Blog 2007 06 01 Friday 01 June
Kotor
The changeable weather of an area carved by fiords, with soaring mountains plummeting to narrow bays at the mouth of the Adriatic was well evidenced again today. Despite an clear day earlier while showering and having our morning constitutional espresso at the JetSki café on the waterfront in Dobrota, a suburb of Kotor where we were staying.
I frankly preferred it here to the decidedly atmospheric, but touristy ‘Stari Grad’ (Old Town) of medieval Kotor; here we were just one of many people walking, having our morning café and talking, not cashed up tourists whom the touts for restaurants and pizzerias saw as walking dollar (or Euro dollar €) signs. I returned to our apartmenti to begin my irrigation while Bob set off in our hire car, a Fiat Panda with the tiniest turning circle to do some research for our stay.
After a visit to the local markets to buy some bread, tomatoes, and parsley for a simple but delicious lunch, as well as some vegetables for dinner, we drove along the coast around the bay formed by glaciers all those years ago. Just metres off the narrow main road was the village of Perast, distinguished by the two tiny islands off the shore each with churches or monestries on them. One was man made, curiously by villagers throwing rocks in the water on July 22 each year (why – I don’t know) over centuries.
Kotor
The changeable weather of an area carved by fiords, with soaring mountains plummeting to narrow bays at the mouth of the Adriatic was well evidenced again today. Despite an clear day earlier while showering and having our morning constitutional espresso at the JetSki café on the waterfront in Dobrota, a suburb of Kotor where we were staying.
I frankly preferred it here to the decidedly atmospheric, but touristy ‘Stari Grad’ (Old Town) of medieval Kotor; here we were just one of many people walking, having our morning café and talking, not cashed up tourists whom the touts for restaurants and pizzerias saw as walking dollar (or Euro dollar €) signs. I returned to our apartmenti to begin my irrigation while Bob set off in our hire car, a Fiat Panda with the tiniest turning circle to do some research for our stay.
After a visit to the local markets to buy some bread, tomatoes, and parsley for a simple but delicious lunch, as well as some vegetables for dinner, we drove along the coast around the bay formed by glaciers all those years ago. Just metres off the narrow main road was the village of Perast, distinguished by the two tiny islands off the shore each with churches or monestries on them. One was man made, curiously by villagers throwing rocks in the water on July 22 each year (why – I don’t know) over centuries.
Blog 2007 05 30 Wednesday 30 May 2007
Bar to Kotor, Montenegro
After arriving late at the port city of Bar, in Montenegro on the Adriatic we still had to find accommodation and beat the encroaching storm which was filling the sky with dramatic bolts of lightening. It was going to rain soon, and rain hard. Being a port city, there were not the huge numbers of people meeting the train touting their hotels for business as the train arrived. Taxi’s were keen to take us to our destination, although we had no destination, and hotels they suggested were all a long, long way out of town.
Seeking refuge in the doorway of a bar, Bob negotiated with a man to drive us to a nearby, basic hotel in his private car. Just as we got out the Volvo, the heavens opened up and we dashed to the entrance of the hotel 1) hoping that it was open; 2) there was a room available; and 3)
In a smoke filled lobby were two people watching television, and one was the receptionist who could give us a room for the night on the fourth floor. Lugging our bags up the stairs, lightening bolts still cracking across the sky I wasn’t able to see the plastic bonsai trees and scraggly looking plastic philodendrons used for decoration on the landings.
The room was basic, but cheap, and once Bob had placed a folded towel underneath his sheet to protect him from a wayward spring we were soon in bed for the night. It was after 11:30 and we needed sleep.
The mosquitoes bothered both of us during the night, but with no repacking to do, we quickly dressed and went to the most basic breakfast. There was only coffee with milk (I never have milk) or tea – which I initially refused, however found from tasting Bob’s that it was not black tea as we know it in Australia, but rather a pink tinged infusion with no taste to my blocked nose and sinuses, but a welcome warm drink of water.
Options were a slightly greasy omelette or nothing. I gave mine to Bob, and nibbled on some reasonable white bread. Without having had any much to eat yesterday on the train, I was hungry and in desperate need of a coffee. A real coffee.
But first we checked out (cash only, in Euros), and sought to get our bearings for the next stage of our adventure, a bus to the medieval walled town of Kotor.
The Bus to Kotor
The rain had suddenly started again, and I waited with the bags on the edge of a café (my pack still on my back) while Bob checked out where the bus stop was for the next bus to Kotor. Although we had nearly 30 minutes until it was due it was far from clear where we had to catch it from. Standing on the edge of the café, rather gallantly not ordering a quick espresso (so desperately needed with my swollen sinus’ and heavy head cold which was moving to my chest), I was once again the only female there – apart from the hotel receptionist, I was the only woman to be seen all day. All those staying in the hotel at breakfast (it was owned by the Bar Port Authority) were men, as were those having their morning espresso and cigarette, as were the phalanx of ‘workmen’ who were adapt at standing and discussing was industry could be undertaken (while having a cigarette) and the painters on the first three levels of the hotel, one in four of whom would be painting or applying stucco, cigarette in hand, while the others watched, no doubt provided advice, and had a compensatory cigarette as well.
The rain had eased by the time Bob reappeared, grabbing his bag (the handle still ripped from the encounter in Budapest making it very difficult to carry), and he spoke incoherently to me as he headed off across the wasteland. The bus was now due in about 6 minutes.
We found the shelter, comfortably attracting others also waiting for a bus. Positive responses to our questioning ¿Kotor? made us more comfortable. A persistent taxi driver kept offering to drive us, gradually reducing the price from €30 to €20. He was annoying me, and it just hardened my resolve to bus it. When it arrived, a smiling easy going guy grabbed our biggest bags to put them in the hold, and we boarded the Mercedes Benz with it’s large panoramic windows and found a pair of seats together. Much better than a taxi! When he came to collect our fare, it was a total of €7 for us both.
Before we had gone a kilometre we were stopped for ages – a good couple of cigarettes worth, as passengers got off in the rain and stood having a quick fag during the break – while waiting for roadworks. With the coast on our left, great windows giving amazing views of the sheer cliffs soaring away to our right and interesting people watching, I was so pleased that we were caught in this traffic jam on the bus rather than with an anxious taxi driver.
Over the 60 odd kilometres of the journey it was apparent how necessary any and all roadworks are to this area. The road was barely wide enough for one bus in any direction, with sheer cliffs to one side and often the sea on the other. This of course provided for spectacular views!
We stopped a couple of time, the bus now filling with men forced to stand. Along the route, a group of four elderly Germans got on near a stand of newish hotels, and further along the same stretch, an English family all lily white and excited with the adventure of catching a local bus.
They, along with the bulk of the passengers departed at the nearby centre of Budvar, while we continued along the route, much faster now, heading across a peninsula to Kotor.
We disembarked at the bus station, a short walk along the main road from the walls of the Old Town (Stari Grad). While Bob got his bearings, all I could think about was sitting down and having a coffee or six in an attempt to bring this headache under control. I reminded Bob of this as he sought to trundle off to find a hotel listed in the Lonely Planet guide.
Bar to Kotor, Montenegro
After arriving late at the port city of Bar, in Montenegro on the Adriatic we still had to find accommodation and beat the encroaching storm which was filling the sky with dramatic bolts of lightening. It was going to rain soon, and rain hard. Being a port city, there were not the huge numbers of people meeting the train touting their hotels for business as the train arrived. Taxi’s were keen to take us to our destination, although we had no destination, and hotels they suggested were all a long, long way out of town.
Seeking refuge in the doorway of a bar, Bob negotiated with a man to drive us to a nearby, basic hotel in his private car. Just as we got out the Volvo, the heavens opened up and we dashed to the entrance of the hotel 1) hoping that it was open; 2) there was a room available; and 3)
In a smoke filled lobby were two people watching television, and one was the receptionist who could give us a room for the night on the fourth floor. Lugging our bags up the stairs, lightening bolts still cracking across the sky I wasn’t able to see the plastic bonsai trees and scraggly looking plastic philodendrons used for decoration on the landings.
The room was basic, but cheap, and once Bob had placed a folded towel underneath his sheet to protect him from a wayward spring we were soon in bed for the night. It was after 11:30 and we needed sleep.
The mosquitoes bothered both of us during the night, but with no repacking to do, we quickly dressed and went to the most basic breakfast. There was only coffee with milk (I never have milk) or tea – which I initially refused, however found from tasting Bob’s that it was not black tea as we know it in Australia, but rather a pink tinged infusion with no taste to my blocked nose and sinuses, but a welcome warm drink of water.
Options were a slightly greasy omelette or nothing. I gave mine to Bob, and nibbled on some reasonable white bread. Without having had any much to eat yesterday on the train, I was hungry and in desperate need of a coffee. A real coffee.
But first we checked out (cash only, in Euros), and sought to get our bearings for the next stage of our adventure, a bus to the medieval walled town of Kotor.
The Bus to Kotor
The rain had suddenly started again, and I waited with the bags on the edge of a café (my pack still on my back) while Bob checked out where the bus stop was for the next bus to Kotor. Although we had nearly 30 minutes until it was due it was far from clear where we had to catch it from. Standing on the edge of the café, rather gallantly not ordering a quick espresso (so desperately needed with my swollen sinus’ and heavy head cold which was moving to my chest), I was once again the only female there – apart from the hotel receptionist, I was the only woman to be seen all day. All those staying in the hotel at breakfast (it was owned by the Bar Port Authority) were men, as were those having their morning espresso and cigarette, as were the phalanx of ‘workmen’ who were adapt at standing and discussing was industry could be undertaken (while having a cigarette) and the painters on the first three levels of the hotel, one in four of whom would be painting or applying stucco, cigarette in hand, while the others watched, no doubt provided advice, and had a compensatory cigarette as well.
The rain had eased by the time Bob reappeared, grabbing his bag (the handle still ripped from the encounter in Budapest making it very difficult to carry), and he spoke incoherently to me as he headed off across the wasteland. The bus was now due in about 6 minutes.
We found the shelter, comfortably attracting others also waiting for a bus. Positive responses to our questioning ¿Kotor? made us more comfortable. A persistent taxi driver kept offering to drive us, gradually reducing the price from €30 to €20. He was annoying me, and it just hardened my resolve to bus it. When it arrived, a smiling easy going guy grabbed our biggest bags to put them in the hold, and we boarded the Mercedes Benz with it’s large panoramic windows and found a pair of seats together. Much better than a taxi! When he came to collect our fare, it was a total of €7 for us both.
Before we had gone a kilometre we were stopped for ages – a good couple of cigarettes worth, as passengers got off in the rain and stood having a quick fag during the break – while waiting for roadworks. With the coast on our left, great windows giving amazing views of the sheer cliffs soaring away to our right and interesting people watching, I was so pleased that we were caught in this traffic jam on the bus rather than with an anxious taxi driver.
Over the 60 odd kilometres of the journey it was apparent how necessary any and all roadworks are to this area. The road was barely wide enough for one bus in any direction, with sheer cliffs to one side and often the sea on the other. This of course provided for spectacular views!
We stopped a couple of time, the bus now filling with men forced to stand. Along the route, a group of four elderly Germans got on near a stand of newish hotels, and further along the same stretch, an English family all lily white and excited with the adventure of catching a local bus.
They, along with the bulk of the passengers departed at the nearby centre of Budvar, while we continued along the route, much faster now, heading across a peninsula to Kotor.
We disembarked at the bus station, a short walk along the main road from the walls of the Old Town (Stari Grad). While Bob got his bearings, all I could think about was sitting down and having a coffee or six in an attempt to bring this headache under control. I reminded Bob of this as he sought to trundle off to find a hotel listed in the Lonely Planet guide.
Friday, 25 May 2007
It has become more difficult to keep up to date with the blogging as we are travelling around. I hope to be able to fill in the gaps when I have a chance.
Bob and I are now in Belgrade (Beograd), Serbia (Srbija), staying in the flat of Rad’s sister in a central part of the town. It is a huge change from the urbane western European style of Vienna and Budapest. We feel like we are a different, now Eastern European culture.
I had placed the toe of my foot tentatively on the seat in the train opposite for the first time for only seconds when a guard came around and remonstrated with me in gruff tones. I may not have understood what he said, however I certainly understood the meaning! Bob was out of the compartment and I fumbled around for quite a while attempting to find our tickets. The older man near the door I think told the guard that we were Australians (guileless), and on presenting my tickets the attitude seemed to change considerably.
A glimpse of Cyrillic script on a wall was the first indication that I had that we had left Hungary and had entered Serbia. The passport inspector quizzed me on how long we were staying, what are intentions were and where we were going after Belgrade. I am still unfamiliar with all the countries boundaries after the break-up of the former Republic of Yugoslavia, so muttered Croatia as our destination. Afterwards I realised of course that our next planned stops (Bar and Kotor) were in Montenegro.
Running a bit behind schedule, we passed through the names of towns and cities familiar to one from the war in the Balkans so recently, such as Novi Sad where our fellow cabin mate departed. Eventually we slowly reached the platform of Beograd where Rad’s brother-in-law, Nik was there to meet us. Now past nine pm, he hailed a cab and took us to the small but comfortable flat opposite the largest Orthodox Church in the world. Despite being built for over a century, it was still under construction. It’s large, dominant dome provided us with a ready landmark to identify our location at any time.
It was late and we took our leave and went to bed.
Saturday, 26 May
I had developed a cold, no doubt exacerbated by the propensity of others to smoke both in Hungary and locally. Mili and Nik came around at the appointed time, 10:00am in the morning, and Nik and Bob went off exploring the ‘green’ market nearby while Mili and I chatted. As she had been an English teacher, there was not confusion in communicating, although I am always embarrassed at my poor language skills and inability to speak the local tongue.
When the lads returned, Bob was like a little boy in his excitement at what he saw, and some of the things he bought at the market. He had a bag overflowing with baby spinach leaves which he bought for around dinar; a full kilo of large red strawberries ( dinar); some smoked meat; a loaf of rye bread. It was the cheese pavilion, with row after row of fresh cheese that excited him most and he was keen for me to go back to and experience this too.
First, we had some bureaucratic business to attend to. We were required to register with the police within 24 hours in order to get an exit permit to leave the country (quite a good idea). However, nothing was quite this simple, nor ever quick. We had three visits to two different police stations over the course of the day, and still have to return to tell them that we are leaving.
The kindness of some people was wonderfully displayed by the actions of a barista in a small café we went into near the main police station. Although his fine looking espresso machine was kaput, he made us good, Turkish coffee and delivered to us some small, rich chocolately treats gratis as
It has become more difficult to keep up to date with the blogging as we are travelling around. I hope to be able to fill in the gaps when I have a chance.
Bob and I are now in Belgrade (Beograd), Serbia (Srbija), staying in the flat of Rad’s sister in a central part of the town. It is a huge change from the urbane western European style of Vienna and Budapest. We feel like we are a different, now Eastern European culture.
I had placed the toe of my foot tentatively on the seat in the train opposite for the first time for only seconds when a guard came around and remonstrated with me in gruff tones. I may not have understood what he said, however I certainly understood the meaning! Bob was out of the compartment and I fumbled around for quite a while attempting to find our tickets. The older man near the door I think told the guard that we were Australians (guileless), and on presenting my tickets the attitude seemed to change considerably.
A glimpse of Cyrillic script on a wall was the first indication that I had that we had left Hungary and had entered Serbia. The passport inspector quizzed me on how long we were staying, what are intentions were and where we were going after Belgrade. I am still unfamiliar with all the countries boundaries after the break-up of the former Republic of Yugoslavia, so muttered Croatia as our destination. Afterwards I realised of course that our next planned stops (Bar and Kotor) were in Montenegro.
Running a bit behind schedule, we passed through the names of towns and cities familiar to one from the war in the Balkans so recently, such as Novi Sad where our fellow cabin mate departed. Eventually we slowly reached the platform of Beograd where Rad’s brother-in-law, Nik was there to meet us. Now past nine pm, he hailed a cab and took us to the small but comfortable flat opposite the largest Orthodox Church in the world. Despite being built for over a century, it was still under construction. It’s large, dominant dome provided us with a ready landmark to identify our location at any time.
It was late and we took our leave and went to bed.
Saturday, 26 May
I had developed a cold, no doubt exacerbated by the propensity of others to smoke both in Hungary and locally. Mili and Nik came around at the appointed time, 10:00am in the morning, and Nik and Bob went off exploring the ‘green’ market nearby while Mili and I chatted. As she had been an English teacher, there was not confusion in communicating, although I am always embarrassed at my poor language skills and inability to speak the local tongue.
When the lads returned, Bob was like a little boy in his excitement at what he saw, and some of the things he bought at the market. He had a bag overflowing with baby spinach leaves which he bought for around dinar; a full kilo of large red strawberries ( dinar); some smoked meat; a loaf of rye bread. It was the cheese pavilion, with row after row of fresh cheese that excited him most and he was keen for me to go back to and experience this too.
First, we had some bureaucratic business to attend to. We were required to register with the police within 24 hours in order to get an exit permit to leave the country (quite a good idea). However, nothing was quite this simple, nor ever quick. We had three visits to two different police stations over the course of the day, and still have to return to tell them that we are leaving.
The kindness of some people was wonderfully displayed by the actions of a barista in a small café we went into near the main police station. Although his fine looking espresso machine was kaput, he made us good, Turkish coffee and delivered to us some small, rich chocolately treats gratis as
Friday, 25 May 2007
It has become more difficult to keep up to date with the blogging as we are travelling around. I hope to be able to fill in the gaps when I have a chance.
Bob and I are now in Belgrade (Beograd), Serbia (Srbija), staying in the flat of Rad’s sister in a central part of the town. It is a huge change from the urbane western European style of Vienna and Budapest. We feel like we are a different, now Eastern European culture.
I had placed the toe of my foot tentatively on the seat in the train opposite for the first time for only seconds when a guard came around and remonstrated with me in gruff tones. I may not have understood what he said, however I certainly understood the meaning! Bob was out of the compartment and I fumbled around for quite a while attempting to find our tickets. The older man near the door I think told the guard that we were Australians (guileless), and on presenting my tickets the attitude seemed to change considerably.
A glimpse of Cyrillic script on a wall was the first indication that I had that we had left Hungary and had entered Serbia. The passport inspector quizzed me on how long we were staying, what are intentions were and where we were going after Belgrade. I am still unfamiliar with all the countries boundaries after the break-up of the former Republic of Yugoslavia, so muttered Croatia as our destination. Afterwards I realised of course that our next planned stops (Bar and Kotor) were in Montenegro.
Running a bit behind schedule, we passed through the names of towns and cities familiar to one from the war in the Balkans so recently, such as Novi Sad where our fellow cabin mate departed. Eventually we slowly reached the platform of Beograd where Rad’s brother-in-law, Nik was there to meet us. Now past nine pm, he hailed a cab and took us to the small but comfortable flat opposite the largest Orthodox Church in the world. Despite being built for over a century, it was still under construction. It’s large, dominant dome provided us with a ready landmark to identify our location at any time.
It was late and we took our leave and went to bed.
Saturday, 26 May
I had developed a cold, no doubt exacerbated by the propensity of others to smoke both in Hungary and locally. Mili and Nik came around at the appointed time, 10:00am in the morning, and Nik and Bob went off exploring the ‘green’ market nearby while Mili and I chatted. As she had been an English teacher, there was not confusion in communicating, although I am always embarrassed at my poor language skills and inability to speak the local tongue.
When the lads returned, Bob was like a little boy in his excitement at what he saw, and some of the things he bought at the market. He had a bag overflowing with baby spinach leaves which he bought for around dinar; a full kilo of large red strawberries ( dinar); some smoked meat; a loaf of rye bread. It was the cheese pavilion, with row after row of fresh cheese that excited him most and he was keen for me to go back to and experience this too.
First, we had some bureaucratic business to attend to. We were required to register with the police within 24 hours in order to get an exit permit to leave the country (quite a good idea). However, nothing was quite this simple, nor ever quick. We had three visits to two different police stations over the course of the day, and still have to return to tell them that we are leaving.
The kindness of some people was wonderfully displayed by the actions of a barista in a small café we went into near the main police station. Although his fine looking espresso machine was kaput, he made us good, Turkish coffee and delivered to us some small, rich chocolately treats gratis as his gift to us.
Football Hooligans
I had made a simple meal for us with items we had bought from the local market that afternoon – a length of spicy salami, some fresh egg noodles (described as the best in Belgrade – they were expensive, but people were seeking out her tiny stall); mushrooms; a wine bottle filled with fresh passata – crushed tomatoes and of course, the huge quantity of baby spinach leaves. Even if I do say so myself, it was pretty damn fine!
I crashed and left Bob to wash up, my sinuses pounding, but before he had a chance the cracks of thunder in the sky sounded distinctly different, like riffle shots. Bob grabbed his camera and left to see what was happening, while I tried to shut my eyes and seek relief to the pain through sleep.
The noises continued, although I found that I had slept and woke with a start when I realised that I had slept (I had no idea of what time it was now, nor what time it was when Bob disappeared through the door with a cheery “won’t be long”). Now I was starting to get worried when I realised that he hadn’t returned, and that some time must have passed.
That afternoon, we were stunned to see lines of riot police establishing themselves along the route that we were walking from our apartment to the police station (and the train station next door). They were kitted out in full regalia – body armour, helmets, riot shields and lethal looking batons. Given that it most had the build of a 6’5” gridiron line backer to boot, they presented an intimidating sight. A small band of teenage supporters of the local team ‘Red Star’ were escorted by no less than 3 police vans full of police as they made their way up the boulevard to the football stadium. There would have been 40 at the most, all lanky and pimply, in fine voice, but far outstripped by their escort let alone the gladiators who lined the route.
It seemed apparent that now the match had been played and Bob had gone out to witness the fans returning from the match. The noise which had alerted me earlier and sent Bob scurrying from the apartment had gone now, but where was Bob? I tried to dispel thoughts from my head of him being passed around a crowd of football supporters fuelled by larges quantities of Pivo (beer) and used as a ball for practice.
I continued to lie in bed, although nervously noted that there was nothing I could do.
He did return, in one piece, and largely avoided being caught in the worst of the melee. He took some photos, and some very atmospheric video with the camera, although had got lost, or at least disoriented as he followed the mob of supporters down to the town centre. He was now full of respect for the riot policeja who managed to prevent a riot among the very boisterous fans. Having left without money or a map, it took some time for him to find his way home. I slept, but not well.
Sunday, 27 May
Apparently my snoring was rocking the foundations last night, even though I was in a bed made up on the sofa in the lounge and Bob was a few feet of concrete away. My head was not happy, and it was going to be a slow day. Bob did not sleep well either, given my thunderous breathing.
It was certainly harder to breathe here in Belgrade than in Canberra. Undoubtedly there was more vehicular pollution, but it was the density of the cigarette smoke that really affected me. The first acknowledgement that one was in a café or restaurant was the instant provision of a clean ashtray for your use. Everyone smoked. It hung in the air like a thick, impeneratable cloud.
No running therefore for either of us, however in the afternoon we had a delightful guided tour through the park-like surrounds of the Citadel, a crowning maze of fortifications overlooking the confluence of the Danube and Sava Rivers. Here one could see the thick green reserves of the island in the Danube which was preserved as a bird refuge, and the welcome green forests on the northern bank and in sections of Novi Beograd or New Belgrade. There were many people out enjoying themselves on a Sunday afternoon doing just as we were, contemplating the views, or enjoying an impromptu get-together of Bosnian dancing and music in a square.
With rain threatening, we headed out of the old fortified walls of the citadel and up through streets in which were a raft of interesting restaurants such as ? and the similarly named ‘Que Pasa’. In light drops of rain we walked down a pedestrian mall, lined with shops and full of people on a Sunday evening walking, buying ice creams and catching up with friends. We decided to join them and have a warming café (for me) and a pivo (beer) for Bob under the ubiquitous red and white shade of Coca Cola and Coca Cola Light Umbrellas. The service was kind, helpful and unhassling.
We caught a trolley bus home and ended up looking around for something simple for dinner. I attempted to turn some packet soups into a meal with the leftovers we had in the house, while Bob went in search of a take away. I was rather pleased with myself when I succeeded in producing two substantial, but different soups with the few ingredients I could pull together and attempted to send Bob a text message. I knew that I didn’t have enough credit to phone him with my Hungarian SIM card, but thought that a text might get through. It did, as I heard the familiar chirp of Bob’s phone in the room next to me.
He returned, with a local pizza which was surprising good, with little cheese and not over topped in the American/Australian style. It was quite ‘Italian’ in this sense, and not a bad meal at all. The soup would have to wait. I covered the pots and put them in the tiny refrigerator for another time.
It has become more difficult to keep up to date with the blogging as we are travelling around. I hope to be able to fill in the gaps when I have a chance.
Bob and I are now in Belgrade (Beograd), Serbia (Srbija), staying in the flat of Rad’s sister in a central part of the town. It is a huge change from the urbane western European style of Vienna and Budapest. We feel like we are a different, now Eastern European culture.
I had placed the toe of my foot tentatively on the seat in the train opposite for the first time for only seconds when a guard came around and remonstrated with me in gruff tones. I may not have understood what he said, however I certainly understood the meaning! Bob was out of the compartment and I fumbled around for quite a while attempting to find our tickets. The older man near the door I think told the guard that we were Australians (guileless), and on presenting my tickets the attitude seemed to change considerably.
A glimpse of Cyrillic script on a wall was the first indication that I had that we had left Hungary and had entered Serbia. The passport inspector quizzed me on how long we were staying, what are intentions were and where we were going after Belgrade. I am still unfamiliar with all the countries boundaries after the break-up of the former Republic of Yugoslavia, so muttered Croatia as our destination. Afterwards I realised of course that our next planned stops (Bar and Kotor) were in Montenegro.
Running a bit behind schedule, we passed through the names of towns and cities familiar to one from the war in the Balkans so recently, such as Novi Sad where our fellow cabin mate departed. Eventually we slowly reached the platform of Beograd where Rad’s brother-in-law, Nik was there to meet us. Now past nine pm, he hailed a cab and took us to the small but comfortable flat opposite the largest Orthodox Church in the world. Despite being built for over a century, it was still under construction. It’s large, dominant dome provided us with a ready landmark to identify our location at any time.
It was late and we took our leave and went to bed.
Saturday, 26 May
I had developed a cold, no doubt exacerbated by the propensity of others to smoke both in Hungary and locally. Mili and Nik came around at the appointed time, 10:00am in the morning, and Nik and Bob went off exploring the ‘green’ market nearby while Mili and I chatted. As she had been an English teacher, there was not confusion in communicating, although I am always embarrassed at my poor language skills and inability to speak the local tongue.
When the lads returned, Bob was like a little boy in his excitement at what he saw, and some of the things he bought at the market. He had a bag overflowing with baby spinach leaves which he bought for around dinar; a full kilo of large red strawberries ( dinar); some smoked meat; a loaf of rye bread. It was the cheese pavilion, with row after row of fresh cheese that excited him most and he was keen for me to go back to and experience this too.
First, we had some bureaucratic business to attend to. We were required to register with the police within 24 hours in order to get an exit permit to leave the country (quite a good idea). However, nothing was quite this simple, nor ever quick. We had three visits to two different police stations over the course of the day, and still have to return to tell them that we are leaving.
The kindness of some people was wonderfully displayed by the actions of a barista in a small café we went into near the main police station. Although his fine looking espresso machine was kaput, he made us good, Turkish coffee and delivered to us some small, rich chocolately treats gratis as his gift to us.
Football Hooligans
I had made a simple meal for us with items we had bought from the local market that afternoon – a length of spicy salami, some fresh egg noodles (described as the best in Belgrade – they were expensive, but people were seeking out her tiny stall); mushrooms; a wine bottle filled with fresh passata – crushed tomatoes and of course, the huge quantity of baby spinach leaves. Even if I do say so myself, it was pretty damn fine!
I crashed and left Bob to wash up, my sinuses pounding, but before he had a chance the cracks of thunder in the sky sounded distinctly different, like riffle shots. Bob grabbed his camera and left to see what was happening, while I tried to shut my eyes and seek relief to the pain through sleep.
The noises continued, although I found that I had slept and woke with a start when I realised that I had slept (I had no idea of what time it was now, nor what time it was when Bob disappeared through the door with a cheery “won’t be long”). Now I was starting to get worried when I realised that he hadn’t returned, and that some time must have passed.
That afternoon, we were stunned to see lines of riot police establishing themselves along the route that we were walking from our apartment to the police station (and the train station next door). They were kitted out in full regalia – body armour, helmets, riot shields and lethal looking batons. Given that it most had the build of a 6’5” gridiron line backer to boot, they presented an intimidating sight. A small band of teenage supporters of the local team ‘Red Star’ were escorted by no less than 3 police vans full of police as they made their way up the boulevard to the football stadium. There would have been 40 at the most, all lanky and pimply, in fine voice, but far outstripped by their escort let alone the gladiators who lined the route.
It seemed apparent that now the match had been played and Bob had gone out to witness the fans returning from the match. The noise which had alerted me earlier and sent Bob scurrying from the apartment had gone now, but where was Bob? I tried to dispel thoughts from my head of him being passed around a crowd of football supporters fuelled by larges quantities of Pivo (beer) and used as a ball for practice.
I continued to lie in bed, although nervously noted that there was nothing I could do.
He did return, in one piece, and largely avoided being caught in the worst of the melee. He took some photos, and some very atmospheric video with the camera, although had got lost, or at least disoriented as he followed the mob of supporters down to the town centre. He was now full of respect for the riot policeja who managed to prevent a riot among the very boisterous fans. Having left without money or a map, it took some time for him to find his way home. I slept, but not well.
Sunday, 27 May
Apparently my snoring was rocking the foundations last night, even though I was in a bed made up on the sofa in the lounge and Bob was a few feet of concrete away. My head was not happy, and it was going to be a slow day. Bob did not sleep well either, given my thunderous breathing.
It was certainly harder to breathe here in Belgrade than in Canberra. Undoubtedly there was more vehicular pollution, but it was the density of the cigarette smoke that really affected me. The first acknowledgement that one was in a café or restaurant was the instant provision of a clean ashtray for your use. Everyone smoked. It hung in the air like a thick, impeneratable cloud.
No running therefore for either of us, however in the afternoon we had a delightful guided tour through the park-like surrounds of the Citadel, a crowning maze of fortifications overlooking the confluence of the Danube and Sava Rivers. Here one could see the thick green reserves of the island in the Danube which was preserved as a bird refuge, and the welcome green forests on the northern bank and in sections of Novi Beograd or New Belgrade. There were many people out enjoying themselves on a Sunday afternoon doing just as we were, contemplating the views, or enjoying an impromptu get-together of Bosnian dancing and music in a square.
With rain threatening, we headed out of the old fortified walls of the citadel and up through streets in which were a raft of interesting restaurants such as ? and the similarly named ‘Que Pasa’. In light drops of rain we walked down a pedestrian mall, lined with shops and full of people on a Sunday evening walking, buying ice creams and catching up with friends. We decided to join them and have a warming café (for me) and a pivo (beer) for Bob under the ubiquitous red and white shade of Coca Cola and Coca Cola Light Umbrellas. The service was kind, helpful and unhassling.
We caught a trolley bus home and ended up looking around for something simple for dinner. I attempted to turn some packet soups into a meal with the leftovers we had in the house, while Bob went in search of a take away. I was rather pleased with myself when I succeeded in producing two substantial, but different soups with the few ingredients I could pull together and attempted to send Bob a text message. I knew that I didn’t have enough credit to phone him with my Hungarian SIM card, but thought that a text might get through. It did, as I heard the familiar chirp of Bob’s phone in the room next to me.
He returned, with a local pizza which was surprising good, with little cheese and not over topped in the American/Australian style. It was quite ‘Italian’ in this sense, and not a bad meal at all. The soup would have to wait. I covered the pots and put them in the tiny refrigerator for another time.
Blog 2007 05 23 Wednesday 23 May 2007
Dateline: Budapest
The more travel one does, the more one realises how people are the same the world over.
After Bob’s exciting Bronze Medal finish on Sunday, you’d expect that I’d be the one jumping out of my skin and Bob would be completely whacked. Instead, while he attended an after race party for a short time, I left with Rad and Caroline after their medal presentation and crashed for a very unrewarding, disturbed nights sleep.
My sleep was painful – strong headaches and apparently extremely loud snoring that kept Bob awake, and him constantly shaking me to turn me over during the night. Although neither of us slept well, Bob was certainly in a better state than I was, and we had a long day ahead of us.
With much pushing and shoving, we consolidated most of our stuff into 4 bags – a large and a small daypack for me, and a backpack and holdall (Cancun Triathlon World Championships) for Bob. The bike was packed in a Box, and the rest of the race and cycling gear in my ‘big’ diving bag.
We crammed into a Taxi for the one and a half kilometre journey to the train station, somehow managed to man handle our stuff to the concourse to buy tickets to Vienna, and then onto the crowded platform.
Among the crowds were our friends from Adelaide about to embark on the second part of their adventure; hiring a car in Vienna and driving to Ljubijana. The train was packed, and we somehow managed to fit a couple of bikes and the bulk of the bags in a 6 seater compartment. There was no room for people however.
As usual, the train journey from Hungary to Austria was smooth, fast and uneventful. We bid our farewells and dispersed at Westbahnhof (West Railway Station); seeking tickets to our next destination, backtracking along the same line to Győr and thence to Budapest. First, we had to find the Hotel Kolbeck in Vienna, and dump our bike and the diving bag until our return in a few weeks. A professional, helpful taxi driver was able to get us there, for a fare of €9.70. I gave him 12 and we met the charming owner of the hotel, who struggled to find a place for our gear with good humour. I’m sure that we shall enjoy staying here, on Rad’s suggestion.
The next stage was to hot foot it back to Westbahnhof within 40 minutes to catch the next available train to Budapest. No taxi could respond to our entreaties to hail them as we walked down the main drag, and when we had the rail lines of Sudbahnhof (South Railway Station) in our sights, decided to catch an underground train, knowing that we were to change lines along the way. The time was ticking over.
The trains were a perfect example of Austrian cleanliness and efficiency, and we negotiated the line change without problem with barely enough time to board the intercity before its due departure time. A copy of the IHT (International Herald Tribune newspaper) and a few over priced bottles of water were all we could get on our dash to the platform.
Smoking and non-smoking carriages are mixed up, so the rench of smoke permeates all areas unless the doors are well secured. We found a non-smoking carriage with just one other woman, and sat down with seconds to spare. However we were not greeted by the immediate chuff chuff of our journey eastward. An announcement later advised that it would be delayed for technical reasons. We left before too long, and it was apparent that the technical problem was that the air-conditioning wasn’t working, however schedules required them to get underway nevertheless. It was stifling in the carriage, although the cigarette smoke was so bad that we had to keep the door of the tiny little cubical tightly secured.
We enjoyed a comfortable silent company with our fellow carriage member, until will became closer to Budapest when we struck up a great conversation. Eva spoke fluent English, as well as german, Czech, Swedish and her native Hungarian. Among other things, we found that she was also born in 1947 and was the same age as Bob, although she looked a good 2 age groups younger!
Dateline: Budapest
The more travel one does, the more one realises how people are the same the world over.
After Bob’s exciting Bronze Medal finish on Sunday, you’d expect that I’d be the one jumping out of my skin and Bob would be completely whacked. Instead, while he attended an after race party for a short time, I left with Rad and Caroline after their medal presentation and crashed for a very unrewarding, disturbed nights sleep.
My sleep was painful – strong headaches and apparently extremely loud snoring that kept Bob awake, and him constantly shaking me to turn me over during the night. Although neither of us slept well, Bob was certainly in a better state than I was, and we had a long day ahead of us.
With much pushing and shoving, we consolidated most of our stuff into 4 bags – a large and a small daypack for me, and a backpack and holdall (Cancun Triathlon World Championships) for Bob. The bike was packed in a Box, and the rest of the race and cycling gear in my ‘big’ diving bag.
We crammed into a Taxi for the one and a half kilometre journey to the train station, somehow managed to man handle our stuff to the concourse to buy tickets to Vienna, and then onto the crowded platform.
Among the crowds were our friends from Adelaide about to embark on the second part of their adventure; hiring a car in Vienna and driving to Ljubijana. The train was packed, and we somehow managed to fit a couple of bikes and the bulk of the bags in a 6 seater compartment. There was no room for people however.
As usual, the train journey from Hungary to Austria was smooth, fast and uneventful. We bid our farewells and dispersed at Westbahnhof (West Railway Station); seeking tickets to our next destination, backtracking along the same line to Győr and thence to Budapest. First, we had to find the Hotel Kolbeck in Vienna, and dump our bike and the diving bag until our return in a few weeks. A professional, helpful taxi driver was able to get us there, for a fare of €9.70. I gave him 12 and we met the charming owner of the hotel, who struggled to find a place for our gear with good humour. I’m sure that we shall enjoy staying here, on Rad’s suggestion.
The next stage was to hot foot it back to Westbahnhof within 40 minutes to catch the next available train to Budapest. No taxi could respond to our entreaties to hail them as we walked down the main drag, and when we had the rail lines of Sudbahnhof (South Railway Station) in our sights, decided to catch an underground train, knowing that we were to change lines along the way. The time was ticking over.
The trains were a perfect example of Austrian cleanliness and efficiency, and we negotiated the line change without problem with barely enough time to board the intercity before its due departure time. A copy of the IHT (International Herald Tribune newspaper) and a few over priced bottles of water were all we could get on our dash to the platform.
Smoking and non-smoking carriages are mixed up, so the rench of smoke permeates all areas unless the doors are well secured. We found a non-smoking carriage with just one other woman, and sat down with seconds to spare. However we were not greeted by the immediate chuff chuff of our journey eastward. An announcement later advised that it would be delayed for technical reasons. We left before too long, and it was apparent that the technical problem was that the air-conditioning wasn’t working, however schedules required them to get underway nevertheless. It was stifling in the carriage, although the cigarette smoke was so bad that we had to keep the door of the tiny little cubical tightly secured.
We enjoyed a comfortable silent company with our fellow carriage member, until will became closer to Budapest when we struck up a great conversation. Eva spoke fluent English, as well as german, Czech, Swedish and her native Hungarian. Among other things, we found that she was also born in 1947 and was the same age as Bob, although she looked a good 2 age groups younger!
Things are rather complicated here at Race Central in Gyor, Hungary. Confusion reigns, as last minute tribulations in registration result in the Australian Team being (finally) recognised, and them collecting their race packs consisting of a collection of sticky numbers without instructions, a pair of thongs (one size fits few), a couple of over sweet not-very muesli bars, and a giant can of beer.
The juniors who raced earlier today indicated that their sprint distance race was extremely short on all legs, resulting in universal PB's and a sprinkling of World Class performances (circa 13 minutes for 5km).
Despite the prevalence of litter, apparently draconian litter laws shall mean that any odd gel packets or whatever left to fly off the bike or on the run shall result in instant disqualification. There are only 3 waves for all the age group athletes; men under 45; men 45-80+; and women. The start line is apparently a very narrow roadway, so those starting the run will be 50 or more deep as the gun goes. It will be bedlam.
With five tight U-Turns in each of the 3 bike laps it shall be fun - despite ITU (International Triathlon Union) laws specifying that drafting violations shall incur a "yellow card" penalty for the first offence, the locals have indicated that any drafting shall also result in automatic disqualification. Given the size of the fields (for example, there are 36 entrants in Bob's M60 Age Group alone, and an incredible 7 in Rad's M80 Age Group).
Tonight the Australians met in dribs and drabs at the curiously named "Captain Drake's Pub", our favourite coffee stop on the island in the Raba River next to the thermal pools. We ate early, with Bob and I sharing once more 2 dishes of the simplest spaghetti with chilli and garlic; fusilli with chicken and pesto; and tuscan grilled vegetables.
I escorted Rad and Caroline back to the hotel for another of the quirky local race requirements. The bike check in is tonight from 8:15 to a boggling 10:00pm. Another compulsory check in is required tomorrow at 7:45am, and then the competitors must be 'penned' together before their race. The young fellas go first, then the over 45 year old men at 9:45pm, with the women not starting until 11:00am.
Most people are leaving first thing on Monday morning, to head off to further travels, or return home. I hope that everything goes fairly smoothly.
Well may you call me strange (go on, admit it, I know that you do), but I keep having the uncanny feeling that I am in Bondi Junction as the Hungarian matriarchs parade around the streets in their tailored suits, pointy toes and high heeled shoes, and big, big coiffured hair.Many also have that essential fashion accessory with them, the small white fluffy dog.
In Gyor, there are a few things one doesn't need to be more than a hundred metres from - a solarium and a denist. If one feels the need for an emergency sun tan or some bridge work, do not fear! A Dentist laboratory in the hotel, as well as at regular intervals down eac side street and alley. Apparently dental tourism from Austria is pretty big here.
The solarium is a little harder to fathom, especially when they advertise themselves as "London Sun"."
Now that the town has become Duathlon Central, I find that I am very intolerant of others, because of their intolerance of the local customs. The ironry of this doesn't escape me. Some of the young Australian guys are great - Aki, you must get into Triathlons, and on that bike! - but many of the elder partners and Canadians (who share our hotel) indicate not just an ignorance (my god, there are different power plugs, they don't accept US dollars, not everyone speaks English, even if you repeat the same words loudly and yell!), but an intolerance of those who are different to themselves or what they are used to.
I
Monday was a pleasant, fairly gentle day. I was so excited to see Rad, concerned about him arriving safely and well after a mammoth journey, difficult for anyone, but especially concerning for a 79 year old with a heavy cold.
Bob and I had found increasingly good food over the course of our journey - the meal on the first night next to the theatre was made from frozen food and vegetables, some still with the icy crunch.
A Spanish - style restaurant nearby on Saturday was quirky, however our dishes of paella de la casa (with chorizo and ham) and a platter of the house - a huge chunk of grilled pork, vegetables and a strange uncooked taco shell with Hungarian style salad filling (sweet creamy dressing drowning melange of cucumber dominated vegetables) was surprisingly good. A salad bar at the terrace in the back provided a welcome selection of fresh and pickled vegies that we so needed.
One surprise was the 20% surcharge for the music - hopefully only on Saturday night, as a small band of guitar playing singers serenaded the diners. Although the music was cheesey "Spanish style" standards, I thought that they were pretty good, and didn't mind in the circumstances in paying the premium. We thought that we would certainly go there again to escape the heavily cream and fat dominated dishes elsewhere in town.
By Sunday we were both tired and too buggered to go to far. A pizza in the room would have done us - Aki certainly understands the significance of that! We ate in the hotel restaurant, finding a couple of vegetarian pasta dishes on the menu worth trying. As usual the service was exceptional, although we had some difficulty in communicating - resorting to 'Bitte' and 'Danke' for most things. After an 'amuse de chef' dish of a chicken (poultry anyway) terrine and some leaf salad, Bob's main pasta course arrived of handmade ropes of pasta in a thick, heavy cream sauce with porcini mushrooms. He thought that it tasted good, although was pretty light on the carbs and heavy on the fat. A Vitamin Salad (mixed green) helped a little.
I had ordered 'potato ravioli' and half expected a gnocchi type dish. Instead, on a bed of mixed greens were half a dozen handmade parcels of what must have been potato pastry, folded over a finely cut mixture of mushrooms, and then fried. It was very reminiscent of a russian polish style of piroschi - pastry rather than pasta. Again very light on the carbs but quite tasty. We were still searching for somewhere for the guys to have a decent feed the night before the race.
We struck pay dirt the next night, dining with a couple of guys from Mildura. Bob and I had had coffee and water here twice and were struck by the fantastic service and pleasant setting on a l island in the local river the Raba, next to the thermal baths.The extensive menu (around 100 items) included a range of pasta and that international dish, pizza. Bob and I ordered a simple dish of spagetti with olive olil, garlic and chilli, a plate of tuscan grilled vegetables and fusilli with tomato sauce to try. Millsy opeted for the lasagne with salmon and spinach, whilst Wellsy went for a pizza.
Another surprise was that the pizza actually looked pretty good and almoost healthy - certainly, more healthy than most of the food available locally. Very light on the cheese, Chris had inadvertantly ordered something of an "Aussie" pizza with eggs and cured meat, but it looked rather good.
Millsy's lasagne dish was not drowned in a thick cream or cheese sauce, but instad had a ring of light bechamel around the outside, and a chunk of real salmon steak inside. The prices were reasonable, the setting spectacular and the service unknown in Australia. We quickly decided to book for an arbitary twelve people on Saturday night.
Back at the hotel, Rad had just arrived, neither looking too tired nor ill after his long journey. I was so pleased to see him, and he suggested a day trip to Vienna the next day. I was pleased to accept and we met for a short run first around the precincts of the town for them to get their bearings first.
It's the land of milk and honey - no, make that coffee and chocolates!
And guess what? I had just one of the former and none of the later!
The weather Gods weren't smiling on us, and a motley bunch led by Rad made our way to the Gyori Railway Station for a day trip to Vienna. By the time one of party got some cash (he had no access to an ATM, and we found the correct booth in which to buy the tickets (3,061 HUF for a day return - approximately$20 AUD), we found our way to the platform to wait for the 10:38am. Well, almost! The platform was, as Monty Python so eloquently put it, an -ex-parrot. We weren't going to go anywhere a from this pile of rubble.
We waited on the adjacent platform, and hoped that all was correct as the most spunky railway guard put her cap jauntily on her head and waved the trains away. After seemingly unseasonably hot and humid weather, it changed as we walked down to the railroad, and on the line to Vienna, to a cold, blowy, and ultimately, wet day. None of us had sufficient clothes to either keep warm, or dry. We arrived in Stephenplatz around 12:30pm, and I was struck by the sophisticated, cosmopolitan nature of the people. We split up briefly, while CC and I explored the most magnificent Viennese delicatessen and cafe, whilst walking around the buildings and Cathedrals.
[edit: Miss, the dog ate my blog. Most of the Sunday in Hungary, and then this. Drat]
Unfortunatley, it was an increasingly cold and windy day, with rain which made it difficult to see too much. We did a couple of circuits on a trolleys around the Ring, gawking at the museums and palaces which had a scale and majesty that I could not have imagined. Thankfully, Bob and I shall be returning for around 5-6 days in June before we depart back to Australia and shall get to know it much better.
Missing the second last train (17:52) from the Westbahnhof, I sort to warm up in the Shopping concourse by studying maps and newspapers. I bought a map of Belgrade city district and one for Budapest - our next destination after the race.
I had the most glorious run on Sunday, heading up river eastward following a collection of cobbled paths, overgrown goat tracks and riverside cycle and walking paths.
Whereas I turned west when I got to the River on Saturday, I headed eastward today moving through town on the cobbled streets and past the market district. Sunday seemed as though it was a dance, or else a strict secular adhesion to meeting one's friends at the numerous local bars and drinking large steins of the local brew.
It is generally difficult to raise a smile from the locals in passing, although seemingly easier if having direct contact at say a checkout or when paying for goods. So it was as I worked my way alongside the southern side of the Danube and onto a rough path through the overgrown grass and ubiquitous litter. There is rubbish everywhere in this town, Ian Kearin (?sp) would have a long arduous job ahead of him here. Bottles, mainly having contained alcohol, are everywhere on the streets and verges, as well as paper, Styrofoam, old clothes, you name it. Graffiti is also big, with tags on most surfaces which are 200 years old or less!
Whereas I turned west when I got to the River on Saturday, I headed eastward today moving through town on the cobbled streets and past the market district. Sunday seemed as though it was a dance, or else a strict secular adhesion to meeting one's friends at the numerous local bars and drinking large steins of the local brew.
It is generally difficult to raise a smile from the locals in passing, although seemingly easier if having direct contact at say a checkout or when paying for goods. So it was as I worked my way alongside the southern side of the Danube and onto a rough path through the overgrown grass and ubiquitous litter. There is rubbish everywhere in this town, Ian Kearin (?sp) would have a long arduous job ahead of him here. Bottles, mainly having contained alcohol, are everywhere on the streets and verges, as well as paper, Styrofoam, old clothes, you name it. Graffiti is also big, with tags on most surfaces which are 200 years old or less!
From the riverside area, I was on a narrow dirt track through the bush and rubbish. An old man wheeling a bicycle stood aside for me as I huffed my way through, and I achieved a big toothless grin! Further along the river the track led onto a rough concrete path, like a poorly maintained bike path which followed the river bank for miles. After a while I could see the towers of some lights at a stadium, and gambled on being able to cut up to a roadway as I neared these.
Surely enough, there was well worn foot track up to a similarly rutted old concrete road further away from the banks of the river. Following this back to the city led to a solid brick wall topped by sheaves of rusted barbed wire, so I headed up towards the stadium once more.
It seemed to skirt an old industrial complex, with disused, heavily graffiti-ed factories inside heavily fortified masonry wall stopped with more rolls of barbed wire. What appeared to be an old, substantial concrete road complete with street lamps was immediately on the other side, and loud, aggressive barking dogs guarded the rubble.
Eventually I could cut up to a secondary road near the stadium and was then at a major intersection. Where would I like to go? Bratislava? Vienna? Budapest? It was now very hot, and unpleasantly humid. I headed back into the centrum of Gyor seeking to find a drink. Soon enough I came across a phalanx of service stations and bought a bottle of water, pleased that I had loaded myself up with my gadget girl gear. I now walked, cooling down and sending a text to Bob to let him know that I would be later than expected.
After negotiating the strange street-scape which was a network of on and off road bike paths, intersected pedestrian lights on which no one disobeyed. It takes everything in my being to wait (impatiently on the road side of an empty road for 60 - 30 - 15 seconds as I wait for a symbol to walk across.
After coming across a large, faceless shopping mall, it was apparent that the complexes are the same the world over. It could have been a Westfield complex in Hobart, Belconnen, Darwin or Chicago. The only distinction was the long row of bicycles stretching the length of the exterior used by many of the locals to have come to the shops. If only this was the case at home.
After the long, long wait to cross the road I started to jog again and was soon familiar territory int he business district of the city. A very pleasant run!
Surely enough, there was well worn foot track up to a similarly rutted old concrete road further away from the banks of the river. Following this back to the city led to a solid brick wall topped by sheaves of rusted barbed wire, so I headed up towards the stadium once more.
It seemed to skirt an old industrial complex, with disused, heavily graffiti-ed factories inside heavily fortified masonry wall stopped with more rolls of barbed wire. What appeared to be an old, substantial concrete road complete with street lamps was immediately on the other side, and loud, aggressive barking dogs guarded the rubble.
Eventually I could cut up to a secondary road near the stadium and was then at a major intersection. Where would I like to go? Bratislava? Vienna? Budapest? It was now very hot, and unpleasantly humid. I headed back into the centrum of Gyor seeking to find a drink. Soon enough I came across a phalanx of service stations and bought a bottle of water, pleased that I had loaded myself up with my gadget girl gear. I now walked, cooling down and sending a text to Bob to let him know that I would be later than expected.
After negotiating the strange street-scape which was a network of on and off road bike paths, intersected pedestrian lights on which no one disobeyed. It takes everything in my being to wait (impatiently on the road side of an empty road for 60 - 30 - 15 seconds as I wait for a symbol to walk across.
After coming across a large, faceless shopping mall, it was apparent that the complexes are the same the world over. It could have been a Westfield complex in Hobart, Belconnen, Darwin or Chicago. The only distinction was the long row of bicycles stretching the length of the exterior used by many of the locals to have come to the shops. If only this was the case at home.
After the long, long wait to cross the road I started to jog again and was soon familiar territory int he business district of the city. A very pleasant run!
I was getting more and more excited at the prospect of Rad joining us on Monday night, and couldn't stop thinking about his imminent arrival and hoping that he was OK.
It was humid, very warm and 6:00pm before I got out for a run. A bit bggy underfoot along the river, it was nevertheless pretty damn good! (Did you know that I love to run?)
Miraculously, I did not seem to suffer any substantial ill effects from the monumental travel nor jet lag; the same cannot be said for the boy Harlow.
 |
| Gyor |
We spent Saturday wandering around and exploring the
old town, and the riverside region. Despite early morning rain, it was a hot and humid day, and I am revelling in the long days after the short, early darkness in Canberra.
Saturday and Wednesday are market days in Gyor, and there seemed to be action in two parts of town:
Everybody ride a bicycle, and we were carefully checking out Bob's substantial competition!
Another M60?
Phew!
After delays at Heathrow, and further delays on the flight to Vienna, Bob and I arrived in Vienna with my bag, Bob's backpack, his sports bag, but . . . . nicht rad - no bike. Some paperwork and the promise that it would be delivered to the hotel, we still had to pass customs and (hope) that our lift was there to take us from Vienna into Hungary and to the Hotel.
This went without a hitch, there was no customs, and a tall strapping fit bloke was holding a sign waiting for our arrival. Most charming, we soon left, and were hurtling down the highway at 170 km/hr. I thought that Bob was looking a little pensive as he gripped the handle above his head with the knuckles stripped of blood, but it was a safe, fun drive. We didn't even stop at the border, just slowed down as our driver waved our passports at the gum chewing guardess on looking bored duty.
Past the ethereal paddocks of wind turbines which stretched into the distance and to the High Tatra mountains beyond like some computer generated graphic from a B-grade sci-fi movie, we were soon in the River side town of Gyor and our small and (so far) charming hotel.
An evening stroll to find an ATM for some much needed local currency (Hungarian Forint - approximately 150 to the Aussie Dollar), a couple of local SIM cards and credit so that Bob and I can keep in contact with each other, and something to eat and drink.
We managed all of these, strolling through the unexpectedly charming pedestrian precinct of the centrum with the locals.
Bob's phone number while he is here is +36 209 726 338, whilst mine is +36 204 169 915. We aren't sure yet if it permits us access to SMS overseas (there were significant problems with doing that when we were in Laos last year), but at least we can be contacted.
I'm sure that we will have a marvellous time in this town, and look forward to exploring further ~ after, of course, Bob's bike turns up and we catch up on some much needed sleep.
A pun only those of my vintage may understand! (Yes, that means you Aki and the PRB).
Bob and are have arrived in Heathrow, and had a fantastic view of the city as we came in. Unfortunately, strong headwinds the whole way from Australia meant that are arrival was delayed, so we missed our connecting flight to Vienna this morning. The planned 40 hour journey has been strung out, although a quick phone call to the LOC (local organising committee) in Gyor, Hungary meant that we have arranged for them to wait for us at Vienna airport for our new flight to arrive at around 1:30 pm, instead of the planned 10:30 am.
Otherwise, things have been fairly uneventful, with a crammed British Airways flight over via Bangkok, and the new security arrangements not causing too many hassles.
One thing that could have been mentioned on board, was that there was a strict limit of one bag per person on departures from Heathrow.
While we sprinted from our late flight to our connecting flight in the same terminal, we, along with a planeload of others were advised that luggage needed to be consolidated or checked in. I didn't have much - a handbag and small backpack, which, could (at a squeeze) be consolidated. However, there were dozens of passengers screaming blue murder at the time and queues stretching on forever. A simple announcement on board would have made a lot of sense.
First off, my apologies to all those I didn't have a chance to contact before we left. Mother, Happy Mother's Day for Sunday; Aki, I hope that the School Camp went well and everything is hunky dory; Wombatface, Happy Birthday for the 26th and well done down in Albury; Tuggeranong Don, I'm thrilled with your Boston time and will forward on the motion based data as soon as I can. And dear, dear Lucky Legs - have a great time and don't do too much over training. I look forward to catching up on our return.
And what can I say about the PRB - he has done so much for Bob, Rudi and I over the last year that thanks and words can never be enough.
I was thrilled with my nail can hill run in Albury last Sunday, although the time wasn't 'flash' time, it is a wonderful run and I adore the hills and trails at whatever speed. There is something about trail running that gets under the skin and into the spirit that surpasses everything else. Mister G's tagline seems to come to mind here. Although only a tad over 11k, it reinvigorated my joy of running and plans to do similar events over the next 12 months - Googong Dam 1/2 (30 June); Shoalhaven King of the Mountain (15 July); The Bush Capital Runs (29 July); Mt Wilson to Bilpin (August) . . . . . ahhh.
For now, I just need to survive as far as Hungary and get my running shoes on and fat bod around the Danube or whatever parks I find. If I can lose some weight in the land of goulash is a different matter - I realised as I was coming into the last 2 kms of the Nail Can Hill run that my oh-so-slow time (74 minutes odd) compared to last time (2005 - 57 minutes) roughly equates to a minute a kilogram. I figured that I ran what I weigh . . . . so knocking my times down should be easy, huh?
Hah! I'm sure that some of my magic medication is causing weight gain, or at the very least difficulty in weight loss. Secretly, I was quite disappointed that Gronk man couldn't make it down to Nail Can this year, and similtaneously pleased that he didn't get faced with me in my 'fat suit'.
Better go and board this plane to Vienna. (Ahh, kaffee . . .). The Customs 1500th run will have been run and celebrated, and we have spent a mere 36 hours travelling thus far. How long until we make it to the hotel room? Maybe another six hours if we are lucky with luggage and Customs. Maybe longer!
Ciao for now. Until the land of the Maygar.
P.S. Now I can't get the riff of London Calling out of my head and it will probably haunt me for the next month!
Stubborn to the end, I insisted on going to the Lake Tuggeranong Stakes on Tuesday, 17 April. Without access to a car that day, I jumped on my Mountain Bike and, leaving very early, took a very leisurely ride down to Woden where I met up with the PRB and then onwards to Lake Tuggeranong. Although concerned that we would be late, we arrived at the start of the race with no one in sight and plenty of time to lock up the bikes, change and still have time to prepare.
That was the good news. I started off my correct handicap (around 6:00 minutes from memory), I had a new far-faster runner with me at my side to show the route. This was not ideal, as the pain was acute when I started and I grimaced as I pretended to be going OK. Just over a kilometre into the run, I had to cease and desist, knowing that there would be plenty of people along the way to show her the way
I couldn’t stop my teeth from chattering and my body shaking as though the onset of acute hypothermia was well underway. I tried to run again, although the shivering (shock type reaction) just got a lot worse. I stopped, and slowly walked back, returning to normal somewhat although still concerned with how I was going to get home.
Despite the DNF in such inauspicious circumstances, after a break and coffee I felt far more human and decided to give the cycle a go. Strangely enough, a gentle cycle didn’t aggravate the condition and I felt OK on the 24-odd km home, slow though it was.
It was over a week before I was able to venture out for another run. It was the BBQ Stakes on Thursday, 26 April – one of the rare events deferred due to the Anzac Day holiday falling on the regular Wednesday running day. I left early, anticipating a difficult run of things, walking a little, especially up the hills. For some reason however, I felt good and fresh from the outset, being surprised when I passed Friar fairly early on, and just kept on going.
I know that a pace well in excess of 5 minutes per kilometre is hardly going to light up the running community. Yet, at the moment I am thrilled when I can put in a performance around the 5 and a half minutes pace.
Looking at my watch as I went around the course, I didn’t have the usual barometers of being passed by the back markers and others around my handicap to judge my performance having left early.
Towards the end I thought that I was going pretty well though, and thought that I had the chance of a decent run. Although unable to break 34 minutes for the undulating 6km course, I was closer to the mark than I had been for longer than I care to remember. 2006 was not a good year running-wise. And my PB of 24:21 is a lifetime away.
I did do 33:54 in late July last year and similar times in the 33 minute range early in 2006. I was so rapt at the end I was on a high for days. I never thought that I would be so excited with a 5:40 min/km pace run – I was so much faster on my easy training runs! I was very pleased though, and have come to accept (sort of!) my slow paced racing.
Hey, at least I’m running, and I LOVE to run!
That was the good news. I started off my correct handicap (around 6:00 minutes from memory), I had a new far-faster runner with me at my side to show the route. This was not ideal, as the pain was acute when I started and I grimaced as I pretended to be going OK. Just over a kilometre into the run, I had to cease and desist, knowing that there would be plenty of people along the way to show her the way
I couldn’t stop my teeth from chattering and my body shaking as though the onset of acute hypothermia was well underway. I tried to run again, although the shivering (shock type reaction) just got a lot worse. I stopped, and slowly walked back, returning to normal somewhat although still concerned with how I was going to get home.
Despite the DNF in such inauspicious circumstances, after a break and coffee I felt far more human and decided to give the cycle a go. Strangely enough, a gentle cycle didn’t aggravate the condition and I felt OK on the 24-odd km home, slow though it was.
It was over a week before I was able to venture out for another run. It was the BBQ Stakes on Thursday, 26 April – one of the rare events deferred due to the Anzac Day holiday falling on the regular Wednesday running day. I left early, anticipating a difficult run of things, walking a little, especially up the hills. For some reason however, I felt good and fresh from the outset, being surprised when I passed Friar fairly early on, and just kept on going.
I know that a pace well in excess of 5 minutes per kilometre is hardly going to light up the running community. Yet, at the moment I am thrilled when I can put in a performance around the 5 and a half minutes pace.
Looking at my watch as I went around the course, I didn’t have the usual barometers of being passed by the back markers and others around my handicap to judge my performance having left early.
Towards the end I thought that I was going pretty well though, and thought that I had the chance of a decent run. Although unable to break 34 minutes for the undulating 6km course, I was closer to the mark than I had been for longer than I care to remember. 2006 was not a good year running-wise. And my PB of 24:21 is a lifetime away.
I did do 33:54 in late July last year and similar times in the 33 minute range early in 2006. I was so rapt at the end I was on a high for days. I never thought that I would be so excited with a 5:40 min/km pace run – I was so much faster on my easy training runs! I was very pleased though, and have come to accept (sort of!) my slow paced racing.
Hey, at least I’m running, and I LOVE to run!
At the moment, the PRB and I are sitting in a motel room (or the elaborately described “one bedroom family suite”) in Albury, in a stand-off about whether to eat dinner or not. The promised broadband internet connection is weak and lacking, thus I expect that this shall be it for the evening.
I am looking forward to the Nail Can Hill Run (11.4km) tomorrow greatly, as my exercise has been so significantly disrupted over the last few weeks with illness and ‘life’. (Life is good).
Bob and I head off on Thursday for a 5 ½ week trip to Central and Eastern Europe. We are looking forward to it, however there is so much to do, and there the list barely seems to get any smaller despite seemingly to be going flat chat the whole time.
Bob (along with the wonderful Rad), will be competing in the World Duathlon Championships, in Györ, Hungary on Sunday, 20 May. The 10km run, 40km Cycle and 5km run will be at the end of our 9 day stay in Györ, however I expect that it shall take a while to recover from the over 40 hour journey that takes it shall take for us to travel from Canberra to Hungary, via Sydney, Bangkok, London, and Vienna. I expect to be stuffed by the time we arrive! (Maybe I should have shelled out for those air tickets instead of insisting on taking the ACTION Bus the whole way).
Bob will be in the M60-64 year old category for the first time, and Rad will, amazingly, be one of the few competitors in the M80-84 age group! What an inspiration!
Running
I finally managed to get in and see my doctor last week – after a nearly three week wait. Of course, by then, the few significant health conditions had worsened, changed and, finally, ameliorated . . . ensuring that I was in pretty good nick by the time that bounced into his office. I’m sure that I’ll live – and am just pleased to be more or less without pain. My heart rate was recorded as being dramatically low the week before, (30-35 bpm standing, 18-24 bpm sitting), and he regarded this with great interest. No monitoring can be done immediately, however if I am aware of it in future then I have a referral to a hospital for it to be captured immediately. I would love to think that my low resting heart rate was due to a level of fitness higher than that of Lance Armstrong or Miguel Indurain, yet, alas, I know that this is not the case, and is at least 20 bpm too low, even for me.
Running. OK, I’m getting there!
After a pretty poor time health wise, I stubbornly turned up to Customs 5k on Friday, 13 April and did a surprisingly swift 27:05 (5:25 min/km pace). The 10 days enforced break obviously did me good. The Marathon Eve 10k the following day was more marginal, and I wasn’t at all sure that I was able to make it to the starting line. Despite significant pain, I did (after all I paid me money, and was going to take me chances). I chatted a bit much at the start, being delighted to see many Cool Runners from Canberra and much further a field.
It wasn’t comfortable running, but I stuck at it, on the round and around 2 little and 3 big lap course. Fading considerably, I was lifted at every turn by the cheers of “Go Cool Runner”, and “C’Mon Carolyne”. I had to finish! Just as I started my third lap, I heard that Bob was finishing, and looking at my watch was thrilled to see a time well under 42 minutes for him. After a gruelling long cycle that morning, his 41:20 was a good result for an old bloke.
I wasn’t smiling much, but finished in 56:59 by my watch (no problems with the 57:01 official), or 5:41 min/km. I was stuffed though!!!!
A short time was spent catching up with Aki, the PRB and others before heading home for an early-ish night and the plan to cycle down to watch the marathon early the next morning.
Ha! I didn’t even turn over to wake up until some of the last of the 50km runners were coming into the final straight! So much for the best laid plans of mice and ducks! Ha.1
I wasn’t feeling very good though.
I am looking forward to the Nail Can Hill Run (11.4km) tomorrow greatly, as my exercise has been so significantly disrupted over the last few weeks with illness and ‘life’. (Life is good).
Bob and I head off on Thursday for a 5 ½ week trip to Central and Eastern Europe. We are looking forward to it, however there is so much to do, and there the list barely seems to get any smaller despite seemingly to be going flat chat the whole time.
Bob (along with the wonderful Rad), will be competing in the World Duathlon Championships, in Györ, Hungary on Sunday, 20 May. The 10km run, 40km Cycle and 5km run will be at the end of our 9 day stay in Györ, however I expect that it shall take a while to recover from the over 40 hour journey that takes it shall take for us to travel from Canberra to Hungary, via Sydney, Bangkok, London, and Vienna. I expect to be stuffed by the time we arrive! (Maybe I should have shelled out for those air tickets instead of insisting on taking the ACTION Bus the whole way).
Bob will be in the M60-64 year old category for the first time, and Rad will, amazingly, be one of the few competitors in the M80-84 age group! What an inspiration!
Running
I finally managed to get in and see my doctor last week – after a nearly three week wait. Of course, by then, the few significant health conditions had worsened, changed and, finally, ameliorated . . . ensuring that I was in pretty good nick by the time that bounced into his office. I’m sure that I’ll live – and am just pleased to be more or less without pain. My heart rate was recorded as being dramatically low the week before, (30-35 bpm standing, 18-24 bpm sitting), and he regarded this with great interest. No monitoring can be done immediately, however if I am aware of it in future then I have a referral to a hospital for it to be captured immediately. I would love to think that my low resting heart rate was due to a level of fitness higher than that of Lance Armstrong or Miguel Indurain, yet, alas, I know that this is not the case, and is at least 20 bpm too low, even for me.
Running. OK, I’m getting there!
After a pretty poor time health wise, I stubbornly turned up to Customs 5k on Friday, 13 April and did a surprisingly swift 27:05 (5:25 min/km pace). The 10 days enforced break obviously did me good. The Marathon Eve 10k the following day was more marginal, and I wasn’t at all sure that I was able to make it to the starting line. Despite significant pain, I did (after all I paid me money, and was going to take me chances). I chatted a bit much at the start, being delighted to see many Cool Runners from Canberra and much further a field.
It wasn’t comfortable running, but I stuck at it, on the round and around 2 little and 3 big lap course. Fading considerably, I was lifted at every turn by the cheers of “Go Cool Runner”, and “C’Mon Carolyne”. I had to finish! Just as I started my third lap, I heard that Bob was finishing, and looking at my watch was thrilled to see a time well under 42 minutes for him. After a gruelling long cycle that morning, his 41:20 was a good result for an old bloke.
I wasn’t smiling much, but finished in 56:59 by my watch (no problems with the 57:01 official), or 5:41 min/km. I was stuffed though!!!!
A short time was spent catching up with Aki, the PRB and others before heading home for an early-ish night and the plan to cycle down to watch the marathon early the next morning.
Ha! I didn’t even turn over to wake up until some of the last of the 50km runners were coming into the final straight! So much for the best laid plans of mice and ducks! Ha.1
I wasn’t feeling very good though.
About me
- I'm Carolyne
- From Canberra, Australia
- I love to run! Staying in Weymouth, Dorset on the South West Coast of England until October. I'm 46, live in Canberra with Bob and have been running since 1990. This has been interrupted by long periods of illness, however I am extremely stubborn! I'll never be a fast runner, however I give it everything, and am slowly learning to read my body better and adjust my training and expectations accordingly. Or rather I would, if running were possible at the moment - I will retuyrn soon.
- My profile
Upcoming Events
Wish List
Recent Events
Hartley Lifecare Fun Run 5k 17 NovemberWagga Tri-ants Duathlon 10k/40k/5k 30 OctoberACTVAC Half Marathon 21.1k 28 AugustCanberra Half Marathon 15 May injured
Results
moon phases
Kilometres Run
January
212
February
199
March
214
April
201
May
188
June
182
July
255
August
246
September
155
October
159
November
200
December
62
Year to Date
2,267
PB's
Chip Time (3:47:13) Sydney 2005
Days Sick
January
10
February
10
March
10
April
4
May
7
June
8
July
9
August
11
September
11
October
11
November
9
December
Lots. ?15