Not quite Turkish Delight

Overnight train to Adana, Turkish Mediterranean Coast, Turkey

5 August 2013

An unscheduled day at leisure in Ankara. Was meant to be on the day train to Adana but for reasons outlined in the Istanbul blog I’m having to take the night train departing this evening. I really am the only guest in the hotel. It’s like a Scooby Doo hotel. I once had to put a colleague up in a hotel on the outskirts of Frankfurt (as there was a major Messe and no rooms available anywhere) which we nicknamed the Scooby Doo hotel for the pretty much the same reason. Except this hotel has electricity. Typical Turkish breakfast is laid out before me but spend the rest of the morning trying to eradicate beeswax from teeth and gums from the honey, which is….delicious.
Anitkabir - aerial view
Anitkabir – aerial view
  Anitkabir is the first port of call. Ataturk’s Mausoleum – he being the founding father of modern Turkey. Mausoleum stands at the head of three sides of colonnaded arcades. Slightly reminiscent of Nazi architecture or a set straight out of Indiana Jones. Armed guards stand on pedestals one hand behind their back resting on their bayonnets just in case any Japanese tourists decide to get leary. A local family have photos of their three children with one guard. The youngest is crawling all over the pedestal and the guard’s legs and handling the rifle (alarmingly close to the trigger) but the guard remains static. They depart. Look back to see the guard heave a huge sigh of relief and we give each other a knowing look. He grins. Inside the mausoleum it really is like an Indiana Jones set. High ceiling, wall mounted wrought iron torches, electrically lit, dark marble. Single sarcophogus sits centre at one end. The actual body being entombed 7m below.
Anitkabir
Anitkabir
 
Underneath the mausoleum building lies the War of Independence Museum. Full of Army recruits learning about their history by the looks of it. Quite extensive and a few panoramas with sound effects. Walk along the Avenue of Lions to the access road and ask security if I walk down will I be able to hail a taxi. Yes. Continue walking fifty yards and met by two more security. They ask if I’m after a taxi. Yes. Told to sit on a bench in the much needed shade of a tree. Few minutes later a taxi arrives. They’ve only radioed down to the security entrance on the main road to flag a taxi which has then been allowed up the driveway to pick me up. How great is that. Can you imagine that happening in the UK?  
Colonnaded arcarde
Colonnaded arcarde
 
Short hop to Ankamall shopping centre. Need some boot laces and biros. It’s like Nottingham’s Victoria Centre but without the asylum seekers. Not very busy and has the usual UK shops including an M&S. Visit Haci Bayrami Camii mosque – he being a Muslim saint who founded a dervish order. It’s 15th Century and seemingly a place of pilgrimage given the amount of people milling about including a long queue of women waiting to enter. The security guards use a concertina metal barricade to herd the masses in like cattle. Through the backstreets the buildings are very Alpine looking. It’s “old” Ankara being reconstructed but seems sterile just like Doha’s reconstructed souk. Taxi to hotel and the first taxi to try and rip me off. Told it’s TRL20. I say 10. He replies, “20….10…20…10…”. He gets 10. Find a small photography shop selling postcards so enter to buy one I’ve chosen from the outside stand. The owner says, “It’s OK…..on me”. Blimey – a free postcard (to the recipient – I’m spoiling you!). Post office is 300m down a steep hill and there’s a long queue when I arrive. I don’t do queueing. By a bit of motioning that all I want is a stamp a local shoves me to near the front of a queue and a young lady further allows me to take her place for a quick stamp. Judging by the state of the post office, I’m not convinced it will find it’s destination.
View from Mausoleum entrance
View from Mausoleum entrance
 
Steep climb up the hill the way I’ve just come and stop to buy a loaf of bread, cheese and crisps for dinner on the overnight train. There are three types of “Dairylea” on offer in the fridge and not knowing which is best pull all three out and place them on a counter and ask a fellow shopper which is best. She gives the thumbs up to one which I take. Arrive station an hour before departure and discover train is already at the platform and can board. Cabin has air-conditioning, wash hand basin, minibar (with water, cherry juice, chocolate and Twiglet things) and a pair of disposable slippers. Wash hand basin will be handy at 3am when I need a pee (too much information and you’re all going “Ugh – disgusting”). Train departs at 2005hrs and purchase a couple bottles of Efes beer and settle in for the night.
The youngest is now under control
The youngest is now under control
 
Dinner for one and a night at the movies. I know how to live. Spread “dinner” out on a pull out table. It’s only when the train breaks suddenly that the table rolls back into it’s recess scooping everything on it…off. Everything moves in slow motion and it’s like one of those arcade machines (I’m regressing to my youth in the 80s) you fed with 2 pence coins – you had to keep feeding the moving tray it until a coin pushed a load of other coins out into the winnings tray. Well it’s like that but with bread, Dairylea, crisps, cup of cold beer. Except it’s not a winnings tray. It’s the floor. I’ve not moved so fast for a while. Final night in Turkey. It’s surprised me how friendly everyone is, I’ve not been hassled, I feel very safe, I’ve not been ripped off – on the contrary, I’ve found people to be exceptionally generous. But, like Boxing Day, I’ve had my fill of Turkey. It’s all a bit “samey” and apart from Istanbul it’s not quite Turkish Delight.

It’s delicious….it’s delicious

Ankara, Turkey

4 August 2013

0700hrs wake up and breakfast in the courtyard. I tell the bloke I have a transfer booked at 0800hrs. “Yes, yes, I know…..bus station…may be 5-10mins late because of traffic” (Yeah, yeah, a few minutes here and a few minutes there and it all starts to get a bit tight on times). He then proceeds to fill the entire table with plates of food nicely presented. Cold meats, roasted red peppers, various cheeses, harissa, bread, green & black olives with herbs, peeled buffalo tomato & cucumber, walnuts, dried apricot & fig, fresh orange juice and a nice milky coffee like your Nan used to make. It’s all rather pleasant and a good start to the day. It’s just me and the bloke – all the other guests are still asleep. It’s the same bloke that checks me out and asks if I’ve had anything from the minibar.
Outskirts of Bursa
Outskirts of Bursa
 
Only a bottle of water. “We’ll give you that on the house” he replies and tells me to wait in the entrance hall of this merchant’s house (which I’m told is about 150 years old). Shortly after 0800hrs a young lad enters and disappears to the courtyard. A few minutes later and by now it’s 0810hrs and having been told by the girl last night that it’ll take at least 30mins to the bus station but depends on traffic it could be one of those trips that gets a little bit tight for time. The bloke who’d served beakfast appears and says, “OK – let’s go” and promptly lugs my rucksack to his car. We speed through the city listening to the local Turkish radio station which isn’t quite Chris Evans’ Breakfast Show. Where is everyone. There’s not a soul about. The streets are bare and no traffic. I wish Nottingham was like this in rush hour! We speed towards the bus station in about 15mins but dread to think how long it would’ve taken had the traffic been as busy as last night.
Bored onboard bus
Bored onboard bus
 
Deposited outside and it’s yet another free transfer. This hotel is superb value for money!! I even feel compelled to write a review on Trip Advisor (which is where I discovered it in the first place). Inside the bus station is a semi-circle of desks numbered 1-32 which upon first glance I wonder if they are check-in desks. My bus departs platform 33 but don’t find desk 33. Do find the Kamilkoc desk and as I have 30mins to spare wander over just to check that my ticket is OK and that they will drop me off at the TCDD rail station. Without further question the clerk hands me a TRL5 (~£2) note and prints out a new ticket which is the bus direct to the TCDD rail station rather than the bus station I had. The bus departs 0830hrs. It’s now 0828hrs. Bloody ‘ell. Was going to have a coffee and catch up on the Daily Telegraph’s website for half an hour. A couple of strides to platform 49 and dump my bag in the hold.
Enroute to Ankara
Enroute to Ankara
 
Motion that I’m just going to buy a bottle of water for the journey and he motions to hurry up in that tapping your watch sort of way. Leg it to stall, buy water, leg it back and jump on as the doors close behind me. It’s a 2+2 seating arrangement rather than the 2+1 on the original bus I’d been booked on to and there’s not much leg room but it’s more comfortable than the Honningsvag-Rovaniemi bus! Attendant dishes out free cups of water and biscuits and I have to juggle that fine line between keeping hydrated and not wanting the loo every 30mins as we’re on a non-stop bus for 2.5hrs! The Alpine mountain scenery gives way to arid rolling plain with fields of gold that have recently been combined. The bus, surprisingly, has Wi-Fi so pass the journey listening to yesterday’s Anneka Rice Radio 2 show (she’s still got it) on the iplayer Radio app on my phone. This technology never ceases to amaze me.
Enroute to Ankara
Enroute to Ankara
 
Arrive Eskishir in just under 2hrs, a lot sooner than expected. It’s actually been quite a pleasant journey notwithstanding the lack of leg room. The seatback TV screens have a channel that show the driver’s view through the windscreen. As I’m at Eskishir rail station at 1030hrs, a lot earlier than anticipated, I find the ticket office to see if there’s a train to Ankara sooner than the 1245hrs. There is. At 1115hrs. Within 20seconds my ticket is changed without charge and handed over….not like the palaver we had yesterday! She also confirms that tomorrow’s day train is fully booked – just wanted to make sure. Have to pass security before boarding the high speed train – X-ray machine and body scanner. It seems a permanent fixture rather than a temporary arrangement for the current terror alert we’re encountering. Train is just like the German ICE and we whizz through the countryside at 250km/hr.
Caravanseri courtyard
Caravanseri courtyard
 
Hotel is a 16th century caravanseri with the courtyard now covered with a modern glazed atrium. Adjacent is a transport museum which is actually quite interesting and includes a flour mill from Braunschweig in Germany…..where I used to live. The citadel entrance is opposite the hotel. It’s a bit of a dump when I walk the “streets”. Derelict houses, manky cats, unmade roads, rubbish strewn about, shops selling weathered postcards that look about as old as the citadel. It’s like some sort of bombed out Balkan village you used to see on the news. Find the entrance to one of the fortresses in the city wall. Plenty of women selling their wares and crocheting handbags and other female stuff. Steep stone steps up onto the fortress walls and I steer clear of the vertical drop.
Citadel
Citadel
 
Great view of Ankara from the high point but not convinced that Ankara’s got with the tourist thing. How many people do you know have said, “Ooh we had a great weekend in Ankara…you must go”. Quite. Dinner in the hotel restaurant located in the transport museum. I’m the sole occupant. I assume because the sun hasn’t set yet. They’ll all come flooding in after sunset to feast after the fast. Except. No. They don’t. It’s just me and the waiter. He’s a dead ringer for Rowan Atkinson’s teenage Blackadder. His main phrase is “It’s delicious”. Everything on the menu is delicious. My choice of rack of lamb is delicious. My choice of red wine is delicious. The sparkling water – delicious. The warm bread and olive oil he delights in giving is…..delicious. In the covered courtyard of the caravanseri tapping away at this blog it suddently dawns on me that I am the only occupant of this hotel. There are no other guests. Spooky.

How big your shoe?

Bursa, Turkey

3 August 2013

To set the scene. I’m in a candlelit courtyard tapping away at this blog. It feels like I’m in the 17th Century as having to type with a candle next to the keyboard. Wake up in a better frame of mind and checking out of hotel they take my rucksack for secure storage whilst I blitz the sights. I really need more time here to do it all justice but not helped by the faff from yesterday. Stay local to Sultanahmet and visit Aya Sophia and Topkapi Palace. Walking into Aya Sophia, I’m struck by the magnitude of the construction. Notwithstanding the huge scaffold tower that takes over a third of the building, it’s colossal. An amazing structure.
View from room....not bad eh
View from room….not bad eh
 
The Topkapi Palace is behind and I quickly visit as I have lunch to eat and a ferry to catch. The treasury reminds me of the Grune Gewolbe in Dresden with its stunning jewellery. As I enter the harem, a shifty looking local sidles up to me and says “How big your shoe?”. UK13/EUR47 I say. Wow says he. They’re big says he. Indeed they are say I and will be painful if you try to rob me. Final lunch in the hotel courtyard and retrieve bag from storage. Am told it’ll be out front so exit and wait for my taxi. The doorman says “Bursa?” Yes. “Ferry?” Yes. “Your taxi’s there, Sir”. But where’s my bag. “Your bag is in the boot, Sir”. Now that’s service and with that am waved off. Short wait before boarding the fast ferry to Bursa port. I’ve upgrade to Business Class for the grand sum of 33pence – one Turkish lira.
Aya Sophia
Aya Sophia
 
It takes 90mins across the Sea of Marmara past the vast quantities of container ships. Blue sky. Blue Sea. Nice and calm not like the horrific catamaran crossing I did last year from Poole to Cherbourg. That was rough. Greeted by hotel transfer to Bursa city 30mins away at high speed. Glad the hotel organised the transfer as a taxi would never have found the hotel. It’s down some side alleyways which come to a dead end and so narrow we have to squeeze out of the van doors. Driver insists on taking my rucksack but regrets it when he takes the load and hands me over to hotel owner. She confirms the night rate and I ask how much the transfer is. Nothing. It’s free. With our compliments. Wow. That is service. Bursa was the former Ottoman capital and sits in a valley surrounded by mountain ranges. Explore the old town. Everyone is seemingly out and about. Women sitting on carpets outside the mosque as the men pray inside. Chatter. Chatter. Chatter. As they do. Parts of the town look slightly Germanic/Alpine in places and reminds me of Campos de Jordao in Sao Paulo state, Brasil – an Alpine town in the tropics. Dinner in the candlelit courtyard (think old merchant’s house) and reading a news article about likely terrorist attacks in the Middle East this weekend when all of a sudden an explosion goes off near the hotel. As my mind is reading about bomb alerts and the like my heart skips a beat until I realise it’s a far too loud a firework going off in celebration. Phew.

A bit of faffing

Istanbul, Turkey

2 August 2013

I wake up with a severe headache and feeling especially grumpy. It’s very oppressive heat and humidity and I have to purchase train, bus and ferry tickets before doing anything else. I’d not been able to buy these online in advance as the various companies didn’t like a UK credit card nor did I have a Turkish address or phone nr. My preference is to buy or book everything in advance so I don’t have to faff about when I get there….for reasons that will become very obvious! Hotel concierge shows me on the map where the rail station (10min walk) and the Kamilkoc bus ticket office (20min tram ride) are on the map. Walk through the searing and humid heat and cruise ship tourists to the rail station.
Former Ottoman prison - a little luxury
Former Ottoman prison – a little luxury
 
There’s a middle aged German woman being dealt with, then two young German lads and then me in the queue for the ticket counter. I stand there sweating like I don’t know what. There’s no air and it’s stuffy. I have a splitting headache. I’m a particularly grumpy old ogre today having got out of bed the wrong side. The German woman is speaking reasonably good English but wiz ze German accent. The Turkish woman on the ticket desk is struggling to understand and I see her remonstrating through the glass pointing away as if to say “Go away!”. From ze conversation I zink dat ze German woman has tickets but is wanting to change them for a different train. This confuses the Turkish woman. It ends up with ze German woman saying she’ll buy new tickets as it’ll be easier. This goes on for 15mins. I’m wilting in the heat. The German lads have got bored and disappeared so I’m next in line when the German eventually gets sorted and buzzes off.
Byzantium cistern
Byzantium cistern
 
Being a forward thinking, clever, sort of chap, I’ve already written down what I want on a bit of paper to make it perfectly OBVIOUS and SIMPLE, for the most incompetent muppet who doesn’t speak English, EXACTLY what I want. This includes DATE, FROM, TO and TIMES. It’s so easy a Martian could interpret it. I could have these tickets in 3 minutes it’s that simple. 40 minutes later…… Admittedly, I’m already losing the will to live and just simply leaking with sweat in the heat and humidity – oh, yes, ladies, it’s a charming sight. I hand over the piece of paper with the VERY SIMPLE AND EASY TO UNDERSTAND information. She looks at it and throws it back saying “Date”. I point to the “4.8.13” and the “5.8.13” which sort of gives a clue. She huffs. I puff. I want to go from Eskeshir to Ankara and I want the 1245hrs departure. She’s being bloody awkward. It’s obviously her “off” day (I’m being polite). She writes down the departure times for that day. No. No. No. I want the 1245hrs departure. She huffs. I keep muttering to myself four words. Three of which are……oh…..for…..& sake. Eventually, at last, after a lot of hard work she shows me her computer screen with the correct data. I give the tumbs up and she prints ticket out.
Cistern
Cistern
 
It costs TRL35 (a snip at £12 for Business Class for a 2hr journey). One down one to go. Irritated is one word I’d use to describe my current state. We repeat the whole bloody date thing for ticket nr 2. I need to travel from Ankara to Adana and having checked the timetable online I know I need to change in Konya. I’ve written the Ankara-Konya and the Konya-Adana times down. She huffs. I puff. It’s all too difficult for her. Again, she writes down all the departure times for Ankara-Konya. No. No. No. I want the 1300hrs departure. I sound like Renee out of the BBC comedy ‘Allo ‘Allo when I probably say a bit too loudly, “You stupid woman”. She taps into her computer and shows me the screen with the correct data. Thumbs up she prints out the ticket.
Cistern
Cistern
 
It too costs TRL35 for Business Class. A snip. Now….for the seasoned traveller like me there are probably alarm bells ringing right now. She’s not done the Konya-Adana leg at the same time. I assume it’s the way her system works. It’s not….it’s her! I’m still muttering to myself four words. Three of which are……oh…..for…..& sake. Bearing in mind she’s just sold me a ticket for a train that arrives in Konya at 1452hrs and the next train I want is the 1500hrs from Konya. Just bear that in mind a moment. It’s all written down for her, nice and neat, and SIMPLE. So what does the stupid woman do. Tell me there’s a 0630hrs departure on the same day. I lose the plot and shriek “No…I want the 1500hrs”. She slams her hand down on the counter in anger and starts mouthing off to her two female colleagues who have been spectating. I’m just about to punch my fist through the glass and throttle her when her mate steps in and tells her to shift, in a way that I feel is sympathetic to me and that she also thinks her colleague is being blatantly stupid. By this time a Turkish businessman is behind me and getting fed up of the delay. He speaks fluent English and translates what I want. The new ticket woman, who I can immediately tell is more intelligent and calmer, eventually confirms that the Ankara-Adana train is fully booked.
Back streets
Back streets
 
There’s only one train a day. It’s full. In the words of James May….oh, cock! I’m stuffed. I have a headache still remember and this is not what I want to hear. I have to be in Adana Monday night as I have a flight to catch Tuesday morning (to Cyprus). She offers an alternative. The night train which departs Ankara Monday night and arrives Adana 0720hrs Tuesday. Hobson’s choice. I take it. Didn’t want to do the night train as I’d read that there was some spectacular scenery between Ankara and Adana…espcially as it passed the Taurus mountains……and for obvious reasons was something I wanted to view. Oh well. I pay the TRL93 for the overnight cabin but I now have a spare TRL35 ticket for Ankara-Konya that I have no need of. As it’s already been sold they’ll buy it back less 10% cancellation fee. I’ve had enough and want to get some fresh air so just accept it knowing that this little anecdote will be worth more in the book deal…….any offers?? Thoroughly hacked off. Thoroughly hot. Thoroughly sweaty. Splitting headache. That was just the train ticket. I now have a bus ticket to buy. It’s a 20min tram journey. Despite the AC carriages, it’s still hot and sticky and smelly. But then I wonder if it’s me that smells as I’m leaking so much. Still a charming sight.
"You can take our photo"
“You can take our photo”
 
The tram stop is Capa in the suburbs. It’s the Clifton of Nottingham. I’m off the tourist trail. It’s just the Great White lolloping through their manor. Tram attendant points me down a side street to the Kamilkoc coach ticket office. I reach the end, find a gaggle of police on patrol with machine guns and suspect I’m in he wrong area. If in doubt, ask a policeman. They point me back to the main road…..and safety. By now I have a 3G mobile signal so Google Kamilkoc and its mapping system shows me where the address is and, more importantly, where I physically am. The wonders of modern technology soon have me in the ticket office. A young Turkish lady translates to the ticket clerk what I want and within 2mins have required ticket. Return to hotel for a couple of Anadin and a lie down. There, there, there. It’s taken over two soddin’ hours to sort out three tickets. And that, dear reader, is why I like to book & buy everything up front in the comfort of my home office of a cold winter’s evening before I travel.
More mosques
More mosques
 
Right, now I’ve got that off my chest…..a bit of sightseeing. Anadin is taking effect so venture out again into the late afternoon heat. It’s a bit of a blitz due to so much faffing earlier. Descend under Sultanahmet to the Byzantium Cistern – a massive underground construction for water storage. It’s huge and the pillars are nicely uplit (for my fellow lighting designers out there). Amble the back streets and deliberately get lost. It’s one of the best things you can do – you never know what little surprise is around the corner. I’m heading in the general direction of the Spice Bazaar and smell it before I find it. The alleyways are full of locals busying themselves but I can’t help feeling there’s an over supply of goods. It must surely be a saturated market. Just how many cloth shops can be sustained in this market? Have fully engaged Mosque Mode before coming out – dispensed with the size 13 hiking boots that take ages to take off/put on and lace up. Am wearing slip on deck shoes. There’s thought gone into this. Pop into the New Mosque opposite Galata Bridge and waltz round with my shoes in a plastic bag like everyone else. Except we all look like dog walkers with bags of you know what strolling around. Galata Bridge is full of fisherman casting off both sides but it’s only small fry they’re catching. Beneath the bridge are restaurants and looking up you see the fishing rods silhouetted against the deep blue sky. Bit of a slog uphill to the Grand Bazaar before returning to Sultanahmet and popping into the Blue Mosque which has just re-opened following afternoon prayers. The security personnel go ballistic when two female tourists venture into the middle of the carpeted mosque for a photo. It’s meant to be men only. Return to the sanctuary of the hotel for a much needed cold beer. Venture out after dinner to Sultanahmet a a few photos. There’s a real buzz and everyone is having fun. Plenty of people picnicking in the parks.

Robin Good

Istanbul, Turkey

1 August 2013

Early alarm call at 0600hrs for 0630hrs drive to Simferopol airport. The young female assistant manager had previously told me that as Simferopol airport is large I should allow 1hr for formalities. Assume by this it’s of Birmingham International magnitude. I know it takes 2hrs to drive there from the journey yesterday. Flight to Istanbul is at 1000hrs so that will leave enough time.

The driver speaks a little English and asks where I come from. “England…..Nottingham……Robin Hood….???”. “Yes, yes, Robin Good”, he replies. As there’s no traffic at this hour, the journey only takes 1hr 30mins and as we departed 10mins early, arrive Simferopol airport at 0750hrs.

View from the hotel bar - it's a hard life

View from the hotel bar – it’s a hard life

 

Immediately see that it’s nothing like Birmingham airport. It’s along the lines of Tromso (keep up). I blag my bag as hand luggage and receive boarding pass. I’m through security in 2mins. Next is passport control. You know that horrifying moment when the border guard flicks through your passport, tuts, and then picks up the phone to ring a superior. No? Well, that’s what she did. At the Belarus/Ukraine border I was given an arrival/departure form to fill in. I’ve been looking after the departure part, which I had to retain, for dear life but she merely discards it and hands it back. Whatever bee in her bonnet she had has now gone and passport is stamped.

Great, I can have some brekkie and a coffee now that I’ve got two hours to wait. You know, just like you can do in every other airport in the world. Ha. Not here. Walk into departures. It’s a bare white walled hall. Two Duty Frees. One coffee shop that is shut and in the middle of a refurb. There is nowhere to get a drink…..apart from Duty Free but a bit early for Drambuie. The coffee shop fridge is unplugged and cellophaned up but I can see bottles of Coke with their labels saying “Thirsty?”. Yes!

Duty Free 1 confirm the coffee shop is nothing to do with them. Try Duty Free 2 they say. Seek and ye shall find. There’s a small mini fridge under the counter selling Schweppes Tonic Water, beer and one bottle of sparkling water. Water it is.

Fly over the Black Sea for an hour and a half which makes you realise how big it is. Greeted by hotel transfer who takes my bag off me. He wishes he hadn’t when he takes the load. The seven series scythes through the traffic and arrive with doors being opened for me left, right and centre. Hotel is a former Ottoman prison and the Manager asks if I’ve stayed in a prison before. Tell him yes which immediately concerns him but his fears are allayed when I explain it was also converted to a hotel. I was last at this hotel in 1997 – we’d driven all day across Bulgaria to avoid being hijacked by the Mafia after a British lorry driver explained that the car, a 1992 Lotus Elan, would be targeted if we went to Sofia as planned. We arrived in Istanbul just before midnight having driven over 500 miles. Never had a beer tasted so good.

Take the afternoon off from travel and enjoy some R&R. I’ve now completed the Europe sector. Just have the Middle East, Africa North and Africa South to go. What could possibly go wrong…….?

550…300…400…300

Yalta, Crimean Peninsula, Ukraine

31 July 2013

Despite going verrryyyy sllooowwlly yesterday evening it was clear the train driver was on a promise as we must’ve sped up during the night as we were certainly bouncing along. So much so, that I had to catch myself from being thrown out of the narrow bed. Quick brew from the samovar and we pull into Simpferopol station. Think Butlins changeover day and you’ll have a feel for Simferopol station. It is heaving and glad I’ve arranged a transfer through the hotel in Yalta as my driver greets me off the carriage with my name on a bit of paper. I follow him through the melee. There are lots of rubber rings, armbands, buckets and spades being transported by the locals to the Black Sea resorts.
Swallow's Nest
Swallow’s Nest
 
This is their Blackpool, Skegness, Brighton, and Torquay. The car is a Ford Scorpio, (remember them) and we’re obvioulsy upmarket as it’s a Ghia….with 325,000km on the clock. We lurch all the way there on the 2hr drive, in silence, as driver speaks no English and my Ukrainian isn’t what it once was. Through the tree lined avenues of central Simferopol, the landscape opens up onto a plain before we drive (still lurching) up and over the mountain range that separates it from the Black Sea and descend to the resort of Yalta. Due to a monumental cock-up on my travel dates and having made certain bookings before and after the Yalta extension I only have a few hours of this afternoon here before leaving first thing tomorrow morning. For expediency, I deal with the hotel concierge who books me a private car to take me to the Swallow’s Nest, some 20mins away along the coast road.
Across the bay
Across the bay
 
She tells me it costs UAH200 and the driver will wait whilst I visit. I assumed you simply drove up to the Swallow’s Nest. Oh no. Discover it’s some distance from the road across a ravine (for want of a better description). It’s hot. Very hot. I can see that it entails walking down a lot of steps, then up a lot of steps the other side. And vice versa on the return. Driver points me in the direction and I waltz off only to find someone grabbing my elbow a minute later. He’s got a better idea. You can drive to the Swallow’s Nest – well nearer than we are now – and he keeps saying “Sanitoro”. Quite. Jump in car and drive around the headland into a gated entrance – I assume this to be the goods delivery entrance for the various restaurants at the Swallow’s Nest – he takes out a UAH50 note shows it to me and goes to a kiosk. I’m under the impression that there’s an easy way to the Swallow’s Nest and it’s going to cost me an extra UAH50…….through the sanitorium (there you go). He returns and I make sure he’s without UAH50 so I know he’s paid. He’s not and has it rolled up, secreted in his hand. Ay up, here we go, think I, getting ready for that little argument over the extra we’ve not paid. From what he gestures and his very limited English, I work out that the goods entrance is closed as there are so many cars up there they’ve ran out of space. Back we go to where we were. There’s a further alternative to the steps but this is instantly dismissed. A zip wire. Yep – the longest zip wire I’ve ever seen spanning the ravine straight onto the Swallow’s Nest. Steps it is.
Swallow's Nest
Swallow’s Nest
  Being humid, being hot, being sticky, being a lot of steps, it’s hard work. Half way down are lads holding a peacock (yes, a peacock), an owl, a falcon and a fluffy rabbit. You can have your photo taken with them. Er, no thanks. After 15-20mins of huffing and puffing and passing every souvenir stall known to man, a hot and sticky Englishman arrives at the Swallow’s Nest. Surprisingly small. The only way inside is to pay a fee for the Salvador Dali exhibition, it’s a fairly basic interior.
Return to car the way I came noting the few psychos that have chosen the zip wire as their means of getting across. The original UAH200 was for Swallow’s Nest and back but I ask the driver if we can stop at the Livadia Palace as it’s enroute.
Swallow's Nest
Swallow’s Nest
 
No problem. I’ll argue over the money later (for which I’m fully trained and qualified to do!). Livadia Palace was, amongst other things, the former summer holiday home for Tsar Nicholas II and family. Obviously, they had no need for it after 1918. In 1945, it was used for the Yalta Conference between Churchill, Stalin & Roosevelt. It’s an enjoyable visit especially as there are displays on the Yalta Conference. Returning to hotel we now have the task of agreeing the final account. Driver has his mobile in one hand and starts tapping numbers into it. I have the figure in my head. Will it be higher (more than likely) or will it be lower (I doubt it). He’s taking the whatsit as his phone screen has the number “550” tapped in. You can…….. I tap in 300. He taps in 400. I tap in 300. We agree at 300. At night, the promenade is much busier than it was in the afternoon and there’s a real buzz. They’re all on holiday and it’s a great atmosphere. Apart from the ubiquitous “statues”, buskers, furry animals for photos (which includes one red squirrel) and jugglers, there are flower girls dressed in traditional costume and large baskets of bouquets. I stop and ask one girl if it’s alright to take her photo. She nods her approval, places the bouquet in her hand in the basket, carefully arranges the flowers in said basket, checks her dress is neat, straightens herself, looks up at camera, poses properly and gives a warm smile. Further on is the Yalta Astronomy Club. There’s a number of telescopes pointing in the direction of Saturn and as I have an interest in such things and as the attractive young female astronomer had a nice scope and smile I see the celestial body. Shall miss Ukraine.

You come on her breast

Overnight train from Kiev, Ukraine

30 July 2013

Breakfast in bed as the hotel bring breakfast to your room on account of having no restaurant, whilst listening to Chris Evans’ Breakfast Show on the iPlayer Radio app on my phone. A leisurely start to the day. Jump aboard the hop on/hop off red bus for a proper hop on/hop off tour (unlike Minsk’s). Another scorching hot day and I’m wearing my Tilley hat for the first time. Yes. I’ve invested in a Tilley hat. I’m of age. Buy the bus ticket from the same attractive girl I’d spoken to you yesterday – in case I hadn’t mentioned it – Kiev is full of attractive women. It’s on a par with Tokyo in those stakes. The English commentary is actually with a Scottish accent as we pass the various points of interest.
Typical double parking - it's everywhere
Typical double parking – it’s everywhere
 
The Cabinet of Ministers of Ukraine edifice can house 47,000 officials! The Arsenal metro station is 120m deep – the deepest metro in the world and it takes 10mins to descend on an escalator – and I thought 3mins on the St Petersburg metro was a long time (that seems ages ago now!). The large statue I’d seen arriving yesterday morning is, in actual fact, the Mother Homeland Statue and that’s where I’m off to investigate. Walking past all the drinks, nibbles and souvenir stalls you realise how imposing it really is. At over 100m tall it’s bigger than the Statue of Liberty and Christ the Redeemer in Rio. I love these Soviet statues and monuments – they’re solid and muscular. There’s patriotic music playing through the loudspeakers (installed every 20m or so as you walk along the promenade) which gives a sense of occasion. The statue is a woman with arms stretched up with a shield in one hand and a sword in the other.
47,000 people can work in here
47,000 people can work in here
 
The Patriotic War museum is housed in the statue’s pedestal and I pay the required fees by tapping each option on the wall for general entrance, photo permit, statue observing platform. The WW2 museum reminds me of my German friend’s mother who lives in Braunschweig, about 2hrs west of Berlin. The mother once told me that her father had said to her and her family during the latter stages of the war that he would shoot them and himself if it looked like the Russians were going to advance further, to save them all from the Russians. She was six at the time. (As an aside to that story she also told me the day the US Army arrived in Braunschweig. They requisitioned their large family home to use as a Headquarters and were told this at 0800hrs one morning and instructed to vacate by 1800hrs that very day. In the rush, she’d left her toy doll behind and so the next day found her way back to the house which by now was cordoned off with rolls of barbed wire – she went to the guard at the front of the family home and somehow made him aware she’d left a doll behind.
Mother Homeland
Mother Homeland
 
He lifted her over the barbed wire so she could fetch it.). I digress. The museum houses the Victory Medal (the equivalent of our Victoria Cross), given to only 20 soldiers during WW2, consisting of a diamond encrusted platinum medal. It also has a whole room given over to a display of photos of soldiers killed or missing in action with a long table down the middle with glasses, samovars and billet tins. Intrigued, I’m told it’s Russian custom at funerals for people to drink 100ml of vodka in memory of the deceased. Right then, this is the last will and testament of me…..everyone at my funeral has got to drink vodka…that’ll get them giggling in the gangways. Reach the top of the pedestal and there’s a lift to the viewing platform about 36m up. I see on the ticket check desk that you can go to the very top of the statue upto the shield – in effect the torch of the Statue of Liberty – but as I don’t have a ticket for that I have to walk down all the stairs I’ve just come up to the main ticket office. However, at the main ticket desk they tell me it’s closed today as it’s too hot. Wishing I’d been told that at the top I run (well, drag my feet) back up several flights of stone stairs. By this time an atractive young girl is at the ticket check desk who clearly knows more than the old Soviet trout and confirms that it is indeed closed because it’s too hot.
Big head
Big head
 
As it turns out, she’s my escort girl for the lift to the 36m platform and we squeeze in to the tiny stuffy lift. I ask how you get to the shield platform and she shows me a picture of the female statue. And points. saying, “There’s another lift here. You come on her breast. Then you climb up to the platform.” (I just know there’s one colleague who’s only read this article because of its title….eh, BB). The climb upto the platform entailed climbing up a 30m cat ladder inside the arm which would be like an oven in today’s heat and once later on the ground looking up I’m grateful it was closed as I think that would have been too much like hard work in this heat. Walk through the parks to the Kiev Lavra church complex and see, I am told, the world’s tallest bell tower at over 100m. It’s slightly Chinese pagoda-ish in a Chinese pagoda-ish sort of way. Hop on the bus and finish the tour driving over the world’s first fully welded bridge (not a nut or bolt in sight), passing the Dynamo Kiev football stadium which was used for the Euro 2012 finals and amazed how tight it fits into the surrounding area – could almost be a shopping mall hemmed in like that. As I’m not risking train food again I search for something to eat for dinner. You can’t go wrong with a flute of French stick, a bit of Brie, a packet of Paprika Pringles and a bottle of red wine – choosing Jinda Lee over the usual Yellow Tail (eh, NT) on account of the screwtop.
Charge!!
Charge!!
 
Search and find a shop that surprisingly sells all those things. Am told by attractive young girl (have I mentioned that Kiev has……) on hotel reception that it could take 40mins at rush hour to reach the rail station (despite it taking 10mins coming) so leave at 1700hrs for a 1757hrs train. Arrive station 1710hrs. Find platform easily enough this time and board carriage. It’s the original 1960s Soviet version of the carriage I’ve previously travelled on. As usual, I’m in a two berth but have sole occupancy and enjoy AC, with a lockable door in the corridor wall. 2nd class has 4 berths and an openable window but with a lockable door in the corridor wall. 3rd class has 4 berths in the compartment but no corridor wall and 2 berths in the corridor. It all looks a bit smelly from the outside looking in. As I’m not playing charades tonight I tap into the phone translate app “Hello, can I buy cold beer on the train?” and show it the provodnitsa on the platform.
Mother Homeland Statue
Mother Homeland Statue
 
She motions that yes I can buy from her. Train departs at 1757hrs on time and at 1800hrs prompt, provodnitsa comes to my cabin and hands a cold can of beer to me….without me even asking. Service with a smile! We trundle verrrryyyy slooowwwly through the silver birch trees (bored of them yet??…..I am) on a journey to Simferopol that will take over 15hrs – we arrive 0933hrs tomorrow. Fortunately, the trees give way and the landscape opens up into what can best be described as English summer countryside (no, not cold, wet and windy) – I could be on the way home from London.

Do you have any….weapons…..or ammunition?

Kiev, Ukraine

29 July 2013

Boarded the overnight train to Kiev. It’s the same carriage type as previously. I use my phone’s translate again to find out when the passport control is. The smiling provodnitsa speaks Belarus into the phone for it to translate. It doesn’t catch what she says. She tries again. It doesn’t work. One final time and her and colleagues are all laughing so much so that she can hardly speak into the phone due to a fit of the giggles. Another provodnitsa writes down “2-3” – so that means not getting any sleep until after then. Manage to get an ice cold beer again by doing the same routine. I’m getting good at charades. See a timetable on the wall and work out that border formalities are 0230hrs to 0400hrs.
A couple of birds
A couple of birds
 
Oooer. I’ve got to stay up until then. There was a time when I could go out drinking until the very early hours and still be at work by 0800hrs but I’m afraid this tired old body can’t do that anymore. All together now…..aaahhh. Write up yesterday’s blog on Word for uploading today and watch a film on the Netbook which takes me to 0200hrs. Not a lot else I can do so sit in the dark chasing shadows through the forest. First border is obviously Belarus and we have a platform stop for 30mins. Passport and visa scanned by a handheld computer and receive the requisite stamp. Customs not interested when I say I’m English – it’s all a bit too hard for them. 20min travel over the border and another 30min platform stop for Ukrainian formalities. It’s now 0330hrs. Customs give the train a good going over and it sounds like they’re ripping the toilet apart. One inspects the empty cabin adjacent mine with his torch but you just know they’re going through the motions. A small floppy eared drugs dog pads down the corridor sniffs my boots and retires gracefully to the end and lies down for a snooze. They’re still dismantling the toilet by the sounds of it. A late 50s bloke, heading for retirement, ambles down the corridor. He’s in charge of baggage inspection as opposed to the wreckers still dismantling the toilet. Tell him I’m English and he tries to remember his best English for me.
The view from the top
The view from the top
 
Have to open rucksack but only one compartment will suffice for a cursory glance. He then starts giggling to himself as he says with a little glint in his eye, “Have you any….weapons…..or ammunition?” still laughing which makes me start giggling as he knows the answer. And with that, he ambles off telling me “Happy journey”. It’s one of those few seconds in life that you have an affinity with a complete stranger. It’s 0400hrs by the time passport is stamped. And so to bed. Well as you’ll probably have guessed by now it’s not the easiest thing to go to sleep on these trains and I can only have had about 2-3hrs sleep as I’m woken by the provodnitsa at 0730hrs with a polystyrene tray…….you know what’s coming…….of…..fried chicken……for brekkie. Er no. It’s discarded. I can wait for something that’s not going to give me dodgy guts again. As we complete the journey, I’m amazed how big Kiev looks. It’s really spread out. There’s a very large and tall monument on an outcrop in what must be near the city centre so that will have to be a point of investigation. There’s the usual mob of beer bellied, tight t-shirt and shorts wearing, flip flop brigade that you so often see in the Eastern bloc. They’re all fully qualified taxi drivers waiting on the platform touting for business.
More verandahs.....I don't have a verandah fetish!
More verandahs…..I don’t have a verandah fetish!
 
Make my way out to a pukka taxi rank and tell driver address of where to go. He hasn’t a clue. He asks his mate. He hasn’t a clue. They both ask another mate. There’s some shouting and gesticulating and we’re off. Not entirely convinced he knows Kiev that well. We see a lot of backstreets and can’t find said hotel. Asking for directions, we drive around the block and I soon realise we’re back where we started. A few choice words are said in the safe knowledge that he doesn’t know English. He’s a complete Muppet and turns around to go the wrong way up a one way street. After a few more backstreets I’m deposited outside a building which, I am told, is hotel and relieved of what seems to be a lot of money. I eventually find the hotel entrance through a car park under an arch….yes, it’s simple when you know how. Too early to check in I grab a map and enjoy breakfast at a local bistro before doing a self guided walking tour. The St Sophie bell tower has a lot of steps to the top but as I just knew you’d want to see the view I climbed all the way up…..so be thankful! Do a circuit of St Sophie, Mykhailivska church, National Philharmonic and Maidan Nezalezalnezleaz (or some such word). I’m lovin’ Kiev. It’s a hot town, summer in the city, the girls dress so fine and look so pretty…..you know the rest….

Belarus is waiting for Depeche Mode

Overnight train from Minsk, Minskaya Voblastsʼ, Belarus

28 July 2013

After the thud, thud, thud of last night’s wedding disco which did finish as promised (when I went to complain about the noise to reception – I was being a very grumpy old man) I then hear the staff clearing away the tables. Dragging them along the floor the reverberations are felt upstairs and it sounds like a pod of whales drifting by with their underwater sounds. After getting on for 11hrs sleep I find somewhere for brunch as breakfast finished hours ago. Nice little tapas bar next door to hotel with a verandah so enjoy sitting out. There’s a chilled out feel to Minsk. It’s all rather relaxing. Loving Minsk. As it’s Sunday everywhere is shut so walk along the wide boulevards to Maxim Gorky Park.
A dry water feature
A dry water feature
 
Through the large stone entrance pillars, there’s a stage. With loud music and a girl with microphone. On the floor in front are about a hundred twentysomething girls doing dance aerobics. It’s all rather too hot for that and a lot of sweaty bodies gyrate to the music and the instructions being shouted out by the teacher. A few yards away are Segways to hire for 5, 10, 15, 30, 60 minutes. Not been on one since a tour of Tallinn some years ago so ask for a 15min hire but when told I can only go to about 20m away around a flower bed I downgrade to 5mins. Not sure anyone would want to spend 60mins Segwaying around a flower bed. Find fairground rides further on. Everyone having fun. So chilled out and relaxing. Artist drawing an attractive young girl’s face and she laughs as she sees me taking a photo of her with sketch in foreground without the artist knowing.
Filming Belarussian Top Gear
Filming Belarussian Top Gear
 
Another stall has rabbits, parrot, snake you can hold for a photo. The parrot strutting on its perch like a cheap tart to attract the stroller with the nut (which is about the only line I remember from a poem I did for ‘O’ level English Lit – Jaguar by Ted Hughes – oh yes, I’m ejukated and evryfink). A snake is wrapped around a young girl’s neck who nonchalantly toys with it as if it were a silk scarf. I steer clear. An old lady with a cup of coffee sitting on a park bench selling knitted woollen hats. I take her photo and show her the image. Her face lights up as she recognises a beauty from another century and says, “Ok….OK…” smiling and giggling like the teenage girl she once was. A fisherman treading the fine line between a hobby and a mental illness. Return to the main gates and the dance aerobics have given way to more sedate yoga. Young ladies doing strange stretching things with legs and arms. That’s got to hurt.
And.....twist....and punch.....and swing
And…..twist….and punch…..and swing
 
Short hop to Victory Square in the middle of the main wide boulevard. The eternal flame barely visible in the sharp light of day. A solitary wreath surrounded by flowers on the main front. On the sides more flowers. Two roses. Two memories. Stay in the shade as I walk the back streets and feeling dehydrated so search for a shop that sells water. It’s a long search and after two attempts at doing an impression of drinking a bottle and going glug, glug, glug my only surprise is that it’s not a bar. Head down to the river for some shade and check out the F1 Grand Prix on phone. Lewis won! Also receive an email from the Nile cruise confirming the cruise is cancelled. Surprise, surprise. Equally surprised that they’ve transferred our booking to another cruise ship…..which allegedly is sailing.
Girl with snake
Girl with snake
 
It actually looks better so a free upgrade…..if Egypt is a goer that is. Final decision when in Jordan in a few weeks. As I head back I walk past Minsk’s top hotel and see a crowd with cameras. It’s the same hotel I’d popped into this morning for a quick nosey to see the lobby atrium. There’s something going down. I investigate. Am told it’s Depeche Mode arriving, like right now. And they do, literally, as I’m told this. Except their black SUVs whizz down into the basement garage leaving the 50 or so fans bitterly disappointed. One has a homemade placard saying “Belarus is waiting for Depeche Mode” – she smiles for the camera. Hmm. I have a cunning plan. I remember the atrium has glass elevators and they’ll have to come up them from the garage. Walk in to hotel and only allowed in by security as I’m normal looking (no comments, please) and clearly not an obsessed fan. Order a cappuccino and sit in comfy lobby chair facing the scenic lifts.
Cheap tart
Cheap tart
 
Sure enough, Depeche Mode ascend. The lead singer looks at me and I look at him thinking to myself Marc Almond’s aged a bit and singing the tune to Tainted Love in my head. Except, I’m confused. It’s not Marc Almond and they didn’t sing Tainted Love…..that was Soft Cell….as I read on my Google search. I’d be no good on Ken Bruce’s Popmaster Quiz. As Depeche Mode look out of the lift a press photographer who has made it in to the lobby is trying to take telephoto images but is robustly (very) denied by hotel security who slap him about a bit. My camera discreetly slides back into its holder and I take a sip of cappuccino. Late check out at hotel as train departs at 2120hrs. Dinner in the restaurant up the road only to find Depeche Mode and entourage also walking in for dinner. They’ve obviously heard I’m in town and are following me. Just can’t get enough. At the station I’ve managed to work out the Cyrhillic departure board and that my train departs platform 17. Except I don’t know how to get to platform 17. There’s a lot of smart looking men and women milling about both inside and out. All in dark suits. They’re blending in about as well as I am and are clearly KGB. I stride up to one and asks if he speaks English. A little. He looks at my ticket and the departure board and tells me what I’ve already established. Platform 17. Yes, I know that but where is platform 17? He calls out to another man in black who comes over. They’re both struggling with this conundrum. An attractive woman in black joins us. I’ve now got three KGB assisting in the small matter of finding platform 17. Attractive woman knows and shows me where to go. I ask why all the security. They laugh and tell me it’s meant to be a secret. Well obviously not that secret as they would’ve blended in a tad better. Joke with them that they can tell me, I’m British and will be in Kiev tomorrow. He laughs and is sort of wanting to tell me but daren’t. All they say is that it’s a soldier. I probe further and understand it’s an important Belarussian soldier……but that could be a cunning red herring.

Disinfection is made

Minsk, Belarus

27 July 2013

I knew it was going to be a sleepless night on the train. I left it to about half midnight before trying to go to sleep. It’s hot and stuffy so prod the provodnitsa and show her the translation of “too hot”. Obligingly, she switches on the AC and soon find that I need all the blankets on me as it’s like being in a blast chiller now. Train is very noisy, very rocking and a rolling and there’s far too many annoying squeaks emanating from various places. Just about dozed off when my phone rings. It’s 0130hrs my time. It’s my brother-in-law. He never rings so there must be an emergency, especially as my sister has nipped over to Paris for the day on Eurostar. My first question is “What’s wrong?”. Sister is stuck on Eurostar somewhere in France due to electrical fault and she’s been told they won’t be into St Pancras until the early hours of tomorrow morning – some 6-7hrs delay. Brother-in-law wants to know the best way into St Pancras by car to pick her up. Ring sister. Sounds like she’s thoroughly fed up with the delays. So there we are. Both of us stuck on a train somewhere but, despite her delay, I bet she’s more comfortable than I am. I later find out she arrived home in Lincoln at 0440hrs after a 3hr drive from London. Still can’t sleep an hour later at 0230hrs so ring brother-in-law to see what the latest is.
Smell of tea has a nice bouquet
Smell of tea has a nice bouquet
 
He’s decided to drive rather than catch a train from Peterborough for the simple reason that he’s left his wallet at home and has no means to pay for anything. And still I can’t sleep – it’s a long trek down that corridor to the toilet. You know the feeling when you can’t get to sleep because there’s just that annoying little amount left to squeeze out…..but not quite enough yet to warrant a full scale get out of bed and walk down the corridor…..well I have that. Realise I’ve now entered Belarus for the simple reason my mobile phone provider has changed and also the time with it. I’ve gained an extra hour in bed which I hadn’t anticipated. At some point around sunrise I must have drifted off as my alarm wakes me up half an hour from Minsk. Grab a steaming hot tea from the samovar served by a smiling and friendly provodnitsa – the same one I was translating with last night – it’s so Russian to be served in a glass and pewter cup. I was last in Minsk 3 years ago travelling on the overnight train from Warsaw to Moscow and we had a 1hr platform stop but at 1am in the morning I stuck to my cabin. And here we are again, but travelling north to south. Change about £150 worth of Russian Roubles into Belarus Roubles and walk out a millionaire.
You'll like this one.....Afro Turf....(oh come on)
You’ll like this one…..Afro Turf….(oh come on)
 
My wallet is bulging under the strain. Very early check in at hotel and crash out until lunch catching up on necessary sleep. Open the bathroom door and find it’s like a crime scene with forensic tape everywhere strapped across the bath, WC and basin. It reads in three languages “Disinfection is made”. Well at least I won’t be catching foot & mouth. An orientation tour is required so jump on the red tour bus – you know, the one where you can hop on and hop off – ubiquitous in every city. Well this was a hop on for 2hrs flat in a hot, sweaty, stuffy bus and hop off at the end of the tour. There’s lots of government buildings in Minsk. It’s their top tourist attraction along with numerous Olympic training centres (I bet you didn’t know that Minsk has Europe’s largest ice hockey arena) and residential developments. Not entirely convinced there’s going to be a lot of places I can walk into for further scrutiny and quite glad to hop off again 2hrs later for some fresh air. Say goodbye to the Ukrainian family I was sitting next to. Mum was doing her Mum thing and pushing teenage son to practice his English on me. He’s actually rather good and I give the thumbs up. Parents proud. My room is above a wedding disco in the restaurant below. Thud thud thud goes the beat. Another sleepless night beckons.