Turkey is a Bird!

Okay, let’s get this straight right off: the name of the country in which I recently spent 12 days - April 20 through May 2, 2013 – is: Turkiye! Not Turkey. Turkey is a bird. After all, how would Americans like it if other countries referred to us as: Murrca. Wouldn’t like it, would we? I thought not. So from now on, whenever you need to refer to the country that houses Istanbul, Troy, Ankara and has a northern coastline running for 1600 kilometers along the Black Sea, please refer to it by its correct name: Turkiye. Thank you.
Having got that out of the way and off my chest, for ease of reading and pronunciation during the rest of this blog I will refer to the country as Turkey. I’m as lazy as anyone.
Anyway, what a fun trip! First, a brief summary:
The weather was generally very good, sunny and hot.
I met several interesting women.
I ate some great food, tasty and unique, and my stomach only rebelled enough to remind me I was in another country.
The bus trips were long and boring and the car trips were cramped.
I missed out on the balloon ride.
I visited what may now be the world’s oldest known sanctuary.
I had a couple of great Turkish baths.
As always, it was over all too soon.

So, now that your appetite has been whetted for adventure, let’s get down to the nitty-gritty. Arrived in Istanbul mid-afternoon of April 20, and was met at the airport, as promised, by someone from my tour agency.
We drove along the coast road in the terrible Istanbul traffic and it took nearly an hour to get to the hotel, normally a 20-minute drive. My hotel, the Yusuf Pasha Konagi, was just a few downhill streets from the Blue Mosque and two streets from a major tourist restaurant area. As is my usual wont, I checked into the hotel and headed out for a reccy. Walked around the main square between the Blue Mosque and the Hagia Sophia (a former mosque, now being converted into a museum), inhaling the air and aromas of the city.
I had a well-deserved beer at the Just Bar and then decided to wander over to the Han restaurant near the Basilica Cistern for dinner. I found a table on the rooftop terrace and ordered my meal of Kofte and Efes beer when suddenly a young Turkish woman approached my table and asked if she could join me. And I’d only been in Istanbul for a few hours. Luck of the Irish. So we had a nice dinner together and chatted all the while and even though she had to leave shortly after her meal it was definitely a nice beginning to my visit.
Up early in the morning (awakened by the call to prayer piercingly shouted over the minaret loudspeakers), I was picked up by my local tour guide after breakfast and the ten or so people in my group headed out for our walking tour of Istanbul. We did the Topkapi Palace and the Cistern and the Hippodrome and then I left the tour, having only signed on for half a day. I had made walking friends with Jody, a young Canadian woman who also happened to be staying at my hotel, and hoped I’d see her later in the day. Since the weather was turning sort of colder and rainier, I decided lunch and a Turkish bath were in order. I had a street lunch of doner kebob, which is like a tortilla wrap, then hit the Cemberlitas Bath House, which I had visited in my previous visits to Istanbul. Great place. I had my sweat and exfoliation and wash off and hot and cold soaks and I was ready once again to face the day.
I ran into Jody again back at the hotel and we decided to look for a good place for dinner. Up on that restaurant street I mentioned earlier we found the Byzantium Hotel, which has a rooftop terrace advertised as the best view in the area. So we ascended and got a window table overlooking the Sea of Marmara and had a nice, companionable dinner and chat. It’s always nicer to dine with another person than alone, which is the only part of traveling solo that I would change. But at least this night and the previous one I was fortunate enough to share my meals with two lovely ladies. My luck was turning.
My Monday tour started with a hotel pickup at 12:30 pm. My van was right on time and we drove and drove and drove waaaay east of Istanbul and finally caught our boat near the Rumeldi Fortress. There were 14 of us on this tour even though the boat had ample space for three times that many. We had lunch on board and commenced our cruise to the eastern end of the Bosphorous, right at the entrance to the Black Sea. This was another surprise, as my itinerary didn’t mention these details, just “Bosphorous cruise.” I was surprised to find out that even as far east as the entrance to the Black Sea we were still technically in Istanbul! We docked just shy of the Black Sea entrance and then climbed the Huff n’Puff hill to a vista overlooking the Black Sea and had some time to walk around.
We arrived back at the Kabatas docks near the new town of Istanbul around PM and our van was to take us back to our hotels. The Istanbul traffic was so amazingly horrible that one hour later I still had not got back, but I was then within hailing distance so I bailed out of the van and walked the rest of the way. Only took me about 15 minutes, which was less time than the van would have taken. Do NOT drive in Istanbul! You have been warned.
I had a light dinner of pizza and beer and was picked up around 10 PM and transferred to one of the local bus stations for my so-looked-forward-to overnight six-hour bus ride to Canakkale, near the site of ancient Troy, my next tour. The bus left at midnight and I tried to sleep on the bus, but wasn’t very successful. Each seat back had a small PC-type screen built into it showing TV shows and music videos. All I wanted to do was sleep, but I couldn’t figure out how to turn my screen off. I pushed buttons and smacked the screen and jostled the seat, all to no avail. I finally pulled out my .38 and shot the damned thing.
We arrived at the outlying bus station around 5:15 AM; I got off the bus in a daze, when one of the other passengers told me I had to take the shuttle into the city center, so I threw my bags onto the shuttle van and away we went. I was dropped off at the port of Canakkale around 6:00 AM and it was lonely down there. Had to find a toilet quickly, which I did, and was so pleased to note it was a squatting toilet. Just what I wanted at six o’clock in the morning with very little sleep. Anyway, my itinerary said I had to make my way to the travel agent’s office, implying it was out in the hinterlands somewhere. I had a street address and I asked a sleeping cabbie (happy to be awakened at that hour) and I asked the tourist office guy and four tired hotel reception guys and none of them knew where the travel agency was that I had to find. It was supposedly on the main street leading out of the port, but it was not at the address I had. Finally – finally – the last guy I asked pointed me to the Anzac Hostel on that main street and sure enough, the Hassle Free Travel Agency was tucked away in the back hall. How could I have missed it?
Naturally, the agency opened at 8:30, which was when my tour was to begin, so I had two early-morning hours to kill. I found an all-night diner and settled down for some toast and tea. As I was checking my schedule again, another guy walks up to me and asks, “Mr. Gary?” Turned out he was from the local travel agency and had gone out to the outlying bus station to meet me when my bus was supposed to arrive at 6 AM, but had missed me there as I was early. He came back to the port area and made many of the same rounds as I had, asking everyone if they’d seen a tired traveler staggering around the area. I was happy to see him as I could confirm my plans for the day. Whew.
The Fates picked me up at 8:30 in a van with six other intrepid travelers and away we went to the ancient site of Troy. I knew from previous reading that it would not be a major excavation site of ruins and buildings, and it wasn’t. Grass-covered walls that did show the various levels of the rebuilt Troys, some discernible walkways and gates and that was about it. I did look out over the plains where Achilles met Hector (or Brad Pitt met Eric Bana, if you will), but otherwise there really isn’t much to see. But it was exciting just being there, site of ancient Troy, even though the topless towers of Ilium had all toppled long ago.
It was only about a 90-minute tour, then several of us were whisked off to yet another bus station to catch our bus for Selcuk, with a change in Izmir. Transfer instructions were somewhat vague (“when you get to Izmir, just ask someone and they’ll help you find the shuttle to Selcuk”), but what the heck, I trusted to luck and my finely-honed traveler’s sense of Fate; I’d always made out and I always would. Naiveté, thy name is Gary.
So, another six-hour bus ride to the gigantic Izmir bus station (all main bus stations in Turkiye are gigantic) and sure enough, I just asked someone who looked like an official, directing travelers hither and yon, and he pointed me and some newly-acquired fellow traveler buddies to the Selcuk shuttle; we transferred our bags and were off again on the Road to Selcuk.
We arrived at the somewhat smaller Selcuk bus station around 9:30 PM and one of the bus company’s reps greeted us and called our hotels for a pickup. Great service! So I found my hotel about 10 PM, tired and hungry and smelling really bad. A quick shower and a light repast in the hotel’s rooftop restaurant revived me, however, and I was ready for a good night’s sleep.
Wednesday, April 24, was hot and sunny and I was waiting for my tour of Ephesus. I had been there on my first visit to Turkiye in 1993 when I was on a cruise of the Greek Islands and it was unexpectedly wonderful. It was almost as good this time around, 20 years later. Hot and sunny, the tourist crowds were spread out enough so that it wasn’t overly crowded. The library was still there and the public toilets (although you couldn’t sit on the seats anymore, a change that was most unwelcome to photographers the world over). A good tour and an even better lunch rounded out the morning. We had the afternoon off and I wandered around the main shopping and restaurant area of tiny Selcuk, having a light dinner and several beers.
Thursday our pickup was again on time at 8:30 AM, and we made our three-hour drive to Pamukkale in record time – exactly three hours. We had a brief lunch and then toured the large and ancient city of Hierapolis, which once boasted a population of more than 100,000 people. Now it’s mostly weather-beaten ruins. Included in this tour were Cleopatra’s Pool (for those who wanted to swim) and the famous Pamukkale calcium pools. We walked the ancient ruins and naturally I had to wade in the pools, which I did. The pools of Pamukkale were interesting but quite crowded with tourists all wanting to wade in them, so the experience was maybe not as good as I’d hoped for; but still worthwhile.
Our van dropped me off at yet another bus station around 4:30 PM for my 9 PM bus to Göreme. I was getting quite used to Turkish bus stations by this point, and made several friends in the area while I was making sure I was in the right place. This would be my final big bus ride, a 9 ½ hour overnight trip to Göreme in Cappadocia, and I was so looking forward to it. This time, I somehow actually slept for 6-7 hours of the trip. Not bad.
We arrived in the small town of Göreme around 6:30 the following morning and as we drove into the small city center I was amazed to see hot air balloons all over the morning sky. Reminded me of Albuquerque. Upon exiting the bus, another official asked me for my hotel and then he flagged down a couple of guys in a pickup truck and asked them to take me there. It was only a couple of hundred meters from the bus station, but it was all uphill and I was happy for the ride. My hotel, the Kelebec Cave Hotel, was yet another pleasant surprise.
The entire Cappadocia area had been subjected to intense and ongoing volcanic eruptions over several million years ago and the successive weather and rains had resulted in a landscape of unearthly beauty. Hundreds, if not thousands, of house-sized cone-shaped rocks had formed, most of which consisted of layers of tufa and basaltic volcanic ash which had hardened over the millennia. The tufa is easily cut into, and ancient dwellers in the area had cut their living quarters into the living rock, making the weird structures into rock and cave homes, like the Flintstones. Or possibly the home of the Coneheads. Check the internet for pictures of this area – you’ll be amazed, as was I.
Naturally, my room wasn’t ready this early, and I had until 10:30 to wait until my next tour started. Luck me, to take an overnight bus ride and then almost immediately set out on a trek through the Cappadocian wilderness. Anyway, I was surprised and delighted when I was told my room was ready around 9 AM, so I could shower and clean up and brush my teeth. I was shown down a rock corridor into a rock-carved hotel room that reminded me suspiciously of Bilbo Baggins’ quarters; it was a cave room and different from anywhere I’d ever stayed before. I was enchanted and would love staying there for a couple of nights, but, of course, I wouldn’t want to make a Hobbit of it. (Sorry – I promised Gandalf I’d get that in).
We were picked up on time and driven to a remote spot in the wilderness where we began our hike in the Red Rose area. Another interesting place, full of cliffs and gorges and carved-into-the-rock dwellings and niches for birds that were raised by the cave-dwellers for their guano, among other things. After our hike we visited an old abandoned Greek hillside village and then the famous Pasabags Fairy Chimneys, that really do look like mushrooms heads on top of thinner stalks. It was like being on another planet.
Lunch was to be special that day. We were again driven out into the canyons and cliffsides where we descended a steep set of steps and rocks down to the valley floor and, after a short walk, found another cave dwelling, this time a private restaurant owned by the tour agency. A great meal gathered around a large table, set in the Cappadocian sunshine. Wonderful food, fun companions, great weather, pretty much a perfect setting. Rather than climb back up that formidable cliff, several of us opted to go back by jeep, which was much better, believe me.
Not yet content to let us rest, our final stop of the day by the tour agency was the underground city of Kaymakli, dug over the centuries by the local inhabitants to escape invaders such as Genghi Khan. We went down to four of the eight levels. The rooms were large enough to stand in, but the connecting passages were a tight squeeze for lots of people, including Yours Truly. Claustrophobes need not take this tour, fascinating as it was.
After all that crawling around in underground cities I deserved another visit to the hammam, so that’s what I did. Luckily the hotel had one on premises, so I treated myself to another sweat and scrub and wash. Aaaahhh, I could get used to that. I had dinner at the hotel; even though only a short walk to the center of town, it was all uphill coming back and I just didn’t feel like fighting the slope.
Saturday, April 27, started with an early breakfast on the terrace. My van came by and our small group took off for a gorge around an hour’s drive away. It was a long, deep gorge and we were to hike the entire damn thing: seven friggin’ kilometers (that’s about four-plus miles in American distances). Oh, joy. The entire hike took around 2-3 hours, with stops to admire the rock dwellings of early Christians who came here to avoid persecution. We had a really nice lunch on a tented raft in the river. I chatted with one of the other hikers, a young Turkish woman named – are you ready for this? – Halideh;. pronounced as close to “Holiday” as you can get. I love it; I met a woman named Holiday. How fun is that? After our leisurely lunch we vanned over to another monastery cut into the tufa rock hills and climbed around on that for a while. Gotta tell you, I was starting to get a touch weary of all that climbing. If I’d realized there was so much vertical climbing I’d have taken the tour with only downhill hikes. But I soldiered on like a trooper, making nearly all of the climbs.
In the morning I breakfasted and then packed up and awaited my pickup for the next phase of my adventure: a three-day tour into the wilds of eastern Anatolia. As always, I expected another small group tour with a van; boy, was I surprised again. Two guys showed up around 9:30 and loaded my suitcase into….a small four-seater car! No van! As I stood there wondering if this was just a transfer vehicle to something larger and more comfortable, a woman came up and introduced herself as Marina. I thought she was the tour guide. I was heartily confused.
We all got in the car, the driver and Turkish guy in front and Marina and me in back. As we started chatting, I came to realize that Marina was another traveler, like me, and that she and I were to be the tour for the next three days. The other two guys were Saffet, the driver, wrinkled and 50-ish with a lovely beak nose, and Ur, our actual tour guide. Oh, OK, I see now. That first day we were to drive from Göreme all the way to the Mt. Nemrut area. That meant eight-plus hours in the small, cramped back seat of a small car. I had thought our comfort would be paramount to the travel agency, but guessed wrong again.
Anyway, off we went. Marina was a Project Manager from Milan, Italian-thin and blonde and energetic, with 2-3 cameras hanging off her. She had our driver stop at select points just to take photos. This was her vacation and by the Great Horned Toad she was going to make the most of it. And she surely did, taking notes on all of Ur’s descriptions of our sights and taking photos of everything and just having a great time talking to the local people and getting involved in her adventure. She was also a world traveler and enjoyed every minute of her journeys. We got along famously.
We stopped along the way for lunch and to taste some of the world-famous Anatolian ice cream, and you know what? It was astonishing! It’s thick and creamy and made with goat’s milk and may just be the best ice cream I have ever had. Ben and Jerry’s isn’t even in the ball park. Our travel plan called for us to get to the hotel that evening and then get up at 3:30 the following morning to drive to Mt. Nemrut and hike up its side to view the giant heads up there. We would have to hike up the mountain in the dark. I was not looking forward to that.
During our drive, however, Ur suggested we might want to drive straight through to Mt. Nemrut that afternoon, stopping at the sights we were to see tomorrow and arriving at Mt. Nemrut in time to hike up and watch the sun set instead of watching it rise on the morrow. Oooo, yeah, that sounded really good to me, not being a morning person. So that’s what we did, adding another two-plus hours in the cramped car. Our slight plan change didn’t deter our driver, Saffet ‘The Mad Turk’ Orczan, in the slightest and he kept the pedal to the metal all the way. There were times I wasn’t sure if we’d make it around another mountain curve on those dirt roads.
We stopped at an old Roman bridge, then drove along a really nasty dirt road up to the jump-off point for the 300-meter hike to the top of Mt. Nemrut. The jumping off point was 1800 meters above sea level – that’s 5,400 feet, for my American readers.
I gave it my best shot. I donned long pants and a long-sleeved shirt (it was much cooler at that elevation) and started up the rocky path to the summit. I made it about 100 meters or so and that was it for me. Gasping and panting and huffing and puffing, I could go no farther. I slunk down the trail with my head hung low, but at least able to breathe again. Ur and Marina danced up the side of that damn mountain as if it was an easy downhill slide. I hated them both. At least Ur took some pictures for me of the giant heads I didn’t get to see. Ah, well, win some, lose some.
We arrived at our hotel in Adiyaman around 9:30 at night, just in time for a late dinner (!). Along the way I was thankful we’d done Mt. Nemrut in the evening, as I knew I wouldn’t have been able to make the trek in the dark hours of the early morning by flashlight; as it turned out, I wouldn’t have made it at all.
The next day was my best day of the entire trip. Poor Marina had gotten some bad bug from somewhere and had been up all night, running back and forth to the bathroom. Having done my time in Jaipur with Delhi Belly, I empathized. She was generally okay that day, but didn’t eat anything too rich and took it pretty easy – at least for her.
Our first short stop was at the Ataturk Dam. It was okay, nice dam, but the most interesting thing about it, to me anyway, was that it dammed up the waters of the Euphrates River, birthplace of mankind just a short distance away in Syria in the fertile crescent. The ancient wonder of this area really was overwhelming.
Our second stop was Gobleki Tepe, which was truly and amazingly fascinating. It’s on a hill out in the middle of nowhere (literally!). The excavators were working diligently, and we were told they had only been excavating this site since the mid-1990s. What they had found was what archaeologists were now claiming was an 11,500-year-old temple, with T-shaped columns which had carving of animals on them, all of which were done, of course, with flint tools. The detail and cleanliness of lines in the carvings were astonishing. It was truly awe-inspiring to stand there and look at what our distant ancestors had wrought so long ago. One of the highlights of this trip.
We drove next to the village of Harran, which was composed of beehive mud brick houses. It was supposed to be where Abraham had lived lo those many years ago. Judging by the present state of the dwellings, one of them might actually still have been his place. We had tea with the owners and relaxed in the midday heat; another surprising place for which I was unprepared.
Okay, off to Sanliurfa and our hotel. It was in the middle of town so we could walk to our restaurant for lunch. Ur talked me into a Liver Kabob – hey! Don’t knock it if you haven’t tried it. Not bad. Picture chunks of fried liver on a large thick tortilla, slathered with whatever interesting toppings are served with it, then folded up like a burrito. Yummy. Unfortunately, we were now in a very heavily Muslim area and the restaurants don’t serve beer! What’s a liver Kabob without beer, I ask you? Disappointed! I had to make do with a Coke. BTW, this area of Turkiye is famous for its kabobs. Apparently they have 739 different kinds of kabobs. I was ready to try them all, but ran out of time.
We walked around the downtown area after lunch, checking out the bazaar and nearby mosque and park. There was a small lake and the Pool of Abraham (he was very big in this area). The pool is filled with carp. Apparently Abraham was slingshotted by the evil king into what was then a raging fire covering a large plot of ground; when he landed the fire turned into water and the burning sticks turned into carp. At least that’s how the story goes; you may form your own conclusions.
I finally got my beer at the hotel before we walked a short distance for our dinner on a rooftop terrace overlooking the park. I had Lamb Pide that night, continuing to get my fill of great Turkish food.
April 30 and we were on the final leg of our three-day tour. We only had enough time to visit the Gaziantep Mosaic Museum, which really was another excellent choice. Mosaics from the excavated city of Zeugma, near Gaziantep, parts of which were flooded when a new dam was constructed, are shown here in a wonderfully professional setting. The highlight of the exhibit, The Gypsy Girl, was also displayed in a separate darkened room, nicely done. Well worth a visit.
So, then I was dropped at the Gaziantep airport for my flight back to Istanbul. I said my goodbyes to driver Saffet and Guide Ur and, of course, to my traveling companion Marina. The flight was easy and I was again picked up at Istanbul by the reps from the wonderful Turkish Heritage Travel Agency and driven back to my original hotel. Another light dinner along Akbiyik Street and to bed.
May 1, my last day in Turkey. Since this is Worker’s Day in much of the world, with Turkiye being no exception, I wanted to head up to Taksim Square to see what was going on. Unfortunately, the public transport was down for much of the day so I was unable to get there. I did see on the news that night that there was a “major demonstration” in Taksim Square, with riot police and protestors and fire hoses and all sorts of great riot control paraphernalia. Of course, we over in the Old Town area had no idea anything like that was going on, as it was tourist business as usual. Gotta love the MSM.
I did make my pilgrimage to the Grand Bazaar, which I was pleased to find open. The vendors and hawkers weren’t nearly as aggressive as in previous visits, and I was only hassled a couple of times to buy things for which I had absolutely no use or need. I virtuously passed on all attempts to sell me things like a Paul and Shark warm-up jacket (I’m sure it was an original, as the price was only around $25 US) and a “genuine gold Rolex watch.” It seems like the more counterfeit the items, the harder they try and sell them. I was unimpressed.
Outside the Bazaar, however, I did find one of those great Turkish ice cream stands, so I indulged myself with yet another cone. Damn near orgasmic. Once again, I chose the Byzantium Hotel’s rooftop terrace overlooking the Sea of Marmara for dinner. I splurged this time and went for the Mixed Seafood plate, some nice house wine and finished off with baklava. I had a 5:45 AM pickup call for the airport, so I ended the perfect trip with an early bedtime.
I was early to the airport, with no traffic on the roads. I checked my bag (early again – love Turkish Airlines!) and cleared passport control. Breakfast was in order before my flight, after which, yep, you guessed it, I found yet another last-ditch Turkish ice cream stand, and happily licked and crunched my way to ice cream bliss at 7:30 in the morning in the Istanbul airport. People stared at me, as I was undoubtedly smiling inanely throughout my ice cream orgy, but I didn’t care; they didn’t know what they were missing.
The flight back to Budapest was quick and easy and then I was back in the Metro and walking up my street and into my flat and home again. One of my best trips. I saw parts of that ancient land I’d never seen before – and, in fact, never even knew existed. It seems the older I get and the more I read, the more I realize how little I know about our world. Gotta start reading more – I’m only spending around four hours a day reading now.
Next trip? Who knows? Watch this space for more exciting adventures from your favorite world traveler. I’ll Trip till I Drip. Hey, it rhymes. All for now. Be good, be fruitful, watch your back, keep your powder dry and come visit me sometime.

CARNIVAL!

So, what to do and where to go in the winter? I usually head for the nearest beach, as my regular readers know, but this year I decided on something a little bit different: Venice, Italy, and Carnival! Venice has its mid-winter celebration in February, sort of like Mardi Gras, so there it was; my February Getaway Of course, I knew it would be cold, since it will be early February, but what the heck. Once decided, of course, my planning rapidly proceeded to the next stage: transportation and accommodation. I thought it might be fun to take the trains to and from Venice; other friends had done so, and I like traveling by train, so why not?
I hopped down to the MAV office in mid-Budapest and booked my ticket on the overnight train, first a three-hour jaunt from Budapest to Vienna, then leaving Vienna around 9 PM and arriving at Venice’s St. Lucia station at 8:30 the following morning (St. Lucia train Station fronts onto the Grand Canal, so I could take a vaporetto water taxi to a station near my hotel; how cool is that?). For the train, I had my choice between a sleeper car and a seat for the night; I figured I could sleep sitting up, so took that option. The price was a little more than flying, around $150 US, but the trip itself should also be more fun and relaxing. We shall see.
Next was the hotel. Venice during Carnival is a popular destination, so I expected rates would be a touch higher than usual, a supposition which was confirmed when I started searching the Expedia site for hotels. The hotel I settled on was expensive, but it was right in the middle of Venice, near St. Mark’s Square, so what the heck; you only live once, right?
And then it was time to go! I entrained from Budapest mid-morning on Thursday, February 7. Upon arrival in Vienna I had a few hours to kill, so thought I’d see what had changed around the area of the Westbahnhof. It turned out everything had changed since my last visit in around 2001. The train station itself was brand new and beautiful, but without the character of the old station. Ah, well, all good things…
I walked around the area for a while and had a nice dinner of pepper cream cutlets and quenelles (whatever the heck they are) at a nearby gasthaus (where they still allowed smoking in the bar area!) then headed out for the 12-hour trip to Venice. I was alone in my compartment for the first stop or two, then was joined by five American college students studying in Austria. That made the six-person compartment pretty cramped, but we all survived the journey. They were nice kids and I enjoyed meeting them.
We arrived at San Lucia train station in Venice around 8 o’clock the following morning, Friday, February 8. The weather was sunny and cold, around freezing, and would only get up to around 42 degrees F during the days ahead. I said goodbye to my new friends and caught a vaporetto water bus down the Grand Canal to the at St. Mark’s Square. Following the directions given, I wended my way through the narrow streets of Venice and found the Hotel dell’ Opera, tucked away on a side street, with a narrow walkway in front of the hotel, which bordered onto a canal, where gondolas glided smoothly by in the early morning frosty air. Excellent.
The hotel was a nice three-star place, small but clean and neat. The main lobby had stone floors, the purpose of which I didn’t realize until one night when I came in late and found the walkway in front of the hotel, along with the lobby, under about an inch or so of water from the high tide. Gotta love Venice. Anyway, a spacious room with no view at all. Everyone was very friendly and welcoming. I was able to get into my room right away, which was nice, as I needed a shower and tooth-brushing badly. I was even able to get breakfast, which, it turned out, was the exact same meal every day, adequate but boring after a couple of mornings. But that’s being picky.
So, it was check in, clean up, grab a quick bite and head out to St. Mark’s Square, only about five minutes away on foot. The ambience and beauty of Venice was just as I remembered it from my last visit, many years ago. Venice is unremittingly, exhaustingly, overwhelmingly photogenic. Every few feet there’s another building or statue or shop window or person or bridge or rowing gondolier that screams to have its picture taken. I shot almost 300 pictures during my six days there and could have done more if my batteries had held out (including the ones in my camera).
Anyway, that first morning I did as I usually do when in a new place: I wandered all over, getting a general feel for the layout and places to visit later in detail. I walked from St. Mark’s Square over to the Rialto Bridge and on up the banks of the Grand Canal, taking in sights and sounds and checking out all the people in costumes and masks. I found the Irish Pub and stopped for a light lunch of sandwiches and Tennent’s beer. A welcome relief, as it only took me a short time to realize that Venice has no place for the weary tourist to sit down! No benches, no chairs, no stone slabs by the sides of the streets, almost nothing. I did finally manage to pass by a very small square which had several benches, but by that time they were still filled with snow so were of no use to me.
I had only been in Venice for a few hours when, as I was walking around St. Mark’s Square, I heard someone call, “Hey, Gary!” Yep, it was a casual acquaintance from Budapest; amazing, it seems to happen nearly everywhere I go. Anyway, Carnival has to be seen to be believed. The initial sights and sounds and crowds were an assault on the senses, but I persevered and took it all in at one big gulp on that first day, saving the subtleties for later. I had a killer hot chocolate at a small café near the Campanile and decided a short nap was in order, especially after my light sleep the previous night on the train. By early evening I was awake and ready for anything.
My first foray was back across the Rialto Bridge to search for a good place to have the well-advertised cichetti, which I presumed to be Venetian tapas. The only place I found that night that served them was staffed by one harried waiter who obviously didn’t want to take any more of his precious time to serve yet another Carnival tourist. I waited several minutes to be recognized and seated, but to no avail. So if one day find yourself walking down Calle Giovanni in Venice and spotting the Osteria alla Antico Dolo, give it a pass.
My luck was out that night for Venetian tapas. I walked back across Rialto and, as is also my usual wont, I stumbled across the Devil’s Forest Pub, one of the places I had found on the Internet and intended to visit. Now was as good a time as any, and it turned out to be a real pub; I was happy. A light dinner and a couple of pints of Harp helped settle me after my long walk, helped along by the bartender who, although from Venice originally, had worked in New York for many years and was a fount of local information. Always good to visit an Irish pub.
By that time it was around 9 PM and as I crossed St. Mark’s Square again I noticed it was nearly empty of people. Now, this was on a Friday night during Carnival, so I was surprised not to see revelers dancing in the streets with abandon. I didn’t realize then that high tide was due shortly and the square would be flooded, which is why everyone had gone elsewhere. I guessed it was time for me to work my way back to the hotel, which I did, but with a stopover at the B Bar in the Bauer Hotel for a nice glass of Russian vodka. By 10 PM I was back in my room, wondering what to do next. Oh, well, a little more rest never hurt anyone, especially since the weekend was coming up with the promise of a lot more excitement – I hoped!
Since I had, as usual, overdone my first day of walking around the city on the stone streets, getting out of bed the following morning was somewhat of a chore. Aches and pains, muscles sore from too-long non-use (Beijing was back in October!), plus, dare I admit it, even a touch of age creeping in. I hate that. But a couple of aspirin and I was ready to face the day and see what Carnival had in store for me.
For those unaware of it, the word Carnival comes from two Latin words, Carne (meat) and Vale (it leaves). Obviously, since the religious holiday of Lent is approaching, and eating meat will not be allowed, Carnevale is the last celebration/party to be held before the enforced abstinence. And the Venetians do it up right.
My first stop after breakfast at the hotel was the local Tourinform office, to see if there was anything I had missed on my Internet search for places to see and things to do, and also to check the locations of several places I wanted to visit. For those who have never been, think of Venice as a big bazaar, a huge souk, filled with narrow, winding streets, small and medium and large squares and shops of all types, from tacky souvenirs to designer emporiums. Included are small restaurants, cafes, snack bars, hotels and small outdoor markets. Some of the streets are so narrow you can touch the sides with your outstretched arms; in fact, one street I was on was barely wider than my shoulders.
But the energy! Everyone was happy and smiling, even, presumably, those people behind the masks. And yet the crowds were generally well-behaved, aside from the crush when someone had to stop and take a photo in a narrow side street and foot traffic backed up for a mile or two, but even then no one pushed or shoved or complained. It was a revelry, but not a drunken, nasty, ugly revelry. Everyone was having too much fun.
So, once more into the breach. Back across St. Mark’s, to see what the sunny, clear and cold daylight held in the way of costumes and party-goers, then over Rialto and along the sides of the Grand Canal (NB: there are only four bridges over the Grand Canal, so one must cross when one can), through the Rialto outdoor Market (lots of seafood on offer) and generally getting ‘lost’ in all the many side streets and small bridges in the area. Which is easy to do, so take along a good map. I wanted to go back across the Grand Canal and even I realized that four bridges wouldn’t handle all of the people who wanted to cross the Canal. I then stumbled across (I do a lot of stumbling across things) on a gondola service that was exclusively to get across the Grand Canal. Only two euros per person, and a fun way to get around. Obviously, my Tourist Muse is still looking after me.
I had lunch at a small osteria, finally getting some of the vaunted Venetian seafood with pasta and white wine. Of course, I shopped along the way, picking up souvenirs for family and friends. I dropped all my purchases off at the hotel, and once again set out for the Irish Pub, where Italy was playing Scotland in the Six Nations Rugby Tournament that afternoon. I wouldn’t make all of the matches, but since Italy had defeated France the previous week in a stunning upset, I wanted to see if they were still on form. Sadly, they weren’t, and Scotland crushed Italy 34-10. But the pub was heaving and a good time was had by most, despite Italy’s loss.
As it was then around 6 PM, dinner sounded good and I chose the Bacarol Jazz Café and Restaurant, based on the reviews I’d seen on the Internet. Plus the ambience was interesting: the ceiling was covered with hanging brassieres, supposedly all donated by previous female diners; unfortunately, no donations were made during my time there. I opted for the mussels starter, a fried seafood platter and wine. I’m not sure if it was me or if the restaurant was overworked that night, but the seafood was just adequate, nothing special – which it should have been, for the price. In fact, the entire dining experience that night was not what I had anticipated from the reviews of this place I’d seen on Trip Advisor. First of all, I was seated next to the toilet entrance, not a good start. The waiter was helpful but unfriendly and the food took a long time to arrive. My final disappointment came with the bill, which had a 12% ‘service charge’ added on to it, a practice I really dislike. But even worse, at the bottom of the bill, in large black print, was the sentence, “Service charge does not include tip.”
Well! A really bad ending to an otherwise mediocre meal. If the ‘service charge’ - which is not what it implies, i.e., a charge for ‘service,’ which is what the waiter supplies - what the heck is it? Just some extra charge the restaurant sticks on to stick it to unwary diners? Too bad for the restaurant and waiter, then, as I added my own annotation to the bill – Service charge does, in fact, include tip! – and repaired to the Devil’s Forest for some steadying liquid libation. Let the restaurant and waiter fight it out.
I needed a spirit uplift, and found it with several Guinnesses and a shot or four of vodka in between. And then came the remainder of that Saturday night that I have tried not to repeat from past unfortunate experiences, but, alas, was unable to do so. Get that? I enjoy my beer and alcohol and, when things are going well and I’m partying and having a good time, I don’t always watch how much I imbibe and at some point in the evening I have that last drink that puts me over the top and nearly everything from there on out is a complete blank. Apparently, from previous reports, I remain a happy reveler and appear on the surface to be aware of what I’m doing, but, in fact, I am not aware at all. I blank out and remember almost nothing the next morning. With some brief, minor exceptions: several times during the night I will ‘come out’ of my blank-out phase and remember scenes and actions for a few minutes or so, but those are the only things I remember. Yes, I know it’s not pretty, but that’s what happens if I don’t watch it.
And that’s what happened that Saturday night in Venice. I remember standing at the bar, hoisting a Guinness and chatting with some Germans, and that’s all until I woke up in bed the following morning – except for my few lucid moments on and off during the night. So here’s what I remember of that night:
I remember leaving the Devil’s Forest and found it was raining, and then – Blank Out! I came to myself standing in a dark corner and peeing into a canal; a guy dressed as Dracula walked by me and hissed at me, at which point I turned and peed on his foot, then – Blank Out! Suddenly I was standing in St. Mark’s Square, face raised to the heavens, light rain mixed with snow falling on me, trying to take a photo of the night sky; a policewoman helped me under the arcade and out of the rain, then – Blank Out! I came around to find myself hugging Queen Elizabeth and Prince Charles while Jesus took our photo, laughing like crazy – Blank Out! Then I remember hanging onto Elvis’s arm and asking him to sing Hound Dog – Blank Out! Next I was climbing out of a gondola, not knowing how I got into it – Blank Out! I blinked against the darkness and looked down to see Snow White kneeling in front of me and fumbling with my zipper and muttering something that sounded like, “I hope there’s no dwarf in here.” – Blank Out! I swear the next thing I remember was doing a linked-arms hora along the bank of the Grand Canal with people dressed as cows – Blank Out! Then I was inviting a couple dressed as Julius Caesar and Octavia back to my Hotel for a toga party (TOOOGA, TOOOGA!) - Blank Out! And, at long, long last, I woke up the next morning when my eyes slammed open in response to hearing a Bollywood song on the TV, which I had forgotten to turn off. I didn’t have a hangover, not even an upset stomach, but all day long I couldn’t make a fist. Must have been an interesting Saturday night – sorry I missed most of it.
Sunday morning even the hotel breakfast tasted good, but I was still hungry so, after a shower and shave, I headed out to find a restaurant, where I had a large pizza with salami, anchovies, mushrooms, peppers and extra cheese, washed down with several Moretti beers. Aaaahhh, satiated!
It was cold again on Sunday as I wandered the streets looking for some interesting action. I was forced – forced, I tell you! - to stop in various stores to check out their wares and to keep warm. First was the Borsalino store, featuring those wonderful Italian hats. I thought, well, maybe, if they aren’t too expensive, but as I sampled the hats and checked out the price tags I realized $500 was just a touch too much to pay for a hat. Another pizza lunch was in order, so I subjected myself to the pushing, shoving, jostling crowds of people trying to navigate the tiny side streets of Venice. At least during Carnival, the tourists and locals and madding throngs seem to have no concept of foot traffic etiquette nor of the Brownian Movement of the streets, so it was basically every man and woman and child for him/herself. By the time I was popped out of a narrow street by the crowd I was hot and sweaty and desperately in need of some sustenance.
After my second pizza of the day, I found myself next to Harry’s Bar along the Grand Canal near St. Mark’s Square, and thought it was time for me to revisit this Venice landmark and have one of its signature drinks: the Bellini. I’d had my Singapore Sling at the Long Bar of the Raffles Hotel in Singapore, and now it was Harry’s turn. The Bellini was invented here for Ernest Hemingway one morning when he had a ferocious hangover. It consists basically of sparkling white wine and crushed peaches, and is a highly addictive concoction. I only had one at Harry’s, since it cost 15 euro, but immediately found another small osteria and had several more at only 3.50 euro each. Much better deal, and afterwards I was feeling no pain. It was nap time.
Rested and ready again, I flung myself into the melee of Carnival. After a short gondola ride across the Grand Canal in yet another vain search for cichetti, I walked back to the Hard Rock Café near San Marco for an all-American meal of yummy burger and fries. Afterwards, the streets were still crowded but St. Mark’s Square was not; it seemed the people started fading away somewhat earlier than I had anticipated. Ah, well, such is life.
Monday barely dawned grey and cloudy and full of….snow! And it continued snowing all day long! But neither snow nor rain nor gloomy day shall stay the Carnivaler on his appointed rounds, so I was off again, bundled up and head covered, into the mouth of the storm. I finally found my long-searched-for ciccheteria and had some Italian tapas: chicken legs, peppers, polenta and fish paste. Like their Spanish counterparts, I naturally presumed the cicchetis were charged by the plate, with 2-3 pieces of food items per plate. Boy, was I ever wrong! Italians charge by the piece! So a chicken leg costed out at 3 euros each, peppers at 2 euros, etc. For one beer, three chicken legs, four small peppers and a tiny little serving of polenta with fish sauce on top came to…25 euros! Gasp! Screwed again! Will it ever end? When will I ever learn? If not by now, probably never. Sigh.
On my way back to the hotel I stopped off and bought a ticket for that night’s performance of the Venezia Theater, a play depicting the history of Venice at the Teatro San Gallo. The weather was by then so crummy I repaired to the B Bar and spent the afternoon ensconced in its warm and cozy embrace, reading and sipping Russian vodka and chatting with the costumed guests who were, like me, not brave enough to brave the elements. Great way to spend Carnival, hah? The fact that the afternoon news carried the breaking story of the pope’s coming resignation merely added to the surreal atmosphere.
Prior to the theater, I wanted to check out an advertised spa near the hotel for a possible massage and steam the following day. I found the storefront easily enough and, I’m sure you’ll believe this, it was closed for at least the duration of Carnival, if not longer. My luck continues to hold. I had a light snack then hit the theater for several Bellinis before the performance. I had a nice chat with Glenn the Bartender, from England, while waiting. Always get to know the bartender. The 90-minute play was fun and interesting, consisting of four actors playing all the roles and taking the audience through the various stages of Venice’s history, including the founding, rise as a trading ‘nation,’ arrival of the Black Plague, the traditions of Carnival, etc. A worthwhile evening, although at 35 euros a touch overpriced (NB: 1 euro = $1.35).
It was still snowing and blowing after the play, but I needed dinner. As I walked I found most of the restaurants had closed, probably due to the snow, but I did stumble on (again!) a place called Vino Vino, just around the corner from my hotel. Spaghetti and meatballs plus red wine topped off the evening just right. When I finished dinner, I slung my jacket around my shoulders and darted out of the door and around the corner to my hotel. I had to go down three steps and, upon hitting bottom, realized that the tide had come in and the walkway in front of my hotel was awash in about an inch of water. My shoes were not happy as I squished my way to the lobby which, I also noted, was about to be inundated by the tide. I slunk upstairs and crashed for the night, hoping my shoes would be dry by morning.
Okay, Tuesday, my penultimate day in Venice. By that time I’d done pretty much everything I had come to do, had visited the restaurants and bars, had bought the tourist gifts, had posed with the costumed revelers and had taken gondolas across the Grand Canal. Besides, this was Fat Tuesday, the last day of Carnival. I spent it once again walking around the city, this time searching for some special items I wanted to buy, but again had no luck. Long walks for nothing. And there were still no places for the tired walker to sit down and rest for a while. I had an early lunch of tramezzino (half sandwiches) and drinks and then hit St. Mark’s Square one last time for the closing ceremonies. The square was packed as the Carnival flag was raised to the top of the Campanile (bell tower) and then taken in. Another Carnival was over and the costumes would be put away again until the following year. And the faithful would not eat any meat until after Easter.
I sashayed over to the Devil’s Forest for a final evening of beer and camaraderie in my favorite atmosphere, and whiled away the next few hours with good beer and good music, talking to a couple of Norwegians I met at the bar. Finally, one more pizza and a couple of Moretti beers rounded out the evening.
Wednesday, February 13, was my last day in Venice. My train didn’t leave until 9 o’clock that night, so I had the entire day to kill. I should have taken a tour of the Lido Island, but instead checked out of the hotel by 11 AM and walked around some more, seeing if maybe Carnival’s prices had come down a touch so I could afford a few more souvenirs. Or bottles of Bellini to take back to Budapest for the summer. I walked around parts of the city I hadn’t seen and found out I hadn’t seen them for good reason: there wasn’t much to see. I had lunch at the Caffe alla citta di Torina, a tasty offering of pasta and shrimp and zucchini. Around 3 PM or so I took my final vaporetto back up the Grand Canal to the train station, checked my bag and walked around another area I hadn’t seen, the Piazza Roma, which sounded like it might be fun and turned out to be Venice’s main bus station. Sigh.
After an early dinner at a small restaurant, I found another of the very few Irish bars in town and whiled away the evening communing with Arthur Guinness. Not a bad way to spend an evening. Around 8 PM I unchecked my suitcase and found my train and compartment and settled in for the long ride back to Vienna. This time I only had one traveling companion, an Italian who didn’t appear to speak English, so we were both happily left alone to snooze most of the way. In the compartment next to mine I did meet another Budapest resident down for Carnival, Kumar from India, but in business in Budapest, and we had a nice chat. I also hooked up with him in Vienna and we rode back to Budapest together. Always nice to make a new friend.
So, that was the Carnival of Venice. Some ups, some downs, some pluses, some minuses, but mostly another interesting and worthwhile adventure. Doubt if I will return again, and assuredly I won’t be making that train trip twice, but I could easily get hooked on the Bellinis. Until next time.

Peking Around

COMPLAINT NOTE: THIS CRUMMY BLOG SITE WILL NOT LET ME FORMAT PARAGRAPHS, INDENTATIONS, ETC., BUT RATHER PUBLISHES MY DEATHLESS - AND PROPERLY PUNCTUATED - PROSE AS ONE CONTINUOUS STRING OF WORDS AND SENTENCES. I APOLOGIZE TO MY READERS FOR THE UTTER INCOMPETENCE OF THIS TERRIBLE BLOGSITE; IF I COULD FIND ANOTHER ONE I WOULD USE IT. I REALLY DO WRITE MY BLOGS IN A PROPER FORMAT -- IT'S JUST THE BLOGGER.COM PEOPLE WHO ARE THE CULPRITS. SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE. After my return from Rhodes I rested for a week or two, then visited a former student in Eastern Hungary. My description of that trip is on the previous Blog, so check it out. Then I decided to look around for a winter trip, so I checked out Vacation Packages on several travel websites. The best one was Expedia, which I’ve used quite often for my travel adventures. They had a special deal in October 2012: round-trip flight and hotel for seven nights in Beijing, China, just under $1,500 US! What a deal!! I couldn’t resist, so I started making my plans. Looked up visa requirements for China on the Internet, printed and completed the forms and took everything down to the Chinese Embassy in Budapest. They sucked up all my forms almost before I was ready to hand them in, took my passport and told me to come back the following Monday to pick up my visa. I could pay then, around $150 US. And people think China is a Communist country! As usual, I began compiling a list of Chinese words and phrases I could memorize and use while in Beijing, so as not to look or sound like a total tourist. The Internet is wonderful for such things as this, and I found a good site that gave me all the words and phrases I could possibly want or use or need during my short week in Beijing. Numbers (“yi – one,” “wo – five,” “shuh – ten”), useful phrases such as Hi (“Ni hao”), I don’t understand (“woting budong”), do you speak English (“nǐ huìbúhuì shuo”), Where is the toilet? (“cèsuǒ zàinail”) and, somewhat surprisingly, the sentence, “My hovercraft is full of eels.” (Wǒ de qìdiànchuán chōngmǎn le shànyú – thought I was kidding, didn’t you?). Not sure I’ll need this last one very often, but one never knows, do one? So, I was ready to go, just a little packing and I’d be on my way. In the meantime, buddy Stuart and I put on one of our infamous Pub Quizzes for our social networking group, The Club, on September 28 in our usual venue, The Clubhouse, which is actually the rear rooms at our favorite sports bar. Great evening, lots of fun, So -- places I never thought I would ever visit: Red Square, Moscow; The Hermitage Museum, St. Petersburg; Petra, Jordan; The Taj Mahal, Agra, India; and now….. The Great Wall. Forbidden City. Tian’anmen Square. Molly Malone’s Irish Bar. Kung Pao Chicken and Mu Shu Pork restaurants. Tsing Tao beer bars. Yep, I finally made it to China. Beijing. How cool is my life? Took off from Budapest on the morning of October 4 on LOT Airlines to Warsaw, then a non-stop to Beijing, arriving at 6:30 the following morning, Friday, October 5. The Beijing Airport is a wonder of modern technology and efficiency, and, after easily clearing passport control, I merely followed the well-marked signs, in Chinese and English (I used the English), to the taxi area and caught a taxi to my hotel. It was about 30 minutes or so to the middle of the city, as my hotel was located next to The Forbidden City, about as perfect a location as one could want. The taxi only cost me around 10 euro; not bad. The Reception staff was friendly, smiling and welcoming, and they all spoke English, which was a decided plus, as Trip Advisor comments indicated that was not necessarily the case. Don’t know who those other tourists dealt with, but it certainly wasn’t my group. I was at the Days Inn Forbidden City Beijing, a three-star place, which was, as always, adequate for my needs. I wasn’t in my room long enough for any minor discrepancies to be noticed, so the hotel was satisfactory. OK, there was some minor mould on the shower grout and some construction going on nearby (never bothered me at all), but they were such minor things it is almost pointless to mention them. Plus, the room’s amenities included disposable razors, towel wipes and condoms – a truly cosmopolitan establishment. Anyway, I unpacked, took a quick shower, brushed my teeth and set out for my first sight of Beijing. My first jaunt was, obviously, to The Forbidden City outer gate. I’d be back there the following day on my tour of the city, so I didn’t go in this time. Besides, it was the end of China’s National Week, which began on the previous Monday, October 1, when around 18 million people flooded Tian’anmen Square (or so I was told later). The remnants of the crowds were still in evidence, so I merely got acclimated to the area. It was nearly lunchtime by then, so I walked up Nanheyan Street (next to my hotel) to the Jade Garden hotel, turned right and followed my nose down the road to Molly Malone’s Irish Bar in the Legendale Hotel. A light lunch of spring rolls and a Guinness (which was only fair, but it did cost around $11.50!) assuaged my hunger for the moment. I bought my obligatory polo shirt and walked over to the Wangfujing Street shopping district. It was, as advertised, very commercial, with lots of high-end stores along its length, but next to it was the Wangfujing Market, full of all sorts of wonderful tourist crap and exotic foods, such as crispy fried scorpions, silk worm chrysalis and some sort of beetles. And you are correct in your assumptions – I didn’t try any of them. It was like being in a big modern city where the signs were in Chinese. Huge, wide streets, glass and steel buildings, all the brand-name stores one finds everywhere, plus the ubiquitous McDonald’s. They even have a Fatburger tucked away somewhere, although I never did find it. I felt like I was in a Jackie Chan movie. I did almost succumb to the inevitable and buy an “I (heart) BJ” t-shirt for Morgan, but thought better of it for the moment; I’d have time later. Along the way I had my first encounters with the Chinese “art students,” usually young females who chat you up (“Where you from? Your first visit to China?”) and then try to get you to accompany them to a bar or tea house for refreshments. If you go, you are then presented with an astronomical bill, like $200 US; refusal to pay brings out the 300-pound Chinese Tong enforcers to help you to an ATM. Just like Budapest’s Konzum Lanyok (Consumer Girls). I was ready for the attacks and usually spoke to these young hustlers in Hungarian, which baffled them and finally chased them off. I knew my limited Hungarian would do some good someday! After a short nap and shower, I repaired across the street to a rooftop bar overlooking Beijing and had a beer with my spectacular view. I walked along the Jiangomen Street main drag for awhile, stopping in to see if the Raffles Hotel had a Long Bar like in Singapore. No such luck. As it was getting along toward dinnertime, I found a little family-run hole-in-the-wall restaurant up the street from my hotel, and decided it looked good enough to try. Luckily, a middle-aged Chinese gentleman and his wife were just leaving, and he gave me some suggestions in English for dinner. The hostess didn’t speak any English, but she had a picture menu on which I could point out what I wanted; descriptions were in Chinese and English, which I found to be common in the Beijing restaurants. I made my selection and also ordered a Tsing Tao beer. While sipping my beer and watching the other diners, I noticed a young couple getting ready to leave. While the young man gathered up their stuff, the young woman walked over to my table and said to me, in near-accentless English, “We wanted to say we hope you have a nice visit in China.” Well, I was floored. I smiled at her and thanked her profusely before she and her friend left. If there is a better way to begin a vacation in a foreign land, I have yet to find it. I scarfed down my dim sum dumplings, finished my beer and headed off to bed, quite happy with my first day in Beijing. Saturday was my big Beijing Tour day, so I was up at 6:30 and waiting for my tour group pickup at 8 AM. I had found out shortly after my arrival on Friday that it was best to take care of one’s major toilet needs before leaving the hotel, unless one wants to experience the joys of the ever-popular Chinese Squatting Toilet. I recommend against this rather noxious activity. Anyway, my group was on time, eleven other tourists and our guide, Allie. Our first stop was The Forbidden City, which was just a short walk from my hotel, so the entire group hiked on over. The crowds were a lot less that day, and we got our tickets and entered the walled city. I won’t bore you with the details, but we spent around three hours going through the various courtyards and buildings. Everything was paved in stone, so the going was somewhat tough, and there was no shade on that hot fall day, but we all managed to make it through that part of the tour without fainting or falling over. The group was mostly middle-aged British and Indian couples and our small van whisked us around the city to our different destinations. It was a fairly comprehensive tour of the major sights in town, and our next stop was the Temple of Heaven, the Emperor’s private Buddhist prayer spot. Before lunch we were taken to a Traditional Chinese Medicine “hospital,” where we were given a brief talk on the wonders of Chinese herbal medicine. Then a troop of doctors and nurses marched in to each of the 20 or so tables and proceeded to give us advice on which Chinese herbs we should take to enhance our health. My personal recommendations came to around $1,000 worth of herbs. I passed; I’ll remain my standard unhealthy self. After a five-minute massage, I rejoined the group and we were off for lunch, which was just as well as we were all quite hungry by that time. Lunch was good, a lazy susan turntable with rice, meats, veggies, etc., at which everyone grabbed and speared like college freshmen at the mess hall. I still have the fork wounds on the back of my hand (damn tourists can’t even use chopsticks). Anyway, lunch satisfied us all and it was back in the van for a longer journey to the Summer Palace, situated on a hill overlooking a large manmade lake in the northwest area of Beijing. We opted for the boat trip across the lake as opposed to a mile-long hike (one-way!) and I was back at my hotel around 5:30 PM. A busy but enjoyable day. I had dinner at my family restaurant (chicken and veggies with a beer, 36 Yuan, or $6), then took the Beijing Metro a short three stops and, after a longer walk through nighttime Beijing, found Maggie’s, a bar highly touted by Trip Advisor, as a nice place for expats to gather and to meet interesting young Chinese, Russian and Mongolian women. Well, it was an upscale pickup bar, all dark reds and blacks, nice dance floor, good band, and waitresses galore who would join you and chat as long as you kept buying them drinks. Their drinks were only 80 Yuan (around 10 euro), so I did buy one for one young lady who kept me company until she finished her drink, then slithered off to find a more willing – and liquid – customer. I left early, but had to stop outside for one of Maggie’s famous hot dogs at their outdoor stand, and it was as good as advertised. A taxi back to the hotel and I was in bed a touch after midnight. Sunday was an open day until my evening tour. As I left my hotel looking for breakfast, it suddenly dawned on me that I was in China and I could have real Chinese food. I had breakfast at a Chinese dumpling place around the corner, and the dumplings were scrump-diddly-umptious. In the states I knew them as Char Sha Bao (Cantonese as opposed to Mandarin, which was the standard language of Beijing). The standard serving was three; I had six, along with some tea, and it only cost me 30 Yuan or around $5. Such a deal. I wanted to check out the Plastered T-Shirt Shop I had seen advertised, so took a taxi to the mouth of the street on which it was located. I paid the taxi and looked askance at the “street.” It was actually an alley, with high metal fences on each side. Hmmm, doesn’t look promising, but okay, what the heck, I’m here, may as well try it out. I walked down the first part of the alleyway, jogged right then left, and emerged onto Nanluogo Xiang, one of Beijing’s premier funky little shopping streets. It was a hutong, or a longish old-style street that hadn’t been renovated, but was filled with shops and snack stands and public toilets (free) and other places to buy all kinds of cool tourist and artsy-fartsy bohemian stuff. It was Beijing’s answer to a souk or bazaar. My kind of place. I walked and browsed and bought cool stuff for a couple of hours, and no hassles from the merchants, which was nice, as I was to find out that at other tourist sights the stall owners were merciless, grabbing and cajoling and bargaining until you just wanted to yell at them to leave you alone. Nanluogo Xiang really is a nice place and I highly recommend it to anyone who visits Beijing. Some of the snack stands had things like crispy-fried scorpions on a stick, or silk worm chrysalis or other interesting delicacies. A little too delicate for me, but I did have some churros come late morning. I taxied back to the Wangfujing shopping street – much more commercial – and had a wonderful lunch of Kung Pao Chicken, rice and beer for around $7 US. After a short nap and shower, I was picked up around 4 PM for my Sunday night tour. Since we were a touch early for the restaurant, my guide Lisa took me to a tea showroom (I guess it was called that) where I had a demonstration of the different types of Chinese tea. Of course, after the demo, my demonstratrix accompanied me around the showroom and tried to get me to buy all sorts of tea and accessories. Another damn hustle. I did buy some tea, as the ones I had were good, and just hope I can find some of them in Budapest. Then it was off to the Peking Duck restaurant for dinner of – you guessed it – Peking Duck. Another wonderful meal. Peking Duck is eaten like Mu Shu Port, i.e., the duck is served sliced into small strips, which are placed on a small pancake (like a crepe). Plum sauce is brushed on the crepe and some sliced veggies are added; then the crepe is rolled up like a tortilla and eaten the same way. Yummy. My guide Lisa kept cramming food into my mouth and making me more and more little pancakes, until I was so stuffed I could barely move. It was good but uncomfortable at the end, and I squirmed and rustled all evening as I sat through a really amazing Chinese acrobatics show. I would have enjoyed the show more if I hadn’t been quite so full of food. I got back to the hotel around 9:30 PM and wasn’t yet ready to turn in, so I had a taxi driver try to find a place called Paddy O’Shea's, with directions given me by a bar waitress at Molly Malone’s. We had no luck, and I went back to the hotel and hit the sack. It was the end of my first three days in Beijing, and they were among the best three days I’ve ever had anywhere. I should have known it couldn’t last. Monday was The Day from Hell, when the cracks in the friendly Beijing façade began to show. I got up early as I was told that the viewing of dead Chairman Mao Tse Tung began at 8 AM, and I knew there would be a line so I didn’t want to have to wait too long to see him. Got to Tian’anmen Square around 7:30 and there were no lines. Hmmm. Walked around back and found out that since it was Monday the tomb was closed! And I was told it was open Monday through Friday; turns out it’s open Tuesday through Sunday. Well, hell, a fine start. I should have known then; I should have just gone back to the hotel and jumped back in bed and pulled the covers up over my head and stayed there. No such luck. I grabbed a taxi back to my favorite souk, Nanluogo Xiang, to do some more shopping, and that was okay. Back to Wangfujing Street and the banks there to change some more money. Chinese banks may possibly be the most inefficient operations I have ever seen anywhere, with literally mounds of paperwork to get anything done. With banks such as these, and squatting toilets, China is not ready to take over the world, believe me. After visiting four banks to get money changed, and being told at each one that it would be at least an hour’s wait, I finally found one where the wait was only 15 minutes. I had to show my passport (just to change money, you understand!) and sign three pieces of paper and watch as the teller shuffled more paper around. I finally got my lousy 100 euro changed into Yuan. I had gone to the bank because the change machine at my hotel charged me 20 Yuan to change my money automatically; that’s around $3.50. So having spent the best part of 90 minutes trying to change money, I saved $3.50. Not a good deal. It was then 11 AM and I wasn’t ready for lunch yet, so I thought I’d get a little snack while walking through the Wangfujing market, which has lots of food stalls with fruits, crispy critters (fried beetles and scorpions, etc) and fried pancakes filled (very lightly) with some unknown substance. Those looked like a good bet, small and well-cooked, so I asked for one of them (which was actually two pancakes, one on top of the other). The cook scraped up two pieces (actually four small pancakes, or crepes, if you will) and handed them to me and said, “one twenty.” I thought he meant one twenty-yuan note, so I gave him that. He looked at it and said again, “one twenty.” He apparently meant one hundred and twenty Yuan, the equivalent of around $20 US. Are you out of your friggin’ mind? $20 for four tiny pancakes? I tried to give them back and get my money back, and he and another stall employee started yelling and arguing and refused to give my money back or take back their food insisting I pay them what they demanded. Well, it got uglier from there. I finally gave them another 20 Yuan note and left, hurling epithets all the way. Filthy little cheats and thieves, think all foreigners are gullible idiots and will pay anything demanded of them. I know foreigners are routinely charged more than locals, but five times what the item is worth? I found this again and again during my attempts to buy a few souvenirs and gifts, and was astounded at the Chinese stall owners attempts to screw the foreign tourists. Asking the price for a small toy for my grandkids, which would sell for about $4 in any US store, I was told it cost 285 Yuan. Got that? Divide by 6 for US prices: nearly $48! I was seriously tempted to punch out that smug little salesgirl. Beijing visitors beware – if you pay more than one-fifth of the asking price you are getting the shaft. You have been warned. I hoped a nap would calm me down, so repaired to the hotel for a short one. When I ordered dinner that night at my family restaurant, asking for spicy beef, and was told they didn’t have it (!), I was offered non-spicy beef with veggies. I sighed and asked for Kung Pao chicken and was brought….non-spicy beef with veggies. After that I really did go back to the hotel and pull the covers over my head. Tuesday was my Great Wall tour. My driver and guide arrived at 8 AM and we were off. It was about a 90-minute drive to the Mutianyu section of the Wall, and I relaxed and let Cathy tell me about the Wall and countryside as we traveled. When we arrived, I was told the admission fee for the Wall was not included in my tour price and I would have to pay the 120 Yuan myself – along with the cable car charge of another $10 or so. Hmmm – more on this in a moment. So we took the cable car up to the Great Wall on top of the mountain ridge. The Wall runs along the top of the mountain ridges for many miles in each direction. We walked about a quarter mile to the north and back, going up and down and in and out. Most of this section is still the original brick and stone, which was still standing after several hundred years. Interesting walk. It was windy and cool up there, but not too many tourists. There is a section of wall in one of the guard towers where tourists leave their names; yep, look for mine if you go. So, what can I say about the Great Wall? Well, it’s…..Great! I mean, the length and engineering are amazing, but, when all is said and done, the wall itself is really just….a wall. Worth seeing, however, and to say you’ve done it. But, you know, you’ve seen one section of the Great Wall, you’ve pretty much seen them all. Back down again, we had a small snack then took off back to Beijing. We made a short stop at the Olympic Village to check out the stadium, called the Bird’s Nest (look it up on the Internet and you’ll see why) and I was then dropped off at my hotel mid-afternoon. A nice tour, very professional and well-organized, but let’s do a comparison of my two tour agencies: (1) Great Wall Tour – pickup at hotel, drive to and from Great Wall, walk the wall, no lunch, two extra tickets not included in fee. Charge for Tour: $200 US. (2) Beijing Tour, Peking Duck Dinner and Chinese Acrobatic Show – driver and van with a group tour, Forbidden City, Temple of Heaven, Summer Palace (including admission fees for all), lunch, Chinese medicine showroom, Tea and Pearl showrooms, Peking Duck dinner, acrobatics show, all fees included, no extras. Charge for Tours: $124 US. I will let you decide which is the better deal. I’ve already made my decision. Anyway, after another nap (I took a lot of them to counter my jet lag, still bothering me) and a short walk around the area, I found a Hot Pot restaurant up the street and decided to try this specialty of the house. The deal is, you choose a bunch of meats and veggies, which are brought to your table raw. Then you get a pot containing a soup base of your choice (I chose hot and spicy), which is then brought to a boil with a flame underneath the pot. You then put your meats and veggies into the pot to cook for about a minute or so, dip them into the sauces provided, and eat with pleasure. The food is still dripping with water and sauces and therefore tends to make some really lovely and interesting patterns when dripped onto your shirt during the course of conveying the food from the plate to your mouth. I wound up looking like one of those modern paint-splattered canvases that look like something your kid would accidentally make in kindergarten yet sells for thousands of dolalrs. But, as messy as it was, it was also a wonderful taste treat, so no worries and no regrets. I didn’t need that Armani shirt anyway. We need to take a short break here to talk about the wonderful Chinese food. There are more than 60,000 restaurants in Beijing, but I only had time to try a small handful of them. As always, one of my favorite travel pastimes is trying to decipher the menus prepared usually by local English students whose grasp of this foreign language is somewhat less than colloquial. As a result, many of the dishes presented for diners are very strange or indecipherable, like the following: Pineapple Moneycattle (Hmmm, I shook my head in wonder) Wandering Felichang (not a friggin’ clue!) Three Fresh Crust (I recognize the words but not the intent) Chilli Itself Can Chicken (I’m glad it can, but what does that mean for a meal?) Sweat and Sour Spareribs (Could have been taken from a Hungarian menu) The Palace Quick Aflesh (Lost!) Pig Hands with Chilli (Didn’t know pigs had hands, but maybe in China…) And at last, something I recognize: the Big Yellow Fish (I’ll have that!) Anyway, after an early breakfast of Niu Ge dumplings again on Wednesday, it was off on a short hike over to Tian’anmen Square one more time to visit Mousie Dung’s tomb. This time there was a line of people, not too long, inside the barriers, and I joined them around 7:15 AM. The doors opened at 8, and we all shuffled forward. The crowd was almost all Chinese, waving little red flags and wearing caps with a red star on the front. We had to go through two metal detectors, a passport check and a hard stare by some large guards before reaching the front of the mausoleum. No cameras or bags of any sort were allowed, so I had left mine at the hotel. Some viewers bought flowers to put on the site. We shuffled forward some more, always moving, no stops allowed, and finally got inside the mausoleum (would that be “Mao-soleum?”) and there he was, absolute dictator of China for 30-plus years, white and waxy and still dead. IMHO, I thought Lenin looked a lot better. Still no stopping, we had about 30-45 seconds of face time with the deceased and then out the rear door and finished. At least it was free. I tried to get a taxi to the park behind the Forbidden City, but they kept refusing to take me. I couldn’t figure out why at first, then realized it must have been too short a trip, inside their 10-Yuan minimum fare. Nice treatment for tourists. Really makes you want to tell all your friends about your wonderful experiences in Beijing. So I walked to the park, Screw ‘em. It was a nice jaunt and they can keep their cruddy little 10-Yuan fares. I still had a nice time, and even walked back to the shopping area afterwards. Back at the hotel, I got ready for my one big night out in Beijing. At first I wanted to see if there were any karaoke bars in town. I found out there are quite a few, but they are not like others in Europe. Chinese karaoke bars contain small rooms which are rented by groups of friends or family, who then sing to each other. No public singing like we’re used to here in Budapest. So, pass on that. I don’t have any friends or family in Beijing anyway. On to the real bars! I had read about the Sanlitun Bar Street and nearby Vic’s, supposedly one of the best bars in town, and was ready to try them both. Showered and shaved, I hailed a taxi (Vic’s was firmly outside the 10-Yuan zone) and was off. The taxi dropped me at Vic’s around 7 PM, but since it didn’t open until 8:30 I had to seek my entertainment elsewhere. Okay, so a short walk over to Sanlitun Bar Street to see what it was like. Well, it was like every other sleazy, scummy, low-class, overpriced crungy bar street anywhere in the world. I kept getting offers to go to a “Lady-bar” as I walked down the street, careful not to touch anything. I had a beer at one place and was so disgusted with the tawdriness of the whole street I packed up and left. I walked back toward Vic’s and found The Den, a nice bar-restaurant, where I had some dinner and a beer or two. Good place to eat and drink and I should have stayed there. But no, around 9:30 I wandered over to Vic’s to see what all the hullaballoo was about. Turned out it was about 20 decibels too high for my tired old ears. Vic’s is a higher-priced, chrome and leather, upscale Sanlitun Bar Street, with techno-disco music so loud the beer in my glass actually rippled on the bass. One beer was enough and I escaped before I went deaf. Even the Russian and Mongolian women didn’t show up while I was there, and it was Ladies’ Night, so I guess that tells you all you need to know about Vic’s. I was pretty well beat by Thursday, so took it easy the entire day, as I would have to be at the airport by 4 o’clock the following morning. I walked around some more, bought a few last souvenirs and gifts, had some last great local food (sizzling beef, rice and beer - $7) and generally lazed away the day in the parks. I had ordered a hotel car for 3 AM Friday and was up and waiting for it at the appointed time. When it failed to show up, the Receptionist was efficient enough to run out into the street and get me a taxi for the airport, which was nice of him, since I’d already paid the hotel around $35 for the damn ride. But I got to the empty Beijing Airport, Terminal 3, around 3:30 AM, checked in and cleared all the bureaucratic nonsense and was at my gate waiting for my plane well in advance of takeoff time. We got in the air around 7 AM local time for our ten-hour flight to Zurich, where I quickly transferred to my Budapest flight and was back in Hungary by 2:30 PM local time, about 16-17 hours actual travel time. Swiss International Airlines has beautiful new modern planes and good food, but the narrowest seats since I flew Virgin Airlines to LA. I managed to sleep a good part of the trip, however, so, other than a numb butt, it wasn’t too bad. And that is my Beijing trip. Interesting place to visit. In general the people were very friendly and helpful and welcoming, smiling a lot and seemingly happy with their life. I did note the traffic is truly terrible, maybe worse than LA! But the streets are clean and neat, virtually no graffiti and people seem considerate and respectful of others. Nice to find that wherever I go. And now I’ll be home for awhile. I have to pay off my last couple of trips and save up for my next one. Be assured you will be the first to know when I find out what’s next. Until then – Happy trails to you all.

The Wild, Wild East

Much of the eastern part of Hungary is given over to the Alföld, which is really just a great big plain, sort of like the Argentinian Pampas or the Great Plans of America. A portion of the Alföld is called the Puszta, and an even smaller portion of the Puszta is known as the Hortobágy. These are all just geographical areas of eastern Hungary, and they support a wide variety of farming, agriculture and wildlife. I had never been there before, but a sudden opportunity to visit friends arose and I took it. Only a brief three-day trip, but one crammed full of activities. One of my former students, András Skiszai, was planning to move to Hawaii with his family in October. He had put together his resumé and cover letter and wanted some help with format and language to ensure it met American standards before he began submitting it to potential employers. Since he couldn’t come to Budapest to discuss his documents, I decided it would be a good time to visit him in Hortobágy. András told me he would make the arrangements, including booking the train tickets for me; he would find me a place to stay and he would show me around when we had some spare time. Great. Of course, he had forgotten that, as a nearly-13-year resident of Hungary, I was certainly capable of making my own travel arrangements. So I did. I hopped over to the MÁV office (Hungarian Trains), punched in my selection for Hungarian Tickets on the call board, and waited for my turn. When it came, I sauntered confidently up to the window and began to tell the young lady what I wanted. Okay, so my Hungarian isn’t quite yet fluent, even after all this time. But, with a variety of arm waving, eye rolling, finger pointing and, of course, talking in a loud voice, I was sure I got my needs across. She typed quickly at her computer keyboard, looked at what she had, turned to me and said, in perfect English, and in one of those condescending voices every non-speaker of a foreign language hates to hear, “So. You would like to fly on Malév Airlines into Debrecen International Airport at 3 o’clock in the morning on October 34, in the year 2026.” (NB: Malév had gone out of business several months ago and Debrecen doesn’t even have a local airport much less an international one). I looked her in the eye, gave a big sigh, and managed to look ashamed and embarrassed. She took pity on me and asked me to tell her what I wanted to do, in English. I did, she typed some more, collected my 10,000 forints ($50) and thanked me for using MÁV. I slunk out of the office as the other Hungarians pointed at me and whispered to each other. At least the other foreigners needing to book a train were sympathetic and gave me a sitting ovation as I left. So I appeared at Budapest’s Nyugáti (Western) Train Station at 9 AM on the morning of Tuesday, September 11, 2012 and, precisely at 9:23 AM, as promised, the train pulled out of the station and headed for the Great Hungarian Plain. I love traveling by train and still take every opportunity to do so. It was only a two-hour-and-45-minute journey, with several stops, but nice and easy and comfortable for all that. I was in first class, and it seemed the coach even rode easier than the ones used by the hoi polloi back in steerage. I arrived in Debrecen at the exact time shown on the schedule, 12:07 PM, and there was András waiting for me. He was accompanied by his wife Kati and their youngest son Benjamin (pronounced “Ben-ya-meen,”), a two-year-old toddler with boundless energy. We walked from the train station through downtown Debrecen, a city of about 200,000 population, where András was born and lived until finishing high school. We had lunch at a Belgian Beer Pub, where I tasted the local delicacies: fried goose liver with potatoes and peach halves, along with some good hearty Belgian beer. The temperature was in the 80s and I was glad I had worn shorts and not long pants. After lunch we strolled around town some more and then ambled over to the bus station to catch our bus to nearby Hortobágy, around 40 kilometers away. Kati and Ben had left earlier to pick up older son Márton (four years old) at his kindergarten, so it was just me and András. There was only one line for tickets at the bus station, one cashier, and it moved at a snail’s pace; if we had stayed in line we would have missed our bus. More great Hungarian service. So we skipped out and boarded our bus, as it turned out we could buy our tickets on board. No problem. It was a beautiful new bus with air conditioning, so I presumed we would have a comfortable and cool ride, which would have been a nice change from the 90-degree heat. Silly rabbit. We sat in the very last row, and there wasn’t a breath of air, cool or otherwise. I must have sweated out two liters of water, which was okay as I could stand to lose a little weight. Of course, when the bus approached our stop after 40 minutes and we moved toward the exit, we found there was cool air blowing from vents on both sides of the bus. Sigh. Did the wrong thing again. Anyway, we departed the bus in downtown Hortobágy, a misnomer if there ever was one. We were in front of a Tourist Information building and across from the Hortobagy National Park, which we would visit the following day. A restaurant, post office and a few shops made up the remainder of the village. In every direction was the Great Plain of Eastern Hungary, not a hill or tree in sight. András took me on a brief walk, about 400-500 meters, through the residential area of the village and we found the guest house where I would be staying for the next two nights. It was situated at the rear of the main house, surrounded by gardens and trees and grass. It was beautiful, like a little gingerbread cottage. Several bedrooms, bath and kitchen and a really nice little patio with table and chairs. See a picture on Facebook. It was great and our landlady Irma was cordial and welcoming. The cost for two nights plus breakfast was 8,000 forints, about $40 US. A deal not to be beat. After a refreshing shower, I retraced my steps back to the Hortobágy Csárda restaurant near the bus stop, to wait for András, Kati, Ben and Márton, and to cut the heat with a beer or three. When they arrived we had another great meal; I had the Hortobágy palacsinta and the duck bits with noodles and cabbage. Mmmm, yummy. Palacsinta, BTW, is a crepe filled with various goodies, in this case with meat, and covered with a creamy sauce. A true Hungarian delicacy. We were all pretty well beat after a long day, so we walked back to my guest house, where I left the Sziksais to continue on to their residence another kilometer or so down the road. I crashed early. The next day it was up at 7 AM (Gasp!), shower, a home-made breakfast prepared by Irma, my hostess, and András showed up around 8:30. We walked back to the bus stop area, across from which is the Hortobagy National Park and Museum. Kati and Ben joined us and we boarded an old-fashioned bus for the short journey further into the park, on the first leg of our Pusztasafari. Once there we watched the pelicans and storks being fed, then boarded another, smaller open-sided Landcruiser to tour the wide-open spaces. We stopped and gawked at the formerly-extinct plains cattle, which had been brought back to existence by careful planned cross-breeding; checked out the special plains horses, looking sort of like Mongolian ponies, which are also being bred to increase their numbers (and which cannot be domesticated); walked around the enclosures holding wolves, bobcats and foxes; and finally bused back to the main museum. An interesting and educational tour, which I don’t get to do all that often. And the temperature was only around 90 degrees in the sun – the Hortobágy area has no shade. In fact, I believe the English translation for the word Puszta is actually, “No shade for 100 miles in any direction.” I believed it that day. After a light lunch of chicken strips at the same restaurant at which we dined last night, András also told me it was an easy walk, but neglected to mention the absence of any shade along the way. Plus we got off the paved roads and completed our walk by trudging through someone’s field. I managed to crawl the final 100 meters to the main clubhouse, where I ordered two beers, one to drink and one to pour over my head. Damn, it was hot! Anyway, this ranch is actually where local beef cattle and horses are raised for fun and profit. There are also families of workers living here, many of which are known as “csikos,” or Puszta Cowboys. They have a distinctive outfit, consisting of bright blue floppy-legged-and-armed trousers and shirts, heavy boots, black vests and black hats with wide brims turned up all the way around. Interesting clothes. They are the ones who herd the cattle and horses and take care of the animals.

In between performing for the tourists and visitors, they perform all the duties of a real cowboy-type person. Tough guys, and amazing horsemen. One of the demonstrations we saw was a Csikos standing with one of his feet on the rump of two horses while he held reins in his hand for three more horses out front and galloped around the plains. Amazing. See my Facebook pictures. Since Hungary really doesn’t have much in the way of national world-renowned souvenirs, I rarely have a chance to pick up gifts for the family, but the Hortobágy is a separate district, and this time I was in luck. I won’t describe them here, as they haven’t been sent back to the states yet, but suffice it to say if my grandkids get out of line Tony and Morgan will now be able to “crack that whip” and get them under control. Cool stuff. Another walk back to my guesthouse, only about half as far as previously, a nice long cool shower and it was back to downtown Hortobágy for a dinner of pizza and beer. A nice break. People retire early in agricultural communities, and Hortobágy is no exception. They would roll up the sidewalks around 9 PM if, indeed, they even had sidewalks, which they don’t, so everyone just knows to turn in early. My last day in eastern Hungary was another early breakfast, after which András picked me up (on foot, of course) and we walked back to the bus stop area, which is pretty much the center of crazy activity in Hortobágy. We caught the bus for Debrecen, and Kati and Ben joined us at the next bus stop, which was closer to their flat. We got to Debrecen around 11 o’clock and walked around the University area for awhile, then had a nice lunch; this time it was a club sandwich and fries for me, as those big, heavy, tasty, wonderful meals were getting to be too much. Took the tram down to the train station, where we said our goodbyes. I may get to see the Sziksai family on their way through Budapest when they go to Hawaii in October, but the plans are still uncertain. I caught my train to Budapest on time, although another surprise was in store for me: the coach on which I had reserved my first-class ticket was not attached to the train! Just another part of The Hungarian Experience. At least the train was going to the right Budapest station, so I was happy to sit anywhere just as long as I got home. Which I did, around 5 PM. Took another shower, had a light dinner and was asleep before my head hit the pillow. A fun but tiring few days. Thanks again, András, Kati, Ben and Marton, for making it a great experience.

The Road to Rhodes

Bob and Bing would have had a ball traveling to the Greek Island of Rhodes, or Rodos as it’s known locally, but Dorothy Lamour would have been seriously overdressed once she arrived. Mainly because it was HOT, HOT, HOT in the Faliraki Beach area where I stayed. I took t-shirts and some polo shirts with me, and never wore a single one; it was tank tops (singlets) all the way. But aside from – or in addition to – the heat, it was another fun, relaxing trip. I had visited Rhodes some years ago when on my Greek island cruise, but didn’t have the time then to explore it, so it was nice to have this second chance. After an ungodly awakening at 3 AM on Saturday, August 4, I caught my 6 AM flight to Diagoras airport in the northwest corner of the island. The shuttle service I had booked to pick me up was, of course, nowhere in sight. Plenty of other shuttle people awaiting their arriving guests, but no one from Europe SA Travel. No sign, no name, no smiling Greek bearing gifts. Why is it always me? I finally found an airport employee (I guess she was) who asked around and found someone from the same shuttle company, and he gave me a ride to my hotel in a nice air-conditioned Mercedes, so I guess it wasn’t all bad. The drive took around 20 minutes or so and ended at the Esperos Village complex, perched on a hillside in northeastern Rhodes, about 2.5 kilometers north of the beach town of Faliraki. Very nice place indeed, built on several levels, white buildings gleaming in the Greek sun and pretty much every room with a sea view. Mine was no exception and I checked in to find myself looking out over the Aegean Sea. My room had three single beds, a bathroom larger than my Budapest flat and an inset balcony from which I could lord it over the peasants below. I could get used to this. I changed clothes to what I would be wearing most of my week on the island (shorts, sandals and tank top) and headed out to see what Faliraki was like. The hotel was efficiency itself, something I’ve grown accustomed to not finding in my travels. They gave me schedules for their hotel shuttle (to the private beach and main entrance on the main road) and for the public buses; these schedules were invaluable during the week. It was just a bus short ride (for only one euro!) into town, and I explored the venue for the next couple of hours. Lunch at the Jamaica Pub then strolled down Bar Street and Club Street, the two main avenues in Faliraki. The area was filled with tourists, mostly English, German, Russian and French, with a smattering of Scandinavians thrown in for good measure. (BTW, that’s what a group of Scandinavians are called, a Smattering; you heard it here first). The young female tourists were mostly tanned and fit and toned and beautiful in their skimpy bikinis and I enjoyed my people-watching immensely. Unfortunately, the scene was spoiled by those damn slender, well-built, muscled, flat-stomached beach boys, all of whom I hated immediately on sight. Getting old sucks. At least there was the standard contingent of grossly fat young British tourists to compensate for my lost youth and slender body. I wasn’t anywhere near as large as they were. The other noticeable oddity about European Tourists on Parade is the strange combinations of clothing they wear, mostly checks with stripes and patterned shirts with flowered shorts. The Fashion Police should have been making serial arrests; in a few instances, the Fashion Police should have shot to kill, thus putting us out of the tourists’ misery. Please, a good job for someone would be to conduct a fashion seminar on all flights from the UK to Greece so the tourists don’t embarrass themselves and shame the entire British Isles. The heat finally drove me back to the hotel and into one of their cooling swimming pools, where I stayed smiling until dinnertime. A shower and I was back to Faliraki for dinner at The Grill House, enticed by the smiling face of Savas, the owner/manager/shill (I never did find out which) into the open-air seating area. A large Mythos beer started me off, followed by some cheese saganaki, which I hadn’t had for years. They didn’t bring it flaming to my table this time, but it was just as good as I remembered. Then the Greek Plate, a combination dish of small portions of standard Greek fare, including dolmades, moussaka, gyro, lamb, meatballs and other goodies; just right when accompanied by a second beer and a complimentary ouzo from Savas. (I ended up eating here three of my seven nights, so we were both happy). Sunday was a beach day, so I caught the early shuttle down to the hotel’s private beach area. I was pretty much alone at that early hour, so I picked my lounge and umbrella and settled in for the day. The beach itself was rocky – smooth rocks, but still…I guess that’s why it’s named Faliraki (pronounced “Fahlee – rocky”). I swam and toasted and rested there until around noon, then headed back to the hotel for lunch and a few hours in the pool. Lazy day. After a nap and shower, it was back to Faliraki again and another great dinner at The Grill House, this time a seafood platter to accompany my saganaki and beer. I took a walk down Club Street to check out The Loft bar, which was the only place I could find where karaoke was performed. Maybe later in the week. Monday I decided to explore Rhodes’ Old Town, which was basically the area enclosed by the old crusader castle walls and moat in the city of Rhodes. After my extensive breakfast spread at the hotel, I caught the public bus into Rhodes (just 2.20 euro!) and, after a 30-minute bus ride, I set off to find the Old Town gate. Well, let me tell you, Old Town was just another interesting thousand-year-old castle with its streets now converted into a bazaar for the unwary traveler. It was clean and pretty and well-maintained, but when you come right down to it, more tourist ripoff. The Palace of the Grand Master of the Knights of St. John Hospitaller was worth seeing, but the six euro price tag was a touch steep for bare walls. I walked and looked and took some photos, but the heat inside the Old Town walls was so enervating – i.e., no breeze at all and temps in the 90s – that I soon decided maybe the harbor area might be a better place to roam. I picked up a sandwich and slushy and wandered over to where the Colossus of Rhodes had supposedly stood, astride the harbor entrance. Cool, literally and figuratively. But not cool enough. Every tourist I saw was shiny with sweat, myself included. Half a day exploring the Old Town would have to be enough in that heat, so it was back to the hotel and its wonderfully cool swimming pools. After my third shower of the day and a refreshing nap in my air-conditioned room, I needed food so it was back into Faliraki for pizza and beer at The Breeze bar. It was a quiet night in town, so I thought I’d rest up for my upcoming restful day. Early to bed and early to rise makes a man dull, but well-rested. I had no plans for Tuesday, so I spent the day and evening around the hotel pool, reading one of my Kindle books and generally taking it easy. A really lazy day. A few beers by the poolside bar in the evening, an overpriced but tasty pizza and it was time to watch the Olympics for awhile. Wednesday was my afternoon cruise to various coves and bays on the eastern side of the island. After a couple of hours around the pool, I bused to Faliraki and succumbed to lunch at McDonalds – but I did have the Greek Mac! I found Peter’s Watersports on the main Faliraki beach around 2:30, although the cruise wasn’t until 3; still have that early gene, just in case something untoward happens. And of course it did. The sea was a touch choppy so the boat couldn’t pull up to the beach where I was waiting; the boat people then told me I had to walk – walk! – around the bay to that little, tiny blue building waaaay over there – it must have been half a mile at least, mostly on sand and wooden slatted boardwalk. Needless to say – but I’ll say it anyway – I was not amused. Temps were still in the mid-90s and even the slight breeze was hot and humid. But okay, I struck off and 25 minutes later found the boat. I was dripping with sweat and desperately needed something tall and cool, or at least a swim in the Aegean. No such luck. About 25 people boarded the small glass-bottomed boat and off we went. At least the sea breeze was a touch cooler out there. First stop was Ladiko Bay, where we were allowed to swim for 20 minutes or so. Aaaahhh, nice. Back on board to Afandou Bay, another place to swim and check out the caves, but really just another rocky beach inhabited by locals. Okay, more swimming, which was cooling and refreshing, even though I blew out my old Teva sandals, which had served me well all over the world on previous adventures. Sad to see them go. Up anchor and off to Anthony Quinn Bay, where portions of The Guns of Navarone were filmed. Still more rocks, so I had to jury-rig my sandal to follow the rocky path up to the taverna, where I downed three sodas in quick succession. Dehydrated. But fortunately the taverna had obviously had experience with blown-out sandals in the past, as they sold new ones. Whew – got a new pair and I was ready for the climb down and walk back to the boat. After another dip along the way, of course. The cruise was nothing special, just a few more places to swim; I wouldn’t recommend it. Anyway, I walked back to Faliraki from the beach, did some shopping, then heard the siren call of saganaki, calamari and beer and was off to The Grill House for dinner. Savas loved me by this time and greeted me like a long-lost brother. Making friends wherever I go – especially if there’s ouzo involved.

I had another short trip planned for Thursday. I caught the early bus down to Lindos, a small beachside community (is there really any other kind on Rhodes?) about an hour south of my hotel. There was a small town and a big acropolis there and I heard it was a good day trip. The air-conditioned bus ride was slow but fun, even after the driver stopped once for gas. We got to a roadside tourist area around 9:30 in the morning. I could have walked down to the Lindos town square, but the locals had a shuttle to take the weary tourists down and back, so what the heck, it was free and I took advantage. Never walk when you can ride. Lindos at first glance looked interesting: a beautiful little town square with a large tree in the middle, tiny streets fanning out from there and a wonderful view overlooking the bay and its beaches and hotels. And overlooking it all was a huge acropolis on top of an adjacent large hill, or small mountain, take your pick. I wondered if the locals had arranged anything as efficient as their shuttle service to escort tourists to the top of that hill? And sure enough, they had: donkeys! Excellent. I could ride a donkey to the top, thus saving myself that long hot trek. I approached the donkey man with money in my hand (5 euro one way!) and he told me, in no uncertain terms, “You can’t go.” What?! I can’t go? What the hell was this? Why not? He shrugged his shoulders in that infuriating way Greeks have and said, “Too big.” Too big? You mean, chubby? Overweight? Fat? Hefty? Hey! I rode the donkeys down the trail on Santorini – of course, that was nearly 20 years and quite a few pounds ago, but still, donkeys are used to carrying weight, aren’t they? Besides, I did see a grossly fat Englishwoman astride one of the beasts, and I wasn’t nearly in her weight class. But it was no go. I was stuck there unless I wanted to try the walk; one look at that steep, long mountain (now it was a mountain) trail disabused me of the notion, especially in that all-encompassing heat. I doubt if any of the other minimally-overweight people would or could have made it either. So I was relegated to the tourist-tat-filled quaint little village streets of Lindos for my entertainment. After a checking out a few such streets it became apparent to me that Lindos was really just another tourist trap. I was really disappointed in what the Greeks had done to their pretty little villages, turning them into shopping bazaars and souks and malls. Sight-seeing was secondary to commercialism, and these places existed merely to suck every last bill and coin out of the visitors. Well, screw them, they weren’t getting mine! I did have lunch up at the roadside café, then took the bus back to the hotel (only 4.50 euro one way) and its always-beckoning swimming pools. Dinner was once again in Faliraki. The hotel, of course, had a marvelous dinner buffet every night, but it was just too much food and it would have been silly for me to pay the price quoted for a minimum dalliance at the buffet tables. Even with the one-euro bus fare into town, I saved on my food. This time I checked out others areas of the beachside village and had dinner at a Chinese restaurant, The Golden Wok (why are the always named that?). My final day on Rhodes, Friday, was another no-plan day. And as on previous such days, I merely lazed around the pools, reading and soaking up the Greek sunshine. I had a light dinner at The Breeze again and called it an early night. After several telephone calls the previous day to ensure my morning pickup, my shuttle service showed up a touch after 7 AM and we were off to the airport. On the plane at 10 AM and back home in Budapest at 11 AM local time. A great week, but it’s always good to be home, especially since the temperature in Budapest was around 70 degrees with a cooling breeze blowing. Until next time, Dear Readers, have a good last month of summer and watch this space for future adventures.