I've finally found the time to troll through my Balkans photos, thanks to a double dose of 4 day weekends thanks to Jesus and Wills & Kate.
I tend to remember when and where I take all my pictures but none is more memorable than this photo from Macedonia.
This small church, no bigger than a small garage, was set in a scene of rushing streams and broad leaved trees, sun shining and birds singing, halfway up a hillside in a small town called Vencani. Vencani is no bigger than a few city blocks but the locals are a very self asured lot and even declared independence during the madness than ensued during the Balkans war.
I was captivated by this church and getting the perfect photo became a mini obsession - so much so the forward journey further north towards Debar had us travelling well into the dark hours. Surprisingly its the photo in which I had the least hope that best captured the scene as I saw it... I hope you like it.
Saturday, 30 April 2011
Balkans Revisited
Sunday, 31 October 2010
Balkans Express
It's 19:30 and I am packing up after a night and a day in Plovdiv and bidding the most relaxing hostel I've ever stayed at my farewell... at 21:30 I catch the Balkans Express from Plovdiv to Istanbul.
Lack of time means I only have time for a braindump for now, I will expand later.
Settled into the Hikers Hostel for my first dorm stay of the trip. A very relaxed and friendly crowd and a great nights sleep.
Rush for the ticket office before sat closing (not open Sunday) no internet no ticket - must buy on train to border then at border to Istanbul, should be interesting
Hikers Hostel on hill in Plovdiv old town great view and very central
Met a Kiwi in Macdonalds (I know, but after my first day of tummy trouble and not wanting to sit in a restaurant it was the only tollerable option) as we exchanged shrugs over the servers questions and how to order sweet and sour sauce
Went for few beers then headed back to hostel
Talked shit with strange American wandering Europe looking for a country that would let him stay, shared a bottle of Macedonian plonk bought in Skopje
Great nights sleep, woke up early at 8
Arranged to meet kiwi at 1 to explore
Explored the old town
Prime real estate abandoned and defaced; Ex Communist Party member's residence?
Bought some souvenirs and Xmas gifts- box fresh
Very chatty whittler obsessed with planes
Woman with portraits of happy pigs and nonchalant sheep
Roof tile artist painting on the street
Gay or European? Italian queens looking very out of place
Romany kids hassle
Dinner and discussion: socialism, Israel, house prices, kids today, photography
Bound for Istanbul...
Deserted socialist train station at 9pm sharing 2L Bulgarian beer
took the chance to get some train grafitti pics before train arrived
Train 20 mins late, made straight for sleeper car
Accosted by man in ble adidas track suit and tash asking for my ticket!
No ticket, ticket office Internet kaput!
'no problem, no problem' he said
I hand over 22 lev (11€) for ticket
10 mins later he takes me to serious looking official who ploughed through teems of papers and came up with a 180 lev fare, What!?
No real solution found, he just scratched his head and I offered him 10 lev to just let me
stay on the train, track suited tash guy thinks I made the right move and much chatter ensues, he takes the money
Much chatter and I pray for a happy conclusion, which came with both the confused conductor and mr tracky tash saying 'no problem, no problem'
Although now I'm headed forsomeplace called Demitiograd instead of Svilengrad- where's my guidebook?
Back in my sleeper I down more beer take my remaining sleeping pill, take out my beloved travel pillow and wait
5 mins later tracky tash arrives with sheets and blankets and turned up the heat to melting point
heating turned down I slept until women by another portly guard asking for ticket - no ticket! - another aside in an empty sleeper, another long episode of head scratching and anothe 30 lev changes hands to get to Svilengrad and something about 'ticket sItanbul no problem'
I turn down the heat and drift back off to sleep on my magic pillow
screeching of wheels knock on door, happy portly conductor delivers ticket to Istanbul covertly while looking around rather nervously and signing to shhhh!
Back off to sleep and knock knock knock passport control which takes all of 5 seconds
Back to sleep only to be woken up again with 'anything to declare?' so I declare I am a wooly wofta, no really I declare my two bottles if macedonian wine which sparks a bag search where the contents were ignored but the linings and padding was put to great scruitiny... Patting and poking done with I do indeed confirm the customs guards assumpion I like wine and it's back to my beer and pharaceutical induced coma.
Next call was for Turkish passport control which involved a dash out into freezing temperatures in only shirt sleeves but luckily over and done in record time, poor American girls had to line up in cold for visas, I was out like a light before passport officers boarded the train to check entry stamps and again before the train made a move... To be continued
Making Tracks to Plovdiv
Just about to catch the night train from Plovdiv to Istanbul so only time for dumping my mental notes, will expand later...
On route to Plovdiv
Train station concrete and art, monolithic uglyness, confusion and bad signage
Great graffiti too late
Old trains, smelly toilets
Former communist countries offer choice -hot or cold
Plains of '' or is this Patagonia?
More monolithic cocrete remnants of communist rule, empty shunting and cargo yards, platforms at ground level, people hanging around (south America?) on tracks, cotton trees, cedar and hardwoods, revines and brown winter plains (praries), rocky mountains
Train guards reminiscent of old soviet military standing proud
Abandoned railway buildings, no door/window frames
Heating off :) what a wish after 3 cold days
Hugging the side of deep ravine
Tradition houses and coregated iron dwellings, tennements, squalid poverty - isn't that was communism was supposed to end?
Train picks up speed
Platforms barely above track level
Old man in field sitting on a bail of hay, sythe at his side, rickety old card and ragged donkey standing motionless
Vines - some still tendered but much overgrown and looking a sorry state
Dogs chasing the train
Market gardning and orchards
Graveyards
freight engine named britania
Massive Cement works/quarry
Tractors that look more like tanks
Approach Plovdiv socialist housing blocks which surpass elephant in size and number, washing drying
Let it All Hang Out in Sofia
Just about to catch the night train from Plovdiv to Istanbul so only time for dumping my rough mental notes, will expand later...
Kosovo
Crows, bus stop assistance, future ex husband-if we could get past fact he would want to kill me.
Skopje
Mud on shoes
Border crossing toilets
Sofia
Shemales
3 nights 3 beds
Loud Germans
Mineral baths
Hanging around near centre of culture, shocking toilets (teenagers)
Taxi from Sofia
Lake and natural hot springs
No English, flipflops
Let it all hang out
Getting home, taxi from random restaurant
Thursday, 28 October 2010
Welcome Hilary! BLUE!
The road to Pristina, Kosovo from Skopje, Macedonia didn't lend itself to the usual pursuits of shuteye or reading (me of my emancipated slave story and Mr Fidget of his conspiracy theories). It was two and a half hours of natural rumble strips, pot holes and hairpin bends, so much so I am of the opinion if they straightened the road out the trip would be half the time, if that! But it was worth the trip to view in awe the bluest sofa this side of anywhere.
After the border crossing and taking pride in our Kosovo passport stamps it was startling the obvious change in wealth and infrastructure; the dual speed signs for cars and tanks was also noteworthy. Kosovo being primarily Muslim (secular)you cant help feel this area of the former Yugoslavia was deliberately under invested and the troubles that arose when Serbia found ultra nationalism were always a ticking time bomb; what is surprising is its the Serbs that were the aggressors.
Arriving in Pristina there was the usual haggle for taxis and the usual arrival at a price 50% of the asking price. The quick taxi ride to the Velania Hotel in the pouring rain we entered the basement area of the hotel to find the reception area and I must admit, even with my varied experiences with dodgy hotels, the drab basement didn't envelop me with any feelings of comfort and the choking thick cigarette smoke from the four chain smokers in the small reception/kitchen (approx 2m x 2m) made me feel more than a little nauseous. But we were here now and this was the only show in town as far aw we were aware.
Luckily we found ourselves at the top of the house with central heating, kitchen, internet, a stunning king of the jungle fleece blanket and a BLUE! sofa... never did you see a sofa so BLUE!... It was monumental in its beautifully puffy arms and back and did I say it was BLUE!!!!!!!! (dont ask me what colour, its enough that one of the most colour blind you may ever have met though it glowed in the dark!
Some internet time (as still catching up with our blogs given the lack of Komputamebobs in Macedonia) a coffee (which turned out to be some instant powdered Turkish coffee type stuff and some dubious long life milk) and we decided it was time to head into the centre to find some food and checkout the nightlife.
Did I mention it was raining? As we muddled to find our way into the centre, up a hill, down a hill, sideways and forwards again it rained and it rained and it rained. When we finally found ourselves at our destined bar (Bar 91) and after a mix up over which beer I had actually ordered (questions Ive noted usually turn into orders - note to self to not ask questions in future) I was soon horrified to find myself in a bar with a bunch of the most vile ex-pats, dressed like chavs, smoking like cheap whores and making an almighty racket with their love of shouting (which they all thought was very funny), so we finished up our pints and did what everyone else would do after a pint, go for a Chinese. I know, I know, this is Kosovo not London but there wasn't much traditional food in the offering (I'm pretty sure Tex-Mex isn't traditional Kosovo food either) and it turned out to be some of the best Chinese food we have ever eaten. As has become customary on this trip we ordered twice as much as we could possibly eat but wished we had enough room to eat twice as much as we ordered - apart from the burger thingy and sausages in Vincani, which were vile and left me feeling nauseous much of our trip north to Debar.
Nothing much going on around town so we headed back in wind and rain to the hotel on the hill and into the arms of the BLUE sofa. A great nights sleep and we decided to say another night so we could look around town, although not in the same hotel, so we did some sleuth work and ended up in a very nice hotel in the old Turkish quarter, warm with duv-ettes, another lovely shower - but alas no BLUE sofa, there was a lovely frilly floral sofa in reception but it had nothing on the Velanis BLUE sofa, besides there is only room in this world for one such BLUE sofa.
After a day hunting around, taking pictures of anything and everything - including large billboards welcoming Hilary Clinton to town (although I'm sure the chosen picture wouldn't have ingratiated their guest - and finished the day with a Tex-Mex (yes the other famous Kosovo dish) and it was at this point I lost my tolerance for smoke filled restaurants. All I ask is for one meal without cigarette smoke, is that too much to ask?
Back at the hotel while us old men settle down to read our books in our fancy hotel room with central heating and duv-ettes I wondered if this is what Bert and Ernie would look like on holiday. Would they
Long > short, next morning after neither of us got a decent nights sleep - Mr Fidget obviously wasn't drunk enough and I have no idea what my problem was, so I just lay there listening to and watching Mr Fidgets little feet flapping away in his sleep, with such gusto he looked like 'The Man from Atlantis' on a mission - the morning greeted us with loud rain, which turned out to be loud rain plus SNOW! Lots of Snow, flakes as big as plumbs! Damn was it cold and miserable... lets get the hell out of Kosovo before the Serbs cut off the power again!
Three hours later we arrived in Skopje, had another over indulgent lunch at the local shopping mall, Ben picked up another book of conspiracy theories (this time its nothing to do with Christ's foreskin, just something about politics and prophesies that means we are all doomed, you know the kind of thing (I'm still reading my emancipated slave story which has taken a turn with the good massa gone bad :-o ...and then we were on the bus to Sofia...
Approx 5 hrs later, with yet more stamps in our passports and we are in Sofia (Ive used Sofia and Sofija interchangeably in this blog as everywhere I look its spelled differently)... a ripoff taxi (although the loss was only about 3 euros again) and we were at the Hostel Mostel, but the old location, which wouldn't have been too much of a problem except I was now tiered and grumpy and it was raining like a bitch.
Luckily Ben's iphone did its magic and we found ourselves in the funkiest and possibly the most lively hostel I have ever stayed. Our room was in an apartment one block from the main building (which was a 19th century coach inn) in a dramatic 50s apartment with wooden parque flooring, marble and wood paneling, nice!
Dinner in a Bulgarian restaurant (me still tiered and grumpy), Bulgarian's answer to a Mariachi band (me still tiered and grumpy) and we struggled home again in the bitter cold to discover our sheets and woolen blankets were far to scratchy for sensitive skinned men like us... oh how we bitched like teenage girls in the morning. And then we discovered it was snowing, GREAT!!!
Breakfast over and done with and its time for the repatriation of Mr Fidget to the land of eternal duv-ettes, soft sheets, real tea, English television and sofas that don't glow in the dark.
The rest of the day I was in a bit of a funk, still tiered, the shock of being alone and bloody cold, so cold my legs are burning! So I waited around for my new room, blogged a bit, listened to an Irish farmer discuss cow breeds with a fellow farmer (and I thought IT speak was dry) and I hit the sack after a beer and spag-boll.
Tomorrow its explore Sofia and decide on my next move...
Monday, 25 October 2010
Curfew for Mr Fidget
After a slightly surreal evening in the company of the Quebecois speed junkie we set out to peruse the city of Skopje. Free running socialists, Romanian pickpockets, 7 o'clock curfew and a very wobbly Mr Francis (AKA Mr Fidget, Mr De Diddle Di De or Mr Fidle-Di-De).
[Please forgive any spelling or grammatical errors, I am on a tight timeslot at the hostel, am typing at record speed and the spell checker doesnt work on Firefox]
Walking into central Skopje you notice immediately the concrete bruralism and socialist architecture of the former socialist yugoslavia. Long wide promonades, repeated architecual patterns and a river walk that maybe once rivaled paris.
There was much building work going on, one large project was the Mother Theresa building (the lady herself having been born in Skopje), only the width of your average office block but dominated by Roman columns as wide as a family car and 10 stories tall around its circumference.
We took some time to seek out the Turkish area, view an underground orthodox church where the Macedonian nationalist hero is interned and spend some time with teenage free runners who threw tricks while we attempted to get some crazy shots of their near death experiences... finishing up with a group portrait of them by their rather amateaurish graffiti.
After a refreshment break and a bottle of wine we remembered the 7 o'clock cerfew on alcohol sales and made a dash for the local supermarket making our over indulgent wine purchases with one minute to spare (although we had to persuade the checkout girl of this and she didnt look too happy). To celebrate our purchases we headed to a bar where I had a cola and Mr Francis had a couple of JD's - the walk to the bar wasnt without its challenges, firstly it was getting more than a little colder in the evenings and we met our first rabble of Romanian pick pockets... after ordering Mr Francis to put his hands in his pockets, battening down the hatches to protect our money it was time to confront these mucky little tikes with everything from a casual and polite 'No' to a firm 'No!', onto a 'Go Away!' and a hundered yards, being swarmed like bees, tugged and jossled and finally finding a tiny little hand pulling on 2000 Dinars I was gripping between my fingers I decided every other method open to me had failed so the only remaining option was a 'FU*K OFF!' and a controlled but firm kick to the shins of the oldest member of the gang as my last and final warning. Luckily this was enough to convince them I wasnt the average balding grey haired traveller and they left rather sharpish. A quick inspection of our pockets at the bar confirmed we had come out unscathed.
The night closing in we headed back to the hostel expecting to find and not being disapointed on encountering the Quebecois on Speed. Out came the wine purchases and after a very gallant attempt by Mr Francis to drink every last drop I escorted him to the room and into exhile; to protect his pride and of those around him :) The fan heater didnt escape unscathed though since an unsuccessfull attempt to hang it on a hat stand (why?) saw it crashing to the ground and Kaput! After convincing the newly exhiled Mr Fancis to undertake a less social and physical activity he proceeded to read his book of conspiracy theories... it was at this time and with heightened awareness I decided if they named a mister man after Mr Francis it would be Mr Fidget.
Now, Mr Fidget is a very busy man, he is never still, he is always busying himself with one thing or another. He likes nothing better than twitching or skipping, bolting down stairs, tripping up stairs, leaving a room to re-enter the room just moment later, playing with his ipod (as he is a very modern and contemporary mister man), updating his Facebook profile, breathing in rythums and singing little ditties in De-Diddle-Di-De's. On such an occasion that Mr Fidget decides by whim he will do most of the above all together.
On the occasion of his imposed exhile in his Art Hostel bedroom he did read, de-diddle-di-de and wiggle his feet all at once - in his silk sleeping bag liner he did remind me of a bookish, alcoholic, mermaid who had been given some jolly good news.
Needless to say the next morning things didn't jump start as quickly as they could have and Mr Fidget although holding it together remarkably, he did look as if his jolly good news had turned into bad overnight.
Bag packing over and done with, as on the road the bag must be packed and unpacked daily, and after a quick hike to the bus station we are on our way to Kosovo, the youngest country in the world!
Still to come on the adventures of Mr Fidget...
BLUE! sofa
Very fine Chinese food
91 Bar expat chavs
Hotel Balani
Sofia Bound
Hostel Mostel - lets compare cows!
Sunday, 24 October 2010
Sweaty Jovan
Saturday morning we weren't up so bright and early due to the Macedonian wine, central heating and the rather volumpuous and floral duvets at our disposal - real duv-ettes! On top of that the power shower meant another long delay as we each did our best to drain the copious mountain streams and wash away as many sins as possible before we shake the arm (or rather the forearm) of Sweaty Jovan
We finally set off for the Sveti Jovan Bigorski monestary (Saint John the Baptist or Sweaty Jovan to you and me) where we had unsuccessfully sought accommodation the night before - and which was fabled to contain the forearm of him truly - in heindsight it's probably a good thing as as waking up to something reminicent of The Munsters 'Thing' or of something you may inadvertently finding yourself purchasing in a Soho adult shop, wouldn't have matched the gradness of the Hotel Tutto.
[Please forgive any spelling or grammatical errors, I am on a tight timeslot at the hostel, am typing at record speed and the spell checker doesnt work on Firefox]
The monastic interlude included the Baptism of the sinner Williams! (just to be able to say I did it) an array of gayly coloured icons (with dubious poses), Oh and Ben offered into sex slavery to Sweaty Jovan - and I'd like to say that the last I saw of him he had a smile on his face and a new more wholesome life purpose, but they wouldnt take him, even with the offer of a Kinder chocolate bar and half a bottle of Whiskey thrown in for free; you'd think these hairy monks got such great offers every day! Let's face it, these orthodox monks all need a bloody haircut and their troubled faces haven't seen the sharpness of a razor blade in many a year (I doubt even a Remmington beard trimmer is beknowenced to them) and the slave child Ben comes with chocolate, booze and his own beard trimmer and they scoff - righeous pricks! (or is that cock or nob' Ben?)
With no sign of the promised forearm of Sweaty Jovan we headed back into Debar with the intention of crossing back into Albania and making our way northwards to Kosovo - however a much needed Nescafe interlude, a review of the travel requirements and wanting to see some of Skopje on our way through had us heading northwards again through the beautiful national park. The transfer made all the easier with the help of a seven year old boy (who had the maturity of a seventeen year old) who on us asking for directions, without hesitation walked from the bakers where he was helping his mother, and walked us 5 minutes down the road to the now familiar and rather depressing bus terminal.
Debar was not high on our agenda, in fact it was merely a hub through which to pass but we left after only a few hours thinking and feeling there was more to Debar than met the eye and although not aestheticly pleasing it may have warranted further investigation, oh how we loved Debar but time was pressing so we were Skopje bound after a berry tea (weird but strangely refreshing) and a couple of mexican doughnuts.
Arriving in Skopje several hours later, and again paying too much for the taxi (although too much in these parts is a matter of paying 3 euros too, so not really bank breaking mistakes) we arrived at the psychedelic Art Hostel, 70s lamps, open stairs, old leather sofas, a bed in the living room and our host the Quebecois speed junkie - I should note she wasnt 'on' speed but if you were to immagine a Quebecous on speed she would be the image that formed in your brain.
More to come...
Free running socialists
Pickpockets fuck off!
7 o'clock curfew
Viva Kosovo the youngest country in the world- and its very fine Chinese food
BLUE! sofa
