NG2NZ 27. Vlad the Impaler

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2-May-25 Sighisoara, Romania

Day starts with a morning brew in Starbucks. And discover the origin of the name. Regular readers of the blog will know that I have been to the very first Starbucks coffee shop in Pike Place in Seattle. The name apparently started in a brainstorming session that referenced the first mate (called Starbuck) in Herman Melville’s 1851 novel ‘Moby-Dick’. The name evoked the romance of the high seas and the seafaring tradition of early coffee traders. And the rest, as they say, is history. The stuff you learn on this blog.

Pick up hire car. The office is near the main square. The car is a few streets away. Told to park anywhere in the old town when returning it. Oh. Right then. Will do. But have to WhatsApp a photo of it parked up to show its location. I’ll understand the reason for that when returning it.

Two hour drive to Sighisoara. Deeper into Transylvania.

Lunch required enroute. Stop at a kiosk. They speak no English. I speak no Romanian. All I really want is a cheese sarnie. Order what I think is a cheese sarnie on focaccia bread. Turns out to be lashings of mayo, French fries and chicken breast with melted mozzarella slathered all over it.

Discard chicken breast on account of it being luke warm and has clearly been festering in a warming oven until used. Perfect temperature for cultivating something for food poisoning. So basically now a chip and mayo sandwich.

Hotel is in the centre of Sighisoara old town. Understood there was dedicated car parking. Nope. Vehicle access to the old town is through barriers. And being nice to the security guard controlling said barriers. Only let through as have to unload bags at hotel. Then have to follow hotel van back the way I came to parking area. Which is not dedicated parking. More public on street parking. For which you have to pay security guard RON24 (~£4) for the night.

Return to hotel and you know you’re in Transylvania when the room key is an old fashioned key about a good few inches long. To unlock the old fashioned locks.

Hotel Casa Georgius Krauss (https://www.casakrauss.ro/en/home) is the former home of, you’ll never guess, Georgius Krauss. A 17th century notary and Saxon chronicler. Quite a historic building. You know you’re in Transylvania. Doors creak. The historic building groans. Wind whistles through the cracks.

As with Brasov, the Germanic Transylvanian Saxons settled here in the 12th century and developed this small medieval fortified town on top of a hill.

And because of its well preserved heritage is a magnet for tourists. Especially this Bank Holiday weekend. It. Is. Heaving. In an attempt to escape the tourists climb the 176 steps up a covered walkway to the church at the very top of the hill. It being hot arrive at top somewhat sticky. Huffing and puffing. To discover the church is quite bland. But rather a good view of the surrounding countryside.

Back down into the old town to visit the former home of Vlad Dracul. Former 15th century prince of Wallachia…what is generally now Romania.

You’ll recognise the words ‘Vlad’ and ‘Dracul’. Well. Vlad Dracul was actually the father of Vlad the Impaler.

Junior Vlad was a bit of a hero in Romania as he opposed Ottoman Rule. Between 1448 and 1476 (when he died) he was, like his father, Prince of Wallachia, but on three separate occasions. The Impaler moniker came about because he liked impaling people.

But it was the family surname which apparently inspired Bram Stoker. And his book.

Dracula.

And the inspiration for Count Dracula? Vlad the Impaler.

As a little aside, dear reader, whilst working in Dublin the 2000s, we used to have lunch in Bram’s Café. Nice liver and onions. Remember mucker? The connection being that Bram Stoker lived in the Dublin suburb of Clontarf…next door to our site.

And do you think the former home of Vlad Dracul has been tastefully restored?

Nope.

Trading on the Dracula connection is now a tacky museum bathed in red light. On the second floor. Climbing the stairs a massive toy spider drops on top of my head. Something which rhymes with clucking and bell may have passed my lips as it scares the flipping life out of me. See what they’re doing…preparing you for fright night. Building up the tension.

Pay young lad to enter the ‘museum’. I use the term loosely. I imagine it’s like a tart’s boudoir all bathed in sensual low level red light…There’s ghostly noises and distant screams as someone is strangled. Building up the tension.

There are rubber bats on strings hanging from ceiling. And other apparitions. And cobwebs. And female dummies with bloodied necks. Having been bitten by Count Dracula. Building up the tension.

For the main event.

A coffin around the corner at the end of the ‘tour’.

It’s meant to open and out pops Count Dracula. To frighten you.

Except.

As I round the corner. Count Dracula is having a breather. Well. Actually. The young lad portraying Count Dracula is having a breather. He’s taken off his face mask. So I can see his real face.

He sees me and quickly puts mask back on as he closes the coffin lid.

The coffin lid then opens to reveal a dead Dracula and he suddenly sits up in his coffin trying to frighten me with both hands thrusting forward in a Tommy Cooper ‘just like that’ sort of way.

But I’m videoing it and know what’s coming. There is no element of surprise. I’ve seen his real face. I’ve seen him put his mask on and close coffin lid. But he has to go through the motions. See video below.

Comically bad.

In need of daylight…

And the clock tower next door affords great views of the town. After climbing up a considerable number of stairs. Originally part of the main gate to the town, it was built in the 13th century and now yet another tourist hotspot.

Having done climbing steps and walking on dodgy cobbles. Spot a tourist train. You know the sort. The one you went on in Bridlington in the 1970s. Yep. That sort. I’m sure Miss Nottingham will have seen this? An ideal thing to have a sit down for half an hour and see the sights. And rest those weary legs. For a tour of the new town at river level beneath the old town.

Yep.

This is a nice place.

Put it on your list, dear reader.

NG2NZ 26. Rock hard

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1-May-25 Brasov, Romania

Overnight sleeper train from Budapest to Brasov, 100 miles north of Bucharest in Romania. Or should that be the overnight no sleeper train.

Clickety.

Clack.

Woo woo.

Clickety.

Clack.

Woo woo.

Clickety.

Clack.

Woo woo.

Goes the train. All. Through. The. Soddin’. Night.

Quiet. It. Is. Not!

No. Sleep. What. So. Ever.

Bed hard and not long enough.

Bed hard and not wide enough.

Torture.

Completely knackered as I arrive pretty much on time at 0848hrs into Brasov. Having passed a small snow capped mountain range just east of it.

Stark communist era railway station welcomes you to Brasov. Large murals of local area adorn a wall.

First taxi driver wants RON40 (~£7). No mate. Too much. Offer RON10 (~£1.70). He’s not having it and told to find a metered taxi. Which costs RON13 (~£2.20) to my hotel. The Radisson Blu Aurum (https://www.radissonhotels.com/en-us/hotels/radisson-blu-aurum-brasov). A fairly new hotel on the edge of the old town. It’s only 9am so technically can’t check in until 3pm…unless I pay extra. Given the lack of sleep and how knackered I am it’s a no brainer.

The cleanest white sheets on the world’s comfiest bed beckon. The best bed I’ve ever slept in. And promptly fall into a deep, deep sleep for four hours. A bomb could have gone off.  

Wake for lunch. As it’s May Day and a public holiday a special BBQ lunch is on offer in the sunny courtyard featuring traditional local specialities. Venison and pork kebabs. Beans. Pork knee. Very friendly staff and how I remember Romanians to be.

Quick waltz around town to check out where to pick hire car up from tomorrow and see the sights. Great relaxed atmosphere here and all the locals out and about enjoying the day off.

Located in Transylvania, Brasov was originally part of the Kingdom of Hungary. The Hungarian Kings invited the Transylvanian Saxons (who were Germanic people) to develop areas of Transylvania and they settled in Brasov from the 12th century. Even as late as 1850, 40% of the population were German. The town eventually became part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire until that collapsed at the end of World War 1 and it became part of Romania. As you will see in the photos below…there’s some nice architecture here.

There’s a nice vibe here. Relaxed and friendly. This will do nicely for an overnight stop.

Dark black clouds roll in and caught in a torrential downpour. Which then becomes thunder and lightning.

Still knackered so dinner in hotel restaurant and an early night. But it’s full of American river cruise tourists. One loud woman is being tutted at by her compatriots sitting next to me. They’ve ordered ice cream but it’s taken 20 minutes and they’re complaining. Ice cream eventually arrives. It’s frozen solid. As though it’s been dunked in liquid nitrogen. “It’s as hard as rock!”, she exclaims. As she tries to crack the scoop with a spoon to open it up.

And promptly shatters all over the table in small pieces.

Giggles. Stifled.

NG2NZ 25. The drive of my life

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30-Apr-25 Overnight sleeper train

Utterly dreadful night’s sleep. What sleep I had. Completely shattered which even a few brews can’t rectify. Suspect yesterday’s exertions in the heat and being dehydrated are to blame. So a leisurely stroll through the back streets of Budapest to the central market hall. Ornate exterior reminds of St Pancras station.

Last came here in 1997 on the recommendation of mate’s brother’s wife’s great aunt…who, like G-g-g-granville (an Open All Hours reference for non UK readers) was Hungarian. Much smaller and cleaner than I recall from 28 years ago. And not as much paprika for sale.

Walking through the streets see plenty of students going to their graduation parties. A joyous affair.

Overnight train to Brasov in Romania tonight. So in need of something for dinner. As you all know by now, dear reader, overnight train dinners in cabin comprise baguette, brie, salami, Hot & Spicy Pringles, olives, tomatoes, beer, red wine etc etc. A local bakery sells excellent crispy baguette and adjacent shop sells cheese. Sorted!

Lack of sleep last night catches up and an afternoon nap required. Fortunately have a late check out from hotel at 6pm to have a wash and brush up before boarding the sleeper train.

An Uber to the station only costs EUR10 instead of the EUR40 rip-off from the station. That’s more like it.

Overnight train departs 1910hrs but board 1830hrs. To discover my cabin.

Hmmm.

Old and worn.

Can just tell it’s going to be another sleepless night.

Cabin stuffy. Very stuffy. Ventilation not working yet. Still waiting for the locomotive to hook up to provide power.

Mattress is one inch thick. And old. And grubby. Bet prisoners have more comfortable mattresses.

Bed is hard, dear reader. Very hard.

Bed is not long enough for my height. Will be a night with long legs squished up.

Bed is not wide enough for my frame. Will be a night contorted.

A small sink in the corner will come in handy at 4am. Will save a walk down the corridor. If you get my drift.

Not looking good is it, dear reader.

Train departs Budapest on time and pootle through the countryside passing near where an old colleague, who I used to work with in Dublin, lives. Give her a wave as I pass through her station. Even though she’s not actually there waiting for me…obviously. Sniff.

Trundling through Hungary. Set up Touring Taurean’s Bar & Restaurant. Dinner for one.

Bar comprises Jameson’s decanted into plastic bottle. Cold German beer. Leftover red wine decanted in a plastic water bottle.

Restaurant is serving Spicy Pringles. Baguette. Brie. Salami. Michelin star. It. Is. Not.

Ticket guard takes ticket and tells me that there’s no passport control at the Romanian border now as Romania is now in the Schengen area. But still stop for an hour to change locomotives.

Last time I crossed the border from Hungary into Romania was July 1997. An anticipated 3hr wait only took 30 minutes. After a few miles of driving in Romania I get caught speeding by a policeman. Doing 106kph in an 80kph zone. Having driven through the Czech Republic and Hungary we had become quite adept at bribing policemen with packs of cigarettes or US dollars. So you can imagine that we were expecting to be fleeced of some US dollars and had a pack of fags at the ready. In case a bribe was required.

Policeman was very friendly. And asked for a fine the equivalent of £2 at the time. He’s told that we have no cash. Even though we do. To our collective amazement he lets us off.

This was the start of how friendly Romanians were. And have since worked with Romanians who are all very friendly.

In 1997 we had to drive from Budapest to Drobeta Turnu Severin in Romania on the Danube. About 320 miles in the day. The route involved reaching the Danube and then driving along the banks of the Danube through the Kazan Gorge. One of the narrowest parts of the river. With Serbia the other side. A war zone at the time with the various conflicts in the Balkans.

About 60 miles to go which would mean arriving at the hotel about 2030hrs. The tarmac runs out. And the road becomes impassable. Partly due to the size of the rubble. Oh. And a landslide. Driving a 1992 Lotus Elan with 100mm ground clearance clearly wasn’t the best car to be driving on rough roads like these.

And a decision had to be made. Turn around and re-route over the mountains. A detour of 150 miles. At 1900hrs. I drive the final 100 miles over the mountains in the pitch black. Passing through ramshackle Romanian mountain villages. Quite often you’d drive around a corner to discover a horse and cart with no lights coming towards you in the darkness like a ghostly silhouette. Or a herd of cattle. Or deer jumping out. Or people walking back home from a day in the fields. Much more manual labour back then. It being only a few years after the fall of the wall.

We discovered that Romanians spend their Saturday nights standing chatting in the middle of an unlit road. As we pass through villages we are greeted with cheers and waving. And feel like proper rally drivers. The car being deliberately adorned with rally stickers to make it look like we are actually on a rally. To help with border crossings. And make out we are not alone. Save the car getting stolen. Headlights illuminating obstacles. Being close to the border are stopped a few times by the police. One stop is only because the policeman was interested in the car. This was still only a few years after the collapse of the communist era and the sight of a British Lotus sports car was obviously of interest.

We arrive at the hotel just after midnight Romanian time. An hour ahead of Hungary. We’d been driving since 0900hrs. A long day.

But the mountain drive in the dark along remote roads was so memorable.

Which I still remember vividly to this day.

The drive of my life.

NG2NZ 24. Where is ball?

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28 & 29-Apr-25 Budapest, Hungary

What was meant to be the 2hr 40min high speed Railjet train between Vienna and Budapest. Is in fact the 3hr 30min train. Delays on the line. Excellent views enroute. Green fields shimmering in the midday sun contrasting with a deep blue sky.

Taxi at Budapest station. Ask how much. Knowing am going to be fleeced. But wasn’t expecting to be fleeced that much. EUR40 to drive 3km. Yep. You read that right. Flat fare. Driver pulls out a manky and creased map with coloured zones. Needless to say my hotel is in the expensive zone. I know I’m being ripped off good and proper. But they’ll all be at it. So can’t be bothered jumping in another taxi. Normal fare back should be about EUR10 to EUR15.

Return to the Budapest Marriott (https://www.marriott.com/en-us/hotels/budhu-budapest-marriott-hotel/overview/). Located on the banks of the Danube and a room with a magnificent view of Buda Castle and the Fisherman’s Bastion. The other side of the river. I being in the Pest side.

Last came here in July 1997. Mate and I were driving from Nottingham to Istanbul. And back. So this part of the trip loosely follows the 1997 route. For old time’s sake.

You’ll be hearing more about this 1997 trip in this blog, dear reader.

One word.

Mafia.

After hours on a train. Leg stretch required in the late afternoon heat. Phew. What a scorcher!

Along the Danube to the Parliament building. But stop at the shoes. To reflect.

What shoes you ask.

These are the ‘Shoes on the Danube Bank’. Installed in 2005. To honour the Jews who were massacred by antisemitic Hungarian militia during WW2.

Marched to the banks of the river. And ordered to take their shoes off. As they were valuable. They were then shot. So their bodies fell into the Danube. And swept away by the current.

The memorial reflects the shoes that were left on the bank.

Thought provoking.

Hungary’s Parliament Building is nearby. What a magnificent structure. On a par with the UK’s Parliament.

Another hot day follows. And. Rather stupidly. Walk miles in the heat and sun. Without a hat. Or suncream.

Cross the Chain Bridge to the Buda side. Take the funicular to the top to visit Buda Castle. The highest spot for miles around. Amazing views of Pest below.

Buda Castle is the former Royal Palace. First built in 1265. But most of what can be seen today dates back to the mid 18th century. Beautiful Baroque architecture. Much is made of St Stephen’s Hall. And have to pay to see it. Expecting great things for the money.

But a bit anti-climactic. My lounge is bigger.  So small. And a tour group are in. Very cramped. Quite ornate room.

As the day progresses. The number of tourists increases. These aren’t normal tourists. These are riverboat cruise tourists. An interesting breed. All waddling about following their leader holding a little flag. All with little earpieces. Listening to the commentary.

Plenty of building work as the castle complex is being re-built. And head to the Fisherman’s Bastion. In a long snake of tourists. Must be dreadful in peak season.

Fisherman’s Bastion is an architectural delight. 140m long with seven turreted towers symbolising the seven chieftains of Magyar in the 9th century. Built in the 1700s as a city wall it was apparently protected by the guild of fisherman. The stuff you learn, dear reader.

Last time I was here. Was 4 July 1997. The joy of keeping a travel diary is that you can read stuff you forgot. Back then along the wall a ‘game’ was going on. A Hungarian is touting for business on a cardboard box with three cups and a ball. Punters have to guess which cup the ball is under. Hungarian keeps saying, “Where is ball?” as he shuffles the cups around on the cardboard box. One of which has a ball under it. Watch for a while and we pick the correct cup each time. People are losing money. Stooges are winning money. Notwithstanding that I’m 100% sure each time which cup the ball is under. And so put down 100 Deutschmarks (DEM) (£30 back then) as a bet. Stupid I know. To my utter amazement. I lose. The next punter wins DEM200 (£60 in 1997). But isn’t enthusiastic to share his winnings with me. Whilst we continue to watch the con two blokes suddenly appear from nowhere and nip off with cardboard box and the Hungarian man pretends to be a tourist. As the police patrol by.

But don’t worry, dear reader. I recovered the DEM100 loss. On the overnight ferry from Helsinki to Stockholm a year later. On the roulette table.

In 1997 the Fisherman’s Bastion was open and you could walk along it. You can today. But you have to pay for it. And access is via electronic barriers. Which rather spoils the ambience of it.

Having forgotten Hungary is not in the Eurozone it still uses the Forint as its currency. Fortunately everywhere takes cards. So no need to mess about with different currency.

As I lie in bed. With the curtains open. For the illuminated nighttime view across the river. The silvery crescent moon appears in my vision. Betting with myself that in half an hour the trajectory of it will graze the top of the spire of the church by the Fisherman’s Bastion. Unlike 1997 I win this particular bet.

What a magnificent view.

But the Christian church now looks like a mosque for a few seconds. As the crescent moon momentarily passes the spire. And rather pleased with the photo…see below.

NG2NZ 23. Hippy birdie two ewes

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26 & 27-Apr-25 London, UK, and Vienna, Austria

Well, dear reader. Off we go again on Sector 3 of the Nottingham to New Zealand trip. And what a day to start the sector. My 55th birthday. Yikes. Closer to 60 than 50 now. Where did the past five years go.

Oh. And am now retired.

It has been a fraught few weeks, dear reader. Best mate of 45 years had a bleed on his brain. And an operation. Now recovering well. Thankfully. Which rams it home that you have to live life. Now! Whilst you can! And a timely reminder that retiring the past year is the best decision. Travel now whilst I’m fit and healthy.

Taxi takes me to catch the train. Driven by an African. Who still thinks he’s in the savannah. Utterly dreadful driving. All over the place. Your life in their hands. But we get there. Alive. Thankfully.

Overnight at Heathrow Hilton (https://www.hilton.com/en/hotels/lhrhegi-hilton-garden-inn-london-heathrow-terminals-2-and-3/) adjoining Terminal 2. From where I fly in the morning. Amazing views for dinner in the top floor panoramic bar. You can see for miles. London’s city skyline shimmering in the heat haze. Can make out the Shard about 20 miles away.

Have spent birthday in some wonderful places. But Heathrow isn’t one of them.

Fast Track the following morning through LHR security. Told it’s not necessary to empty bag. So don’t. But then instructed to empty bag and practically undress to pass through security. The newer security machines haven’t been installed in the Fast Track section yet. Which perhaps isn’t so Fast Track.

Bag set aside for extra security checks. Washbag emptied. And told I have to take toothpaste out. And put in plastic bag. Why? Ask I. It’s the rules. And get this. Security bod takes the toothpaste in a plastic bag from the table we’re standing at. And moves to another table. A. Foot. Away. And then takes toothpaste out of bag. For a bomb swab. Which is then placed in an explosives scanner. Which is obviously clear. Toothpaste then put back in plastic bag. And bag is then brought back to my table. A. Foot. Away.

Oh for God’s sake. Utterly ridiculous rigmarole.

Quite why it had to go in a plastic bag to travel a foot I know not.

In need of a morning brew. Go to Starbucks. And asked for name to put on cup. Turns out my name is Liam. Not my real name.

It’s the same airline as I flew back from Vienna back in February. And. As usual. Have booked an exit seat. Long legs you see.

Am stopped at boarding gate. And directed to boarding desk. As they have to check I’m physically capable of opening the exit door.

Back to the boarding gate to scan boarding pass. Green light. Gate opens. And go.

But some Indian bloke on the desk sees my overweight and oversized hand luggage. And shouts stop! As I’m halfway between the boarding gate and the air bridge. A few steps to go.

Having experienced all the twaddle in Vienna and having to check bag in because I’m sitting in an exit row. Can do without that nonsense today.

So.

Carry on striding.

And soon on the airbridge.

Pretending to be deaf.

To the strains of an Indian bloke shouting, “Stop. Sir. Stop. Sir. Stop. You have to check your bag in!”

No chance mate.

Am on the escalator down to aircraft level. And continue along the air bridge to aircraft. The dulcet Indian tones receding.

But expecting to be clobbered once on board. Assuming he’s rung down to the aircraft to stop me boarding with bag.

Thankfully. Not stopped. And bag goes in overhead locker. Rules are for fools. And the guidance of wise men.

Two lads sitting next to me have just met. They say they’ve never met anyone who has travelled to North Kore.

Ahem. I interject.

You have now!

See my North Korea blogpost elsewhere on this website, dear reader.

Landing on time in Vienna. It’s a bus transfer to passport control. Have positioned myself on the bus so will be first off. And first in the passport queue. So straight through. Without enduring the queue. Am through passport control before the rest of the flight has disembarked the bus. Forward thinking, dear reader. No flies on me.

Return to the Boutique Hotel am Stephansplatz (https://www.hotelamstephansplatz.at/en/startseite.html) where I was based in February. Couldn’t be more central if you tried.

Last time it was sub-zero. Twenty today though. A warm and pleasant sunny Sunday afternoon. And a walk to the Hofburg Palace garden. A new discovery. Plenty of people picnicking and perambulating. Great atmosphere.

My giggly German twin, Miss Braunschweig, rings. Born hours apart but on different days. Her birthday today. Mine yesterday.

She in Florence. I in Vienna.

Hippy birdie two ewes mein Liebling.

NG2NZ 22. Homeward bound

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20-22-Feb-25 Podgorica, Montenegro, and Vienna, Austria

Final brew with a view. Shall miss this view.

Now homeward bound. After a relaxing few days on the Adriatic. As you can perhaps tell, dear reader, not a very exciting blog, as not much done. Just a bit of pottering. This sector was all about eating up the miles to head further east.

Follow the Adriatic coast to Bar. One main road. Pop into Budvar to have a look but like other places. Car parking is a nightmare. And not particularly wanting to leave car with all my worldly possessions in. Lest they get nicked.

Stunning coastline as I head further south towards Albania. Arrive Bar in time for lunch. Park at King Nikola’s Palace. To discover it’s shut. For a refurb. Built in 1885 it looks more like a large house than palace. So cross the road to the Jovan Vladimir Church. Its white exterior set off against a deep blue sky. Expecting it to be over 200 years old discover it was completed less than ten years ago. As with all these Orthodox churches. Gold leaf is prevalent. To give a nice warm feel.

Brief stop at one of the world’s oldest olive trees. Set in an enclosure. Costs EUR2 to enter. But I can see it from outside. Over the wall. So don’t.

Leaving the coast behind head back to Podgorica via Shkodra Lake. Snow capped mountains to the south form the border with Albania.

Great driving day with amazing scenery.

Overnight in Podgorica. And another excellent top notch restaurant. Worth returning to Podgorica for the restaurants I’ve eaten at again. Very impressed.

Airport information states that they will only allow bags of a certain size through as hand luggage. Irrespective of airline. Had this problem before in Pisa airport. Might have been a little rumpus with a jobsworth security bod back then. Vehemently against checking in my bag. It’s alright for normal sized people who can pop in to a local shop and buy clothes if bag gets lost or delayed. I can’t do that, dear reader. Not being normal sized.

Reluctantly check in bag. And track it with my Samsung Air Tag to ensure it’s loaded on the aircraft. So can relax a little.

Podgorica Airport somewhat small.

Airside is only opened to certain flights at a certain time. To avoid overcrowding the departure gates. And security. Once through. Realise why. My lounge is bigger.

Return to Vienna. And the freezing cold. Now 2C. Has been about 15C in Montenegro. The perfect temperature.

Airport hotel overnight (https://www.nh-hotels.com/en/hotel/nh-vienna-airport-conference-center) to save to-ing and fro-ing into the city centre.

Paid for extra leg room seat. But system not letting me check in to that seat. Requires queuing at counter. And dealing with a young girl. Who is saying it’s not possible. In a computer says no sort of way. It is. Get it sorted. Can’t fit in any other seat you see. She has to ring IT. To change some setting on her system. To open the seating allocations. After a lot of faff. It is done. And Fast Track through security.

To find a quiet spot for my morning brew. Order a large Americano. Then have two more whilst waiting to board. Barista asks if I’m OK. Er yes. Why? Well apparently, I’ve just drunk the equivalent of six espressos. In less than an hour.

Buzzing.

Time to board. I know my hand luggage exceeds the weight and size of allowable on board bags. As it always does. I can see that the boarding gates are electronic gates. You scan your boarding pass and gates open to allow you through. This means that boarding staff aren’t generally checking you individually. It usually means it’s easier to get through with oversized and overweight bags.

So. I’ll just loiter behind a column. Out of sight of the boarding gate staff. To avoid attracting any attention. Under the radar like. Stealthy.

And then.

Ding. Dong.

Would Touring Taurean come to the boarding desk.

Oh FFS.

Now what.

As I’m in an exit row they need to visually check that I’m not a quadriplegic and can physically open the exit door.

And am asked. Do you have any hand luggage.

And this is where the nonsense starts.

And a little rumpus.

Can hardly say no as it’s standing by my side. Visible to all.

Am told it needs a luggage tag. And to be taken away at the door by baggage handler.

Erm why?

You’re in an exit row.

Yes. But how does that affect my bag in the overhead locker.

More nonsense.

Made to put tag on bag.

For it to be collected at aircraft door.

Sod that.

Take coat out of bag.

Put coat over bag as I go down the air bridge.

To hide the luggage tag.

And walk on board. Putting bag in overhead locker. Tag being hidden by coat all the time.

Sit down.

And then realise that if they have given me a luggage tag. That will show on their system as being a bag in the hold. And when they do a bag count in the hold for security purposes they’ll realise a bag is missing. And the flight will be delayed. Whilst they check.

Sod it.

Keep a beady eye on the crew and ground handling staff. Just waiting for one of them to walk up to me.

But no.

Doors to automatic. And cross check.

And off we go.

With my precious bag above my head in a locker.

That’s how you do it, dear reader.

And now Sector 3 will be coming shortly. Resuming the trail in Vienna and travelling by train to Istanbul.

Laters!

NG2NZ 21. Jolly jaunt

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19-Feb-25 Lustica Bay, Montenegro

Another blue sky day and excellent view for a brew to start the day. Really am enjoying this hotel.

The other main town in the area is Tivat. Much more upmarket than Kotor. And cleaner. And newer. With a lot of new development going off. Many shiny expensive boats in the marina. And shops for the rich. This is seemingly the summer playground of the well to do. A pleasant and relaxing feel here. And just the place for a spot of lunch. By the marina. With views of an azure Adriatic. And views of snow capped mountains.

Not much else to see. So a jolly jaunt around the Bay of Kotor. Ferry from Lepetani to Kamenari. Assuming it’s a drive on and pay onboard. Which was what I start doing. Until big, burly, marine official stops me in my tracks. Ticket needs to be bought from the ticket office. Promptly purchased. Short trip across the water to Kamenari and follow the scenic coast road. Just before Kotor. Turn off the main coast road and drive along what can best be described as an access road to the waterfront properties along the coast. A single carriage one way road. Good decision. There’s some nice mansions and holiday apartments. Along with some nice looking local cafes and restaurants. Take note of some holiday lets. Will be worth coming back. A nice area requiring further investigation.

Seeing the Kotor cable car station signposted. Drive up to go up. Except. It’s still being built. So that’s a no.

Unlike last night. Dinner is not alone. People are turning up for the weekly Japanese night in hotel. An excellent, excellent meal.

NG2NZ 20. Cattaro Cats

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18-Feb-25 Lustica Bay, Montenegro

A glorious view for a morning brew. Marina. Lighthouse. Adriatic. Blue sky. Sunny. Warm. Snow capped mountains nearby. Ah yes, this will do very nicely. Had looked at staying in Kotor but hotels didn’t look too appealing and so glad I discovered the modern and new Chedi.

Drive to Kotor a few miles away is slow. Only one single carriage road around the coast. Constant queue of traffic. And this is February. Dread to think what it would be like at the height of summer. Needless to say. Parking takes some time!

Originally settled during Roman times, Kotor was developed by the Venetians from the 15th century hence the Venetian architecture on display. And the historic Italian name…Cattaro. The city was part of the Venetian Works of Defence. Six bastion forts in its mainland territories and maritime domains. During World War 1 it was home to the Austro-Hungarian Navy and a base for submarines.

But the most noticeable thing about this medieval town. Is. The. Cats.

There’s hundreds of the flipping things. If not thousands.

Everywhere.

And.

Little tins of cat food.

And.

Kibble.

Everywhere.

Apparently residents consider them lucky.

There’s even a Cat Museum.

And much cat shaped jewellery.

Historically due to lots of mice, rats and snakes in the area, it was necessary to have cats to keep them under control.

Kotor old town is rather small and after half an hour have walked most of its narrow alleyways and the along the top of its city walls.

Along the small harbour are adverts for sightseeing cruises. Along the lines of. See the submarine base. Which piques my interest. But due to a business deadline today can’t afford the time to be on a boat for four hours. But can afford the time to drive to said submarine base. A little diversion on the way back to hotel.

A nice normal road turns into a twisty normal road. Which turns into a single track twisty road. With hedgerow scraping side of the hire car. Which turns into a hardcore type road. Not a problem I think. I’ll keep going. See how far I can get. As I drop down in height from the headland to sea level.

It’s when the hardcore turns into earth. Which has just been scraped by a machine. In readiness for building a new road. That I begin to wonder if this is a good idea. Down the hill I go. For quite some distance. Large clumps of claggy soil and rock line the edge which have been churned up by the earth mover.

And then.

Five thuggish looking young lads walk up the hill towards me.

Hmmm.

Middle of nowhere.

Can’t really turn around here.

They flag me down.

To tell me that the earth mover is making its way back. And not to go further. Or I’ll get stuck.

They too have tried to get to the submarine base but it’s been a bit of a slog. A lot further than they thought. Their car is a few hundred metres further up the hill. They are knackered.

Not having time for a bit of a slog. There’s only one way to go. And that’s back the way I came.

But. Need to reverse about 300m to a turning area back up the hill. Slow going that, dear reader.

Having completed a business deadline back at the hotel. In need of dinner. Try one of the restaurants along the marina. All of which are empty. Thinking locals might not eat until later. Pop into an Italian. Fancy some pasta. And a glass of red. Well, dear reader. Order ravioli. Thinking it will be filling. It’s not. The smallest portion. And not a cheap dish.

So. There I am.

Dining in an empty restaurant. Zero atmosphere.

But do discover a nice Montenegrin red wine.

Hic.

NG2NZ 19. Madame Butterfly

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17-Feb-25 Lustica Bay, Montenegro

A warm sunny morning leaving Podgorica in a hire car. Driving to the Adriatic for a few days. Along twisty roads and amazing mountainous scenery. Only become aware of the increase in altitude when the car’s outside temperature drops from 15C to 2C.

And start seeing snow stuck by the roadside. As I head towards Cetinje. Former royal capital of Montenegro. Dating back to the 15th century. But it was the mid 19th century when Cetinje grew under the rule Nicholas I of Montenegro. The last monarch of Montenegro. Until 1918. The end of WW1. When Montenegro was annexed with Serbia. And then both merged with other South Slav countries to form the Kingdom of Serbs, Croats and Slovenes. Bit of a mouthful that. Was then renamed Yugoslavia in 1929.

One of his daughters was Princess Elena. Born in Cetinje in 1873. She became Queen of Italy from 1900 to 1946. As the wife of King Victor Emmanuel III. She also being Empress of Ethiopia and Queen of the Albanians. Versatile and educated she was loved for her charity works and her talents. Spoke several languages, played the piano and wrote poetry.

When she was fifteen, a Russian literary magazine, under the pseudonym Blue Butterfly, published her poetry dedicated to Venice.

And it is this pseudonym, dear reader, which inspired composer Giacomo Puccini to dedicate his famous opera Madame Butterfly to Queen Elena.

The stuff you learn on this blog, dear reader!

Thinking Cetinje might be a tourist hot spot. Stop for lunch. And also because there is nothing enroute. Soon apparent that parking is a problem. As in. No spaces available. Only after the third circuit of the one way system do I spot a space in a small parade of shops car park. Jeez. It’s freezing. And snowing. Was in shirt sleeves this morning in Podgorica.

Cetinje may well be a tourist hot spot. In summer maybe. But not at the beginning of February when it’s snowing and sub-zero. Everywhere closed.

Continue driving to Lustica Bay along Jaguar F-type roads. Twisty and mountainous. Sadly. Not driving a Jaguar F-type. And the Suzuki Vitara SUV hire car doesn’t quite excite.

Higher and higher I drive. And the snow and fog increases. Until. The other side of the mountain pass above Kotor and Tivat. Snow and fog recedes. And a glimpse of an azure Adriatic. Glistening about 4,000ft below. Magnificient views tempered by the dark snow clouds and fog clinging to the mountain side.

There’s only one way to descend to sea level. Down the Serpentine. This infamous road with 25 hairpin bends offers stunning views across the bay of Kotor with Tivat the other side. But a sheer drop should you come off.

A great drive. Were it not for a sluggish Suzuki.

Finish the day with a room with a view. At the Chedi Lustica Bay (https://www.chedilusticabay.com/ ). A brand new development. On the Adriatic.

Ah yes.

This will do for a few days.

And relax.

NG2NZ 18. Surprised

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14-16-Feb-25 Podgorica, Montenegro

A one hour flight from Vienna to Podgorica. Capital of Montenegro. In the former Yugoslavia. On the Adriatic. Only one hour. But what a difference. Warm for a start. Departing a capital city dripping in architectural splendour. To arrive in a storm. Which exacerbates the greyness and dullness of the Soviet communist style architecture. Chucking it down with rain.

Airport is about as big as school sports hall. You won’t get lost. Taxi driver speaks English and don’t feel as though I’m being ripped off. For the short journey to the Hilton Hotel (https://www.hilton.com/en/hotels/tgdpmhi-hilton-podgorica-crna-gora/). You will recall, dear reader, that I once worked on a hotel project in Vienna. My colleague at the time later went to work for Hilton. And was the project manager for this Podgorica Hilton a few years ago. So will be doing some snagging!

A quick walk about the block to stretch legs in between rain showers. There’s a nice vibe here. Everyone friendly. Everyone I interact with speaks English. Feels safe. Somewhat ramshackle Soviet looking buildings in most parts. But then there’s the new developments adjacent.

Wake to a bright blue sky and sun. Being on the Executive Floor, enjoy my morning brew in the top floor Exec Lounge with magnificent views of Podgorica and the surrounding snow capped mountains. Ah yes. This view will do for a brew.

Walking to the river discover a nice little bookshop in an old Turkish bath. Located directly beneath a bridge. Friendly owner shows me the building and takes me to a back room which was the old bath house. She has her friends popping in for a glass of wine. All very civilised, dear reader.

Entering the local market hall. Am reminded how bad smoking inside was. Everyone is puffing away. Disgusting habit. Disgusting smell. EU smoking laws not applicable here obviously. You forget what it was like all those years ago. Remember when I first started flying long haul on business in the mid 1990s. People were smoking on the aircraft. Jeez. You do forget how bad it was.

Plenty of colourful fresh produce for sale. Along with the general tat. If you ever wanted a radio cassette player for a 1980s car. Then look no further. Podgorica market has them. Along with other assorted accessories.

Meander the streets of the old town. A mosque a reminder of the Ottoman Empire. Which captured the city in 1474. Another Ottoman landmark is the well preserved Clock Tower. Built in 1667 and survived bombing in WW2.

Petrovic Castle is also identified as a highlight of Podgorica. Next to the US Embassy. A rather large affair. And one which has history boards on the security fence. Which require reading. And then conscious I’m being watched by security. Men with rifles. Ready to pounce. Moving swiftly on.

Castle is adjacent the embassy. But somewhat disappointing. It’s shut. For winter. Built in 1889. It’s not really a castle. It’s like saying Nottingham Castle. Which is more Georgian mansion. You will no doubt remember, dear reader, the Kevin Costner ‘Robin Hood’ film. The opening credits show a large forest with a proper castle in the middle. A title pops up which says ‘Nottingham Castle’. There was much laughter in the cinema in Nottingham when we read that. For it is nothing like a castle at all. Ditto Petrovic Castle.

Blue skies and sun continue the following day. My morning view for a brew is rather good, dear reader. Realise that the snow capped mountains to the south east are actually the border with Albania. Niece 1 is rather chuffed that she’s been to a country that I haven’t visited. She being in Albania last Autumn on a Young Farmers’ trip.

Plenty of people milling around on this sunny Sunday. Quite a few visiting the new Serbian Orthodox Cathedral. Built in 1993 with a colourful and warm interior. If you like gold leaf. You’ll like these orthodox cathedrals. Liberally used.

Wasn’t quite sure what to expect of Podgorica. Have been continually surprised by the quality of restaurants. Clean. Modern. Excellent food. One of the best Indian and Chinese meals I’ve had too.

And also discovered Montenegrin wine.

Quite taken with Podgorica.

Surprised.