Italia

Gez and I landed in sunny Sicily at the start of the Easter half-term break (April-ish) via our friends at el cheapo airline, ready to start our two weeks of travelling in Italy. Our itinerary was to work our way via ferry from Sicily to Naples, a brief visit to Pompeii and then north to the 'big three'; Rome, Florence and Venice, flying out from Venice back to grey London.
Sicily was shabby chic in its truest form-without the pretence; peeling paint framed by flowering pots on balconies, clothes hung out along tall buildings down narrow streets, faded bricks, faded vespas... Most things seemed in a state of disrepair yet looked the better for it; nothing was modern, new or shiny, except for the odd car bumper- and yet the city still shone in the sun. We came across some night markets at dusk down a narrow alley in Palermo, where the day's selling of fruits, vegetables and fish were winding up, and the piles of artichokes and swordfish (massive creatures suspended from shop stalls) were still visible. There wasn't any artifice, it seemed this was how it had always been in Sicily.
From all of Italy, the natives in Sicily were most welcoming. We had dinner in a local restaurant one night (delicious food- quasi Italian/North African) and the table next to us introduced themselves and shared their wine with us as well. They were two local surgeons, very proud of their city Palermo, and of Sicily, and told us about some local sights. We saw some of these local sights; Moorish-designed palaces and churches (lots of churches). We also took a day trip to the hills behind Palermo to see a Byzantine mosaic in a nearby village.
That night we took the ferry to Naples, which turned out to be the best way to get to the mainland. Though a bit pricier than a 15 hour bus ride, we got a lovely cosy cabin complete with bunk beds and corner shower, for our journey. We awoke to the sound of the Italian captain of the ship announcing something and arrived in Naples very early in the morning.
Coming from quaint Sicily, Naples was like an older brother after a big night out; seedy and messy. The streets were full of rubbish and African street hawkers selling dubious knock-offs. It seemed like the city was recovering from an all night party, but it was the same the next morning when we left. The best thing about Naples was the pizza- home of the napolitan. We had a pizza cooked two steps from us by bored, red-faced looking pizza-men near a huge wood-fired oven. it cost about 6 Aussie dollars for a huge pizza and beer- it was delicious.
From Naples, we visited Pompeii, Mount Vesuvius and Herculaneum. We visited Mount Vesuvius via a rickety, hair-raising bus journey up the almost 90 degree mountain face. Our bus driver was a young Italian bloke in Dolce & Gabbana jeans, who didn't slow down on hairpin bends but instead sped up and beeped his horn for safety. The top was amazing though- covered in wisps of clouds with views across Naples and the bay. Pompeii and Herculaneum were fascinating, especially the roman graffitti which Gez translated as something about 'coriolanus smells'.......
Next we caught the train to Rome and spent three days there traversing the local tourist sites- Colosseum (posing for photos with opportunistic locals dressed as gladiators), Vatican city (sistine chapel still amazing), Roman forum, etc... There were alot of Americans in Rome and scores of bored spanish teenagers on school trips, who also seemed to follow us to Florence where they converged on the line for the Uffizi, pushing and shoving and texting. Florence was delightful though, despite being inundated with Americans- again.
The next part of our trip was probably the highlight- we took a train from Florence to the CInque Terre (Five Towns), a scenic coastal road linking five old villages on the coast of Italy. The villages were painted in pinks, yellows and oranges, leaning over the water from where they were built onto sheer cliff faces. We did two thirds of the five hour walk between the five towns before giving in and getting the train to the last town. The scenery was gorgeous, green cliffs meeting a sparkling sea, colourful villages teetering on the hills, vineyards, winding streets- and stacks of school groups on trips...! One of the perils of getting school holidays off is the kids are all there having holidays with you. It was all I could do to stop giving some a detention.
Our last stop was in Venice, where we finally arrived after a strange, unnecessary train journey via Bologna, due to a communication problem when buying our tickets and from our inability to decipher 24hour time......Long story. This being our only major hiccup on the trip (apart from going to the wrong airport in Venice), we congratulated ourselves on arriving in Venice in 7 hours instead of 4- quite a good result for us. The trains in Italy, incidentally, are cheap, efficient and some even come with Harry-Potter style carriages, where you can have a curtained compartment to yourself.
Venice was stunning- ditto the hordes of tourists again, but the sun sparkling on the canals and singing gondola man (he was actually a very good baritone...!) made the tourists less onorous. Though it is sinking and hugely overpriced, Venice really is a beautiful city. Our last meal in Italy was in Venice and despite some doggy focaccia along the way, this meal maintained the high standard we had had all trip- lovely italian-style fried fish/sardines.
We ran from the gondola to the airport (went to the wrong airport first, who knew Venice had two airports), just making it to our plane and arriving back in London that afternoon, still warm from the sun in Venice.
What a trip!
Bellissimo.

New Title!

Yes the title has changed, hopefully to something slightly less long-winded than before. This was chiefly in response to Gerald getting organised with his own blog, which is now sporting a catchy title and photo (full details of it will be published once he has written something else besides the heading, not that I am gloating...). Obviously the same posts and photos will continue on this blog, though now with a less wanky title. Lovely.

Germany is not all socks and sandals

I went to Germany not expecting much and was pleasantly very surprised. It has alot more going for it than the stereotypes of unsmiling germans in socks and sandals where you can't mention the war. Germany has moved on - especially in Berlin, which is relaxed, cosmopolitan and full of polite, english-speaking germans. The food is dominated by sausages- well meat in generally actually, Gez and I ate about a cow each in our one week stay- but there are also great bakeries full of german pastries, which help offset the huge meals of meat.

We started our trip in Berlin and stayed at a very cool Berlin hostel (fake grass on canvas decorated the walls) and spent the four days at the spots every other tourist congregated at- Brandenburg Gate, Berlin Wall and Checkpoint charlie, Reichstag, nazi sights, jewish museum, art galleries, museums..... There is alot to see in Berlin and we were busy each day jostling with the other tourists for the best pictures, the best memories. The past is very real in Berlin, it is around every corner as you see the sight of Hitler's bunker (now a block of flats), the remnants of the SS buildings, the wall (still in chunks in places and fascinating to see). The highlights were many- the DDR museum showing the life in East Berlin under communism showed a post-war brown and green world of bad 70s clothes, furniture and nude bathing (everyone did it apparently) complete with the Trabi car, the only East German-made car. The Checkpoint Charlie museum on the sight of the Berlin wall was full of the inventions people used to slip past the guards on the walls- such as suitcases, hot air balloons (!), prams, car boots, anything big enough really. It also gave an insight into German humour, with many thankyous to the guards for not learning how to shoot straight.

We finished off in Berlin in time to get a ride through a carpooling service (the germans are very environmentally friendly, maybe it stems from all the nude bathing) to Munich (Munchen). We were driven down by the very jovial and long-haired Joachim, who communicated through facial gestures when he couldn't find the right english word, whilst rushing along the autobahn.
Munich is as different to Berlin as it is humanly possible. They may be in the same country but they are worlds apart- Munich is old Germany- conservative, traditional, full of beer gardens, huge meals (of meat) and elderly very well-dressed couples. The best thing about Munich was the beer garden, the waitresses (beer wenches?) actually wore socks and sandals with long black dresses that had a white 'wenchy' top underneath. It was like they had been dressed for a fancy dress party, though you couldn't tell them this as they were very serious waitresses- efficient, but serious. The food was always quickly dispatched, and involved slightly different variations of sauerkraut or potato accompanying larger and larger sizes of meat. On our last meal Gez ate a pork knuckle which stood completely alone on the plate, its immense size meant the potato and sauerkraut had to be dispatched separately.

The sights in Munich were not as varied as Berlin. The architecture was big, stately and grand, the streets wide. Proportions were large in Munich. The streets when we were there were dominated by two very different groups; the first being the mostly pissed out-of-tune groups of scottish football fans cheering on their team which had beaten Munich FC and the other was a protest of Kosovans cheering the announcement of the independence of their country. Both events happened under the glockenspeil clock, similarly looked on by the well-dressed Munich locals.
We flew out of Munich at night and arrived back in London reeling from the beer, meat and sights of Germany. Wunderba!

The wonders of Wast Water

The longest school term ever (or so it seemed) finally finished a few days before christmas, allowing Gez and I a few days to madly assemble the christmas paraphernalia needed for the festive season and for my parents' impending visit. A christmas tree was hastily purchased, we withstood many trips to ikea for kitchen essentials (though as soon as you go to ikea everything seems essential) and a tub of goose fat for the roast chickens was found (jamie o swears by it).
Mum and dad arrived two days before christmas, looking suntanned and relaxed after breaking their journey in Japan. Christmas was a nice, quiet affair at home eating lots of roast chicken (roasted in the aforesaid goose fat- very rich but very nice) and watching Eastenders and the Doctor Who christmas special. Unfortunately we missed the Queen's message but according to the locals, we didn't miss much. Mind you, Eastenders and Doctor Who were much more riveting than ol' lizzie could be, (for those that may know, tanya found out on christmas day that her husband max had had his way with her daughter-in-law-talk about fireworks!).
A few days after the chicken had settled and the impact of Eastenders had been digested, we picked up our hire car and drove up to the Lakes District. Unbeknown to us, everybody else was in a car either going back home from London or coming back to London after the excesses and stresses of christmas. Which meant every motorway (and there aren't that many in and out of London) were chockas. So it took us NINE BLOODY HOURS to get to Wast Water in the Lakes District. I was nearly hysterical, Gez was comatose whilst Mum and Dad thought it was all a lovely adventure. Ha!
Waking up the next morning in our cosy b&b (it was actually a farm with a whitewashed cottage for accomodation, right at the foot of Scafell Pike- a big pommie hill) made the nightmarish trip seem worth it. It was overcast and wet for the first few days, but even that couldn't diminish the scenery- which incidentally, was voted the 'best view' in Britain on a tv poll-(which means it MUST be true).
Whilst alot of over-dressed 'ramblers' (british walkers) strode past the farm each day with backpacks, steel poles, survival kits, thermal jackets, waterproof boots, ice picks and emergency rations, we wandered down the road alongside lovely Wast water lake in jeans and sneakers. The brits sure love to get the right gear for walking. One bloke who became a regular fixture in the b&b's loungeroom while we were there,-Robert- a very tall, slightly strange optician- would corner us with tales of his walks up Scafell Pike and other ranges. According to him, an ice pick and survival bag were needed if you wanted to walk up the nearby hills. I guess we were at least 10 minutes walk to the nearest pub, which obviously necessitates a survival bag of crisps and scotch eggs (or whatever the brits need to keep going in the wilderness). The motorway did not even stop near Wast water. Get me that survival bag, quick!
We did a few trips in the hire car (a big people mover thingy- felt a bit like a school trip gone wrong) to Windermere (too big after the quiet of Wast water) and Coniston- which was lovely, great big rocky hills, rushing streams and white cottages. On the last day the weather cleared up and we got to see Wast Water at its best- glistening still water, blue, intense hills and gorgeous steep rocky cliff-faces.
We broke the trip up on the way home so as not to spend 9 hours in the people mover. We stopped overnight at a highly decorated old people's home masquerading as a b&b in a sleepy village near Bradford called Dunstan-under-bottom, or something similiar. The rooms were decorated to within an inch of their lives, even the bin in our room was covered with satin, ribbons and lace. Our two elderly hosts- smiling Kate and the almost horizontal husband (very bad back) served up kippers in the morning with a smile and the sounds of Glen Campbell.
The last day we journeyed to Oxford and Rugby en route to London. Most of Rugby was closed, but we still managed to pose for some rugby-style photos near appropriate objects. Oxford fared a little better, with a few parts of the university open to wander around. Christ church college was lovely, historic, all that- though the best part was seeing the dining room complete with long wooden table and candles which provided the backdrop for the Harry Potter movies ! Always nice to see a bit of history...
We finally came home, dropped off the people mover, in time for New years Eve.
Bring on 2008!

An autumn drive through Wales and Scotland

Yet another half-term break (finally!) this October saw Gez and I off on a driving tour of Wales and Scotland. Our holiday started off by getting the train to Bristol to catch up with friends. Bristol was lovely- like a mini London, funky and in the countryside. Bonus! We then picked up our little car (a fiat- not very fast, but it was a nice blue colour, always important) and headed around the south-west coast of Wales.
We stopped over in Llanelli (pronounced 'Flafley' for some reason!) and continued on around the Pembrokeshire coastline- lovely little stone cotages, sandy beaches and strangely named Welsh villages. One sign we passed was all consonants- went something like 'Wynnthnnrmmn'. The Welsh were all very friendly however and the accent was so strange but nice, like a musical version of the North English accent. The only real difference between Wales and Scotland seemed to be the spelling- the Welsh were much more creative. We crossed the border-of sorts- at Shrewsbury, which was mini-Tudor town, full of those ye olde black and white striped buildings, and then onto York.
York was great- like an authentic 'Old Sydney Town' but about 400 years older! Old Norman ruins and castles were everywhere in the town, and a bloody huge old wall ran right through the centre of York. Apparently there is still a law in place in Westminster where it is legal to kill a Scotsman if he is carrying a bow and arrow within these walls of York. Can't think that is used so much nowadays- but York is just dripping with history- wars with the rogue scots, vikings, black death. All that history seems very real at York. Except of course, when you join a ghost tour (as we did- along with all the other 5 year olds) which was a bit of b-grade fun- people dressed up as Black death survivors, haunted pubs, torture chambers, etc..... York is big with primary school history excursions (like Canberra). York Minster was fascinating, even though our very old tour guide frequently forgot what he was talking about or what he was up to (lots of long pauses ensued) and the Shambles (more Tudor buildings) were very quaint as they literally leaned over the street.
After York we continued up through gorgeous Yorkshire and Cumbria (beautiful country- roads winding through tiny stone villages, rolling green hills, red, orange and brown trees), and stayed at a great pub in Cumbria. English people are certainly good at b&bs- lots of fluffy towels and hot full english breakfasts (the latter of which somebody took advantage of every morning- ie. Gez!).
We then finished off our marathon driving holiday by a quick tour of south Scotland- Edinburgh (did the castle), Stirling (didn't do the castle), Helensburgh (visited my old school) and up the highlands to Glencoe- gorgeous, misty and very, very cold! We got Richard Branson's train back to London and were back at school two days later- ahhhh!

Habla Ingles?

'Habla Ingles' (do you speak english) became our catchcry whilst in Spain. Luckily for us, the locals were fairly sympathetic towards tourists speaking bad spanish, so Gez and I fared pretty well. Spain was a delight- warm, relaxed, beautiful and cheap! Finally a place where it didn't cost thirty pounds ($85) to have dinner. We flew off to Madrid to start our trip, staying in a cheery, though loud, hostel in the heart of Madrid. We shared a room with two young Germans who had a habt of speaking quite loud german at 3am, and then getting up early and beating us to breakfast. This got better when they left and a lovely, quiet Danish couple took their place.
Madrid was surprisingly relaxed and quiet for a capital city (rather like Canberra- except better). The art galleries were outstanding- especially the Prado. We ate most of our meals in these great bar/restaurant places where you stood and ate at the bar, after being served by a very efficient, all male wait staff in funny red waistcoats. The ceiling was covered in hanging hams (hence its name 'musee de jamon'- house of ham!). The food was great and cheap, as long as you love meat (or ham).
Onto Seville next via a very fast train, where it was warmer and even more gorgeous. Seville is a very attractive place, even the locals seem better looking. The highlight was seeing a live flamenco performance by the attractive locals (although the bloke definitely looked like a bull) in a Moorish courtyard. We stayed in a lovely, cool pension, run by a father and his constantly cleaning daughter. It was very comfortable and quiet, so we were able to turn native and indulge in siestas- a fantastic spanish invention.
After a few days in Seville, we took the train to Barcelona via Madrid, (with a sense of deja vu) and arrived late at night on Saturday in the heart of Barcelona. Both being tired and cross after a whole day on the train, it was not the best welcome to this great city as we had to make our way to the hostel through crowds of pissed students on the main streets of Barcelona. It was definitely a party city. After Gez flew back the next morning, muttering something about lack of funds and Spain not living up to his expectations (!), I carried on the dream.
What a city! Lively, vibrant, great shops and lovely food- it had it all and more, (except for the pissed students). The Gaudi creations did get a bit much after a while, especially when I found myself taking photos of curved windows and mosaics that weren't actually Gaudi's. The Sagrada familia was truly amazing though- a 'once in a lifetime sight' as the guidebook promised. Stayed in another lovely, family-owned pension in Barcelona, run by a miniature Spanish mama and papa who were very helpful (though they kept speaking spanish to me despite my constant 'habla ingles?'). Got the train back to London (yes, it took all day) where it was cold, grey and wet and immediately wished I was back in Spain.