Secrets of the Nuns

by Anne Rothwell

After the troubles in Lebanon, my brother Freddie was living in Beirut, helping to restore water and sewage systems, so we decided to pay him a visit, knowing it would be convenient to tour Syria and Jordan while we were in the region, as we’re not ones for missing a good opportunity.

Several days after our arrival and having visited Byblos, Tyre, Sidon and Baalbek, we continued the biblical theme by taking the road to Damascus. Freddie recommended that we stay in a convent where he’d stayed in the city, so this we did and found it excellent. Our next destination was Aleppo, and finding convent accommodation a success, we managed to find one there which was willing to put us up for a night. We were shown into a pleasant twin room with a balcony overlooking a quiet and very pretty Italianate square.

Feeling tired after our long journey, we both collapsed on the beds for a rest. Five minutes later there was a knock at the door and two nuns entered, took some clothes out of the wardrobe and left again. We were soon disturbed by another knock and a nun came in and took some shoes from under the bed. Then, oh horrors, it dawned that we had taken the room from the nuns, who obviously had to find another place to sleep. We consoled ourselves with the belief that they needed the money.

The next day, we planned to go south again and stay in Homs, so we made use of an Arabic-speaking nun to phone and book us a room at the Grand Hotel there. On arrival, we discovered that the hotel was upstairs above shops in a small shopping arcade. We entered the lift, the doors closed and we were surprised to hear a seductive recorded female voice purring, “Welcome to the Grand Hotel Basman”. Then the doors opened and there, before our astonished eyes, was a roomful of ladies clad in satin dressing gowns and using hairdryers, playing cards and generally lounging around. This was some culture shock as all the females we’d seen for some time had been enveloped in burkhas or nuns’ habits.

After we’d been persuaded by the pleasant lady in Reception that it was quite normal for hotels and houses of easy virtue to be one and the same thing, we spent a pleasant enough night there; but oh, the amusing irony of imagining the nun’s reaction if she’d known where she’d booked us!


First published in VISA issue 61 (June 2005)

Slovenia and Croatia

by Tim Grimes

My wife and I, and our 11-year old and 12-year old children, flew into Zagreb earlier this year. We hired a car, and drove around coastal Croatia and Slovenia - and into Italy and Austria.

We had already seen Slovenia and wanted to return, to see more of the former Yugoslavia. We spent two or three weeks there, at the end of July, when the outside temperature varied between 18 degrees at mountain top, and 30 degrees  at the coast. The heat was a good excuse to try the consistently excellent ice-cream - most places sell 15 to 20 varieties at about 25p a shot.

Mt Triglav

We flew into Zagreb by Croatia Airlines. It is an older airport with a “Follow Me” car and a bus to immigration. We were greeted in English and speeded through to the adjacent baggage hall, where the bags were already circulating. As arranged much earlier in the year, we were met at the Airport by our taxi driver, who charged us the pre-arranged fare. So, it all worked efficiently and why shouldn't it? Because, actually, it doesn't always. But here, in Zagreb, we began to notice the unobtrusive efficiency which we saw everywhere else in the country. Most Croatians seem to speak English as a second language - those who don't speak German or Italian.

We spent the first few days at the Palace Hotel, Zagreb, which worked very well. The food reached the excellent standard which we came to expect throughout Croatia. Croatia works: the waiter brought a phone to the dinner table - it was the Budget's Airport franchise asking what time we wanted the car delivered. I left the car parked in a nearby street and collected a parking ticket. The hotel porter took the ticket away for cancellation.

Zagreb is a pleasant and attractive town, dominated by an ancient cathedral with a Nineteenth Century twin-spired facade. The place is 99% Roman Catholic, but we also saw Baptist and Orthodox churches. The old town, accessible by an 1898 funicular, also contains the Parliament in a cobbled square around St Mark's spectacular church. Our visit fell in with an international folk festival, which solved the question “Do the denizens of Zagreb really wander around dressed like this?” Zagreb is a young town seemingly populated largely by teenage boys on skateboards. The guide books say that, by 23, one is too old for the night clubs - and that is believable.

We drove to Porec on the coast, via Opatia, an imperial resort with its elegant villa hotels. The roads are excellent and far from crowded and the direction signs fairly good, despite the absence of road numbers even for the trans-European “E” roads. The route took us through spectacular wooded hills and across magnificent valleys on high viaducts.

Porec was a disappointment. Our research had identified it as a prime coastal resort, but it transpired to be the Croatian equivalent of Weymouth with a few ancient ruins. We had chosen a hotel which turned out to have the feel of an Airtours resort. We moved to the Melia Eden Hotel in neighbouring Rovinj - not a typing mistake, but an enchanting yachting and fishing harbour with labyrinthine stone passages between tall tenements, which radiated from the town square. The Venetian style St Euphemia's church tops the hill which dominates the little town. The newspapers were £3 a shot, but the internet cafe cost pocket change.

The Eden Hotel was renovated in 1999 and bears all the hallmarks of Croatian efficiency. A well-named four star resort with smiling staff, an outstanding restaurant and pool, and all the activities you would expect, is adjacent to a quiet stony beach in a holiday-brochure bay.

As in Rovinj itself, visitors came from Germany, Austria, Slovenia, Hungary, Poland and Italy - there were even a few cars from as far away as Estonia, Latvia and Sweden. We heard few English voices. As in the town, the charm of the place is enhanced by its cosmopolitan nature. We talked to staff and guests in pidgin Croat (recognisably similar to Polish and Czech, which we had picked up on previous trips), and in German, English, Italian and (despite the absence of anyone from France) French.

A short drive away is the hilltop village of Motovun. Just 1000 narrow twisting stone steps up from the car park, in the baking mid-day heat, found us the church, hotel, post office - and an ATM. And breathtaking views of the wooded hills and valleys and the sea some 15 mles distant. An unusual location for an antiquarian bookshop offering a wide range of Russian classical literature, the works of Thackeray, Winston Churchill's World War II and Boswell's Life of Johnson. Again we found St Mark's lion of Venice adorning the architecture.

The Croatian coast is full of small towns on promontories. Rovinj was the most attractive which we found, Porec is another and Umag is a small, quiet, town, which probably attracts the yachtie crowd in the evenings.

We had planned to spend a few days based in Trieste, and to see the Slovenian coast from there. We drove out of Croatia, along the spectacular coast of Slovenia and out the other side, into Italy, without formality and in about 40 minutes. We entered Trieste via the heavy industry end of town and through some really run down housing estates. Finding the centre was difficult, not helped by frenetic Italian driving. We spent the next day exploring the city, but only found the Piazza Unita d'Italia to be of any interest. It is a massive square bordered on three sides by romantic Nineteenth Century facades and on the fourth by the coast road. A blizzard of litter and dust swirled around, obscuring visibility. This may account for the Italian habit of trying to walk into a space already occupied by someone else. To be fair, our decision was also affected by the massive traffic jam of Italian cars approaching the Slovenian border at the coastal crossing, on its way south for Italian holidays. It is essential to get out of Croatia before the end of July, when Italians move in.

So we decided to call a halt to Trieste after a day, and moved on to the Lipica in Slovenia, the stud where the Lipizzaner horses of Spanish Riding School were originally bred. Following the “Slovenia” signs from Trieste, we were relieved to be returning to the developed world. We toured the stud and watched a presentation by the riding school (free to hotel guests), but we weren't allowed to ride - because we hadn't brought our riding boots! That's a rather important travel tip to note. We stayed at the Maestoso Hotel on campus; there is also the more reasonably priced Club Hotel, a casino, a golf course and plenty of cafes, bars and restaurants.

International treaties have left Slovenia with less than 20 miles of coast and one port - Koper - approached by an attractive coastal road bounded by trees and cycle lanes and, for a major deep-water container and oil port, a pleasant town centre. Portoroz, the popular resort, is a long, wide, coastal road with hotels overlooking the sea and shops and activities of the mini-golf kind along the shore. For such a resort, it is inoffensive.

Piran

Next door, Piran is a delightful fishing and yachting port. We paid a parking fee at the village checkpoint, which seemed a sensible arrangement The town is dominated by the hill-top Baroque St George's church, its fantastic religious paintings adorning the wooden ceiling and the walls in the closing stages of renovation. The Venetian influence is present again in St Mark's lion cast into the town hall at the circular marble-floored piazza in the centre of the town

On our way to Lake Bled - on even better and even less-used roads than in Croatia - we stopped at the Postojna caves, the largest cave complex in Europe. There are more than a dozen miles of underground passages resplendent with millions of stalactites and stalagmites in passages and huge halls big enough to accommodate the occasional orchestral concert. Entry is hourly by a small train, then by foot, on a 90 minute journey through parts of the caves.

Slovenia is only a small country. A non-stop journey from the Mediterranean coastal resorts to the Alpine lake resort of Bled, in the far north, would take a couple of hours, by well-surfaced and clear roads (mind the speed cameras enforced by police motorcycles!). The lake is surrounded by woods and the foothills of the Julian Alps. There is a small town at one shore, with hotels and campsites dotted around the lake. We stayed at the Kompas Hotel, comfortable with an excellent a la carte restaurant, but breakfast was less than exciting and hot water ran out at a time of day more often associated with Blackpool B&Bs than international hotels. In the middle of the lake is the island church, accessed only by 18-seater boats each rowed by one man. The legendary castle, dating from 1004 stands on a high rock overlooking the lake but, mercifully, can be accessed by road.

An alternative lakeside venue is Velden am Wörthersee, just 45 minutes, and an uneventful border crossing, away in Austria: a much more developed resort, offering all kinds of water sports on a massive lake. Numerous riding stables are nearby; we paid SIT3,000 per hour at the nearest  - the Hippodrome - for a hack though the woods and a canter across fields, and my son an introductory lesson. We spent an undemanding morning white water rafting on the Sava Dolinka  - more exhilarating courses are available from the same operator.

Nearby is the Triglav National Park - thickly wooded mountains and valleys full of crystal clear water, presided over by Mt Triglav 2,864 metres. We had lunch at a recommended pizza restaurant in Kranska Gora and drove up 30 numbered hairpin bends, ascending over 1,000 metres in half an hour - not for the faint-hearted, but fantastic views of the mountain system and its valleys.

Wiser counsel would have returned us to Bled by the less direct main roads. Instead, we took, what looked from the map, like a short cut. It took us up three mountains and down again, around countless hairpins, narrow made and unmade mountain tracks, scary gradients, and remote villages where only hermits, or Sherpa Tensing, might be found.

Ljubljana is Slovenia's tiny but stylish capital. Because the city was largely rebuilt (by nationalist Slovene architects) following an earthquake in 1895, much of the architecture is consistent and what they call the Austrian Secessionist style, reflecting nationalist aspirations - and (after 1918, by Josip Plecnik) nationalist testimony - to the Kingdom of the Slovenes, Croats and Serbs.

The classical tree-lined river Ljubljana contrasts today's “off-the-wall” sense of humour e.g. the skateboard shop where opening the door mechanically raised a brick above a prone Tellytubby. On closing the door, the brick descend with some force, onto the unfortunate creature which shrieked in pain. There is style here, including the roads full of boutiques selling the latest designer-label teenage fashions which, my children told me, are quite a lot cheaper than at home. And where else would the street cleaners dress in white shirts and black bow ties?

Ljubljana is a university town, as we saw from the age of its population and the general ambience of the place. There are so many bars and restaurants to eat and drink, along the riverside and the chic cobbled roads - but the restaurateurs would be better advised to remove “cutlet of foal” from English menu translations.

Why don't the British come to this part of the world? It is so easy - just pick up the phone to the London-based national tourist offices, nick the hotels from the brochures and a browse through WH Smith's travel guides. There's also so much information now on the net although, to negotiate prices, there's no substitute for a phone call. OK, we got a couple of venues wrong. So what - change it on arrival!

And it is so different in central and eastern Europe - each country is so different from the hackneyed and increasingly homogenising France and Spain - and so different than each other. It must be like our grandparents' travels in Western Europe - but easier. Prices in Croatia are a bit lower than at home. Slovenia is a little cheaper again.

It is worth actually buying the Lonely Planet Guides at Smiths. When you arrive (or by internet in advance) the In Your Pocket guides to central and eastern European capitals, written by locally based authors and updated quarterly, give a genuine insight and are cheap.

Hotels quoted us rates in euros, but charged in local currencies. At a push, restaurants etc will accept euros in payment if you are a bit short of local currency. Visa is not as widely accepted as Eurocard, Mastercard, and neither is quite as widely accepted as at home - if in doubt, ask first.

For the idle, a couple of tour operators specialising in this area but, of course, that loses the flexibility of private travel.

First published in VISA issue 48 (winter 2002)

Balkan and Transylvanian Treasures

by David Whiting


Wednesday 5 September, Budapest. 

It is cold and raining all day. We meet our Hungarian driver for the tour, Imre, and have a morning city sightseeing tour. We drive into the city and make our first photo stop at Heroes' Square at the end of the city's 'Champs Elysées'. In the square is a tall column, surrounded by equestrian statues of the leaders of the seven tribes who settled in the area in 896 and founded the Magyar people; the name is derived from two words mogy and eri, both meaning 'man'. Atop the column is a statue of Archangel Gabriel, said to have appeared in a dream to King Stephen and offered him a crown in 1000. The first underground in continental Europe was constructed to link the city with Heroes' Square in 1896 to commemorate the millennium of the country.

Our route takes us past the enormous Parliament building, completed in 1902, styled on London's Houses of Parliament. When created in the 1880s Hungary was three times its current size, losing much of its territory after the First World War. On the bank of the River Danube near the Parliament is a monument of 60 pairs of shoes which commemorate the killing of 60 Jews in the Holocaust, when they were shot trying to cross the river.


Crossing the 19th century Chain Bridge we arrive on the Buda side. Close to the 19th century Buda Castle we stop at the 19th century St Matthias Church, named after a 15th century king who was married there. Parts of the church date from the 13th century. It is very beautiful but is currently shrouded in scaffolding undergoing restoration. Nearby is the Fishermen's Bastion, built 1890-1905 and so named because fresh fish was brought to a market there; it is now a promenade with marvellous views along the river.


After lunch we go on an excursion to Szentendre, 25km north of Budapest, on the picturesque Danube Bend. Szentendre today is an artists' town, with many tourist shops. The Serbian houses are brightly decorated. In the 17th century Serbs fled from their homeland when it was overrun by the Ottomans. They settled here and established seven churches. We go inside the Orthodox Blagovesztenska Church built in 1754, the Church of the Assumption. There are separate entrances for men and women. Orthodox masses are held but infrequently. There is a large number of icon paintings. Also in the town is a Plague Cross, 1763; according to legend a victim was buried there vertically upside down in the hope that the plague would be defeated. We have a much-needed hot drink and a pancake at a local restaurant; the pancake is rich with chocolate and liqueur so that it briefly burns with a blue flame.


Thursday 6 September. 

We leave Budapest travelling south-west, crossing the Great Plain, which is mostly very flat with forests and huge fields of sweetcorn and sunflowers. We enter Serbia, still on the Great Plain. Vineyards add to the crops.


We have a lunch stop in Novi Sad, Serbia's second largest city. Slobode Square outside the City hall is the central square. Local artists have decorated fabricated life-size cows which have been placed all around the square. Across the Danube we climb many steps to visit the mediaeval Petrovaradin Fortress, which has a system of extensive tunnels with space for 30,000 people. According to legend, nobody ever knew the entire layout for security purposes.
Later we arrive in Belgrade, which stands at the confluence of the Rivers Danube and Sava. The city has been destroyed many times so few old buildings remain. Some buildings bombed by NATO in 1999 to remove the dictator Slobodan Milosevic have been left unrepaired. We have a brief drive through the city as far as the Kalemegdan Fortress which overlooks the two rivers. Our hotel, the Continental, is in an ultra-modern area outside the centre.


Friday 7 September. 

We leave Belgrade heading south. The main road passes villages and fields, with the occasional shepherd and his flock. Gradually the land becomes more hilly. We pass through Nis, the third largest city in Serbia, where the Roman Emperor Constantine was born. Then the road passes through a beautiful gorge with several tunnels.


Before we reach the Bulgarian border, we have to change our remaining Serbian dinars into Euro as they cannot be changed in Bulgaria. Border formalities are simple now that Bulgaria has joined the European Union.


Saturday 8 September. 

We begin the day with a sightseeing tour of Sofia, the capital of Bulgaria. We are relieved that we can actually enjoy it in sunshine, although it is not warm. Heading into the city we pass the monument to Vasil Levsky, Bulgaria's greatest revolutionary hero in the 1860s/70s, rebelling against the Turks, who executed him on the site of his more recent monument.

Alexander Nevski Cathedral

We stop and continue on foot from the city's most splendid edifice, the Alexander Nevski Cathedral, built 1882-1912 to commemorate the soldiers of many nations who fought against the Turks in 1877/78. This Russian Orthodox Church is highly decorated. Only a few seats are provided for the sick and elderly. Music is not allowed except for choirs. There are two thrones, one for the king, the other for the Pope; the king's throne is the larger. The cathedral was named after St Alexander Nevski, the Russian tsar who led his country to victory over Sweden in 1240; he was the patron saint of the Russian tsar when the building was commenced. Other Sofia sites include the tomb of the unknown soldier outside the city's oldest church, the 6th century St Sofia after whom the city was named; the Russian church of St Nicholas, started in 1912/13 by the Russian embassy and donated to the refugees from the Bolsheviks; the National Theatre, built in 1906 and named in honour of Ivan Vazov (1850-1921); a mausoleum to Georgy Dimitrov who was nominated by Stalin to govern Bulgaria, but who died in 1949; and a small area of Roman remains, surrounded by high modern buildings. An early 4th century rotunda was later converted into a church to St George and has frescoes dating from the 10th century.


After the tour we drive south out of Sofia into the Rila Mountains to visit a UNESCO World Heritage Site, Rila Monastery. Founded in 946 by St Ioan Rilski, it was destroyed many times and most of the present building was erected in 1816-47. The oldest part remaining is a 14th century tower, which has the appearance of a castle keep. It is Bulgaria's largest monastery. The architecture is modern Byzantine. The church is richly decorated with frescoes, icons and carvings. It contains the tomb of King Boris III who reigned between the two world wars. Communists removed and disposed of his body but his heart was located and reinterred here.


Sunday 9 September. 

We leave Sofia heading east parallel with the range of the Balkan Mountains. Balkan is a Turkish word meaning 'mountain'. We stop in Plovdiv, the country's second largest city with 345 000 inhabitants. It was founded by Philip II of Macedonia, father of Alexander the Great, in 342BC as Philipopolis. It was a large town in Roman times, when it was known as Trimontium, as it was built on three hills.


The centre of Plovdiv is pedestrianised and characterised by odd abstract sculptures. We walk to a small Roman stadium, partially hidden by a new shopping centre and paths; it is overlooked by a modern statue of Philip II and a 14th century mosque undergoing restoration - half of the minaret is missing. From here we climb into the old town, passing the cathedral, built 1844 with its bell-tower added in 1881. The streets are steep and irregular with large cobblestones. We continue up to the large 2nd century Roman amphitheatre, which has magnificent views over the city. It is still used for operas, plays, festivals etc.


We pass a house, built in 1868 with the permission of the Turkish governor. It bears an Arabic inscription on one wall, Bulgarian on the adjacent wall. We also see the house where the French poet Lamartine stayed in 1833. He was the first Western writer to write about Bulgaria. The upper storeys overhangs the lower ones, almost with an English Tudor look.


After lunch we leave Plovdiv passing through the Valley of Roses, famous for the production of flowers and especially rose-oil. Then we climb into mountains covered in forests, stopping at Shipka. There is a great memorial, erected in 1935, to a battle in Shipka Pass where in 1877 Bulgarian and Russian forces defeated a larger Turkish army.


Finally we reach our hotel for the night, the Yantra in the centre of the city of Veliko Tarnovo and overlooking the River Yantra. Across the river from our hotel is the Tsarevets Fortress, dating from the 5th century but mainly built 1185-1393. After dinner in the hotel's restaurant the lights are switched off and at 9pm there is a spectacular son et lumière display at the fortress. The sound is relayed through the restaurant's speakers and is very dramatic. The light display lasts a whole hour and is a highlight of the tour. Veliko Tarnovo was Bulgaria's first capital after the Turks were removed and in 1878 the first Parliament was held at the Tsarevets Fortress. On a bridge over the river is an equestrian statue of the founder of the second Bulgarian kingdom, erected in 1985.


Monday 10 September. 

We visit the Tsarevets Fortress and then nearby Arbanasi. A guidebook refers to many fortress-style houses in the village but all we see is the Church of the Nativity, built in 1598. Outside it has the appearance of a barn, although it used to be much larger. Inside it is like two narrow tunnels. The ancient walls are highly decorated with frescoes; the many cracks are patched up with sellotape! There was a separate chapel for women, influenced by the Greek Orthodox rules; some of the frescoes here are of female saints.


We leave Arbanasi and return by way of Veliko Tarnovo, passing through a forested gorge, heading north across a plain to Ruse for a lunch stop. The city has a pleasant main square with two lovely fountains, a Monument to freedom and a pedestrianised zone. Despite being a border city it is not a tourist town. Afterwards we cross the Friendship Bridge, the only bridge across the Danube that links Bulgaria with Romania, and after brief frontier formalities we cross into Romania, and by late afternoon we are in the capital, Bucharest, which has 2 million inhabitants. The Romanian currency, the leu, has been revalued since last year: 10,000 old lei are worth one leu now. Prices in both values are often seen. Banknotes are made of washable plastic!


Bucharest has wide boulevards and an appalling traffic problem. It seems as if Romanians actually enjoy sitting for ages in traffic jams.


Tuesday 11 September. 

We have a local guide, Mariana, for our city sightseeing and a local driver too. Before the Second World War Bucharest was known as Little Paris owing to its broad boulevards and beautiful buildings. In 1857 it was the first city in Europe to be lit by gas lamps. Heading into the city we pass the Monastery of Casi; gymnast Nadia Comaneci was married in its church. We drive pass the Arch of Triumph, first built in wood in 1922 and rebuilt in stone in 1936; it commemorates the victory of the Romanian army in the First World War. No-one has passed through the arch except Michael Jackson, when the streets were crowded with fans. In Bucharest we notice ugly electricity and telephone wires across the streets, reminiscent of Hanoi.


We reach Victory Square and drive along Victory Street. We pass the 100-year-old Government palace and Victoria Casino, which was the city Nazi HQ in the Second World War. After Las Vegas and Reno, Bucharest has more casinos than any other city. Further along is the former Royal Palace, 1812; the last king went into exile in 1947 and the building is now the National Art Museum. Almost opposite is the building of the Central Communist Party where Nicolae Ceaucescu had his office and the balcony where he made his speeches; the building now contains several ministries. In the square outside, the 1989 revolution began. When the army backed the revolution, a helicopter landed on the flat roof and Ceaucescu escaped, later to be caught and executed.

Our tour continues with a photo stop at the Parliament Building, to which we will return later. It is the world's second largest building (after the Pentagon; however, Chicago and Macau also claim to have the world's second largest building). 50000 houses and a monastery were demolished to make way for it. It was built 1984-90. Opposite is a beautiful boulevard with 41 fountains, one for each of the 41 regions of Romania, although most of the fountains only operate at weekends. At the end is Union Square with Union Shopping Centre, the largest in south-east Europe.


We take the road up to the nearby Patriarchal Cathedral, 1654-58, seat of the Romanian Orthodox Church, which is spoilt by scaffolding. There is considerable activity today as the former Patriarch died recently and there will be an election tomorrow to choose the new Patriarch, so many senior church officials come and go. There is beautiful singing inside the church which is richly decorated with frescoes and icons. The tomb of St Dumitru, patron saint of Bucharest, can also be seen. The patriarch is the country's fifth most powerful person.


We return to the vicinity of our hotel to visit the Village Museum, founded in 1936. A variety of old buildings from all areas of Romania were dismantled and reconstructed here. Many were built entirely of wood, including the nails; there are also many thatched buildings. Roofs are often high, to store cereals. The buildings are a little too close to each other and there are too many trees to appreciate them all fully, but they are extremely picturesque. Many sheltered crosses can be seen along paths for travellers to pray. Gates and entrances were always highly decorated. The Village Museum has something rarely seen in Bucharest: a tourist shop. It is one of the few places, apart from good hotels, where souvenirs can be obtained.


After lunch we leave on an excursion to the Parliament Building, also known as the People's Palace. Entrance costs 15 lei (£3/$5), a photo permit costs double this amount. Inside we meet our Parliament guide who in one hour shows us about 5%of the 1000 rooms. The main Conference Hall has an enormous chandelier weighing five tons and 600 leather seats. All the rooms are ludicrously spacious, with splendid wooden and marble parquet floors, carvings, carpets, pictures etc. There is even a Parliament Museum. The building is now 90% complete. The cost of the building will never be known as no records were kept. It was built with public money.


Wednesday 12 September. 

We leave Bucharest heading north by way of Ploiesti, an industrial city with many oil refineries, then north-west to Sinaia, a mountain resort with a 17th century monastery, then Peles Castle, 1874-1883, built as a summer residence for Carol I, the first modern Romanian king. We continue after a late lunch, through the Carpathian Mountains into Transylvania, a region of originally Saxon towns, where German is often seen and spoken; there are also numerous Hungarian communities.

Thursday 13 September. 

We leave Brasov in heavy rain and drive about 30km to Bran Castle, perched on a 60m high rock. The castle was built around 1360 and has been linked with the Dracula legend since Bram Stoker's novel was published. Bram Stoker may have seen the castle in pictures and used it in the story, but there is no evidence to prove that Dracula ever stayed there.

Dracula's real name was Vlad Tepes (Vlad the Impaler), ruler of Wallachia. He was born in Sighisoara in 1431. In his youth he was sent as a hostage to the Ottoman Court where he witnessed a lot of torture. Eventually he was released and became ruler of Wallachia in 1456. At that time Brasov was ruled by the Germans who called it Kronstadt, so German is still commonly seen in the area. Bran was a border town. Vlad taxed merchants, then banned them from travelling through Wallachia. Any criminals were impaled, hence his name. He defeated the Turks nearby in 1441 and exacted the same punishment. He was therefore a real figure, but the legend as a vampire is total fiction.


There is a steep slope and steps up to the castle entrance. Inside there are plain white walls with old pictures and museum exhibits of Queen Marie who received the castle as a gift in the early 20th century. It was then restored. We understand the castle will come on to the property market in 2009.

We return to Brasov for a walking tour. Two-thirds of the mediaeval walls and gates remain and there are many ancient buildings. We walk along the town's narrowest street, Rope Street, 132m wide and 83m long. There are medieval look-out towers outside the city wall and a cable car takes passengers to the top of Tampa Mountain which overlooks Brasov.


There are plenty of shops in Brasov, especially shoe and fashion shops. And everywhere in Romania there are exchange bureaux and mobile phone shops.


Friday 14 September. 

We leave Brasov heading north through beautiful rolling countryside and picturesque villages with walled and fortified churches. We make a photo stop in one village, Saschiz, dominated by a ruined castle.


Our next stop is in Sighisoara, another Saxon town founded in the 13th century. The Old Town is surrounded by a wall with many towers and gates. It is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Inside the citadel visitors are greeted by two men, possibly students, one carrying a halberd, the other banging a drum. They welcome groups in English, French, German, Japanese, Hindi, Hebrew and several other languages.


We see the house where Vlad Tepes (Dracula) was born in 1414 and lived from 1431 until 1436. It is now a restaurant. We try to have lunch here but it is fully reserved. It's a pity as we were looking forward to stake and chips with garlic! Most visitors climb the 64m high 14th century Clock Tower. A ticket costs 5 lei and includes a museum on several floors; one room is dedicated to German rocket pioneer Hermann Oberth (1894-1989), the father of space travel. The tower's observation platform has marvellous views over the town and signs to various places, even North Pole (3975km).


After lunch our leisurely drive continues to Cluj-Napoca, the largest city in Transylvania and most cosmopolitan city in Romania. Until recently the city was known simply as Cluj; in 1974 Napoca, the name of a nearby Roman city, was added to the name. Our hotel is a good walk from the city centre and we have a short city tour before checking in. We pass the country's most important botanical gardens. In the main square stands a fine Roman Catholic Church with in front an equestrian statue of Matei Corvin, born in Cluj, who as Matthias (Mátyás) was a 15th century king of Hungary. Nearby is the Romanian Orthodox Cathedral, built in the 1920s.


Saturday 15 September. 

After breakfast we return to our room to prepare for departure and have to break into the room as the key does not open the door. That will keep the maintenance man busy!


We leave Cluj-Napoca heading west with a lunch stop in Oradea, an ordinary town close to the Hungarian border. Again frontier formalities are straightforward and we are soon in Hungary, crossing the Great Hungarian Plain back to Budapest. The weather is now hot and sunny and we wish we could start the holiday again. We find a restaurant for dinner; the menu includes such typical Hungarian dishes as 'surprised pork' (devilled) and even stranger names we cannot remember!


Sunday 16 September. 

We have a late afternoon flight home so we spend the morning in the park opposite the hotel (sadly the park attracts several tramps) and reading in the hotel. Our tour has been one of the best, spoilt only by bad weather. Our driver, Imre, and our tour director, Zsuzsana, have been superb; hotels, meals and value for money have been excellent

First published in VISA issue 77 (Feb 2008)

Meet the Monuments

By Lynda Penhallow

For the last sixteen years New York has been my favourite place to visit. Subsequently, it was no surprise to anyone that my husband chose to take me there with a party of our family to celebrate my 50th birthday in September 2000. When the planes crashed into the World Trade Centre towers on 9/11/2001 my daughter telephoned me and asked if I had kept our entrance tickets to the buildings from the previous year and if I had, to look at them.
Our tickets were timed 10.15 for that same date. Our party arrived downtown at a subway station situated immediately under the Trade Centre buildings early on the morning of 9/11/2000, visited the ATM in the basement of buildings, leisurely looked at the shops, and had a coffee. If I had been born a year later we would have been in building at the time that the planes hit.

We visited New York again early in 2002 and were touched to see the change in the attitude of the people. My husband speaks slowly and more than once on previous visits he had been hurried up; once an impatient assistant in a delicatessen actually banged the counter and told him 'today guy, today!' However, this time, the famous New York brashness was temporarily gone; the people took the time to make small talk and there was a feeling that they were comfortable to share their experience. We were genuinely sad at their loss and disorientated by the huge hole in the ground and the changed landscape. Free 'timed' tickets were available to visit Ground Zero, to give visitors enough time and space to stand and just think or to look at the photos and reminders of the people who had died, which were in evidence all around the site. Anybody who visited the Trade Centre before 9/11 will remember the magnificent Globe sculpture set in the centre of a fountain which stood in the middle of the Plaza complex. The Globe was badly damaged in the attack, but was retrieved from the rubble and moved to Battery Park; early in 2002 it was a battered, almost defiant, symbol surrounded by candles, messages, and flowers. Last month, we went back to New York and were very sad to see that it now stands in the middle of a rather unkempt oblong of grass, and the eternal flame in front of it needs some care and attention.

On this visit we were spending nine nights in New York and five nights in Washington. We had arranged the holiday ourselves with the help of a tour company and, for the first time, had daytime flights both ways. The wonderful views as we flew down over Long Island were only outdone by the even more fantastic views as we flew home from Washington. The plane flew right over New York, and we could clearly see the buildings and Central Park. We were concerned after reading about the recent upgraded security checks, because flying into America has never been the most welcoming of experiences. In fact, the process this time was much better than we had experienced in the past, albeit that we did have to queue to be finger printed and photographed. There are taxi rank supervisors operating outside JFK airport now to stop the rogue unlicensed taxi drivers from ripping people off. We were silly enough to have been caught by one once, even though we had been warned they operated, and the taxi fare was outrageous; it certainly taught us a lesson.

Unfortunately, the day we arrived, two firemen had died in a fire at one of the buildings still being demolished at the World Trade Centre site. This dominated the local news and television for the entire visit and resurrected the debate about the site. The funeral of one of the men was held in St Patrick's Cathedral a few streets away from our hotel and the entire area around Fifth Avenue was closed for the procession of hundreds of police and firemen in honour of their colleague. The service was broadcast over loudspeakers and, although we obviously didn't know the man, we were caught up in the huge sense of occasion. When the fire engine carrying the coffin, which had been draped in the American flag left the cathedral, it was flanked in the front and at the rear by hundreds of police, ambulance and fire vehicles flashing their blue lights. A bagpipe band playing the American Anthem accompanied the procession; along with the thousands of people who were there, we were deeply moved.

New York is a wonderful multicultural city where anything goes. We enjoyed the sight of shop girls singing and dancing at the door of their store to attract customers (and very well too!). After a walk through Central Park, we called in at The Boathouse to watch the turtles and have a beer. We spent a very pleasant hour talking current affairs, politics and the customs of different countries with the two very well informed young barmen, one a Czech and the other a Croatian. They were happy and positive and full of plans to return home one day to their own countries, which they clearly loved. My husband had read that a visit to the 'Stage Deli' was a must, so we called in there for an evening meal. The sight of the house speciality, which is absolutely enormous mounds of greasy pastrami balanced between two slices of bread, held together with sticks, being eaten by everyone around me wasn't pleasant, but my husband manfully worked his way through one. I thought that I would be safe and have an omelette. Curiously, when it arrived, the omelette was served with a bagel and strawberry jam. It was an interesting experience, but never to be repeated by us, even though the atmosphere in the deli was fantastic!

We were surprised to see that the Plaza Hotel has been sold and is being turned into luxurious apartments with a starting price of $1.3 million. What a wonderful place to live, right next door to Central Park. At the weekend, the park is where the whole of New York seems to relax. We have always enjoyed the atmosphere on a Sunday: the traffic is stopped from driving through the park and the roads are taken over by cyclists, walkers and joggers. Baseball players enjoy the specially designated areas and groups of people either roller skating, dancing to their boom boxes, practising Tai Chi, or just reading seem to rub along side by side without any friction in the huge space the park provides. There are places to eat and drink and, of course, the Central Park Zoo is always worth a visit. It is small but very well presented and all the animals look cared for and happy. There are parts of the park that look so wild it is hard to believe that it is not natural. We walked around the track, which runs around the huge reservoir in the park and it is not hard to imagine Jackie Kennedy (whom the reservoir is now named after) and her entourage on their daily jog.

Thanks to my husband's well-thumbed book listing the best dive bars in New York we found 'Old McSorleys Ale House'. This pub is amazing! Opened in 1854, the pub refused to admit women because the landlords wanted it as a refuge for men after a hard day at work. They stuck steadfastly to this rule until a court ordered them to admit women in 1970. There is still a slight feeling that women are begrudged admission; this is demonstrated by the fact that there is only one large sign for the toilet, but it is for men. There is no indication that this is the case until women do as I did, and walk in off the pub floor and come face to face with a man!
There is sawdust on the floor and the only beer you can have is light or dark served in half-pint glasses. However, the dark walls are lined with old paper cuttings and pictures and it is a very interesting place. When the pub's regular customers were called up for national service during the First World War, a full turkey dinner was cooked for each man and the wishbone was hung over the light fitting on the bar, ready for them to collect when they returned. The enormous wishbones belonging to the soldiers who didn't come back still hang there. Pete's Tavern in the East Village is another pub worth a visit; it was opened in 1864 and the writer O Henry wrote Craft of the Magi in 1905 sitting in the booth by the door. Today there is a picture of him by the booth to help you to identify the spot.

My favourite pub was Jeremy's Ale House near the Fulton Fish Market. Jeremy offers beer in huge 32 ounce Styrofoam cups, but he is the friendliest barman in New York and warmly welcomes the British. For some reason the entire ceiling space is taken over by bras hanging like flags. I didn't like to ask why, just in case my curiosity cost me an instant penalty and I would have to forfeit mine to join the rest. Jeremy gave us a car bumper sticker, which now proudly sits on the rear of our Astra, and in turn we sent him over a British donation for his ceiling. If you do ever visit this bar, have a look for the Union Jack offering which is hopefully hanging somewhere.

We also re-visited Sammy's Romanian Restaurant which is situated downtown in basement premises that you could easily walk past and not notice. Sammy prides himself on being the rudest host in New York but actually he is very, very funny. There is always live and lively Jewish music and the guests are able to join in the dancing and singing, encouraged by a very jolly waitress. Sammy asked us what wine we would like and when we gave him our choice he told us what was available, from the choice of one, for us to have! Some of the food is not for the weak stomached, because it is liberally mixed with chicken fat at the table, but the steaks are definitely wonderful and the evening is always good fun even on a rainy Wednesday. My husband had arranged for us to eat in the Rainbow Room grill because it offers stunning views of the Empire State Building. The seating is arranged so that all the tables face the view.
The only thing that spoiled the visit was the rather haughty waitress presenting us with the bill for our meal and an additional bill for 44 dollars for her tip. Seems she thought that, as we were English, we needed to be especially billed for the tip. I have found this attitude on many occasions and it always disappoints me that the staff can't wait to see if you know how the system works before assuming that the English don't tip! Left to our own devices we usually over-tip rather than under value the usually excellent service we receive in America. The portions, the value for money and the attention from the staff make it worthwhile. We have also found that if you use the same bar a few times and tip the barman he will remember what you drink and often will buy you a drink in return.

We went over to Roosevelt Island on the cable car which leaves from next to the 59th Street bridge. The views are wonderful and the short trip is smooth and well organised; better still it only costs one subway ride each way. Roosevelt Island has a very interesting history and has been used in turn for isolation of contagious diseases, as a place of correction and as a nurses training centre. There is work due to take place to try to restore the old buildings and make the most of the space. I look forward to going back in a few years to see the result.

New York is always changing and the speed with which buildings appear is astonishing. Donald Trump seems to have taken over the space leading down from Riverside Park to the Hudson River and has erected what the locals refer to as 'Trump City'. Again, there is work here to improve the waterside and walkways planted with grasses and shrubs and a new pier have almost been completed for people to make the most of the river. Any visitor with time to spare should visit the Frick museum. It was a private house and the collection belonged to Henry Clay Frick, who bequeathed it to New York City when he died. The charge to go in is reasonable and worth paying. They have the painting of Sir Thomas More by Hans Holbein the Younger and facing it Holbein's painting of Thomas Cromwell, who was responsible for More's death, as well as other British and European works of art collected by Mr Frick.

The trip to Washington on Amtrak took three hours on a spotlessly clean train and we arrived to scorching heat and the very loud singing of the cicadas in the trees. I have never heard singing like it and spent days trying to catch sight of what was causing it. I eventually managed to photograph one of the enormous cricket- like things that fly.
I had been told that Washington was violent, but we saw absolutely no evidence of this at all. We stayed in the Mayflower Hotel, which is famous for its entire block long lobby. It is a very friendly, clean hotel with wonderful facilities. The restaurant serves delicious food, the clam chowder is a must and the staff are superb. Everything that we wanted to see on this trip was within walking distance and we spent five very relaxing days visiting some of perhaps the best monuments in the world.
We went to the top of the Washington Monument where the views are unbelievable. There are free timed tickets, a guide to tell you the history and you are able to spend as much time as you like taking photos and spotting the various landmarks. The Jefferson Memorial, next to the Monument, is built on the edge of the tidal basin and is a beautiful cross-shaped structure, even more so if viewed from the water on one of the pedal boats that are for hire. You are made to wear a safety jacket, which is understandable, but they were dirty and smelly. To be fair, we were there at the end of the season, so perhaps they started out clean and fresh.

On the other side of the Washington Memorial is the White House and, in a direct line from the Monument one way, are the Vietnam and Korean War Memorials and the Lincoln Memorial. In the other direction are the Capitol and the Smithsonian Museums, which are all free to visit and all within comfortable walking distance. The Air and Space Museum is fascinating and I was truly awed that John Glenn went into space orbit in such a tiny capsule. The gallery that contains the Wright Brothers’ plane and the accompanying film is interesting, especially when you think that man went from that flimsy type of plane to space travel in the space of a hundred years.
We walked over the bridge that crosses the Potomac into Georgetown, to look at and climb the flight of steps where they filmed The Exorcist, and to see the house that John Kennedy lived in when he was a senator. He went from there to the White House. Arlington Cemetery has his grave and that of Jackie and two of their children in a grand plot with an eternal flame. It is hard to stand still, concentrate and recall the images of his funeral, because of the crowds jostling for pictures. Just around the corner from JFK's family grave is a small simple wooden cross that marks the grave of Robert Kennedy; the guidebook tells you that it was his choice to have no headstone but it looks so poignant. A visit to Arlington could take an entire day, not only because of the historic and celebrity graves but because it also is the site of Arlington House, the home of Robert E Lee. The house is built on the highest point and was taken from Lee during the Civil War. After the war, it was impossible for him to return because the civil war dead had been buried in what used to be his wife's garden, so it was handed over to the government. It is free to visit the house and the slave quarters next door.

President Lincoln was a powerful American president, famous for his rousing speeches. We visited the theatre where he was shot and the house across the road from the theatre where he was taken mortally wounded. Again, it is free to visit the house where you are made welcome and allowed to look at the rooms where Mrs Lincoln waited and the actual room where Lincoln died. The most touching thing is that Lincoln was laid in a bed on the ground floor. He was a very tall man, and the bed was short, so the President was laid diagonally across the bed with his feet hanging off the side and this is how he died. There are some paintings depicting the moment of his death, lying comfortably in a large room, surrounded by important people. In reality the room was a very small, dark place that could only accommodate the bed and the doctor: a very sad end for such a powerful man.

The Washington underground system was such a surprise after New York. In contrast to the dark, grubby spaces in Manhattan, the Washington system is spotlessly clean and runs on time. There is a strict rule banning eating and drinking in the subway, and this was absolutely adhered to, without exception, from the outset. I read that the result of this tough stance has been that the citizens respect the system. They believe that, if the authorities could be so tough on such a small issue as breaking the eating and drinking rule, then what would they do if a real offence against property or person were committed? The authorities have taken control and it has produced a system that is pleasant to use. They have a row of lights embedded in the platforms that light up and flash when the trains are near which is such a nice touch.
Back at the Mayflower Hotel on our last evening, we were talking to a Vietnamese waiter called Tam, who has lived in Washington for 11 years, and his Cambodian colleague who has lived there for 25 years. We ended our holiday as it started - discussing the World Trade Centre, this time with Tam who wanted to share with us his impressions of that day and the effect it had on the infrastructure of Washington when the Pentagon was hit.

Our plan is to return for longer next time, as we really only scratched the surface of a very interesting city. From the time we arrived to the time we were put in the taxi arranged for us by the concierge at 5.00am to leave for the airport, we were treated extremely well. The hotel left a different little treat for us in our room every evening and made us feel welcome. We look forward to going back.


First published in VISA 78 (April 2008)

Czech Mates Diary

It's hot (29°C) and sunny when we arrive in the Czech Republic. Immigration is a shambles: there must be 1500 people queuing for passport control. When we finally get through, 45 minutes later, our luggage has already been taken off the conveyor belt and is waiting for us. Before leaving the airport, we arrange our accommodation for the last night of our holiday with the intention of avoiding the stress of looking for a hotel at short notice. Now we have to find our hire car. The car rental companies are located in one of the car park buildings and are not easy to find. Once there, the girl behind the counter speaks little English, appears never to have been outside Prague and is not very helpful. Finally we familiarise ourselves with the car, an Opel Corsa, and off we go, armed with only a small scale map.

Some years ago I discovered a book, mainly in Czech, about Konopiste Castle, which was the property of Archduke Franz Ferdinand d'Este, whose assassination in 1914 led to the Great (or First World) War. Noticing it is just south of Prague, we head towards it. There is only a signpost from the nearby main road, pointing to Konopiste village, which we follow. Very soon, we turn into a car park, lined with a wide variety of souvenir shops, restaurants etc. There are a few cars and coaches, otherwise it is very quiet, probably only busy at weekends.

The castle itself is poorly signposted and we reach it via a steep forest track, emerging behind the castle. We first see a bear pit in the moat, where two black bears are supposedly being bred; we see one bear, which appears to be in perhaps a little distress, possibly due to the heat or confinement. We make our way round to the castle entrance and book places on a 40 minute guided tour. There are three tours available to different parts of the castle, costing Kc 130 (£3/$5) each; ours is in German as the next one in English will be too late for us.

The castle was originally built in the 13th century but has been modified and restored several times. We are first taken to the hunting trophy area. The Archduke was a tireless hunter: the castle contains the heads and trophies of 3000 animals and birds killed by Franz Ferdinand, including deer, foxes, bears, eagles, even tigers (on a visit to India); this figure reputedly represents just one per cent of the 300,000 he actually killed!

The tour moves on through beautiful state apartments, with fine ceilings, furniture, chandeliers (one weighing 300 kg), stoves and other collections made by the Archduke. After his death at the age of 51, his family, unable to speak Czech, left the country for various parts of the world, so the castle was given to the state in 1921 and left as it was in the time of the Archduke. Two of the last visitors were Kaiser Wilhelm II and Admiral Tirpitz, and the apartments they used now bear their names.

Around 2.30pm, we leave. The roads are generally very rough - we are travelling on country roads - but the rolling landscapes are very beautiful. We drive east through many small and larger towns, including one with a large castle (Kámen) and the attractive town of Jihiava, which has complete castle walls. We stop briefly for refreshments then continue in search of somewhere to spend the night. It's not too easy, but a roadside sign leads us to a tiny village with a couple of penzions. We book into one, which seems to have few visitors let alone foreign tourists, but we have a superb basic room for Kc 560 (£12 / $20). We have a good meal in the restaurant, two courses with drinks for £5 / $8. Outside the Prague area, few people speak English. German is widely spoken and we can converse with people in German or some odd words of Czech.

Friday. There is a great storm in the early hours and the day is mostly rainy. We continue to drive east along country roads, increasingly poorly maintained, with many holes. We are heading into a poorer area, where houses, signs etc are in a bad state of repair. We stop first in Prostejov and walk around the main square. All Czech towns seem to have a central square which is the best maintained area, with the town hall, main buildings, church etc, with fine architecture, statues and shops.

Our next stop is in Kromeriz, another beautiful town with numerous places of interest, including a Bishops' Castle, adjacent to the main square. But rain makes sightseeing unpleasant and we continue east to Roznov pod Radhostem, where we will spend the next three nights. We first call on our friend, Alena, who lives in this town. I met Alena through a group within Mensa, which has the common interest of collecting or exchanging postcards. Occasionally members of this group host a "Divan", open to other members of the group, who can join and either make their bed on a divan or the floor, or seek accommodation nearby. We opted for the latter, and check into our hotel, the Energetik, which is obviously an old hotel in need of considerable restoration. The plumbing is certainly antique; the window frames probably date from the 1930s and the electrics not much younger! We have a comfortable room, but the hot water is barely lukewarm. It appears that only three of the rooms are occupied. We dine in a restaurant opposite the hotel, to the accompaniment of live music from dancing musicians in traditional costume.

Saturday. Two more members of our group have arrived now. Altogether there are eight of us, six nationalities; the hostess, Alena, who has always lived in this Czech town; Mukke from Denmark; us from England; Rudi (who founded this Mensa group some 20 years ago and has made many friends through it) and his wife Doris, who come from Austria, although work takes them to many parts of the world - they got married on 1 January 2000, three days after us - Gunther from Germany; and Nick, an American now living near Prague.

We meet at Alena's house, from where we walk to the town's Wallachian open air museum, Europe's oldest, dating from 1925. There are three parts to the museum and entrance to all three costs Kc 120 (£3/$5). Numerous old wooden farms and cottages were brought here from the surrounding area and restored. The museum also preserves many old traditions e.g. bell making, wood handicrafts, weaving, music and dancing. The museum is crowded, probably because it is Saturday and the start of the summer holidays. Beside the wooden church are several graves, including that of Olympic athlete Emil Zatopek. The family of tennis player Martina Hingis also comes from this region. Around lunchtime we have to dodge some showers, but the afternoon becomes hot and sunny as we climb a hillside studded with more traditional wooden buildings, most of which may be entered.

Sunday. lt's hot and sunny today. We spend much of the morning writing postcards so that absent members of our group can receive one with all our signatures. Towards lunchtime we all drive off to Kromeriz, where after lunch we have a guided tour of the Bishops' Castle (entrance Kc 120), originally founded in 1260; in 1643 during the 30 Years War the town and castle were destroyed by the Swedes, so the castle was rebuilt. It was owned by bishops, later archbishops, whose pictures adorn some of the walls of the apartments. The first room is the Hunting Room, with models of trophies of the animals killed in the surrounding forests, also owned by the bishops. The tour of the rooms on two floors is in Czech, but visitors may ask for a leaflet in German or English. The tour is protracted as the guide seems to be reciting a guidebook word for word.

Parliament was held here in 1848 during a revolution in Vienna. The great hall, which is two storeys high, was used for parliamentary sessions; it is now used for chamber music concerts. In this hall, the guide begins singing the Czech national anthem, which the other Czechs among us join in. In 1666 the bishops founded a mint here, and the library contains copies of some of the coins. This castle was also used for filming parts of Amadeus.

Monday. It's hot and sunny as we leave Roznov at 10 am. Before us is a long drive and we will have to find our hotel, which is closer to the centre of Prague than we would have desired. The thought of driving in Prague is terrifying. We plan to visit a town called Kutna-Hora on the way, but a detour and lack of signs mean we miss the required road, stopping briefly in a smaller town called Chiumec nad Cidlinou. We enter Prague at 4.30pm in fairly heavy traffic. Good fortune and a good sense of direction mean that we find our way to the hotel Jasmin, which is in a side street, with the help of a local shopkeeper, arriving at 5pm.

After freshening up - hot water this time! - we head into the city centre by bus (four stops) and Metro (7 stops). A travel ticket costs Kc 12 (25p/40c) and is valid for any combination of bus, tram and metro travel within 60 minutes. We were in Prague last year, but it's such a splendid city that one can never grow tired of it. We pass the Powder Gate, through the Old Town Square with the Astronomical Clock, and reach the Charles Bridge, probably the most romantic place we know, with the sun setting behind the Hradcany Castle across the bridge. Prague seems to be a different country from the rest of the Czech Republic. There are crowds everywhere, many languages are spoken and prices are around three times those in other parts of the Republic. Even so, we have a superb meal overlooking the River Vltava by Charles Bridge for the total of less than Kc 600 (£14 / $20) for two, including drinks. Shops are still busy past 9.30pm. After some final souvenir shopping, we return to the hotel by metro and bus.

First published in VISA issue 47 (autumn 2002).

Antipodean Return

by David Gourley

Way back in 1968, Cathy and I, newly-married and barely out of our teens, went out to stay with a friend in Auckland. We used this as a base for visiting other parts of New Zealand, including Rotorua, the Waitomo Glow-worm Caves and the South Island, our tour of which was somewhat marred by bad weather, which prevented us from going to what should have been the highlight, Milford Sound. We also turned the trip into something of a round-the-world expedition, travelling out via the USA, which we crossed by Greyhound Coach, and stopping over in Sydney, and several Asian capitals, on the way back.

Milford Sound

All very exciting but - "youth is wasted on the young"! I don't think we really appreciated what NZ had to offer. Nor was the trip especially well-planned. It might have been adventurous to have travelled from New York to San Francisco by Greyhound but unfortunately we did so in more-or-less a straight line. So, no boring old Grand Canyon for us, rather we had two nights in scintillating Omaha, Nebraska! (I'm pleased to report that we have since made it to the Grand Canyon, though we have yet to feel any urge to revisit Omaha.) On the return trip we became rather travel-weary with so many stopovers: it was a bit like "if it’s Thursday, it must be Bangkok".

For some time, I have hankered after going back to New Zealand and seeing it through more mature eyes, as it were - and getting to see Milford Sound! I had envisaged doing so at age 60 i.e. on my retirement. It so happened, however, that I took early retirement four years ago, at the age of 50. So the trip was brought forward. This time we did not clutter the trip up with too many stopovers. We flew straight out to Auckland, but added a week in Australia on our way back, divided between Sydney and the Queensland Coast near Cairns. (We were admonished by an Australian friend, "New Zealand with Australia as an add-on: that's the wrong way round!") We had just one other stopover, which was in Singapore.

This being our special retirement trip, we did not stint. We flew business class, an extravagance, maybe, but in my view worth it, especially as I am over six feet tall and would not have much enjoyed sitting all that time in cramped economy class. We ended the trip in some style, spending our last night in the legendary Raffles hotel in Singapore. Lest anyone thinks we are super-rich, I must, I fear, disabuse them. Some people have a lifestyle that enables them whenever they wish to travel business, or even first class and stay in the most prestigious hotels. We were just dipping into that!

We had a refuelling stop in Los Angeles. Before September 11, we would simply have made our way to a transit lounge. Now we had to reclaim our luggage and go through immigration, technically, therefore, entering the USA. This was all rather tedious and, despite my strong sympathy and support for the Americans following the monstrous attack on their country, not to mention my concern for my own safety as an air passenger, I wondered whether it was a bit over the top. Another result of September 11 was that the cutlery in all classes was plastic, though later on some compromised by still providing metal forks and spoons.

On the taxi ride from Auckland Airport to our downtown hotel, we were straight away reminded of home: we drove through a suburb called Epsom, named, presumably, after our hometown in Surrey. We booked into our hotel at the unearthly hour of 6.00am and rather feared that we'd have no accommodation until checking-in time in the afternoon. We now had our first experience of something we were to experience a lot in the next three weeks: Kiwi hospitality. Out of our tally of 56 countries visited, I nominate New Zealand as the friendliest. For no extra charge the cheerful receptionist gave us our keys there and then.

Auckland from Mt Eden

We did not, though, go to bed, tempting as this was (even in the comfort of business class, I do not sleep well on planes). If we did, we thought, we would remain out-of-sync with the local time, thirteen hours ahead of the UK. So after freshening up, we set out to explore Auckland. The city had changed enormously since our last visit. Then it had seemed rather dull and provincial. Now it is a cosmopolitan and lively city, whose downtown is full of high-rises, including the tallest building in the Southern Hemisphere, the Sky Tower. Known as the "City of Sails", Auckland offers some spectacular harbour views.

We had rather felt, in 1968, that, in coming to New Zealand, we had travelled through time as well as space. I did not feel that way this time. Much improved communications mean there is no longer the dependence on infrequent "imports" which were very much a feature of bygone days, and severely limited what was available in shops. Eating out has been revolutionised. For lunch, during our previous visit, there might be sandwiches or a (not very interesting) salad, or, if one was really lucky, a plate of mince. Now there was enormous variety and we invariably ate well - too well, in fact, as I put on weight when I should really be losing it! The "Britishness" of New Zealand, which the visitor at one time was bound to notice, is fading. Auckland, indeed, is the world's largest Polynesian city. When Australia becomes a republic - despite the defeat for the republicans in the referendum not so long go, it is still, I am sure, a case of "when", not "if" - New Zealand will almost certainly follow suit. It is true, though, that Christchurch still boasts of being the most English city outside England whilst Dunedin takes great pride in its Scottishness.

The next day we awoke to a pleasant surprise - bright blue skies! I had looked up the Auckland weather on the internet before our departure and it had looked none too promising. I rather feared that history would repeat itself and that we would again be dogged by bad weather. But though our first day had been cloudy, the rain had held off. We were in fact to have decent weather for most of this holiday, with just one really grotty day.

We ascended the Sky Tower for the second time, just to see the view on a fine day. That evening we went back up again for dinner in the revolving restaurant. In between we went to what I consider a "must see" if one is visiting Auckland: Kelly Tarlton's "Underwater World". This was something of a traipse, as it is some distance from the city centre, but it was well worth it. It is named after the man who established this very impressive aquarium, ingeniously fitting it into some disused holding tanks that had once stored stormwater and sewerage. Sadly he died, though still only middle-aged, soon after it opened in 1985. At least he lived long enough to see it brought to life after a lengthy gestation period. More recently an "Antarctic Encounter" has been added. First one steps inside a life-size replica of Captain Scott's hut in 1911, a surprisingly cosy-looking place. Then one moves into "Antarctica" itself where there are penguins (real ones, that is). The temperature here is zero degrees Celsius (I usually make a point of sticking to Fahrenheit but 32 degrees doesn't sound so impressive!). Visitors are blissfully unaware of the cold as they travel round in their heated Snow Cats.

The next day was the start of a tour that would last nearly two weeks, spent mainly in the South Island. A surprise was in store for us. A lady from our tour company boarded our coach and I assumed she would be our courier. But she was only seeing us off: there was to be no courier, just Mike, our "driver guide". Invariably we have had on previous tours both a courier and a driver. Mike was an affable chap who turned out to be very good, a guide who drove rather than vice versa, much better in fact than some of the couriers we have experienced. I thought it was a bit much to expect one person to do absolutely everything and I did occasionally wonder about the safety aspect e.g. when he was driving down a steep and winding road at the same time giving a lively commentary. However, he clearly enjoyed being his own man.

We headed south across the pleasant North Island scenery to Waitomo Caves. We had been particularly looking forward to revisiting these and were not disappointed: they are spectacular. We descended to a subterranean lake and boarded a paddleboat which took us into the glow-worm cave, pitch dark except for thousands of starry lights clinging to the roof and its stalactites. It is important that no-one makes a sound, otherwise the glow-worms are liable to go on strike!

We had two nights in Rotorua. We remembered scarcely anything of this from our 1968 trip. That evening we attended a Maori concert, followed by a Hangi, or Maori feast with the dishes cooked in an earth oven. This is not to be confused with the Hongi, the traditional nose-to-nose greeting. The Maori people of New Zealand are to be found mainly in the North Island and Rotorua is the main centre of their culture. It would be folly to claim that all is perfect but generally the Maoris and the Pakeha i.e. New Zealanders of European origin, rub along with each other reasonably well, with a relationship that is based on mutual respect. The British determined more or less at the outset that the Maoris should be consulted about the future of their country, hence the Treaty of Waitangi, signed on behalf of the British Government and by local chiefs on 6 April 1840, which is regarded as New Zealand's founding day. The Treaty is by no means uncontentious, but the treatment of the indigenous New Zealanders compares well with that of their Australian counterparts. We were later to meet, in Queensland, an English chap of about our age and his Aborigine wife. They were rather down on their luck and he spoke with some bitterness about the treatment of Aborigines, with a good deal of justice, I fear. We mentioned that we had been in New Zealand. "Yes", he said, "Things are much better there, they have the Treaty of Waitangi".

Our sightseeing the next day included Whaka, which is short for Whakarewarewa, which is, unbelievably, short for something-else-yet-again. This combines a Maori cultural centre with a thermal reserve, where one can see boiling mud pools, a lot of rising steam and, if one is very lucky, Pohutu, an active geyser. We weren't lucky - but we had seen it in 1968! It reminded me, at least in terms of its geology, of a country at the opposite side of the globe which we have visited, Iceland. Both countries are located at the junction of tectonic plates and offer surreal thermal landscapes. Iceland has the original geyser. We also saw some kiwis. These are housed in a specially darkened building, designed to replicate their nocturnal way of life. Sadly they are a threatened species. The kiwi evolved into a flightless bird as there were, before the coming of man, no predators: the only mammals were a species of bat. Another flightless bird, the giant moa, became extinct some 400 years ago. The kiwi is especially threatened by stoats and weasels, imported into the country as a way of dealing with an earlier import that had turned into a pest, the rabbit.

The next day saw us on a long but very enjoyable journey to the country's capital, Wellington, in the far south of the North Island. Our lunch break was in Taupo, located on the eponymous lake, New Zealand's largest. Here we saw what is perhaps the world's strangest golf course. There is just one hole, located on a pontoon some distance out in the lake. One stands on the shore and tries to get a hole-in-one. A frogman has the job of retrieving the lost balls. We continued our journey south along the Desert Road, so called because of the desolate landscape, though there is too much vegetation for this to count as a real desert. Mount Ruapehu, an active volcano, could clearly be seen in the distance.

We stayed overnight in Wellington. Like all of New Zealand's four main cities - the others are Auckland, Christchurch and Dunedin - it enjoys a spectacular coastal location, its size and shape very much determined by the backdrop of steep hills. (The forthcoming census returns are expected to show, though, that Dunedin has ceded to Hamilton, an inland town, its status as fourth largest city.) A city tour the next morning took us first to Victoria Point, from which there is a fine view over the splendid harbour. The other main highlight was a trip on the city's cable car, which took us up to the botanical gardens. Our coach meanwhile drove to the other side of the gardens, giving us a chance to walk through them. It is a good idea to start from the cable car entrance as the gardens are built on a steep slope and we were heading downhill! It was agreeable to have a second chance in 2001 to see spring flowers, including a magnificent rose garden. Less agreeably, my hay fever, usually suffered only in April-June, returned! After completion of our tour, Mike drove us to the ferry terminal, and we departed for the South Island.

Our crossing this time to the South Island was far more agreeable than on our previous visit in 1968. Then we had travelled overnight, in a cramped cabin, from Wellington to Lyttelton, the port for Christchurch. This had been on the Maori, sister ship to the Wahine, which had sunk, Titanic-style, in Wellington Harbour just a few months before. We had met a woman who had witnessed the disaster. It was possible, she said, to throw a stone from the quayside and hit the sinking vessel, yet many had lost their lives. The crossing on this occasion lasted about three hours, subdivided into three roughly equal parts. First we sailed out of Wellington's magnificent harbour. Then we crossed the Cook Strait. Finally we reached the South Island, sailing up the scenic Queen Charlotte Sound to the port of Picton. From here Mike, our driver-guide, transferred us to Blenheim, a few miles to the south.

Blenheim itself is of no great interest. But it is a good base for exploring the vineyards which are to be found here in the Marlborough Region. In recent years wine exports have been of growing importance to the economy. They have benefited from changes in consumer taste back in Britain, with the pronounced shift from French to New World wines. This is a long way south for vineyards to flourish, yet the produce is excellent. Vineyards flourish still further south, in Otago Province, the hinterland of Dunedin. We visited the Montana Vineyard, with whose products we were already familiar. In the USA the wine has to be marketed under a different name, Brancott, so people don't think it comes from the State of that name!

We continued to Christchurch down the scenic Kaikoura Coast, with its backdrop of mountains. Christchurch is the largest city in the South Island. We had not seen much of it in 1968. This time, too, we were to see little of it, as we were staying just one night before setting off for the rest of our tour. However we were to have a two night stay here at the end of our tour. And in one respect we did see a great deal of Christchurch - from our room on the 22nd floor of the centrally-located Grand Chancellor hotel.

There was just time, before dinner, to do a five minute walk to the Cathedral, right in the heart of the city. As might be implied from its name, the city's origins are of a religious nature, for it was founded in 1850 as a Church of England settlement. In Cathedral Square we saw a large modern sculpture, which looked a bit like an ice cream cone though it is actually supposed to resemble the spire of the Cathedral, turned upside down. Personally I don't think juxtapositions of this type between the ultra-modern and the traditional work very well. The more well-known example, which we have also seen, is the glass Pyramid in the Louvre.

The next day was the only one on which we had grotty weather. We crossed to the west coast on the TranzAlpine Express, reputedly one of the most scenic train journeys in the world. It might well be but visibility was so poor, especially during the mountainous second half of the journey, that we were in no position to judge. The first half was better, but this was mostly spent crossing the flat Canterbury Plain! Our journey finished in the port of Greymouth, a name which seemed rather apt on this miserable day. From here we transferred by coach for an overnight stay near the Fox Glacier.

I have remarked elsewhere on 'Kiwi' hospitality - these are about the friendliest people we have encountered anywhere. There were, though, the occasional exceptions. One such was the manager at the hotel where we stayed overnight. Like some managers elsewhere, he boarded our coach, supposedly to welcome us. Someone was running a cine-camera. He said he had never been videoed before and I assumed he was going to make a light-hearted remark. However he went on to say that it was usual for someone's permission to be asked if they were being videoed. He had lost it as far as everyone in our party was concerned. Some people, it is true, go a bit OTT when using their video camera, so much so that one wonders if they actually ever take in the scenery around them, but I don't think that was the case now and in any case the remark was uncalled for. It was not a good hotel and meals were poor. It took so long, the following morning, to produce any bacon that a lady in our party offered the explanation that "they must be out killing the pig"!

It was still raining and an optional helicopter flight onto the Fox Glacier had to be cancelled. Nevertheless, we went to have a look at the foot of the Glacier. Visibility here was not bad and we watched an intrepid party of Japanese tourists set out for a Glacier Walk, seemingly oblivious of the rain. Visibility remained good as we headed down the west coast then inland through the Haast Pass. The weather gradually got better too. So much so that when we reached our lunchtime stop in the scenic lakeside town of Wanaka, there was bright sunshine and we ate al fresco!

There was more fine scenery to be enjoyed as we headed for Queenstown, where we were to stay for the next two nights. This is one of the most beautiful towns in New Zealand, set on a lake amidst soaring mountains. It is also noted as a centre for activities. We went into The Station, the place downtown which organises all manner of activities, and booked a jet-boat trip for the following day.

One of the most popular of the Queenstown activities is the bungee jump, which was in fact invented here. One can choose between three jumps of differing heights and, if one is sixty or more, there is no charge. We still have a few years to go, but I'm not sure we'd have been tempted even if we had been senior citizens! Mike viewed bungee jumping with disdain: "bridges are meant for crossing, not jumping from". That evening we ascended the Skyline Gondola (cable car) to a restaurant, where we enjoyed a good buffet dinner and superb views over the town and its lake.

Next morning we headed out to Glenorchy for the Dart River jet-boat trip. I have managed so far not to mention Lord of the Rings! It was here in fact that we learnt about this film, which had still to be released. This had been shot in various locations in New Zealand, including here in Glenorchy. It has provided something of a fillip for the tourist industry, suffering like others throughout the world from September 11. (In Australia there had been the double whammy of the simultaneous collapse of the domestic airline, Ansett, not all of whose flights were taken over by other airlines. New Zealand got much of the blame for this as the airline had been owned by Air New Zealand.) I'm afraid, though, that we have not been to see the film.

The jet-boat trip, into breathtaking scenery in the evocatively named Mount Aspiring National Park, was a wonderful experience. Jet-boats, which were invented in New Zealand, are ideal for use in shallow and white water, as there are no propellers to damage and they can be reversed instantly. The boat is driven simply by directing a jet stream produced by an inboard engine. This is not daredevil stuff. Our captain did though ask, once we got back to deeper water, if we'd mind if he did a few spins - I don't think one is meant to say 'no'!

The next day was set aside for a visit to Milford Sound, a highlight of any visit to New Zealand. The problem is with getting through the rough-hewn Homer Tunnel, which lies astride the only road into the Sound. The earlier bad weather had caused me to worry that history would repeat itself and that we would miss out, as in 1968. Even as we departed Queenstown, there was some light rain but this soon left off and another glorious day lay ahead.

We had an early lunch in Te Anau, to which we were to return for our overnight stay. I had something of a grudge against this otherwise blameless little town for we had been based here last time. We had been driven, tantalizingly, right up to the entrance to the tunnel, then deposited back in Te Anau, with loads of time to kill but nothing to do with it. It is noted as a walking centre but this is mainly long-distance hikes, such as the Milford Trail, and there is little of interest in the immediate vicinity. Another afternoon of reading in our hotel room!

The drive from Te Anau is actually very scenic. I was keen, though, to get to - and through - the Tunnel, fearing we were still jinxed! So I almost begrudged the various photostops which Mike thoughtfully provided. The last of these was by the entrance to the tunnel, where we were entertained by some kea, alpine parrots which are unique to this part of the world. These are sometimes described as the clowns of New Zealand's birdlife, fearlessly hanging around car parks awaiting tourist handouts.

At last, we were driving through the tunnel - and were out the other side! Once we reached Milford Sound we went for a cruise, right out to where it joins the open sea, a distance of some 15 miles. This was no anti-climax. Milford Sound was how I had imagined it. The scenery is spectacular. Mitre Peak stands out above all but, in every direction, there is stunning beauty. We were very lucky, for the chance of not having rain in Milford Sound is apparently around 1 in 3. We were even lucky with the wildlife: there was a rare glimpse of penguins and we also spotted seals and dolphins.

There was the option, as we started our drive back, of going on a helicopter flight. So many of us wanted to do this that three flights were necessary. Each one started and finished from a different place, with the coach meantime driving on to await the helicopter. The flight was not over the Sound itself, which could be viewed in the distance. Rather it took us over spectacular scenery to a Glacier, where we briefly got out. We had been thwarted in our last attempt to visit Milford Sound but had now, after over thirty years, managed to do so.

Our drive the next day, to Dunedin, was the same as in 1968. Again the main feature of the landscape was the countless sheep. There are far, far more sheep than people in New Zealand though fewer than in 1968 as lamb exports are no longer quite so important. Hogget sometimes appears on menus. I had initially been baffled during our first visit - was this some sort of pigmeat? It is actually a year-old sheep, an intermediate stage between lamb and mutton that somehow we don't bother with in Britain. We passed through the town of Balclutha, of significance to us as being the southernmost point in the globe which we have visited.

Dunedin folk pride themselves on their Scottish origins. The main thoroughfare is called Princes Street and the central square is dominated by a statue of Robbie Burns. Dinner that evening was to be preceded by the ceremony of carving the haggis. The very name is derived from Edinburgh and the city calls itself the "Edinburgh of the South". This is a tad presumptuous, I rather feel, for Dunedin, pleasant city though it is, does not begin to compare, in terms of beauty or for that matter importance.

There was an optional tour that afternoon, which took us out onto the Otago Peninsula, signposted simply as "The Peninsula". The objective was to see albatross and penguins. Here I might contrast the approach of Mike with the visit of Sally Branston to the Colca Canyon in Peru (issue 44); she was informed that she would "see condors" but saw just one, in the far distance. Mike made no attempt to hype the trip up: "the wildlife is not under contract, you may see it or you may not". In the event, we were lucky. We boarded a boat and at first albatrosses were to be seen only on the cliffs, some distance away. But then one of them obligingly flew right past our boat. Maybe he was under contract after all! To see the penguins, which were of the rare yellow-eyed variety, we returned to dry land. We descended into cunningly built covered trenches, which allow one to see any passing penguins at close quarters. Again we were lucky, as several of them were returning to their abodes from a day on the beach.

Our drive the next day was to Omarama, a fairly nondescript place which serves however as a base for visits to Mount Cook, New Zealand's highest. We first headed in the opposite direction, back onto The Peninsula, for a visit to New Zealand's only castle, Larnach. Then we headed up the coast, pausing in the town of Oamaru. New Zealand towns, though generally pleasant, are not for the most part historic or picturesque - it is after all a young country. Oamaru is an exception, a delightful place around which to wander. There is even an ancient steam train, which runs through the streets to the harbour. We stopped at a viewing point close to the town. Here, there was one of those signposts which show directions to places all over the world including, in this instance, London, New York, the North and South Poles and - oh yes, of course - Devizes in Wiltshire!

Lupins by Lake Tekapo

The final leg of our tour took us back to Christchurch, diverting first to the celebrated Hermitage Hotel, viewing point for Mount Cook. Another stop was by the shores of scenic Lake Tekapo, best viewed through the window of the picturesque Church of the Good Shepherd. Close by is a statue of a collie, a tribute to the sheepdogs who played a vital role in developing this area. Wild lupins were in abundance here. These are to be seen quite frequently in the South Island and in the eyes of the visitor are an attractive addition to the landscape. But locals, apparently, regard them as something of a nuisance, a weed almost, as they deprive the soil of nutrients. As we approached Christchurch Mike played a local version of a song I've not heard for many a year, I'‘ve Been Everywhere Man ("I've been to Oamaru, Timaru etc etc etc"). We were rather sad to be ending our tour. It had been a great experience. But a full day in Christchurch still lay ahead.

We had one full day in Christchurch before continuing to Australia. This is the largest town in the South Island, a pleasant city which has a somewhat more relaxed pace of life than Auckland. It is sometimes described as the most English city outside England. One can even go punting, Cambridge-style, on the River Avon, which flows through the centre of the city. I had assumed, amidst all this Englishness, that this was named from one of the English Avons, maybe the one that flows through the city's namesake in Dorset (with which it is twinned). So I was surprised to find that it is named from a river in Scotland!

In the morning we went on a walking tour, led by a very knowledgeable retired gentleman who clearly loved showing people around his city. The tour finished in his alma mater, Christ's College. Here one can indeed believe one is back home. This is a boy's public school, which reminded me somewhat of Eton, to which I have been (on a guided tour, I'd better add). I suspect, though, that Eton is a bit more up-to-date! A huge Union Jack decorated the rear wall of the dining room. By that I mean the UK flag, not the New Zealand one, which still incorporates the Union Jack.

In Christchurch, as in some English cities, trams have made a comeback in recent years. But they are not at all like the sleek supertrams which travel miles out from the centres of Sheffield or Croydon. These are vintage trams which trundle around the central area in a loop and are intended primarily for visitors. Their friendly crews provide a lively commentary. We used these to get round the city in the afternoon. We spent much of the time in the large and impressive Botanical Gardens. The city is noted for its many parks and green spaces.

Next day we flew to Sydney, where we were to spend three nights. This had been on our itinerary in 1968. On that occasion, as we flew in, we could see that the city was virtually ringed with fire. That was not the case this time but, barely a month later, there was another serious outbreak of bushfires, some caused by arsonists, in one instance a nine-year-old child. Dramatic pictures were to appear in the papers of smoke reaching even the Harbour Bridge and in total an area equivalent in size to Greater London was reduced to ashes. But mercifully, and unlike in 1968, there were no fatalities.

I had not much liked Sydney in 1968. Indeed I had written in my travelogue that I never wanted to go there again. For all too many years, chance would have been a fine thing! My view this time was quite different. We thoroughly enjoyed our stay. This change of view no doubt reflects changed perspectives on my part. But I am sure it is true, too, that Sydney has changed for the better. For example the Rocks District, close to our hotel and right by the Harbour Bridge, was once down-at-heel but has been extensively restored in recent years and is now rather chic. A small street there has been renamed, in tongue-in-cheek fashion, Suez Canal: it was formerly known as Sewer's Canal! It was, of course, the 2000 Olympics which really put Sydney on the map as a world class city. But if the Olympics did a lot for Sydney, so did Sydney do a lot for the Olympics. After Atlanta's poor showing in 1996, Sydney showed that the Olympics can after all be hosted successfully and with style. Athens has a hard act to follow!

One reason, perhaps, for our negative view of Sydney in 1968 was that we stayed in a rather dowdy hotel in the King's Cross district. Guide books generally refer to this area as “cosmopolitan”. Some might substitute the word “seedy”. This time our hotel was very different. We stayed in the ANA hotel, enjoying from our 22nd floor room magnificent views across the Harbour taking in the Bridge and the Opera House, both close by. This is perhaps our best view ever from a hotel bedroom.

One of our gripes is that very tall hotels, like this one, often insist on having their restaurants close to the ground, rather than giving diners a magnificent view. Not long before, in Tallinn, we had headed for a tower block hotel - a Soviet era building not much liked by the locals - as our guide book said there was a restaurant on the top floor. The hotel had been privatised and subsequent changes were, I would guess, mostly for the better. But one change wasn't: the top floor, to which ordinary visitors could not even gain access, was now set aside for penthouse suites. The receptionist correctly surmised that we had an out-of-date guidebook.

We were gratified to find that the ANA did have a top floor restaurant. That was the good news: the bad news was that it was Japanese (the hotel is actually Japanese owned - ANA = All Nippon Airways). I get along fine with most foreign cuisines. Indeed, sampling different cuisines is for me one of the pleasures of travelling. I am a bit corny in this respect, making a point of having Wiener Schnitzel in Vienna, Steak Bordelaise in Bordeaux and Zurich Veal in, er, Basle. But somehow I don't get on with Japanese. Not liking fish is something of a problem in this respect. What wasn't fish, I asked. The answer was beef teriyaki or chicken teriyaki. Oh yes, and shabu shabu. I'd tried this once. It was fascinating to watch it being prepared, with all the vegetables and so on being cooked at ones table. Pity it was tasteless! We retreated to the hotel's conventional restaurant, located, needless to say, on the first floor. Here I had an excellent kangaroo steak. The waiter asked if I had had kangaroo before. I said that I had, adding that in England we regard it as an exotic meat. “We call it that as well,” he responded.

Next day we explored the Harbourside, naturally doing a cruise as well. We later headed into the downtown area. If Christchurch offers old-fashioned trams as a way of getting round the city, Sydney has something that still seems rather futuristic, a monorail (albeit the best-known monorail, in Wuppertal, is just over a hundred years old). This too forms a loop round the central area. Having travelled round this, we ascended the AMP Tower, the tallest building in Australia. To Sydneysiders' chagrin, it is a few feet short of the Skytower in Auckland. We ordered room service that evening, complete with candles, so we could feast on the view as well as in the more literal sense. The meal was good but dessert had to be chased. It arrived with a complimentary bottle of champagne, to make amends for the delay.

The next morning we did the Sydney Harbour Bridge Climb. This was something we could not have done in '68 for the Climbs have only been going for a few years. They are run by an enterprising private company who had some difficulty in persuading the powers-that-be to allow them to go ahead. The authorities apparently came up with 61 objections, the Company with 61 solutions. They have been very successful, with groups of climbers leaving every ten minutes - it is advisable to book ahead.

Around three hours is needed in total, much of which is for preparation. This could have been tedious but our bubbly young guide, Kathy, made even this fun. One dons a special lightweight suit, worn over one’s own clothes. “The hardest part lies ahead”, Kathy told us as we set off, “For you will now be wearing those in public!” (There is a short walk along the approach road before one reaches the Bridge itself.)

The Climb is not difficult and one doesn't even need a head for heights. To begin with there is a catwalk, then we ascended four fairly short vertical ladders to the arch of the Bridge. This provides a gentle climb and is very safe: broad, with railings either side, to one of which we were fastened. It would be impossible to fall off, even if one wanted to. Every few minutes, Kathy would stop and point out the various Sydney landmarks. We could see just how much we were having to miss because of the shortness of our stay. Some miles to the west, the Olympic Stadium could be discerned. At the very top the obligatory group photo was taken. We crossed the Bridge to the other side of the road but then returned to the south side of the Harbour. So we have been up the Bridge but not actually over it! Along with the trip to Milford Sound, described in the previous article, I would rate this the highlight of our 'Down Under' holiday, indeed one of the highlights of our travels more generally.

With so little time in Sydney we decided on a city tour as the best way of seeing as much of it as possible. After lunch we set off, first visiting Mrs Macquaries Chair, in a scenic location overlooking the Harbour. This is named from the wife of an early New South Wales Governor, who would sit there and think of her distant homeland. Then we drove through Paddington. Yes, Sydney has a Paddington as well as a King's Cross. But they are very different for Paddington is an elegant and fashionable area: there is some serious wealth in the eastern suburbs of Sydney.

The weather now changed for the worse and there was thunder and lighting by the time we reached Bondi Beach. We were lucky it hadn't been like this in the morning as the Bridge Climb takes place in all weathers except, obviously enough, electrical storms. We were supposed to get out here but our driver thought better of it and we headed up the coast to South Head at the entrance to the Harbour. We then returned to Bondi Beach. The storm had now finished so we were able to go down to the Beach. But this was not how one imagines Bondi: dull and overcast, hardly any people and no sign of any lifeguards. Our drive back to the city took us through King's Cross, whose symbol is the giant Coca-Cola sign seen on the hilltop as one approaches from the city centre. I still didn't think it was lovely.

Our next four evenings were spent on the Queensland Coast, in Palm Cove, a little to the north of Cairns. A transfer from the airport to our hotel, the Sebel Reef House, was included but we could see no sign of anyone to collect us and I even phoned the hotel. Cathy meantime had located the young lady who was organising our transfer. She had no form of identification, did not introduce herself and uttered barely a word to our small party as we drove to our hotel. This po-faced kind of individual annoys me. If one chooses to work in the travel industry one should at least try to be friendly and put people at their ease, even if that does mean putting on an act. Overly garrulous guides can also be pains in the neck but there is a happy medium. It would surely have cost her nothing to say “Hi, I'm Marylou (or whatever), welcome to Cairns, we're going to take about forty minutes...”

Fortunately this young lady was not typical and just about everyone else we met in Australia, as in New Zealand, was friendly. Our hotel was a charming place, intended to have the ambience of the private residence it once was. One helps oneself, for example, to drinks from the bar, with the hotel relying on one’s honesty to ensure they are paid for. There were other restaurants in the vicinity, but we dined each evening in our hotel as the others could not match the al fresco setting, looking out on the beach with the full moon shining through the palm trees. We had some pleasant strolls along the beach but it was wise not to go in the sea, except in a specially roped off section. One was liable, otherwise, to find oneself up close and personal with some rather disagreeable jellyfish.

There were two “must sees” here in Cairns. First there was Kuranda, which is located in the nearby rainforest. The village itself is rather touristy and not worth lingering in, though there is an interesting butterfly sanctuary. The interest is in getting there and back. It is usual to use two modes of transport. We travelled out on the historic Kuranda Scenic Railway which snakes inland from Cairns through the rainforest. We returned on the Skyrail which opened over a hundred years later, in 1996. This is a cablecar which glides over the forest, with two intermediate stops, one to view the Barron Falls, the other at Red Peak, where we went for a guided walk through the trees along a boardwalk. To avoid ecological damage to the forest, the pylons were lowered by helicopter.

The other “must see” is, of course, the Great Barrier Reef. It would be a bit odd in my view to stay in Cairns and not go there! We sailed from Port Douglas, a few miles up the coast, to the Outer Reef, a mile or so out to sea. Here we anchored alongside a floating pontoon, the focal point of the day's activities. Whilst some went snorkelling, we went for the less strenuous option of two trips on a semi-sub which is skilfully navigated through the reef, affording magnificent views. For part of our second trip we were accompanied by a school of dolphins. On our third and final day in Cairns we enjoyed the luxury of - doing nothing. It had been a hugely enjoyable holiday but also a very busy one and it was agreeable just to be able to laze around in the sun.

On our way home, we stopped over for two nights in Singapore. This involved a change of planes in Brisbane. To get from the domestic to the international terminal we had to use the local train service. We could, had time permitted, have stayed on and gone into the city. Indeed the downtown skyscrapers were visible in the distance. I suppose I can still claim to have been to Brisbane, sort of.

For our second night, we had upgraded ourselves to the legendary Raffles Hotel. It did not seem worth doing so the first night as we were arriving fairly late. We stayed in the standard hotel offered by our tour company. We transferred across first thing. I was bristling when we checked in as the receptionist started lecturing us, or so I thought, about our room not being available until the afternoon. We had guessed that and merely wanted to leave our luggage. But I soon had to dismount my high horse: our suite, we were informed (there are no “rooms” as such in Raffles), was ready for us.

It would have been very easy to spend the entire day in Raffles, enjoying the ambience of our suite and of the hotel more generally, without setting foot in the city itself. Indeed we spent the morning doing just that. Lunch was taken in the poolside restaurant on the roof; an excellent curry prepared in the kitchens of the hotel's celebrated Tiffin Room restaurant. But there was hardly anyone else there. We remarked on this to our waiter. It was all to do with 11 September, he said. Even here, in a country that is about as safe as any, the number of visitors had plummeted.

We had never even considered cancelling our trip. Yet when we had asked a friend of ours how they'd enjoyed their holiday in Thailand they told us “Oh, of course we didn't go after all that's happened, we went to Wales instead”! To my mind, cancelling one’s travel plans is doing just what Osama Bin Laden and his gang want people to do. Had we been holidaying in the States, we'd have been doubly determined to go, just to show them two fingers. And of course it is invariably ordinary folk, waiters and so on who depend on tourism for their livelihood, who suffer most when visitors stay away.

After lunch we thought we'd better see something of the city. It seemed a pity not to. As soon as we set foot outside the hotel, we were offered a guided tour by bike. This was well worthwhile. Our daughter, who had, a few years earlier, spent a few days in Singapore during a trip around SE Asia, had warned us that it is somewhat sanitised. I would rather agree: there is not much of an oriental feel to the place. With its many skyscrapers much of it could be taken, at first glance, for the downtown area of a North American city. But we saw on this tour something of Old Singapore, in particular Little India, which has been declared a conservation area so cannot now be threatened with the bulldozer.

We strolled down afterwards to Orchard Road, which I understood to be the place for shopping (not that I like shopping, unless it be in a bookshop, but Cathy does!) We fondly imagined there would be elegant boutiques where we could shop, or more correctly at this point in our travels, window shop. So it was something of a culture shock to find ourselves in a shopping mall that, Chinese characters excepted, could have been in any provincial town back home. The main store in the first one we went into was a Courts. After going into a second one which was very similar, we retreated to Raffles! We went into the famous Long Bar for a drink. I confess we just had a Coke. One is supposed to have a Singapore Sling, a rather unappealing looking vivid pink concoction. But we conformed to the other tradition here. This is to eat the complimentary peanuts; these are still in their shells, which one throws onto the floor.

In one respect only was Raffles something of a disappointment. We decided to go out in style by eating in Raffles Grill, their fine dining restaurant. I took the precaution beforehand of enquiring if there was a dress code and was told that jacket and tie were required. I was happy about this: it is agreeable, very occasionally, to dress up a bit for dinner. So it was with more than a little annoyance that I noticed, when we arrived in the restaurant that evening, that other chaps there were jacketless and open-necked! The ambience was great, but the meal wasn't, and they were into portion control big time, or should I say small time. I don't subscribe to the view, beloved of nouvelle cuisine chefs, that gourmet dining requires meals to be elegantly presented but minuscule in quantity. One might want a fine dining experience, but the main reason we eat i.e. to ward off hunger, is still there as well: I am not exactly small and my appetite is not exactly dainty!

We nevertheless thoroughly enjoyed Raffles and would certainly recommend it to anyone wishing to indulge in an extra special treat to themselves - albeit we would add the advice to dine in the Tiffin Room!

First published in VISA issues 46-48 (summer, autumn and winter 2002).