Food and Drinsk in Minsk

(No – it’s not a misspelling, just my warped sense of humor)

One of the last countries in Central/Eastern Europe which I had not visited was Belarus. Why not? Well, as a former Soviet appendage, I would have had to get a visa to travel there, which is a pain in the neck, not to mention rather expensive. So I put Belarus on my back burner to see what turned up. And then, in 2017, the Belarussian government relaxed its visa rules so that people from 80 countries around the world could visit Belarus visa-free for five days. All a tourist had to have was a valid passport (got that), 25 euros per day (no problem) and an insurance policy in case of sickness (I could buy that at the Minsk airport before entering the country for about $7 US).

So -- YES! I was ready! I gathered my passport and money together and bought my ticket for a long weekend stay in Minsk, the capital and largest city of Belarus and also the capital of the Commonwealth of Independent States (an alliance of 12 of the former republics of the former Soviet Union). I checked the weather report and at first glance it looked good, so booked my hotel – an old converted monastery called Monastyrski – and got out my weekend carry-on travel case and got ready to go to Minsk.

Although Minsk itself was somewhat of a mystery, I had heard that the women of Minsk were among the most beautiful in the world, so that I had to see for myself. My flight on Thursday, May 3, would be with LOT Polish Airlines and would take me from Budapest to Warsaw, where I’d catch my connecting flight to Minsk, arriving around two o’clock in the afternoon. Although my hotel offered an airport pickup service, it was rather pricey, so I decided a standard taxi into the city center, about 40 kilometers from the airport, would suffice. Another great weekend adventure was about to unfold.

I began my travel day of Thursday, May 3, with yet another infamous Budapest “No Got ‘Em.” Checked in at the airport and went looking for a breakfast burger at Burger King. It was the height of the breakfast hour, hordes of hungry travelers looking for the main item on the breakfast menu. I ordered mine and the response from the dough-faced person behind the counter was – you guessed it – “Oh, we don’t have that.” Aaarrgghh!! If I could have gotten even a Swiss army knife through Security I would have plunged it into her black heart. Out of the best-selling item on their breakfast menu; incredible.

Anyway, it was one hour to Warsaw, 40 minutes to clear Passport Control and change planes (which I made in the nick of time) and another 90 minutes to Minsk. Suddenly things were going just a touch too easy. Found the “Obligatory Health Insurance” booth just before Passport Control at the Minsk airport and bought my health insurance for 6 euro. Passport Control was a breeze, although my guy did examine my passport with a lighted jeweler’s loop – never seen that before. I found the exit, changed some money and found the tourist booth, around 3 PM or so, where the young lady arranged a car to take me to my hotel. Only 30 BYN (Belarussian rubles), or about $15US.

My driver took his time, getting me to the neighborhood of my hotel at 4:15 PM. I say neighborhood, because my hotel, a converted Bernardine monastery, was located in a car-free area containing at least five churches, which I immediately dubbed ‘Temple Square.’ He dropped me off in front of a guard post and motioned with his arm toward the portaled entry, about 50 meters away, as if to say, “Ok, Tourist, this is as far as I go; your hotel is somewhere in there. Good luck.” Needless to say, his tip was stillborn.

So, I entered the sacred area through a low-arched gateway and wandered around for a while, looking for my hotel. I did finally find it, behind another fenced and gated wall. Oh, by the way, did I mention the temperature was 31 degrees Celsius? That’s around 87 degrees Fahrenheit, for my American readers. Friggin’ hot! Fortunately, I had chosen well once again, as when I was finally able to find a door to get me inside, I found the Monastyrsky Hotel was wonderfully cool and dark, with long, arched, moody hallways, hung with dimly-lighted chandeliers. Very atmospheric.

My room was also monastic in feel if not in accoutrements. Heavy dark wood furniture, Persian-style rugs, windows with wood shutters; I felt like I should be attending matins every morning. The room did, of course, boast a safe, mini-bar fridge, flat-screen TV, modern shower and bathroom area, in-room phone and air-conditioner controls I never could figure out. But the room remained cool during my entire visit, so I was happy.

OK, time to see what central Minsk was like.

From Wiki travel: “Situated on the Svislač and Niamiha rivers, from 1919-1991 Minsk (Belarusian: Мінск, Russian: Минск - the capital and largest city of the Republic of Belarus with a population of about two million people – the same as Budapest!) was the capital of the former Byelorussian Soviet Socialist Republic. The city was 80% destroyed during World War II and was rebuilt in the 1950s to the liking of Stalin. Large, Soviet-bloc style buildings make up a large portion of the heart of the city. For this reason, Minsk is a wonderful place to visit for those interested in the Soviet Union, although English is rarely spoken and tourism is not a priority in Minsk.

“For a long time after the demise of the Soviet Union in 1991, Minsk (and Belarus, in general) had the reputation of a Soviet experience park among its very few tourists. This stereotype, however, has started losing its relevance; Minsk now offers reliable and affordable public transport, plentiful hotels, convenient banking, as well as shopping and dining experiences that international tourists will find familiar. The quality and number of sightseeing opportunities have improved remarkably, too. Those who want to see the Soviet past in action, should venture further afield in Belarus and consider specialist tours.”

I was a slow three-minute walk from a lovely curve in the Svislach River, which flows through the city, and in which, my trusty Wikipedia internet site proclaimed, there were multitudes of bars and restaurants in a small area along Ulitsa Zybitskaya. Mr. Wiki was right again, and I almost immediately found my first destination: The Mad Rabbit bar, where a long, cold, frosty, frothy one-liter Belarussian beer went down just famously. Aaaahhh; home again.

My body temperature having returned to near normal, I decided to check out another bar I’d read about, but could hardly believe, which was only 10 meters away: the Calvin Coolidge bar. I had found a Herbert Hoover street in Warsaw, Poland, but had never before come across a European street named after one of the USA’s least-known presidents (his popularity rating was just below that of James K. Polk). Was there some sort of family relationship? Was his original name Calvin Coolidgeskaya? Did he once own a Russian wolfhound? One of the waiters told me the owner was just a big fan of the Roaring Twenties and decided to immortalize his bar by naming it after the person who was president during that time. Oh. Well, OK, then.

By this time I’d passed the desire for beer and had headed into cocktail hour. My waiter took care of me with a special rum drink, plenty of ice and lots of interesting and subtle other flavors. Maybe this place was home. I could easily have remained there for many happy hours, but decided to keep wandering so as to get my orientation for future meanderings. I next found the Bar Duck, another recommended watering hole on Wikipedia, but they weren’t open yet and besides, even when they did open, it turned out the only beer they bar offered was – believe it or not – Corona! Onward and Upward!

I finally landed at U Ratushy for dinner overlooking Temple Square (NB: it probably really isn’t called that, but with so many churches in a car-free environment, it just sounded good to me. So – Temple Square it is!). I went back to the local beer, Lidskoe Premium, to accompany my lamb sausage, which was tasteful and filling. After dinner, I wandered down to Bar Row (u. Zubitskaya) again and found a place called Malt and Hops, where I enjoyed a Harp at their bar. Finally, what I really needed was a good night’s sleep in an air-conditioned room, so I trudged uphill again to Monastyrski and a well-deserved dive into the arms of Morpheus.

Friday dawned sunny and bright and I was, amazingly enough, up with the sun. This was to be my self-guided walking tour day. After an adequate but uninspired hotel breakfast (possibly based on what those monks used to put up with), I walked a long block to find one of the two metro lines in Minsk. I had a Google map of where I wanted to go: the metro station closest to the main railway station, which was the starting point for my walk. I bought my token and entered the area between the red and blue lines and from there just could not determine where I had to go. My map listed its major points of interest in English and I thought the railway station was an obvious landmark, but it seemed several local Minskians just couldn’t figure out where I wanted to go. I finally corralled a youngish man who looked at my map and told me it was just one stop away on the blue line at the Ploschad Lienina station. Piece of cake. I was there in two minutes.

I wandered the maze beneath the railway station, directed by signs to somewhere I hoped would be recognizable, and finally emerged above ground in the station’s main hall. I walked out the front doors and across the street were the Minsk Gates, two tall, bulky apartment or office towers that did, indeed, appear to lead the wary visitors toward the city center. From there, even I could follow the map. The first major sight was Independence Square, constructed to celebrate Byelorussia’s 1945 membership in the UN. Impressive, as all such Russian-style monuments always are. Next to the square is the Red Church, another impressive landmark, although I didn’t get to see too much of it as it was pretty much covered in scaffolding. I really think many of the cities I choose to visit plan their renovations upon receiving word that I would be visiting their fair city. Incredible.

I continued my stroll up one of the city’s main streets, Praspyekt Nyezalyezhnastsi, which I didn’t even attempt to pronounce, to myself or anyone else of whom I had to ask directions. I stopped at the main post office to buy a postcard and send it off to my California family; I can only hope it gets there. I wandered by the former KGB headquarters building and eventually found myself back at the metro station at which I had started. Cool. From there, I took a short-cut through a park toward the river, which would eventually lead me to Gorky Park. I was sweating profusely, however, in the 30-degree heat, so decided a morning snack with a long, cool drink was in order.

Just on the corner before Gorky Park, and across from the national Minsk circus building, was a Union Coffee shop, just opening. I parked myself at one of the outdoor tables and ordered a large lemonade with a lot of ice, along with a small bottle of water and more ice. In addition, the menu featured crepes mascarpone, which sounded like a nice mid-morning treat. I was leery of ordering one, fearful I would get the dreaded, “Oh, we don’t have that,” response, but, lo and behold, they did have it, for which I was eternally grateful.

My waitress brought me two glasses of lemonade, which was apparently their only way to serve a large glass. OK, no problem. I drained the first glass in about two seconds flat, let out a big smile, and attacked my mascarpone (banana-filled crepes) while slowly sipping the second lemonade. I’d save the water for dessert.

I also thought I could save the remainder of my walking tour for Saturday morning, as the heat was getting miserable. I walked back to my hotel, but before relaxing in its coolness, I checked with the receptionist about a place I had seen advertised earlier that day and to which I might want to go. She found it for me on the internet and I immediately went out to look for a taxi, as it was quite a ways out of the city center.

As I was standing on the corner, broiling in the blazing heat, sweat running down my body in salty rivulets and overflowing my hiking boots to form a puddle on the sidewalk, a young waiter at the coffee shop next to me appeared by my side as if by magic, offering me a plastic cup filled with ice water. How about that?! It’s the little things like that that make international travel so rewarding. No matter what else good or not so happened to me during my stay, I’ll always remember that thoughtful act by that kind young man.

I finally found a taxi and ran my errand and got back to the hotel in time for lunch. It felt like a light lunch day, so I chose the terrace of Planeta Pizza, overlooking Temple Square. A small (20 cm) pizza was just the ticket, along with one of those refreshing Minskite beers. So I had both. Since it was a Friday, I was even fortunate enough to be entertained during lunch by choir practice from the church across the square. Or maybe it was just a tape. Anyway, pizza and beer always go better with baroque medieval chanting. After lunch, some air-conditioned relaxation was in order to better prepare myself for dinner.

I had an early dinner at a small Italian place along the boulevard called Perfetto. Yummy seafood fettucine plate, with all sorts of goodies. Afterwards, a stop at a nearby Cinnabon rounded me out just right. I was ready to WOW the Minskarian club crowd with some classic karaoke. But alas, it was not to be.

I’d found a couple of karaoke clubs on the internet and decided I’d try the one that looked the best: Jelsomino’s. It was a longish walk from the restaurant and I arrived around 8:15, just after the doors opened. As I walked up to the entrance, I noted the “greeters”: a hulking Neanderthal in a suit and tie sitting behind a podium, a young woman in slinky black dress and a young man in black slacks, black vest and white shirt, no tie. Uh, oh. It looked like I wouldn’t be getting in tonight.

I’d hit this situation in Tbilisi, Georgia, the previous year. It seems that some of the eastern European night spots like to maintain an upscale façade, probably so they can charge more for drinks and so scruffy Americans like me won’t bring down the atmosphere. Therefore, they require appropriate attire for gentlemen and ladies who wish to use their facilities. I doubted my cargo pants and hiking boots would meet their requirements. Naturally, the “greeters” rarely speak any English and therefore are unable to explain about the dress code. In fact, they have only been taught one word to turn away potential customers who don’t fit their profile. And so, as I approached the entrance, the hulking Neanderthal looked at me and grunted out his single English word: “Closed!”

Obviously, they weren’t closed, and I knew the score, but decided I needed a little bit of fun before retreating gracefully, especially since I wouldn’t be singing there tonight. So I engaged the unholy trio in a short-lived dialogue, which was fun for me but not so much for them; at least the young man, Vasily, had limited English.

Me: “So - I can tell you aren’t really closed. When do you open again?”
Vasily: “We are closed.”
Me: “OK, so are you closed forever or will you open again sometime later tonight or tomorrow?”
Vasily: “We are closed.” (He must have been taking English lessons at the ‘I am Groot’ school)
Me: “So, is it because I don’t meet your dress code?”
Igor (Hulking Neanderthal): “Closed!”
Me: “You know, if you just tell me you have a dress code, or maybe have a discreet notice on your front door, it’s OK, I understand.”
Vasily: “You must have good shoes. We are closed.”
Me: “Ah HA! Now we’re getting somewhere. It’s my hiking boots, right?”
Anna (pretty girl in slinky black dress): “If you have good shoes, you can make sex with me. But not with hiking boots.”
Me (thinking fiercely, as all the shoe stores were closed by then): “Story of my life. Well, Anna, thanks anyway, maybe another time when I have good shoes. Vasily, I appreciate your understanding. Igor, you’ve been a real brick. (I may have mispronounced that last word slightly in my eagerness to find a shoe store that was still open). You’all have a good night and don’t take any wooden hiking boots.”
Vasily: “OK, bye bye.”
Igor: “Closed!”
Anna: “Vernis', kogda u tebya khoroshiye botinki. Mne nravitsya vypuklost' v vashikh shtanakh.”

OK, I’d messed with them enough, although I sure wished I’d had better shoes; that Anna was a definite babe. I could have sung You Can Leave Your Hat On just for her. As it was, The Incredible Hulk continued to practice his fearsome scowl, so I used my hiking boots for their intended purpose and boogied on down the road to see what else the night might hold for me.

I cruised the neighborhood bars in Temple Square again and had a cocktail at a couple of them, but the Friday night crowd gathering around the Square and its environs had grown to unmanageable proportions (for me, at least), and so, after another beer at the Malt and Hops bar, which was, once again, empty except for me, I decided maybe Friday wasn’t my night after all. I stopped at the hotel’s downstairs bar and billiard room for a nightcap and got into a conversation with a salesman from India, in town to talk to the locals about some sort of solar-powered roof tiles. One drink of the really good local vodka, Glubina, led to another and I was amazed the following morning to see I’d found my way back to my room through the maze of dimly-lit hallways. And no hangovers with the good stuff. Time for a shower and breakfast.

During all this time of eating and drinking and strolling and sightseeing, I was also checking out the local female population to see if what I had heard was true. Well, let me tell you – it was! Holy Wonder bra, Batman! The young women of Minsk were everything advertised and more. Almost all the young women have long, flowing hair, which they keep flipping and teasing and stroking until the young Belarussian men lie panting in their wake as they pass by. Of course, they dress as provocatively as custom and the law allow – which is pretty damned provocative! Clear-skinned, slender figures, long, tapering fingers, and that peculiarly Eastern European slant to their eyes that promises a thousand and one nights of intrigue and exhausting passions. Pardon me if I wax poetic, but they are Babes!

Saturday morning dawned bright and clear – and much colder. From a high of 31 Celsius on Friday evening, it was now 14 Celsius, about 58 degrees Fahrenheit. Brrr. Good thing I had brought a light jacket, which I now donned in preparation for my morning exploratory walk. This time I’d start with the Old Town section, or Trinity, as it was called locally. Then onto the Island of Tears and afterwards, well, we’d have to wait and see.

The Old Town was actually pretty empty on a Saturday morning in spring, so I was able to walk the tiny maze of streets with very little company. I checked out the architecture and the general feel of the area, which was quite nice and peaceful. Attached to this section by a somewhat shabby footbridge is the Isle of Tears, a small islet in the river, constructed as a memorial commemorating Soviet soldiers from Belarus who died in the decade-long war with Afghanistan between 1979 and 1989. The centerpiece of the islet is the chapel, with haunting figures of grieving mothers, sisters and widows at its base. A nearby fountain features the boy-like figure of an angel, rigged up to cry teardrops. My guidebook mentioned that when viewed up close, it would be obvious that a certain part of this statue’s anatomy is shinier than the rest. It seems there is a local tradition of newlyweds visiting war memorials on their wedding day; modern folk, however, believe that if the bride gropes this poor young lad’s privates, she’ll be guaranteed children. Naturally, I confined my viewing to photographs.

Having gorged myself on sights and sounds of this area, I walked back across the nearby bridge across the Svislach River and down Nemiga ulitsa, looking for the Brovar Rakovsky, the Rakovsky Brewery. My hotel receptionist had looked it up and told me it was on a side street, just past the Peter and Paul church. Well, between the main street and the side street, there is no actual street, per se, just a narrow passageway with steps leading up to the next level behind the tall buildings on Nemiga u.

I hesitated at first, then sort of warily climbed the steps and sure enough, there were streets behind the buildings. The first street I happened upon was Rakovsky Street, which I figured must have something to do with the brewery (Aaahh, those university Logic classes – still paying off). A short way down this street I asked a local waiter standing outside his restaurant smoking for the object of my search, and he pointed across the street and around a corner and told me I was almost there. I turned the corner and whaddaya know – the entire street was completely torn up and ripped apart. How happy did that make me? Not very. At any rate, the brewery actually did open its doors at noon and I scuttled inside to find another of those wonderful European brewhouses.

I love these places so much, I could die in them. They are part and parcel of the brewery itself, sporting large brew tanks and decorated like a huge bar, complete with stuffed bears and comfy chairs and lots of great food for the hungry drinkers. This place only has about eight of their own locally-brewed beers, and they were all excellent – well, at least the four I sampled. Needless to say, I stayed for snacks and lunch and several tasty beers.

I perused the menu, trying to decide on an initial beer snack before the main course. The menu was in Russian, with English translations, but the English didn’t always translate in a manner that told you what the dish you were reading about actually was. (Terrible sentence, but you get the idea). Anyway, one snack mentioned croutons fried in garlic; hmmm, sounded familiar. I checked the Russian spelling and found: “Гренки.” HEY! I know that word! Grenki! My all-time favorite beer snack. I waved frantically at my waitress and pointed to the word in the menu and said, “Grenki” as passionately as I could, hoping against hope that I wouldn’t get another of the “Oh, we don’t have that” responses.

Whew! They had it and it came and it was everything I could have wished for. Yum. Accompanied by an Irish red ale, it was damn near perfect. It was a filling snack, but I also ordered a light lunch, pelmenyi, or vareniki, if you prefer, meat-filled dumplings with sour cream on top. I was nicely satiated and at peace.

As a point of interest for beer lovers, the three beers that internet reviews said I had to try at this brewery were:

Grashovaye (golden color, malt aftertaste, 3.7% alcohol)
Pilzenskoye (light and bitter, 4.2%)
Irish Red Ale (speaks for itself)

They were all amazing and I deemed the Rakovsky Brewery one of the high points of my visit.

That afternoon, the kids of Minsk were putting on a big show in the Temple Square courtyard on a gigantic stage, with loudpseakers and everything. I sat and enjoyed them for an hour or two, lots of fun, great music and some really talented teens. I’d have loved to join them in a karaoke night, but they were wearing hiking boots, so that was out.

And after the cooler day and a refreshing relaxation period in my hotel, I went out in search of more nightlife. This time I stopped in at the Kurilka Bar, just on the fringe of the Square, and sampled a Mai Tai prepared by an expert. Damn thing was so good and so strong, I wobbled out to locate some food before I embarrassed myself and hit the bar facedown. Plus, there were a couple of smokers in the bar, which they can still do in the former Soviet countries, and which I’m just not used to any longer.

The wind was still whipping through the streets and I decided to take the advice of one of the waiters I’d met and have dinner at my hotel, something I rarely do. I’d much rather be out and about, hanging out at bars, talking to strangers, ogling the women and furthering the cause of international relations. Well, let me tell you, my hotel serves up some scrumptious dishes. I can see why it’s so well-known and well-attended by the local wait staff.

I started off with a recommended shot of the local Byelorussian vodka, Glubina. YOWZA! Set you free! Polly want a cracker! Damn the torpedoes and full speed ahead! So fantastic I even bought a bottle in Duty Free to bring back with me. A glass of nice Georgian wine complemented my beef tongue in a mushroom and wine sauce, layered over potato fritters. It was a standard local dish and one I’m so happy I tried. After dinner, I tried a brief walk but my legs didn’t want to work properly, so I succumbed to the siren’s call of my cozy monk’s cell. A short but good night.

I had no particular plans for Sunday, so decided on the spur of the moment to take the Minsk City Tour – if I could find the damn bus! The internet advertised this tour as a Hop On tour only – no hopping off. It was scheduled to last about 1 ½ to 2 hours and would take up my midday hours. I was an old pro on the Minsk metro by this time, having survived one trip, so I scooted over to the nearby metro station, bought my ticket, found the correct blue line and got on the right car going the right direction. Once again, it was only one stop to the railway station, where I popped up to street level in front of the main entrance. The weather was sunny again, but temp around 14 degrees Celsius, so somewhat cool and windy.

I found the bus parked in front of the KFC branch, ready to go. It left the station at 11 AM and we were back there by 12:30 PM or so. It was a good tour, slowing down to see 18 major sights around the city and some even several miles outside the city limits, like the National Library of Belarus and the Sport Palace. For 30 BYN (around $15 US), it was a nice relaxing tour.

I took the metro back to Temple Square and popped into the Bar Insomniac for lunch, not knowing what I’d find. What I found was one of the best beefsteaks I’d had in all my travels, cooked to perfection and lovingly served up. I was beginning to appreciate Minsk’s restaurants, as they offered really substantial, tasty, well-prepared meals, almost always professional service, usually good atmosphere and certainly acceptable prices. Can’t ask for anything more than that out of a dining-out experience. Plus their bar looked good, too, so I knew I’d be back later.

In the late afternoon I walked along the riverside promenade to take more pics of areas I’d missed previously, especially the views of couples enjoying the early summer sunshine and the pedal boats. One of the bells in one of the church towers let me know it was dinnertime, and I decided I was in the mood for spaghetti; why not? Back to Planeta Pizza overlooking the Square. I sat on the terrace, perused the menu and ordered an old standard: Spaghetti Bolognaise.

”Oh, we don’t have that.”

You have got to be frigging kidding me! Again with the “We don’t have that?” Either Murphy or one of the gods of Olympus has it in for me; how else to explain this constant lack of not only advertised dishes, but standard dishes, signature dishes, dishes it is a national crime NOT to have? By this time I never know whether to sigh in resignation or beat the waiter/tress over the head with the menu. This time I settled for quiet resignation and ordered the Spaghetti Carbonara. At least they had that! But it was no wonder to me that even the taste of this otherwise delicious dish was as ashes in my mouth. Even a beer and some grenkiy toast couldn’t assuage my quiet rage. Maybe some liquor could.

So I headed back to Bar Insomnia and my new favorite bartender, Egbert (I think that was his name; his nametag was too tiny to read). But he was an expert mixologist and proceeded to keep me entertained and just a little buzzed for several hours. He started with a Mai Tai, moved to an El Presidente and finished up with a Rum Cobbler. I was on a rum kick that night and enjoyed every one of those exotic libations. I finally left on unsteady legs and weaved my way around the corner and down the street to a place called Pushka, a really tiny little Mexican-themed bar. In fact, it was about as big as my flat in Budapest. But the bartenders were also very friendly and spoke English and made me a vodka drink with a sort of candy flavor; delish!

By this time the liquor had taken hold nicely, but fortunately I was only about 20 steps from the rear door to my hotel, which took me to the hotel’s restaurant and main-floor bar. Ah, what the heck, one more nightcap, maybe something sweet to really polish me off. A shot of Glubina vodka, some chocolate cake and a scoop of vanilla ice cream, just the ticket. I placed my order and looked at the waitress and knew, just knew, what was coming. “Vanilla ice cream? Oh, we don’t have that.”

So I took out my baseball bat and beat her to death with it. How the heck can you NOT have vanilla ice cream, as advertised? This time, in my anger and stupefaction, I drank two shots of Glubina vodka (it really is good), chewed my chocolate cake furiously and staggered off to bed.

Okay, Monday, May 7, last day in Minsk. Minsk is pretty much a three-day city, so I guess I’d seen almost everything there is to see. Except the Cat Museum, which I planned on seeing today. Had a late breakfast and strolled over to the Cat Museum around 10 AM, hoping it would be open by then. Nope, closed on Mondays. Thank you, O’ Great and Felinacious Bast. Guess I should have come by earlier.

Really nothing left to do. I took a last stroll down by the river, said goodbye to the folks at the Mad Rabbit bar, waved goodbye to the bronze horses behind City Hall and killed a few hours until lunch, which I had at another restaurant overlooking the Square, Verszit Gorad (my spelling of this one is probably abominable). Good lunch, however; beef and mushrooms in a berry-based sauce with a side of fritters, a glass of Georgian red wine and a dessert sorbet. That would last me the rest of the day – maybe the rest of the week.

Anyway, I arranged for a hotel car to drive me to the airport, where I checked in easily. My flight back to Warsaw was a touch late, and when we landed I had just enough time to clear Passport Control back into the EU, then go through another security check and race down to my gate, at which I arrived as they started to board. Puffing and huffing and blowing and sweating – so nice of the airlines to give us so much time for our connecting flights.

And home again in Budapest. Another fun weekend under the belt. Country Number 73. Great food, gorgeous women (as advertised) and a really nice, clean, well-maintained city. I’m glad I finally made it there.

No further trips scheduled for a while. My daughter and her family will be visiting late May – early June, which will keep me busy as a tour guide. Been too long since we were all together, and I haven’t seen my grandkids since they were 10 (Samantha) and 8 (Nicholas). I did meet up with Morgan and Tony for a weekend in Rome in 2015, but it’s always a treat to catch up with the family.

So, another successful blog. Hope to collect all my blogs since 2009 into another book later this year, so watch for that on amazon.com. Until then, Happy Trails and May the Road Always Rise to Meet You.