Category Archives: Cape to Cape

A bit of faffing

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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

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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

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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

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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?

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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

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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

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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.

Chicken….fish

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Overnight train from St. Petersburg, North-West Russia, Russian Federation

26 July 2013

I’m writing this on the overnight train to Minsk. There’s no Wi-fi and intermittent phone signal so you’ll be pleased to hear that you won’t be bombarded with another load of drivel, tonight at least. Negotiate the Metro again to Gorkovskaya (see, I’m learning the lingo) adjacent the Peter & Paul Fortress. The last time I visited there were bedraggled bears dancing on chains for tourist entertainment but I’m pleased to report that I can’t see any this time. The fortress occupies Hare Island and as you cross the bridge there’s a grey hare perched on top of a pile. I thought it was a kangaroo at first but later realised it’s true identity when told I was actually on Hare Island.
There must be an angel
There must be an angel
 
Tourists chucking money at it trying to land coins at its feet – presumably for good luck. Choose an audio guide for the morning and told I need to hand over a National ID card for security. I’m not handing over passport or driving licence and instead give my National Trust membership card. She’s dubious about this but relents when I point out the word “National” in big letters and puts it in envelope nr 8 for safekeeping. The grey drab cloud soon gives way to blue sky and sun which enhances the yellow ochre of the buildings. The church houses the remains of Tsar Nicholas and family who were executed in 1918. I’d been to see the place where they were executed in Yekaterinburg and by chance then a monk had walked past who was the spitting image of Rasputin. There’s no such figure today apart from the usual cruise ship tourists. The fortress cells were used to hold members of the Decembrist movement and having been to their house in Irkutsk where their families were exiled (and enjoyed the champagne and concert….eh, LC) it’s a far cry from the stark cells. I’d been asked if I’d seen the bendy bus toilets yesterday and hadn’t a clue what was meant until I see them here today. Basically, a bus converted to toilets. I return my audio guide and before I’ve even arrived at the counter she’s saying “Ah, nr 8” and hands me my National ID card back.
Peter & Paul Church
Peter & Paul Church
 
Stop for lunch enroute to the Aurora cruiser. Am told it will be “3-2 minutes”. Does that mean half an hour or 2 to 3 minutes? Too busy texting a friend (you know who you are and I look forward to winning the challenge) as I pay and go and it’s not long before the waiter catches me up and says “You forget….” and hands my coat over. Unfortunately, the Aurora is closed for what appears to be a cleaning and painting operation. Its gunfire signalled the start of the October revolution. Bit of an old hand at running the Metro now so pop up on Nevsky Prospekt before walking back to the hotel via various backstreets and the Church of Spilled Blood – it’s like St Basil’s Cathedral in Moscow but not as ornate and colourful. Friday night rush hour is in full swing and who’d be stupid enough to take a large heavy rucksack on the Metro at that time of night. My momentum is somewhat unnerving as the Metro comes to a screeching halt and it’s only my neighbour that stops me from acting like a giant bowling ball and creating carnage in the carriage. I’ve bought emergency rations of French bread, blue cheese, crisps of dubious flavour, Maltesers and a Snickers…..just in case the included dinner on board isn’t satisfactory.
Peter & Paul
Peter & Paul
 
I discover the crisps are cucumber & dill flavoured – quite disgusting! The young blonde carriage stewardess, with unfashionable crimped hair, inspects my ticket and points to the nrs 9 & 10. My berths. I’d used a Russian ticket agency and had been dealing with a Russian girl who’d offered to come to my hotel……to hand over the tickets. It’s a two berth and have sole occupancy. The window table in the middle has an assortment of drinks, snacks and Minsk maps along with a pink plastic flower bouquet. Red curtains and netting adorn the window. It’s a lively décor. Depart on time and stewardess comes to cabin to collect tickets. She speaks no English and I no Russian. I have the technology. I speak into my phone and it translates into Russian. Impressed, she replies in Russian and I have the words in English. The conversation was “When is dinner?”…….”Evening”, she replies. Who’d have thought. There’s a warm bottle of beer sitting by the window but I’d like an ice cold refreshing pint after slogging about St Pete’s. Point to warm bottle of beer and shiver and say “Brrrr” at the same time. Within 30 seconds I have what I want. Now that’s communication. She’s obviously been asking down the carriage who speaks English as returns with a bloke who simply points at a piece of paper says, “Chicken……fish” and returns to his cabin. The chicken arrives with a smiling chef who can speak a little English. He deposits two polystyrene boxes in front of me. Hmmm. Delicious. Not.

Back in the USSR

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St. Petersburg, North-West Russia, Russian Federation


25 July 2013

Take the tram through the town to the train and depart 1000hrs on the 220km/hr Allegro to St Petersburg. It’s like the German ICE train but a lot more sterile. Given a tray of meat platter and the reindeer tongue tickles my taste buds.

Complete my entry/exit forms for Russia and passport checked by Finnish border control. Men with guns. We leave the Eurozone and pull back the Iron Curtain. You can’t beat a bit of barbed wire and a watchtower to add to the drama of crossing a border.

Told to stay in our seats during Russian border formalities and it reminds me of the crossing from Mongolia to Russia, on the Trans Siberian 3 years ago, when we were instructed to stay in our cabins for the hour’s process.

Border crossing

Border crossing
 

Except we didn’t. Our carriage congregated in WAMC’s cabin and finished off his whisky before starting my new bottle of Jamesons I’d just bought in Ulan Bator (were you with us then LC??) – quite an impromptu party.

Russian swipes my passport and visa and takes Part A of my entry/exit form stamping everything in sight. I retain Part B to be handed over when I exit Belarus. Russian customs ask if I have anything to declare. Don’t think I do but he instructs me to open my rucksack regardless. A quick peek in only one of its compartments and I’m good to go.

The train speeds through Russia and I wander through the carriages. There’s a British couple on board. I assume this because he’s reading a book entitled “1000 years of annoying the French” – I’ve just finished 2 years of doing that!

Arrive St Petersburg and jump in a taxi. I’d forgotten how bad the driving was. I was last here in Sept-04 having caught the overnight train from Moscow. The Highway Code is non existent, white lines are there to be crossed and zebra crossings are simply a kill zone. I’ve told him the hotel is on Ligovsky Prospekt. It’s a big hotel so should be straight forward. He wants to know the house nr. It’s 61. He repeats 61. Am I sure. Yes. 61? Yes! And so it goes on until I arrive, surprisingly still in one piece.

Ornate exterrior of coffee shop

Ornate exterrior of coffee shop
 

Sitting in the passenger seat, I’ve braked more than he has!

Set off for the Hermitage walking down Nevsky Prospekt – think Oxford Street – and after half an hour realise it’s further than I thought as I’m still only half way. See a building which is architecturally ornate on the outside which necessitates photos. Realise it’s a shop so wander inside to discover a very large pineapple sitting in the centre. It’s a plush coffee shop with exquisite cake displays and cheese, meat, fish and caviar counters. Time for a brew. There’s seating around the girth of the pineapple with tables. I’ve not had a cup of tea since leaving home as I drink coffee when travelling on account that you can never get a decent, steaming hot cup of tea anywhere else apart from home. There’s a steaming samovar so think it should be a decent brew. And that blackcurrant and cream eclair looking up at me will go very well with it. Naughty but nice. Cracking cuppa and cake.

Continue down Nevsky Prospekt. It’s very busy with locals and cruise ship tourists. Quite a few shops have loudspeakers in their doorways advertising their wares so also very noisy. It’s now 1700hrs and the art museum closes at 1800hrs. As there’s no queue and I can just walk in (unlike the 2.5hrs queue for the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam the other week), I pay the fee and blitz it.

Take your pick

Take your pick
 

From my trip in 2004, I remember being shown a porcelain plate with sculptured lizards/mice/some such rodent running around the rim – it was, we were told, unique in that they were actually real animals that had been cast in the porcelain before being fired. I’m not making this up, I assure you! I try and find the plate but fail to find it. Perhaps it was in the Peterhof Palace? Or was it the Tretyakov Gallery in Moscow??

I keep coming across a young couple – she is dolled up to the nines so I can’t miss her – for some reason she reminds me of “our Aveline” out of the Scouse sitcom “Bread” who always wanted to be a model. We find ourselves in the same room, along with a load of Japanese, all wanting to take a photo of the roof garden through an open window. She wants a photo so promptly sits in the window frame so boyfriend can snap away. She’s being a complete pain (she is in a window after all) and sits there pouting like there’s no tomorrow.

Naughty but nice

Naughty but nice
 

I discreetly (I can do discreet when so required) take a photo of it – just for the purposes of the blog……

Closing time beckons and all the lights are being switched off. I try and find the exit in the gloom and having got to the end of a long corridor find the door is shut and have to retrace my steps. It looks like a night at the museum because as soon as you approach an open door an old Soviet trout appears and points in the opposite direction. For those of a certain age, it’s a bit like playing Attic Attack on your ZX Spectrum…..but in real llfe.

Eventually reach the ground floor and need a quick wee before leaving. Everyone else is thinking the same thing and there are long queues for the ladies (as usual) but the gents are straight in. There’s a low arch with three urinals underneath. Urinal 1 is occupied so I take urinal 3 (toilet etiquette, ladies).

The large pineapple

The large pineapple
 

As I step up, bloke also steps up to urinal 2 in the middle. However, the low arch means that I’m restricted and can’t stand up at my urinal so find myself listing heavily over to urinal 2 on account of my height and broad shoulders…..I’m seriously encroaching on his space and I must look a right perv. We’re both embarrassed.

Decide to do a recce of the rail station that I’ll departing from tomorrow night. It means negotiating the underground, at rush hour, with an alphabet I don’t recognise, to stations I don’t know. I’m brave like that. My start point is some unpronounceable station and my finish point is some unpronounceable station. Find a way of buying a ticket (which is actually a coin) and descend into the depths of the underground. And descend. And descend. Three minutes I was on that escalator – followed by another minute’s descent on the next escalator. Four minutes down, I jump on and travel a few stops before surfacing like Monty Mole (we’re full of ZX Spectrum games tonight) at the Vitebsky Station. It’s all a bit native.

I will so look out of place tomorrow evening as I board that train.

Doing Porridge

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Helsinki, Southern Finland, Finland

24 July 2013

A very, very comfortable night on the train. The best sleeping carriage I’ve ever been on. Supremely quiet and fantastic suspension. So much so, that I struggle sometimes to determine if the train is moving or not.

I forgot to mention that in the bar last night was a dead ringer for Lesley Philips, the actor, “Hello poppet…”. Uncanny resemblance!

Despite the superb environment, I awake after 2hrs kip at 0300hrs and struggle to sleep again. It’s soon 0630hrs and I have to rise as the train terminates in Helsinki just after 0700hrs. Feeling somewhat jetlagged I grab a quick coffee and the freshest, nicest croissant I’ve ever had.

The local knitting club.....a tight knit community

The local knitting club…..a tight knit community
 

Find tram 4 outside Stockmann dept store and it’s a short 10min trip to the hotel. A converted 19th century jail. It’s too early to check in as it’s still only 0800hrs. As I’m a bit stinky in Helsinki, deposit a load of washing on the poor receptionist and dump my rucksack in storage.

It’s so early and Helsinki hasn’t quite woken up yet so hardly anyone about. I’m absolutey shattered so drink coffee to try and wake me from my torpa. Mosts shops and attractions don’t appear to open until late morning so it’s a cafe crawl in search of caffeine.The architecture of the city centre is quite interesting in a…..Gothic Ghostbusters sort of way. Receive an email from a birdspotting friend who asks me to look out for the Scandanavian Whistling Goose. I’m afraid to report the nearest I’ll find will be the Grey Goose………..vodka.

Enter Stockmann department store – think John Lewis and Waitrose combined. Greeted by a blonde Finnish girl at the Nespresso counter. “Would you like a coffee?”. As it’s a freebie I partake in the shot of espresso. We used to drink these thimbles of espresso whilst working in the tropics of Salvador, Brasil. The coffee lady made her way around the site office with a tray of thick, really strong, sweet, coffee. She couldn’t pronounce “coffee” and instead said “coff”. The British contingent (and there’s at least one of you reading this!) always did a little cough as she said this before taking our shot in the arm. It kept us amused! I end up buzzing around Helsinki high on caffeine.

Return to hotel mid afternoon and my room is available. Partly due to middle age and partly due to being so knackered I need an afternoon nap and crash out for a few hours. Wake up feeling worse.

There’s live music in the jailhouse courtyard bar so instead of being behind bars I’m in front of the bar having a pint listening to that whilst writing diary (oh yes, I’m running two books – the diary and the blog…..you only get to read what I want you to read….!!). It truly is jailhouse rock!

Dinner comprises an excellent carpaccio of reindeer and fillet of ox – which is so good. The last time I had fillet of ox was in Granada, Spain, whilst looking out at the sun setting on the Alhambra. So tasty, so Moorish.