The Balkan Sandwich

Well the journey continued on from Turkey, floating into the money evaporating climate of the Greek Islands. The wallet was put away in The Balkans though, where you can exchange a bag of salted peanuts for a ride in a Mercedes with Caviar and Champagne served inside (of thereabouts). It was then back into West Europe...where rivers of beer flowed at Oktoberfest! The Balkan sandwich trip was totally organic, randomly planned, and it all tasted a little something like this…

BREAD – Western Europe Flavour

Greece

Samos, Naxos and Santorini were my Greek islands of choice. I decided against the party spots of Ios and Mykonos. I was keen to just relax, and let my liver rebuilt from Bulgaria’s assaults! It was just me, the sand, ouzo and in the distance, a group of local women in the water comparing breast sizes.

Highlights on the islands included staying on the beach-front in Naxos, zipping around Santorini on a Hells Angels approved 80cc Peugeot Scooter, and most of all, being surrounded by clear turquoise waters. Oh, and of course, the women comparing breast sizes.




Athens was next and up, and what a lovely place it was too! Disfigured beggars everywhere, dirty streets and African hookers all over the place mistaking me for some dude called Baby! The highlight was The Acropolis. This is an ancient site, where you can see some of the finest scaffolding in the world covering all sorts of rocks and pillars. It was here I was able to achieve a lifelong dream of photographing tourist’ photographing the Parthenon.

FILLING – Mixed Balkan Salad

Albania

Upon booking my ticket to Tirane, I took a step back in time. The ticket office was a room untouched since the 1960’s. All that was in there was a flimsy table, with a typewriter and a squeaky fan, and a sweaty man with a shiny concreted-comb-overed-permed-mullet hair “style”, and a shiny gold tooth. He was grinning at me (the kind of grin that you get the electric chair for these days). He assured me twenty times he had booked me “a good Greek bus”, and had given me the best seat. It was the worst seat.

The seat was front row next to a little old lady, who I let sit in my seat next to the window, prompting her to pray for my good fortune and pat me on the arm every 10 mins. This left me with a 14 hour trip with nothing to lean on (apart from the little old lady). I did finally nod off, only to be woken by the driver yelling and waving his finger at me at me (whilst still driving). A passenger told him I did not speak Greek, so he stopped, thought about it, and continued his rant. Apparently my foot was encroaching into the aisle by 2.23 mm, which I am sure you will agree, is a major red alert safety hazard, worthy of taking ones eyes off the road to shake a fist at someone.

Arrival into Tirane was probably not too dissimilar to when Armstrong landed on the moon. I had no idea where I was, not one person spoke English, and all the surrounding buildings were boarded up! I somehow managed to communicate with a taxi driver who looked like he was on day release from the morgue.

The roads in Tirana were the busiest and most chaotic I have ever seen. Most people in Albania have only been driving for 20 years or so since the fall of communism. Kind of like the bumper cars at Luna Park.

Here I met some lads from England, and we decided to head up to Montenegro…it was north so why not.

Montenegro

With no direct bus from Albania to Montenegro, we had to catch three incredibly dodgy taxis. The first taxi driver was a genuine lunatic. Driving at an estimated 130km (yeah, the speedo didn’t work) down windy single lane roads and overtaking donkey drawn carts, all without passenger seatbelts! He had put in a Montenegrin “Rock” Cassette for the drive, to help make us comfortable! At the Montenegrin boarder, we changed to an unmarked taxi. The new drivers claim to fame was that he was the exact translation of the term ‘surly’.

Whilst we were in the traffic waiting to get through the border, the driver got out and disappeared. As the cars ahead moved a random bloke (with cigarette hanging out of his mouth), jumped into the car and drove it forward. He then let out a horror laugh, bid us farewell, blew smoke into our faces and jumped out onto his next adventure! Our driver returned, and we were off.

We finally arrived in Kotor…where an old local man let us stay in his house. He spoke no English, but did enjoy a beer. We joined him for a drink. Our conversation involved clanking tins every sip, followed by him grunting and chuckling. Montenegro was fantastic with a great landscape mix of mountains and coast, and an appreciation from the locals for your visit.




Croatia

I had to crowd surf out of the bus in Dubrovnik, as a wave of 70 old Croatians surrounded us hawking their rooms to rent. The town was massively touristy. Although nice to look at, Croatia goes down as my least favourite place in the Balkans because of the hordes of English, Koreans, Americans and others clogging the streets. The highlight was renting an apartment for a few days, which included an hour’s induction by the owner. This covered all the necessities, like how to use the kettle, how to fill up the ice tray, how many can sit at the table at any one time, how warm the blankets will keep us, the ideal hand size for the oven mitts, why the dryer door wont open during operation, why the door is hinged on the left, why the garden hose is green…..etc.

Next Croatian stop was Zagreb, where I spent precisely two hours. I saw the train station, a statue of a horse, some billboards, and a man walking poodles. I am told that I saw too much…

Bosnia

Never thought I’d go to Bosnia, but it was one the highlights of my time away thus far, and the pick of the Balkans. The recent history is still very evident, and unlike in Croatia, the people are super friendly.

First stop was Mostar. The best part about this town is the famous bridge, that was re-built after getting bombed. The streets are lively and colourful, despite all the bullet holes in the buildings. The tallest building in Mostar is a completely bombed out and gutted bank. Every single window is shattered, and inside, all you will find is graffiti, and empty McDonalds containers…damn, I was hungry too.

Sarajevo was the next, and like Mostar, was full of interesting sites. The owner of the hostel picked us up in his tiny Fiat hatchback. With our entire luggage and the four of us, it is fair to say that was my single greatest ‘shotgun’ call ever!

Slovenia

The last of the Balkan countries, I started in Ljubliana, a neat little town, despite the unnecessary ‘J’ in the name. The highlights were the Horse burgers (well, didn’t end up eating one, but it was nice to be able to pull out the “I’m so hungry I could eat a horse” line, and have the option to follow it through!).

Bled was the next stop, and it was fantastic. Not only did a witness a horse run out of a house and have an argument with a barking dog, but I got to drink at the George Best (former chronic Alcoholic footballer) Bar, willing on the Slovenian Basketball team with all the locals and their dogs in the pub. The other highlight was staying in a hostel with a hammock…


BREAD – Western Europe Flavour

Austria

The owner of the hostel in Bled gave me a ride into Austria. It was a sweet drive, going through the Austrian Alps. Just over the border, the Austrians have left military tanks parked there, just as a way of flexing their non-existent muscles to the Slovenians. My driver flipped these tanks the bird on the way through.

He dropped me off at this tiny town in the middle of no where. Somehow, whilst trying to find the train station, I ended up in the middle of a wood chipping factory. Turns out, this was also the train station…I was just the only person there without a hardhat and reflective vest while I waited!

I had stops in Graz (where no one knows anything about anywhere) and Salzburg…where I was the only tourist in history NOT to do the Sound of Music tour. Still waiting on my certificate of achievement!






Munich

Finally, I had reached my target….the home of Oktoberfest!!! As I was a few days early however, I had booked myself into a hostel. A 100 bed dorm! Never again! A few days of sightseeing in Munich, and I was ready for the beers!

Oktoberfest is a haze of memories, but it was everything I expected and more. One of the rare times when expectations are far surpassed!

The daily routine was up at 7am, into the grounds to queue, viewing beer wenches carrying 15 beers (steins!!) at a time. Prosting (cheers) every 10 minutes (or 5 minutes towards the days end), losing everyone by 7pm, and replacing them with new friends, dancing to the Ooompa bands on the tables and falling into what is hopefully your own tent at the end, and doing it all again the next day! Some of the best fun I have ever had…apart from the time I got pushed around a car park in a shopping trolley.




Its back in London now…for the time being…as I plot the next adventure!

Tantalising Turkey

Turkey was my intended target of my random European meanderings, so it was great to arrive in Istanbul finally…only to be kept on the boat for 3 hours whilst Turkish customs officials finished their games of backgammon. Obviously the game had taken its toll, as the sleepy customs officer forgot to charge me for a visa. In an effort to put things right, I re-invested part of these savings into the Turkish economy and purchased a kebab.

Istanbul is a very busy city, and it did not take me long to get lost. After crossing a bridge that had 200 fisherman crammed on the edges (and seemingly 200 empty buckets next to them), I hustled and bustled my way through the crowded streets. I tried to make sense of the map at the tram stop. As my vision locked onto the directions, an alert went out around the streets that I was not just a tourist, but a lost one at that. A tap on the shoulder and a Turkish man was asking where I needed to go. ‘Here we go’, I thought, thinking I'd be scammed (again), but I gave him the address of the hostel. He immediately gave me the clearest directions possible. I was now expecting the hand to come out for payment, Bulgarian style, but to my surprise all he said was ‘good luck, I must be off, enjoy your stay’. This was the first of many examples on the trip of how friendly and hospitable the Turkish people really are, despite the hordes of tourists that swamp their city. I really liked that.

One of my favourite parts of Istanbul was the Grand Bazaar and the Spice Bazaar. I found haggling with the shop keepers to be great fun. They sell absolutely everything; even a shop dedicated to leather baseball caps, which in the thirty-five degree heat, makes for a good baking tray for scones. I finally managed to get two t-shirts for at a bargain, after finding a shop-keeper who was a Galatasaray football fan, where Harry Kewell now plays. I told him I knew a few players, and would recommend they come and play for his team, and in return, he threw in a Galatasaray shirt with Kewell on the back

Little white lies DO pay off!

My hostel in Istanbul involved me sleeping in a 30 bed dorm in a shed. This was situated next to a family of wild cats who would meow methodically every 10 seconds, 24 hours a day. My iPod was enough to drown these out, but not so much the American girl, who had a full on argument at 2am with one of these cats. Her to the cat, “Shut up, we are trying to sleep”….the Cat “Meow….Meow….Meow”…..the girl “would you please shut up, I have to get up early tomorrow”…the cat “Meow…Meow…Meow”…the girl “your not being fair, I am from Amerca, I’m going to call the authorities”…the cat “meow….meow…meow”….the girl goes and calls the authoristies, the cat continues to meow for the rest of the week…30 bewildered and laughing roommates go back to sleep.


After a great week in Istanbul, it was time to move to the next place. I booked my bus, as was due to get picked up from the hostel by a shuttle at 7pm. As it reaches 7:30pm, the guy at the desk assures me not to worry, it is always late. At 7:45pm he says “Ill just ring up and see”. At 8pm, he gives me a beer and confesses he forgot to book the shuttle for me, but there is one coming. With my coach leaving at 8:30pm, this leaves me with the high probability of not getting my bus. A mini bus screeches to a halt and toots the horn. I pile in and before I am seated we are up to 60km/h and on two wheels around the corner. Some of the craziest driving I have witnessed follows, weaving in and out of traffic, banging on the horn every 5 seconds, hurling abuse out the window. 8:30pm has ticked past and we are not even close. He turns onto the motorway and gets up to 150km/h, overtakes a coach, honking the horn furiously at it and waving. He then moves up to 160km/h (which is when I decide a seatbelt is a good option) and then pulls over and flags the coach down. He casually says “here is you bus”. I get on to a sea of dirty looks, and get the last remaining seat next to a large Turkish man, who’s elbows fit snugly into my rib cage…the next 10 hours are hell!

Cappadocia I didn’t know a whole lot about Cappadocia before I came, but the contrast with Istanbul could not be greater. As we arrive, I see a sea of houses carved into rocks with fairy chimneys…it is like a set from the Flintstones. After getting a small nap in and icing my ribs from the fat Turkish fucker on the bus, I ventured out and had a look around. I grabbed a bite to eat at a small Turkish restaurant run by a family. When I ordered, the mother gave the son my money and my order. I see him go over the road into another restaurant and come back holding some dishes. They quickly transport the food to their plates, to cover their tracks, and serve it to me…compliments of the chef!

I decided to hire a motorbike for Cappadocia, and reserved one for the next day. I then went to bed dreaming of cruising around Easy Rider style …for some reason I had a moustache in my dream though…and leather pants. In the morning, when I went to get the bike, they apologised. They had run out of bikes, and presented me with a 100 cc scooter. Not quite what I had in mind, but none the less it proved to be good fun. It allowed me to explore the whole Cappadocia region in my own time, and stop to explore rock houses in the middle of no-where. At the end of the day, I fanged down the motorway at the scooter wobbling speed of 100km/h, blazing past two bikers on Harleys…how embarrassing…for them.

The next day I decided to do a tour of the underground cities. There are 8 levels below the ground. Only 20% of it is open now, but it was still quite spacious, but not so much with all the tourists in there. One Italian girl suddenly decided she suffered from Claustrophobia, so we had to leave early…turns out she was just afraid of the dark. We then got back on the mini bus to go for lunch in a gorge. On the way, the host put on a Turkish CD, and suddenly all the bus was belly dancing down the aisle. It was suggested I also Belly Dance, but I explained that I can only do the Melbourne Shuffle dance move, and it would not be appropriate at this time. After the booing had stopped towards me, we arrived at the gorge, where we ate on a platform suspended over a creek.

My next stop was Olympos, a quite little village on the south coast. Here all the hostels are tree houses, and they are decked out with hammocks. The hostels feed you massive breakfasts and dinners free of charge. This is where I fine tuned my backgammon game to a near fearsome level, whilst arguing with a naïve young Australian chap, who claimed Fosters, was the best beer in the world. I suggested it’s a good beer for people who don’t like beer, and he went to bed mumbling something about me being a wanker (yeah, I'm the wanker here...). I went to the main nightclub in Olympos with another Aussie called Aaron. When we got their, a Santa Clause lookalike (both in age and girth) had the run of the floor, with a lady on each arm. A true veteran! The dance floor had an unguarded open bonfire in the middle…there were a few close calls, but only leg hair singes were reported. Turkish health and safety is alive and well.

The final stop in Turkey was Selcuk and the nearby ancient city of Ephesus. This meant another overnight bus. Whilst waiting for the bus at the station in Antalya, two Turkish men seated next to me erupted into a big fist fight over a seat. The bus station seemed relatively empty, but as soon as these two started going at it, masses of people came running from all directions to view the contest! The older guy defeated the younger one, and boarded his bus. The younger guy, bloody and beaten, sat down on the very seat he had thought for, whilst the by-standers pointed at him and mimicked some of the punches they had seen!

This time I had two seats to myself on the bus, and they served ice cream, tea and cake free of charge! We arrived into Selcuk at 5am. An Italian and Chillean girl I met on the bus also got off here, so we decided to wait at a coffee shop across the road for the buses to start. The coffee shop was dimly lit and had about 12 Turkish men seated inside smoking shisher pipes, drinking coffee, and playing backgammon or cards. When we were seated, one by one, each man got up and came up to me with a sly grin and shook my hand. They were mighty proud of me for having brought my ‘two wives’ in at this hour of the morning. I was the town hero for 15 minutes there…if I had a pen, I probably would have signed some backgammon chips.

Turkey was a blast and one of the best trips I have done. After exploring the Balkans (story from the to come), I am now chilling in Austria, awaiting the Oktoberfest festivities of next week!

Back on the Road

Well, with the “Summer of George” in Bulgaria over, I departed my beachside life, and got on the road again! My first post-Varna was one of the more unique places of the world. Located just over the Romanian border, this was my third and final visit to…

VAMA VECHE

Vama Veche would have to be one of the world’s best kept secrets, quite a phenomenon! The place is mainly frequented by Romanians, who are super friendly and mostly speak English. It truly is one of the last places in Europe where being an Aussie is a novelty!

Located on the Black Sea, there is nothing much to the place, except the three month 24/7 beach party held over summer! The bars blare out tunes around the clock, predominately heavy metal, live Romanian hip hop, electro and the usual classics (AC/DC included…Romanians love a bit of Back in Black!).

The sandy beach is the dance floor…right up to the tide, and there are no passengers, everyone is cutting shapes out there!

Grandparents walking around in heavy metal t-shirts, petit girls walking around huge freak wolf dogs, guys zapped forward in time from the Viking age, any character you can think of can be found at Vama Veche! A lot of the bars have beds outside them to crash on, only to be woken in the morning by the bar staff with a coffee…service! Or you can camp for free on the beach, either in a tent or fully clothed face down in the sand! It’s a place like no other…

At the end of a nights proceedings, when you do find your place to crash out (for me, the beach), you get approximately three hours sleep before you wake up with a mouth full of sand and the sun beating down on you ….oh and a plethora of people surrounding you, prepped for a days sunbaking. Did I mention they were naked…no…I should have! (Which is both good and bad…they are not ALL supermodels…or female)…

With all my luggage with me this time round, I left my clothes in a friend’s tent, and my valuables with some heavily tattooed and leather/denim clad biker blokes, behind the counter at a Bikie Bar that was pumping out the weightiest of Heavy Metal! My valuables consisted of my laptop, iPod, personal journals and passports…important stuff…but being a Bikie Bar, I slipped a bottle of Scotch in the bag as a decoy…if they were going to steal anything, it would be the Scotch!

After a weekend of adhering to the above conditions, we dragged our shattered and sunburnt corpses to the road, in the hope of hitching a ride. We successfully stopped a vehicle! A tip, if you hitch at a bus stop, a bus will pull up for you! After a one hour stop through a little town called Mangalia, where we dined at a restaurant with a stray dog seated at the table, we got a connecting bus to our next destination…

CONSTANTA

We got to Constanta still resembling zombies. The mini bus was filled with eager elderly Romanians, seemingly being shipped in for the free Sunday buffet lunch at the local casino. We were instantly lost on arrival, and stopped a bench to study a map. We were quickly on the move as a Gypsy woman chased us with an outstretched hand. We finally found a suitably dank internet café. It was like Gorillas in the mist down there, everyone was smoking whilst playing online poker, how found my allocated computer is a mystery!

After getting an address, we finally got to the one and only hostel in town, which of course was booked solid! Nightmare! They let us sleep on the concrete floor in the garden free of charge. Fine for one night, okay for two, but I tell you the whiplash after three…

There was not a lot to do in Constanta as a tourist. There are a lot of off-white coloured blocks of flats. There are shops around town. They sell ice-cream….oh, and they also have trees. We had met some awesome locals when in Vama Veche, who were kind enough to show us around to the nicer parts, via an air conditioned car, so all was not lost, free accommodation, our own tour guides, and like I said, they have trees.

CHISINAU

The trip to Chisinau was hellish! A mini-bus was our mode of transport, and the splitting headache I was nursing was a bad travel accessory. Ten hours in a packed mini-bus, no leg room, and on a bumpy dirt road the entire way.

We got into Chisinau at 3:30am…some three hours earlier than expected. Getting through the Moldovan border had been quicker than expected. Perhaps the ridiculously big hats the officers wear help with efficiency. Getting in early was both good and bad. It was good, as I was no longer getting thrown around the bus, but it was bad as it was dark, nothing was open, we had no local currency and no one spoke English!

I managed to somehow negotiate via sign-language a taxi fare in Euro currency, and we set off for the hostel. As it turned out, the driver could barely see! He could not read my notated address, or see the map! He held it close to his eyes, far away from them, put on his cars’ high beam light and took the map to them; he even borrowed my glasses….nothing!

We finally got to the address, and the taxi driver knocked on the door. A very angry Old Russian man opened the door and hurled a torrent of abuse at us, with the words (no hostel, no hostel) mingled into his dialect. FARK! We let the cabbie go. There was a slight fear he might drive us into a shop or a tree or something that would make a “Bang” type sound effect!

The streets were dark, and every dog in Moldova barked at us as we passed! We walked over to the other side of town, where the Lonely Planet said there was a 24hour internet café. BABOOM! The “24 Hour” internet café was there, but didn’t open until 8am! It was 5am! We tried the next one. We came, we saw, we were yet again conquered…by an abandoned/derelict building…BABOOM!

We trawled back the high street to McDonalds. Now I am not a McDonald’s enthusiast by any means, in fact I despise it. However, for that hour, I had joined a small group of McDonald’s fanatics in queuing up outside waiting for the doors to open! Just when you think life can’t get any lower! We resisted the mad scramble at being the first through the door! Once in, I was able to get online with my laptop and find another hostel.

Chisinau is served by a bunch of mini-buses for public transport. We got on a full one to get to the hostel. With my entire luggage, and no where to put it, I was the picture of awkwardness! As the bus hit a corner, I could do nothing as I toppled onto an elderly ladies lap, before swinging myself up. At the next corner, I slid down (seemingly in slow motion) on the wet floor under the same ladies seat. For ten minutes there, I was a slapstick comedy star! And for the cherry on the cake, I bumped my head on the door of the bus on my way out, for all to see! The bus only cost 9 cents though…they all got a good show for that!

We finally reached the mall next to our hostel, aptly named MALLDOVER….no doubt there would have been a lot of high-fives in the boardroom when they came up with this name for the mall! After nearly seven hours, we finally checked into a hostel and passed out! As for the Lonely Planet…it now sits in a bin…Lonely Liar!

Moldova was great after this, and a real pleasant place. It is not a tourist friendly place, there is no signage, or tourist information centre, but the people were nice enough. The ability to buy live kittens off old ladies on the street is novel, though I went for the ice-cream option. The locals do stare a lot…maybe it was because they were reading my mind when I was imagining what life would be like if I wore a leopard skin tie and a toga, I can’t be sure…

ODESSA

Thankfully the bus to Odessa was a regular coach….except a burnt orange one from the 1970’s. It swayed from side to side a good 2-3 metres, and I am pretty sure I got sea sick from it! It was a nice enough ride though, apart from the fucker in front of me who kept driving his seat into my knees. Getting through customs took a good hour and a half. Hard to say which guards wear bigger headwear, Moldovan or Ukrainian…I was expecting more from the Ukrainians in the hat department, disappointing.

On arrival into Odessa, I attempted haggling with three Taxi drivers, who then started aggressively haggling amongst themselves whilst we went and caught the tram! Getting off the tram was an absolute nightmare. It just so happened that the stop we wanted to disembark at, was conversely the stop that 200 Saturday night revellers wanted to get on!

We went for the front door, but only into a sea of oncoming people, and one Russian man hurling abuse at us with a single shaking fist! ‘Okay’, I said, ‘we are not meant to go that way’, so we turned around, only to see a bigger wall of people heading our way! We had to forcibly push our way through, generating much abuse, insults and name calling in Russian. We finally reached the door and jumped clear into the space outside. We looked back at the tram to a sea of angry faces and shaking heads looking our way, and as the door closed, the last man on shouted out in good humour “Welcome to Odessa”

Odessa was quite a cool town. I expected boarded up windows and gunshots whistling by the ears…but no, just the usual European town really…’sigh’. We saw the famous Potemkin steps, the port, and the beach, an Irish pub, some cars, a stray dog, power lines and chewing gum on the footpath…picturesque. The beach played home to many tight Speedos from the 80’s, and sly guys next to their sleeping girlfriends, pointing their camera's at the nearest girls...

We met some local guys at a kebab stand, and asked them if they knew anywhere cool to play pool. They took us to an old school pool hall, with all wooden furnishings. It was great. I played a few games, and went back home to bed as I was still sick. It would appear the locals were also gradually leaving, one by one, until it was just my boys there…..and the bill! Naturally, they legged it back to the hostel, and we are now banned from playing pool anywhere in Ukraine!

From Odessa, I caught a 27 hour ferry to Istanbul. I somehow ended up giving a Russian ginger haired kid English lessons, whilst he explained to me the best ways of drinking Vodka.

They seated me for meal times with a Russian family. Silence has never been so deafening! When I sat down, the kid looked to the mother, the mother looked to the father, the father looked at me, shrugged, looked to the mother, the mother looked to the kid, the kid looked at me, looked to his father…I was halfway through the main course by this stage!

Hope everyone is sound and enjoying winter! I am currently in Greece and off to Albania now...not sure what to expect there, who knows!

Mossy Out…

The Varna Story

Well, I never expected to spend longer than 3 days in Varna, Bulgaria. Three months later, I am leaving behind one of the best summers of my life, having met a lot of awesome people, and having gained an appreciating for a new level of laziness. So how the hell did this all come about…

ESCAPE FROM BUCHAREST

After fleeing from the black hole that is Bucharest, I had eight hours of train travel ahead of me. I first had to change trains in Ruse, just over the Bulgarian border. As soon as I stepped off the train, I was surrounded by Gypsies and sly Taxi Drivers (hard to say which is worse), hassling me for money! I got back on the train until the Police cleared me a path (although they too were trying to get money off of me).

After a 2 hour wait at the station watching every dodgy person like a hawk, I finally got my train. The train was going to BAPHA…which I guessed was Cyrillic for VARNA. If only I could guess Lotto numbers with equal success!

I shared my six seat cabin with a shifty looking Bulgarian man. His eyes would dart between my eyes, and my luggage. At one stage, he got up to speak to the conductor in the corridor (out of ear shot), whilst side glancing at me. A slight concern, to say the least…especially when he slipped the conductor some money! My grip on my belongings tightened! However he was off at the next station, and the cabin became my very own lair!

WELCOME TO VARNA

It was great to finally make it to the Black Sea coast…to any coast really! After a week of being surrounded by foreign language, it was extremely refreshing to enter a hostel bubbling with English banter! These collections of voices were soon chanting “Amos, Amos, Amos…” as the Dave the Hostel owner poured Vodka down my throat through an engine oil funnel. This is the traditional Flag Hostel welcome you see. I kept it tame for the rest of the night…apart from two hours later when we were all naked from playing strip poker and vodka drinking games (well my poker hand allowed me to keep a couple of garments on...everyone else was in the draft though!). There was a gathering movement amongst the group to storm into town whilst naked and sing Stairway to Heaven, but this was only thwarted by the collective coma everyone soon slipped into…

JOB OFFER

The next day, the whole hostel spent the day together sweating out vodka on the beach. It was my first time on the beach in two years, and it felt good. Whether this is because the air was fresh, the water warm and the sun shining…or because all the girls were topless, I am not sure, I just knew I had to stay. I asked for a job 32 seconds after coming to this realisation. The answer was, “yes, when can you start?”….

THE JOB

My daily routine in Varna, loosely involved the following: Wake up in a cold sweat, trying to shake the iron grip the Vodka has on me. “Work” for four hours (which generally involved sleeping on the couch). Hit the beach to refresh and energise myself, before another night of the local drink, FLIRT VODKA! Vicious cycle that…

Of course, when I am not sleeping on the couch whilst on shift, I do actually DO shit. I have a range of tasks, ranging from observing from the balcony Randy (the male stray cat of the yard) shag 5-6 felines per shift, sussing out which of the weeks guests is the appropriate official “Wanker of the Week” (hey, they get their own wallpaper on the hostel computer), and trying to master the A Major chord on the out of tune communal guitar.

Every now and again someone knocks on the door, so after a lot of cursing and swearing, and sometimes throwing some fine china at the wall, I get up and answer the door as well…

LIVING IN VARNA

Varna really is like no other place I have been. In an effort to blend in, I attempted learning the language. I mastered the Cyrillic alphabet. I was rapt, I was able to read all the words, problem was, those words were still unfamiliar….not one to try too hard, I gave up at the second barrier. I knew two words, Merci, and Ciao, and they aren't even Bulgarian.

Living in Varna was quite a satisfying experience however, and allowed me to achieve a goal of living in a foreign speaking environment. Varna really is the complete opposite of London. One is cheap, and one knee caps you. One is hot and sunny, and so is the other one, but only once or twice a decade. You can have a pleasant walk down the street in one, or tackle a rugby scrum to get to the local shop in the other. And most telling, one has a beach, with topless sun bathers, and according to official polls, the fourth most beautiful women in the world; the other has the Thames, with old drunkards flashing passing joggers.

I managed to join a gym with one of my room-mates in Varna. We never really fit in for a variety of reasons. One, we wore shoes. Two, we wore pants. Three, we wore T-Shirts. Four, we did not wear tight Speedo’s. Five, we did not stop everything and dance and sing to the latest Bulgarian pop tune when it come over the radio. Yes, we were the Gym outcasts! The ring leader, who can only be described as ‘Meatball in Speedos’, was glad to get rid of the clothed intruders, so he could continue to train the next generation of mafia coming through…

UNIQUE TO VARNA

As you may have gathered from my notes in the past, Varna is totally controlled by the Bulgarian mafia, who have their HQ in Varna. They control all the big money spinners, the nightclubs, restaurants, hotels, real estate, drugs, and of course, how can we forget, they also run all the ice cream vendors! This is particularly cut throat, where they demand all vendors sell their ice cream at $1.30 per 100 grams…or else…(I’m guessing their best move is to unplug the freezer)…

The mafia own the building the hostel is in. The hostel owner meets them in a café each month to give them rent, of which they provide a receipt for half that amount! They launder the rest! In essence, they ‘own’ the hostel, and so I can establish that I therefore was ‘working’ for the mafia. How glamourous! As a result, I used to wear a black T-Shirt to work, and bling it right up…and there would be no greeting at the door, just a sly nod…

While the mafia are not a problem, it’s the mafia wannabes that can be trouble. You can spot them with their cheap market rings, henchmen struts, Godfather ringtones, and crooked “fashionable” mullets. We have had run-ins with these phonies! One of my friends had a gun pulled on him over an argument about a stool (the kind you sit on that is), and I even had one come up to me and punch me repeatedly in the chest. It was a blessing in disguise however, as I had had chicken wings for dinner, and one was lodged in my left wind pipe, so he was able to dislodge it with his blows…I thanked him and left!

There are thousands of stray dogs and cats in Varna. The dogs are the next in line from the Mafia, in the Varna hierarchy. The dogs are all tagged and super friendly. Our special dog was #563...or Samson, as we called him. He would follow us everywhere at night. He would even wait outside the bars for us, hours on end. He was a good dog until the incident (sigh). He got some gum stick to his belly, and to his face. We all instantly knew this was the end of a beautiful friendship, and struck up a friendship with a new dog, a better dog, a cleaner dog….Blackie (although he had a slight limp, so we didn't keep him around for long…)

MAKING ENDS MEET

Bulgaria is the second cheapest country in Europe (cheers to that…chink!). So while I was only getting a free bed for my “job”, the cost of everything else was minimal. Beers are $1 a 500ml stubby (for something decent), or $3 for a big 3L bottle (of something rank and undrinkable). I usually went for the latter option. Of course when beer had lost its lustre, Vodka was always there. At $12 a litre for Flirt Vodka, this powerful stuff would always ensure a heavy night. The day after a night on the vodka would generally involve scrubbing footprints off the ceiling, putting the fourth leg back in the table, erasing video memory cards and repairing the light shade after its function as a Tarzan rope the previous night…

THE END

Unfortunately my time in Varna has come to an end and I am back on the road. I was, in effect, working for a dead ringer for Basil Fawlty (personality wise that is), and it all got too much, so all the staff have now left, replaced with cheap imitations from Spain! It is good to be on the move again, and if I had my time over again, I wouldn’t change a thing. Not even my undies.

Eastern Europe Escapades

Yup, sup peeps? Well my rudderless travels continue onwards. As you will remember when you skimmed through my last jumble of words, I left you in Krakow, Poland.


In this instalment, you will meet such characters as A) a stray dog, B) a Mongolian Mail Order Bride, C) Elderly Bon Jovi Dancers, D) the worlds worst busker, E) a man in a dumpster F) Vladimir, the frequent pisser and G) whiz enough of this already, we start in…


VIENNA

I seem to have a habit of arriving in places at the family friendly time of 5am Sunday morning. Again I negotiated the subways, amongst the many revelled/dishevelled and shirted/skirted up Austrians, all recently spat out of nightclubs. Entering their train was akin to the out of town drifter entering a saloon in a western movie. I wish it was a saloon; a stiff drink would have caught me up to them marginally, and it would have allowed me to live out a lifelong dream of wearing a cowboy hat…but that’s another story.


Not a lot happened in Vienna, not a lot does. I did manage to stumble upon a little authentic Austrian bar. They served an array of items- goulash and beer (not necessarily in that order). The place would have been empty, but for a few seventy year olds, dancing to Bon Jovi, whilst concurrently playing darts. As we sat and ate our meals, a stray bracelet left the wrist of a dart thrower, landing in my food. We finished up and left before false teeth started flying our way…


BRATISLAVA


Bratislava is an interesting town, and home to a number of things.

Its main feature is a ridiculously oversized supermarket (Tesco). It did not sell anything I wanted, but did sell car tyres in the same section as the fruit and veg, and had an internet café, complete with one man doing his grocery shopping online (the logic of Slovakians)


The world’s worst busker also comes from Bratislava. He has over one hundred different songs, each with the same lyrics “praise the lord”. Some of the world’s best hecklers can be found in a semi-circle around this man, a real hot pool for talent.


BUDAPEST


Budapest is down as one of my favourite cities. It is a really laid back and easy going place…although one particular morning at my hostel may not be the best example of this.


The hostel owner, Joseph, lived at the hostel with his mail order Mongolian wife. One morning, whilst I transported muesli from bowl to mouth, they had a mighty fine domestic. This was a text book fight, covering all the important features of a great husband and wife feud. There was your irrational shouting, fierce pacing, inventing of swear words, hands thrown in air, awkward muesli consumption (well, by us, the guests) and glass vases being thrown against a wall (all from the wife of course). I was quite taken aback by all of this for many reasons, particularly the uncertainty it created as to whether I would get to see Heartbreak High dubbed in Hungarian that afternoon (the Mongolian woman’s favourite show each day)

A famous part of Budapest is the thermal baths, and Turkish bath houses. I decided that I must experience one of these, and marched (not literally) onwards to the pools. It was a fantastic experience, and first up, I tried the whirlpool. This threw me around and around with a bunch of tanned 70 year old Hungarians, who were hell bent on keeping their hair from getting wet. I then attempted the hot and cold pools. The 40C pool was nice; I then tried the 20C one. Fuck was it cold, and fuck did I swear when I got in!

I avoided the massage with the large moustached man and set on my way. It is important to note that brill cream in Budapest is predominantly used on the moustache rather than the hair…but I digress…


CLUJ NAPOCA

Cluj-Napoca was a necessary stop in order for me to get to Brasov. I had no idea what to expect, but suspected I may be lynched by a mob of Gypsies who required a new iPod, camera and used tooth brush. What awaited me was not too dissimilar.

My first mistake, as I stumbled from the bus bleary eyed at 5am (again!), was to make eye contact with a stray dog. He (gender confirmed by the balls underneath) persisted to follow me down the street, nipping at my grimy (but fashionable) jeans. A swift kick (a gamble on my part) thankfully got rid of him. I finally got into town. As I passed a dumpster on the street, I was greeted by a rising dusty mop of human curls. A guy, rummaging through the bin was popping up for air, before diving back in for that elusive half eaten pizza.

I finally found my hostel, after being the subject of much local starring. I was able to check into my room straight away, an empty 16 bed dorm. After spending a good 2 hours decided the ergonomic and aesthetic points of each bed, I finally decided on one and went to bed (the one that allowed the sun to shine directly on my eyes, good one Mossy)

Cluj-Napoca was actually a blessing in disguise. A very colourful town, from buildings to the outfits of the Gypsies…who never got to my lint filled pockets in the end. The nightlife and bars were mighty fine here, and cheap. I had a night on the town with a random Belgium guy I met in the hostel, whose claim to fame was his one metre rats’ tail at the back of his head.



BRASOV

Next stop was the capital of Transylvania, Brasov. To get there, I had to catch a train for seven hours. This was quite an experience. To begin with, it was full of disfigured beggars. They would come into our cabins, wave their fingerless hands or open wounds in front of my face, and hold out their hand for payment. My reaction to this was to turn up the volume on my iPod, even though it was switched off.

My cabin on the train consisted of me, four 80 year olds, and a 20 year old, all Romanian. I spoke with them all, the older ones via the translation of the younger one. We covered such things as Romanian farming, the price of milk, and the weather (of course), and of course the amputee beggars. One old man cracked a joke to me, and it seemed to be the best he had even told, he was mighty proud. I gave him my best pretend laugh, but not sure it cut the mustard …it seemed to deserve more abs muscle in the laugh. It was great to talk to some locals though, even if I could not understand a word…all part of the experience!

Catching a train for such a long time makes for plenty of interesting observations. For one, you know everyone’s toilet patterns. Old Vladimir up the carriage was an ‘every ten minute man’, whilst Gheorge in my carriage (the joker) would have false alarms once an hour. He ate a whole chicken during the ride (a cooked chicken that is)

Romanian adherence to smoking on trains is quite a site. Smoking is of course illegal on the trains, but men will open the doors and hang on the outside of the moving train for a dart. When the train went in tunnels, plunging the carriages into blackness, an array of little red lights would suddenly appear, followed by the smell of burning tobacco…which quickly subsided once the tunnel became no more.

Brasov was a great place, in fact its slogan is “probably the best city in the world’, directly ripped off from Carlsberg (or vice verse…damn plagiarism). From Brasov I was able to visit Sighisoara, birthplace of Dracula! Whilst there, I visited the torture museum. It was a two metre square room with a ladder in it. Worth every cent…

The most interesting person I met was a dyslexic accountant at my hostel, who explained that he was currently out of work due to some health reasons…mixing his 2’s and 5’s up no doubt.

BUCHAREST

Last stop in Romania and boy what an absolute shithole. Bucharest is home to one million stray dogs, and is one of the dullest places known to man. The next paragrath will describe it to a tee.
(sound effect of wind blowing through trees now playing)………………………………………………

………………………….


Got it…good, you have pretty much been there yourself now! As soon as I arrived, I was shown to a dorm that may as well have been a sauna. It was at least 60C in there, and an older man was watching Lethal Weapon movies on his laptop whilst sitting on his bed in nothing but a towel. I literally RAN to the train station, and bought the first train ticket I could outta there….never go to Bucharest, lesson to you all peoples.


NEXT UP

Now I find myself in Varna, Bulgaria. I have managed to wind up with a job, and am living right on the beach. I will be dropping anchor here for a well earned summer. Varna is a whole other story, stay tuned for the scoop, coming to an inbox near you soon….all I need to say at this stage is I indirectly work for the Bulgarian mafia….


Mossy Out...

Bye Bye London....Hello Europe!

Alright There Peoples

Well, it has been a crazy few months since the last instalment. In a nutshell, I have been homeless, squatted, couch surfed, had a haircut, hostel hopped, unemployed, re-employed, did laundry, unemployed again, and now I am back on the road….it all goes a little something like this….

LONDON

I spent my last few weeks in London working at EMI Records. Amongst other things, this involved greatly building on my CD collection, picking up ‘choice’ Kiwi slang from colleagues....ay, driving a van around London solving mysteries/moving stuff, playing pool and/or table tennis and/or indoor cricket, discussing the pitfalls of being South African, stalking Joss Stone when she visited, viewing video security footage of Pete Doherty shooting up in the EMI car park after his visit, and getting drunk for 10 quid each Friday night at Weatherspoons (think the Tankerville in Melbourne) to round off the hectic week.

Once that job finished, I was officially Credit Crunched (sounds glamorous I know). So rather than use my savings to stay afloat in London, I jumped on a bus, and landed in…

AMSTERDAM

The overnight bus is hell on wheels, but it did secure another night of accommodation for me. With cramping in my neck and a lengthy session of rusty pins and needles, it qualified in my ‘Top 10 Worse Nights of Sleep’…probably slotting in at 4, right after the ‘Great Sleep in the Random Volvo' of 2002.

I was joined in Amsterdam by my friends Junior, Rachael and Emily, and we did all the usual tourist stuff, riding bikes around parks, paddling around the canals, chilling in coffee shops, eating pancakes and chips, *cough*goingtoasexshow*cou

gh*.....umm....oh! After a few drinks, and some dodgy (make that pitiful) karaoke from Junior, we decided to go check out the obligatory show for a laugh.

All of....us…………w………….....(sorry reminiscing to a bass and saxophone music backing, where was I…).

All of us were seconded onto the stage at various times, prior to “the couples show”. Then we were confronted with an Asian man (Hung Lo), wearing nothing but leather boots, having his way with a girl who appeared to lack a pulse. He did his ‘thrusting’ with hands placed on his hips; except for when he clicked and pointed “shotgun Pete” style at us (we had front row seats of course). He possibly winked at us as well; I didn’t notice…I was still getting over having to eat that banana on stage on the previous set…

BERLIN

The 12 hour bus ride to Berlin ranked in at Number 1, in my ‘Top 10 Worse Nights of Sleep’ ever, pushing the ‘Great Brunswick Street Oval Grandstand Sleep' of 2006 down to second. What better way to be welcomed in Germany, than by seeing two Mercedes Benz collide…that be a GOAL!

Berlin is a favourite city of mine. It is a relaxed, everyone is friendly, it’s a young population, and it has a sensational nightlife because of this.

It is a city of great culture, none greater than in my own hostel room. Let me familiarise you with the characters I shared a room with for two days…introducing:

Claude, from France. He was a mannequin in the room for several hours. Then (by the power of German Beer), with a great passion and much animation (and in very broken English), he suddenly decided to discuss the delights....well what ended up being Robot Sex. He even illustrated his arguments with physically demonstrations, showing how it (whatever ‘it’ is) works…

Marcel, a Brazilian, then entered the conversation to proudly boast that he lost his virginity to a
hooker, and he was very much looking forward to Thailand, where they are $5. He then proceeded to show us some pictures on facebook of some of these hookers. His next destination was Amsterdam….beware of the leather boots my friend…

Antonio, an American. He is a San Diego TV reporter and backup news anchor. Yep, he delivers news to millions of people (I requested video evidence as proof of course). Yet amazingly, as well as struggling to string a sentence together, my Kiwi room-mates had to explain to him what and where New Zealand was. Mal Walden would be turning in his grave...if they hadn't cryogenically frozen him so he'd keep turning up First at Five. And just in case you are wondering, News Anchors DO wear pants when reading the news…you heard it first!

Salvatore, an Italian, who, the next day when I walked in, was playing trumpet full blast hanging out the window whilst concurrently playing the ukulele in pinstripe pyjamas…including the hat with tassel….put these boys on a couch, and you’d be in a wealthy Psychiatrist.


Other highlights included a quick trip to Dresden, where an old lady coughed into my bratwurst, somehow ending up at a German house party, where we were surrounded by randoms practising English on us, and being begged by gypsies, punks (sex pistol style) and old accordion playing ladies with no teeth.



And of course a highlight was heading to a Bundesliga match (soccer for the sport illiterate) at the old Olympic Stadium, and where the World Cup (soccer for the sport illiterate) was two years ago. 70,000 Germans chanting and screaming (there was also some solid hissing) made for a sensational atmosphere…and unusually, after the game, the team sits in front of the fans to be praised or jeered…they won, so the praise flowed…as did my travels, to…












KRAKOW

I managed to sleep on this bus to Krakow, resulting in almost missing my change of coach. This would have left me stranded and getting grilled at the Russian border…lucky the driver remembered me and stopped a few minutes after we had left to wake me!

Poland is place very much stuck in the nineties. Apart from Peter Andre and Celine Dion dominating the airwaves, the 'undercut' still has a place in follicle fashion, and double-denim is everywhere you look. There is also the ‘couple’s denim’, which involves a Mens and Ladies version of the same outfit, for them to wear together concurrently. This seems to be an alternative to them having to wear a wedding ring; I can imagine getting on one knee to be a lot more complex here...

Ambulances whizz by sounding like there is a man inside playing a slide whistle for the siren, and rollerblading is very popular, even though no one seems to possess balance…getting caught in the tram tracks seems to be the signature move, kind of like watching an insect get caught in a web.

And bribing the parking inspector seems the norm, although having seen one man give an inspector the equivalent of $60; I am not too sure whether the bribe was that dissimilar to the fine…

By far the most important and moving thing so far on this trip, has been going to Auschwitz. Despite the hordes of tourist and school groups, there remains an eerie silence about the place. Not even the birds sing in the trees. Clear blue skies, and the sun shining, probably didn’t create the right effect, and why people insisted on getting their pictures in the gas chamber or next to the ‘human ovens’ is beyond me, but morons aside, it certainly puts things in perspective.......................................................................................................................)





Well the travels continue into Austria, now if you don’t mind, I am off for coffee and apple strudel…choice bro!



Mossy Out...