Thursday, September 23, 2010

Flip Cup

The throb of the boat’s diesel engine reminded us where we were this morning, in case we forgot. I’d certainly drunk enough the night before to wipe a few brain cells. Soon the boat was gently rocking its way out of the harbour coaxing me back to sleep. Shortly before 9am I climbed out and went up for breakfast. Troy had arranged for breakfast to be pushed back an hour considering our late-night bonding session. Well, he was meant too, yet something somewhere went wrong. Breakfast had been served at 8 and it was now over. Only one person, the daughter of a sailor, had made breakfast in her keen interest of nautical life on the other side of the world. The rest of us, well, we would just have to wait for lunch. And what a wait it was. Many people despite their hangovers threw themselves into the routine of “getting some colour”. Those Aussies living abroad in the UK didn’t care if that colour was red.
“As long as we don’t go back white,” was the consensus.
The swim stop was a welcome distraction from the hunger pangs. The cool, clear water cleared my head certainly. The bell rang out as we warmed our bodies on deck, drying away the salt water. To get that food there was nearly a stampede. Soup, glorious soup. On we motored.
Early that afternoon we arrived at an island some 30km long but at no point, wider than 2km. In any case, we didn’t stray beyond the port. The island, 90 per cent national park, is most famous for its inland lake. It was once freshwater but monks long ago carved a channel to the ocean and saltwater ensued. Instead we sat at the “beach”. The beach was no more than a stretch of concrete. Still, after a big night, we were happy to chill out with Jono, Jo, Laura and Ash. We sat around nibbling on some snacks bought at the corner store and fought off wasps. Jo kept a kill count. I failed to register a single kill. Jono meanwhile registered about three in the process of protecting Jo. I just wanted to protect my eyes from old European men getting around in G-strings and older woman going topless. Still, we happily passed a couple of hours, sharing stories. With the sun getting low we found a bench on the dock in front of the boats and knocked back a few cheap beers from the corner store. Being a little too ambitious we bought a few too many with dinner time closing in. Troy earned a jumper not once but twice as we brought the session to a quick end. Dinner was an optional extra cooked by the captain. An assortment of meat was laid on our tables and we ate eagerly in tribute to their toil. The lamb was popular. And the way Troy described it you would not find better in the world.
“They’re marinated from the inside,” he enthused, “The lambs chew on salt encrusted herbs along the coast.”
Whatever the case it was certainly packed with flavour. The skinless sausages, a Croatian specialty, were well received too. And the local beer proved good again. A few of us were full-to-bursting. The tables were soon being cleared signalling happy hour would start. Tonight, Troy was keen for us to all try a hand at some drinking games, including beer pong and flip cup. Beer pong was the first challenge. This involved six cups “racked up” at either end of the tables in a triangle, half filled with beer. With a ping pong ball, the aim of the game was for each competitor to lob it into one of the cups. If it landed in your cup you had to drink. If it went in on the bounce you had to drink two. Whoever lost all their cups first lost and perhaps somewhat drunk in the process. We also played it in doubles. I neither won or got drunk but it was still fun. Compared to this, however, flip cup was a riot of fun. Teams of six sat facing each other at the table. In front of them was a plastic cup half filled with beer. On the count: “One, two, three, FLIP CUP,” the opponents at the head of the table would down their drink. The cup was then rested on the table’s edge and flipped with a gentle finger from beneath. As soon as the cup landed upside down on the table it was the next person’s go and so on down the line in a race to the end. The winning team would vote off a member of the opposing team, usually the biggest threat. If your team lost a member someone would have to drink their cup in the next round, to even up the cup count between the two teams. Between three teams of six this went on for more than an hour. Some people got merrily drunk and continued the party off the boat. We had opted out of the game and were happy to hit the sack at 11.
Sam (September 12)

I'm on a boat!

We were thankful for our ensuite this morning even if it was a battle to access it. When the girls weren’t in there doing their makeup they were straightening their hair sitting on their bunks. I thought myself lucky Alysia had not brought her straightener on this trip. Packed, we checked out, set out for the port and our boat. Erring on the side of caution we started at the nearest line of boats.
“We’ll walk along the water toward where we saw the Katarina boats.”
We were glad we did because they do indeed dock at two different points. This saved us quite a bit of back and forward with heavy packs. The sail contractors checked our documents and directed us to our boat. We had to walk across the deck of three similar boats to find ours, all docked side by side. And not all boats being equal there was quite a step between some of them - to get onto ours Alysia had to take her pack off. The captain was sitting out the back, with his reading glass and a stern look on, going over some documents. He asked us to surrender our passports and told us to be back at 12. We left our bags and set out for brunch. The port had its own food court of sorts. Perfect. Souvlaki on pita would do the trick. As we sat and ate we watched people walking past in board shorts wearing thongs, talking like strained crows, we discovered we weren’t alone. We were not the great adventurers we thought. We were just more Aussies in this summer promised land. In fact we would discover later we numbered 17 on the vessel. Besides us there was just one other nationality, in three Italians, besides the Croatian crew of course. Still we were happy. Back on the boat we met Jono and Jowy, from Victoria, who had been based in London. With them was Ashleigh, a friend from their apartment block, and Laura (an old friend of Jowy.’s). Like most Aussie’s behaving badly abroad they smoked. We didn’t mind so much having come to expect it across Europe. Jono and Jo were holidaying their way back to Oz. Another Aussie jumped on board. We learned this tank of a man was our tour guide.
“How does an obvious gym-junkie become a tour guide?” I wondered to myself. “This could be interesting.
Our boat wasn’t the vintage sailing boat we had imagined it would be. It had three stories, the below deck cabins where we were, alongside the diesel engine and its fumes, the boarding deck, housing the saloon, the two communal toilets, two showers, the captain’s cabin, our guide’s cabin and one crew and the above deck, housing eight cabins in all plus a place to hang out the back with deck chairs.
Eventually we were allowed to drop our bags into our cabins. If we could negotiate a narrow set of stairs into the bowels of the beast. We’d saved some money doing it this way but only time would tell if it was a wise choice. On the plus side we had a cabin to ourselves, even if it didn’t have a ensuite. Everyone on board did. I grabbed the top bunk. The bottom, Alysia’s, was staggered out below mine. At my head was a porthole about 100mm in diameter. It had a glass window secured by a wing nut and a solid metal one over that. They had to be closed under “navigation”.
The group gathered in the “saloon”, where we would share many meals over the coming week. Troy, or Trojan as the tank was otherwise known, promised we’d be spoilt and brown by the end of the week. He should have said we’d be fat too. He ran through some of the rules with us but the most amusing was that the boat was “explicitly acoustic” and that all noise would have to cease at midnight. At about this point the boat started motoring toward our first port, Hvar. Following some introductions we all took a shot of Rakia (fire water). And almost everyone ordered their first beer. It was only 1pm and we would not eat for two more hours.
“This could be an interesting week.”
The group dispersed and explored the boat. People gathered on the top deck which appeared by design for this purpose. Sun chairs were quickly set out and the group settled in for some relaxation and more talk. Lunch rolled around quickly signalled by the clatter of a bell.
Seated back in the saloon our waiter quickly brought out steaming bowls of mushroom soup quickly followed by spag bol. For dessert it was ripe and tasty pear. We were all full to bursting. Done and dusted we were quickly introduced to another requisite duty. Yes, within minutes, nearly all were in the water off the side of the boat.
“What would our mothers think, swimming so soon after food?!”
The water was colder than in Greece but just as salty and well welcomed. The cloud of the morning had burned off to reveal a beautiful afternoon. Drying on deck the salt clung to our bodies occasionally itching. Water was a precious resource too so there would be no showering after swimming. By the end of the week we might all be true salt dogs. Relaxing on board the captain idled the engine back and we drifted up to the dock. Our first step off the boat we were in Hvar. After our Greek cruise and the use of tender boats I thought: “this I could get used to”. Troy put his hand on his head like a shark fin. He was not meant to lead walking tours.
“If I say kismish man everyone scatter,” he enthused.
It was almost a game. This first tour would be very rudimentary so there were little risk of conflict with professional tour leaders.
On our own, so to speak, we climbed the hill toward the Spanish-designed fortress built by the Venetians. The views of the port were well worth it. We saw little point to pay money to go in and this was soon vindicated by reports from others on our boat. Instead we took the time to find some Croatian fast food, get back to the boat, get showered before happy hour and the return of the hordes. We wished to avoid any battles for the two communal shower this week.
The draught beer was everything it should be on the boat and we had soon wiped the smile of a few pints.
“Time for Kiva Bar,” Troy announced.
It wasn’t much after 9 when we arrived, being a five minute walk from the boat. Waiting for us on the bar were some Rakia shots and they were a bit nicer than the “paint stripper” version downed art initiation. These were quickly followed by some beers. The place had a good vibe. But overall we could have been in any bar back home. The bulk of the patrons were Aussies on the Busabout tour. Busabout had three boats in dock that night and, again, they were mostly Australian. It wasn’t all bad though. Somehow being on the other side of the world made it perfectly acceptable to sing along to John Farnham’s You’re The Voice among other tragedies. At the bar people were paying the price for fun. With the customer wearing an old army helmet the bar staff would mix tequila and lemon in a glass by bashing them about the head.
“Bang, bang, bang, BANG,” the final blow a brutal glancing shot that would ring out across the room before the patron downed the shot. We just punished ourselves with the huge drinks. Metre-long straws sprung from pitchers of booze, containing eight shots, disappearing at frightening speed with the help of friends. Troy was in fine form too. Appearing at the doorway, on queue, the Baywatch them song roared from the speakers. He was “The Hoff” after all. Thoroughly enjoying this boozy evening I travelled back and forward to the bar. On my last journey I asked for another pitcher and also received six shots and another beer - all for the price of the pitcher. With the shots in one hand, the pitcher under my wing and the beer in the other hand I set off the find everyone. I did but at the final moment the pitcher slipped, smashing on the floor. Bugger. At least we had the shots and me, a beer, to console myself. This proved good company while I went to scrape the glass out of my thong-shod feet. Alysia soon found me and it was time to move to the next bar. For us though we called it a night, me staggering back to the boat, seeing double and triple.
Sam (September 11)

A fine day to be fined

If an empty tin of tar had a tongue that is what my mouth felt like. There was no headache upon waking just that awful taste. Three litres of dark beer will do that I guess. Still we rose at a reasonable hour and were well on time for the airport. As the key rattled into the letter box we turned for the door and said a quiet goodbye to Hostel Hobo Bear. Micky, on reception, gave me straight forward instructions the night before: “Get the tram three stops back past the train station and get a bus to the airport for 35 kuna (six Aussie dollars).” With a light rain falling we got on the tram, riding it for free, as we were told. Although we had to stand we were in good spirits. One stop past the train station an official looking man in a jacket, white shirt and hat, asked us for our tickets. “This must be some sort of mistake,” I thought. The hostel told us we could ride the tram for free - this was the free zone. Alysia protested and despite the language barrier it seemed to work. But at the next stop the instruction was simple: “Get off.” At this point my suspicions were running high. Is he legitimate or does he just prey on tourists hoping to score some cash. He pulled out a leather pouch and pointed to some text and the price, 200 kuna. A chorus of disgruntled locals sparked up around us seemingly unhappy we had abused their transport system. Doing my best to keep cool - my protests we were dumb tourists falling on deaf ears - I handed over just the 200 kuna. Luckily we were allowed back on the tram, the next stop being the one we wanted. Despite being a little agitated we stood quietly on the tram as it ratted along for a few more minutes. With some relief we got off. But this would be short lived. The guard had approached a colleague and cornered us as we tried to walk off the platform. They wanted another 200 kuna. Apparently the fine I had paid was only for one of us. It was only the fact we weren’t riding any further they desisted and let us go. My blood boiled. Yet I exhaled slowly and we walked away. We had done the wrong thing, apparently, giving us no leg to stand on. I did feel hard done by though. There was no malice in our actions. The local woman screaming obscenities across the platform at the guards seemingly had no excuse though. In a moment our experience of Zagreb soured and in the next moment a local had offered us directions to where we were going. In that act I resolved to remember Zagreb as a good place.
A little confused we walked along the front of what looked like a large car park and found row after row of buses and a Eurolines office. In through the doors I was ready to ask someone at the desk if it was them who offered the transfer service when I saw a guy waving someone else through.
“Airport transfer this way,” he gestured through the doors.
Fetching Alysia we threw the bags underneath and jumped on. Mickey was right when he said it was only 35 kuna each. We travelled to the airport without so much as a word between us. We were still digesting what had happened on the tram.
“Are we any more forgiving of tourists in Australia? Would a guard simply instruct the person to buy a ticket?”
We arrived at the airport before check in had opened for our domestic flight to Split. It was a good chance to grab breakfast and we took a seat at the terminal’s only café. The coffee and strudel were welcomed. And watching people, ourselves a little drained, we passed almost the next hour without trying. I rearranged my bags, weary of how much my checked luggage would weigh, though the bottles of booze would have to stay put.
We were greeted warmly at check in and though Alysia’s bag was over the 15kg stipulation it was sent down the conveyor without drama. My bag was more than three kilos over though, where Alysia’s had weighed 16kg, mine was near 19kg. I was instructed to take it down to another conveyor. The sign above it read “security”. This sign evoked images of zips flying and contents being strewn. I even gulped at the thought of a cavity search. Did I look suspect? I need not have worried though. The bag was given a cursory blast by the xray and sent on to the plane. Thank goodness for that. And we didn’t have to pay any extra for excess baggage. Our passage through security wasn’t a drama either. Yet one can see why more and more people are avoiding air travel when they can. Soon enough we’d be on that plane and our worries behind us.
Touch down in Split was smooth and better yet my ears didn’t hurt having been such a short flight. Closer to half an hour in fact than an hour. The airport was no bigger than a domestic job back in Oz. We grabbed our bags and got some clues for travelling into Split.
“Split coach outside the doors. Thirty-five Kuna,” the girl at information said.
A short time later our bus had arrived and we were on it. A rocky ridge line rose high on our left and followed our path south to Split. More houses constructed with large red bricks, roughly laid, lined the narrow road. Veggie gardens were common. And nether were unregistered or just unused cars on foot paths. Otherwise it was pretty enough. The white metropolis of apartment blocks on the horizon could best be aesthetically described as utilitarian. What would this place be like over all? The roads widened and grew into dual lanes. This would not last long as we were soon at the port: the city’s transportation terminus. Saddled with the bags once again and equipped with the world’s vaguest directions we set out for the hostel. Up the hill, go through the lights and cross the road. Yeah okay, might help if you had said what side of the road we were on in the first place or maybe a street name. Across the road at the lights, a sign pointed to “hostel” and amazingly we found it. As simple as this sounded there were several ways we could have gone wrong. Check in was a cinch too. An eight-bed dorm with a pair of roommates already well set up with a clothes line along the bunks. Time to go explore.
Along the marina we walked, back the way we came, finding some pizza. Yep, pizza, who would have thought we would ever eat pizza again. But this was enormous pizza. One slice required its own postcode.
Fed we walked back toward the hostel but this time down into the walled city, dating back to Roman times. The fact this is a living, breathing, museum is most unusual. People sell goods and live within this stone city. For quite a while we strolled aimlessly. Late in the afternoon we decided to head back to the hostel buying some beach towels from the markets on the way. We never packed anything more than a travel towel each as we had never planned to go to Croatia.
Back in our room, we met our roomies, an Aussie couple who had been travelling for about two months already and had another three to go. It was their second night in Split and the first long-term stop they had made and they were getting comfortable on their top bunk.
There was one computer to share between all the occupants of the room so we were lucky to have our own.
Cleaned up we set off in search of food, back along the marina, and further. We found some interesting little taverns serving food but by the time we had agreed on where to eat, the place was full. The owner said it would be near an hour if we wanted to eat, before we’d be seated.
“No thanks.”
Pizza it would be. Yet with light rain falling there was nowhere to sit. Back to the hostel it was, this time with a whole pizza of the type we had tried for lunch. It was twice the size of a large Dominos pizza and plenty tasty.
More roomies greeted us back in the hostel, two girls from the UK and another Australian, all of whom were heading out on the sail boats tomorrow. Seemed to be a popular choice.
While the others stayed up reading, with our full bellies, we soon crawled into bed exhausted from a full day.
Sam (September 10)

Sunday, September 19, 2010

A day at the lakes





We woke early for our excursion to Plitvice Lakes. It was a national park we had been told about by our Couchsurfing friends, Leover and Bernadette when they stayed with us. The photos they showed us of the lakes and waterfalls, of the bluest blue you can imagine had stuck with us and often when planning this trip we had dreamed of doing Croatia, simply because of what we had heard of these lakes.
Now that we finally had the opportunity go, we were taking it, especially since it hadn’t been a part of our original plan.
The night before, we had asked the hostel staff what would be the best way of getting to the national park, given it was at least a two hour drive south east of Zagreb. From what we had managed to find online, most people caught a bus to the park and either stayed there or caught the bus back, which could sometimes be tricky.
Mickey told us that a mini bus could take us there, more conveniently than the public bus and it could pick us up just down the road from the hostel. It would be a return trip and we would pay our entry to the park when we got there.
That sounded sweet and Michael, the other Aussie staying at the hostel also wanted to go.
So with the mini bus booked for us by the staff, all we had to do was be at the corner at 8.50 in the morning.
So bright and early we were up, only to find the sky overcast and threatening rain. It wouldn’t have surprised us. It had stormed the night before to the point where it knocked out the television reception. It had poured with rain and the forecast for today was for more showers.
On the bus, it wasn’t long before the skies opened and rain drops were slapping against the windscreen.
It wouldn’t be much fun walked around a national park in the rain.
Once we were out of the city, the scenery changed dramatically and the countryside we passed through was quite pretty. It seemed every second house on the main road had rooms to rent, cheap too, and some were even giving them away free, obviously if you bought something else like dinner I presume.
The park was extremely popular during summer and had become even more so we were sure since Leover and Bernadette had been there the year before.
As we approached the park, it seemed fate was again on our side as the clouds parted and the sun began to shine.
By the time we stopped, it was almost hot and I was regretting wearing my jeans.
Our driver bought out entry tickets and then we all went our separate ways as we entered the park. There were several trails you could walk, taking as little as two hours to as many as eight.
It was a popular place for hikers and many we passed at the entry were equip with hiking poles. I felt more than a little inappropriately dressed in my thongs.
Our first mistake was getting stuck behind a tour group of oldies down a narrow descending track to the valley floor. As we have discovered, Europeans have little regard for queues, personal space and sharing a path with others and this was no different, making overtaking difficult. By the time we started making some headway, we were at the edge of one of the first of the park’s many lakes.
And it was as described, the most amazing shade of blue, crystal clear and sparkling. Swimming and fishing was forbidden and there were hundreds of fish in the water at the lake’s edge and easily visible.
A waterfall cascaded over a cliff and here the path forked.
The tour group of oldies veered in the direction of the waterfall while we followed the path according to the walking track we had decided to follow.
The mud track was soon replaced by a timber walkway, made of roughly cut logs that actually went over small lakes and waterfalls. There was an abundant of wildlife and hundreds of people walking the tracks.
As we wound our way up the hills surrounding the valley, our view across the lakes only become more spectacular.
We found a lookout with a stunning view of the main lakes and the waterfall that separated the higher from the lower.
As we walked back down, I remarked to Sam how cool it would be to see a bear, as there were some living in the park, as well as plenty of deer.
Sam asked what on earth did I want to see bear for because he would shit himself. I just wanted a cool photo.
But we didn’t see a bear or any deer either for that matter.
Over a hill and heading down towards the upper lake we had seen earlier, a large clearing held a restaurant, souvenir shop and also the ferry departure point. We hadn’t known it before entering the park that a small ferry, more of a tiny barge really, crossed the upper lake at various points and each park entry entitled the bearer to one ferry trip and one road train trip to a different area of the park.
Sam and I decided to have some lunch before we jumped on the ferry as we had no idea what was on the other side of how long it would take us to get back.
The bus was picking us up at 5pm.
We jumped on the end of the queue and watched as a tour group of oldies pushed in front of us, led by their Croatian tour guide who had obviously done this many times before.
Queue jumping is something we have run into constantly during this trip but on this day, in the heat, surrounded by rude old people, Sam and I had had enough. Holding hands, we started to basically barricade the line, not allowing anyone else to push in.
After waiting for at least an hour, Sam and I finally edged to the front of the queue only to have to wait again as another tour guide insisted her entire group make it onto the boat in one go.
We’d pretty much had it at this pint and if the fat lady waiting next to us tried anything funny I was ready to push her big butt into the water.
All aboard and we slowly shunted our way across the lake at the pace of a snail. The water was just as blue as everywhere else within the park.
At the dock, we got our bearings and tried to figure out how we could start making our way back towards the pick up point.
Off the barge, we climbed step after step, and cross bridge after bridge, stuck behind the oldies that had got off on the boat before. When we finally managed to past them, we set off at a brisk pace, passing waterfalls, still pools of water, and crossing wooden catwalks.
Heading in the direction of a road train, we stumbled out onto the road to find a group of at least 100 people waiting as well. Great, another queue.
As we filed to the back of the line, we overheard someone say it would be a half hour wait and prepared ourselves to seethe.
But just as we were debating whether or not to walk back, the road train (a bus with three carriages, set high on monster truck-sized wheels), came around the corner and stopped right in front of us.
We were first on the last carriage and enjoyed the 10 minute ride back to the closest stop to where we needed to be. Then it was just a short walk to the pick up point.
We were about an hour early, and we preferred that to being late and decided to grab a beer and wait.
It was by far the worse beer I’ve had to date and several bees that were hanging around convinced me to leave it anyway.
Back on the bus for the two-hour ride home, which seemed to pass quite quickly as Sam and I once again succumbed to Contiki bus syndrome, which has meant we now fall asleep almost instantly on buses.
In the hostel, we met our room mates for the night, cousins from England before heading out in search of dinner.
We asked the guy working in our hostel that evening if he could recommend anywhere to eat and he suggested a brewery just up the road.
We found it easily enough and it reminded us of the breweries we had visited with Anne-Marie in Dusseldorf.
We sat outside at a large table, surrounded by at least a hundred people of various ages enjoying a mid week drink.
We ordered two of the most alcoholic beers, recommended to us by the waiter and some dinner.
The beer was tasty and so was the food. It was big, there was plenty of it and we wasted no time getting into it.
Full of beer, we were content and then Michael walked in, another Aussie staying at our hostel we had met the night before. He joined our table, ordered some dinner and we all ordered more beer.
It was a good night, with beer, talk of home and politics of all things.
Sam bought a few beers to go, a litre each and eight per cent. There was no way any of us could finish them.
We had an early night because we had to leave in the morning for Split.
Alysia (September 9)

Friday, September 10, 2010

A train, a hobo and a porno

"It's the Harry Potter train," Alysia exclaimed. Well it wasn't a steam train but we were seated in our own compartment for our trip to Zagreb. It was a pleasant surprise having risen early to get the train. And to know we were definitely in one of the rear three carriages: We would not be shunted off to Slovakia or somewhere equally out of the way. Austria, sensing our disappointment, turned on her best weather to fare us well - cold and rain. There was plenty of time for reflection too. Had we been too critical of Vienna? Probably. The fact we didn't enjoy it; perhaps a reflection on how uncultured we are. In five years time our take on her might be completely different.
Alysia was dozing before we had even left the outer suburbs and it was at about this time I gathered enough motivation to blog. The countryside, though, would soon prove a distraction. Like most places across Europe, being summer, there was a lot of corn being grown. To my surprise though there were also what appeared to be family gardens with which to put food on the table or perhaps earn a little money.
About three hours out of Vienna our train pulled up in the country's south for "16 minutes". Here the door of our apartment was yanked back and two burly cops said "passports". They were quickly scanned, stamped and returned. Before I could think "you forgot to close the door" more people were standing over us. "Passports". Okay? This time we got a stamp signifing our entry to Croatia. Before them it was the Austrians making sure we were leaving. Before we could process all this a Croatian women was asking us if we had anything to declare. Of course we did not. Alysia looked at me and I back at her. "Is that it?" We were half expecting someone to come and check our tickets for the fourth time but no one came. The whole experience made us realise how lucky we are, being from Australia, passing easily through immigration everywhere. Not like the Iraqis we watched Romania turn away on our brief connection there a week earlier, or in London at the very start of our adventure.
Onward the train rolled toward Zagreb. To fill the time I tried to learn us some Croatian/Serbian without much progress. Without hearing the words we had no idea if we would pronounce them right. The easiest would would be "pardon" which, like in English, is "excuse me". Sorry is something else altogether and thank you is hvala.
The train arrived in Zagreb more than six hours after we left but, impressively, on time. From the platform we found the free inner city tram. We travelled the three stops as told to find our hostel - Hobo Bear - just off the main road. We weren't entirely sure we had found it though as there was no signage screaming "hostel" like we'd seen everywhere else. But what really set the pulse racing was the notice on the entrance door to the office/common room that advised the hostel was closed due to water problems. Thankfully this was not the case; someone had just forgoten to take the sign down.
With the bags deposited in the room, basement dungeo that smelt of damp but was clean and had character, we set out to explore Zagreb knowing virtually nothing about it. We found an old Roman church on the hill and nearby the daily markets. But what we really wanted was a meal to sit down to. We found this in the city's old town. Virtually every building in this strip was pastel coloured and sold food. Alysia ordered a pizza and I was persuaded into a rib eye steak for 70 Kuna - 14 aussie dollars. Both were well received leaving us rather stuffed.
This probably explained our lack of zest when it came to exploring in what little was left of the afternoon. The main square pointed every which way to muesums but none grabbed us. Instead we sat by a fountain and watched numerous parents and grandparents tempt fate, getting the little 'uns excited about the water before dragging them away all despondent.
Our last ditch attempt at exploring was short lived, yet we were for once thankful, for our feeble effort ended within a few steps of the hostel when the rain started teaming down. Inside things were a lot drier including the humour. Particularly from the two South London boys occupying the lounge. The frivolity peaked though with their presentation of the Nobel Peace Prize to Michael, from Melbourne. He discovered the porn channel showing Anal Explosion. They only wished it was Big Titties instead.
Sam (September 8)

Vienna ... yawn

We took our time departing Innsbruck for Vienna. The train didn't leave until 11 and we already had our tickets. The train station was just downstairs, literally under the hotel. We took our time at breakfast, checked out and found our platform.
The train ride to Vienna was not nearly as picturesque as the one coming into Innsbruck. Within about 10 minutes of our journey, the alps were behind us and rolling hills the only thing of any interest to break up the scenery.
It was a loooong trip, about five hours and there was no breaks in between. It was a direct ride and by the time we rolled on into Vienna, we were both starving.
Off the train and we were left to tackle the simple matter of finding our hostel.
Sam was the expert on this one and we followed his map to our digs, maybe 800m up the road.
It was said to be the oldest hostel in Austria, if not Eastern Europe. It was owned and run by a couple in their 70s who had both travelled extensively when they were younger. They set up the hostel about 35 years ago and it must have a capacity for a least 100 guests.
Checking in, we had a private double room with ensuite which was not actually in the main hostel building, but another across the street, The Yellow House. We had access to all the facilities of the main building which included to our delight a laundry (amazing what excites you after months of living out of a suitcase), an immaculate kitchen, a huge common area and dining room plus a bar.
It also had a selection of guitars and a piano for any musos keens for an impromptu jam session.
The staff were helpful and there were a stack of people staying there.
We were excited to be staying in such a cool place and were looking forward to exploring Vienna the next day.
Meanwhile, we had discovered about 8pm that the Ibis in Innsbruck had overcharged us. We had booked on Wotif and had been charged for our first night on Sam's credit card and then charged again for our full stay on arrival, for two nights. Like I said we had questioned it at the time but seemed satisfied with the reception chick's answer.
But now here it was, in black and white on Sam's bank statement and we knew they had stuffed up.
We got on Skype and called the hotel to complain but only got some guy who said he could't help us and to call back in the morning.
I might also mention here that while we had intended to go to Salzburg between Innsbruck and Vienna, to do the Sound of Music tour, I had taken one for the team and told Sam it was OK to skip it.
I wish I had't.
The next day, we had intended to leave the hostel bright and early but it was closer to noon by the time we sorted out our call to the Ibis.
This time we got the manager who had already been informed of the situation it seemed. She was very apologetic and said the mistake had already been rectified and our credit card refunded.
Sorted. We headed up to the train station to buy our ticket for the next stage of our journey to Zagreb.
The plan now was to train it to Zagreb, the capital of Croatia, spend two nights there, visit the Plitvice Lakes and then head down to Split to start our eight days sailing tour.
Buying our tickets was much easier than expected if not pricey. But the ticket lady was helpful and nice and that always goes a long way with us.
We hopped on the underground to head into the city, about which we didn't know much.
This was probably our second mistake.
Vienna is boring.
We had expected opera and classical music stuff and some sort of horses that prance and stuff but the whole city was sterile, dull. It had no vibe, no atmosphere, no nothing.
We wandered around the main square of the old town and found the museum quarter, which as the name suggests is full of museums.
We even found the plague monument mentioned in Lonely Planet and still we were disppointed.
The place simply had nothing that interested us. Even the food we had already sampled during our time in Innsbruck and we ended up having McDonald's for lunch.
By 4pm, we were back at the hostel, blogging, waiting for happy hour to start and pretty much biding our time until we could leave.
Our train tickets to Zagreb were not good until the day after tommorow so we were stuck in Vienna for at least another full day.
Despairing of what we were going to do, we consulted the Lonely Planet for suggestions, thinking maybe there was a possible day trip out of the city to some amazing place with a castle and a moat or something.
It was called Slovakia, and yes, it was a whole other country. Vienna is so boring it doesn't even have any cool day trips, you have to leave Austria to do something good.
Slovakia's Bratislava sounded like it fit the bill - a beautiful old town with a castle and a moat (Sam has a thing for moats) and it was only an hour's train ride from Vienna.
Happy that we could escape the city and clock up another country to our tally, we had the plan sorted.
After more cheap beers at the hostel bar, we went to a local pub just metres up the road recommended to us by the hostel where we could get schnitzel and chips for six euro.
The schnitzel was good but I didn't like the beer there and we headed back to our room after dinner.
But then the next day, disaster struck.
We were getting ready to go out, moats and castles waiting, when I found a grey hair.
Actually several.
I am 26 and I found grey hairs - in my head if there was need to clarify.
It was a devestating moment. At first Sam tried to pretend they were not really there and then conceded that maybe it was caused by me going back to brunette (?).
Boys simply don't understand. Already most people we have met on the trip are younger than us by several years, having seen more of the world than we have at this point and now I'm going prematurely grey.
I was about due for a minor stress meltdown.
Consequently, by the time Sam coaxed me out of it, it was after midday.
We decided to go to the train station anyway to see when the train to Slovakia was leaving and how much the tickets were.
But it turns out they didn't leave from that station and it would be a pain in the arse to get there.
So back around we turned to look for lunch.
For several weeks now we have been craving something that isn't pizza or pasta. Thai or Chinese seemed like the perfect alternative to Italian/European food.
There was a Chinese restauarant across the road from the train station we had seen the day before and we headed to it, unbothered by how much it would probably cost us.
We ordered what seemed like a banquet for two, there was so much food and we took our time eating it.
Sam ate and ate and ate til he was fit to bursting and then, still wanted coffee.
Turns out a mocca in Austrian is an expresso and not a mocha, chocolate and coffee, so Sam had to drink mine as well.
He was a very full boy by the time we got back to the hostel.
With more washing to be done, not knowing when we would have a chance during the next few weeks, Sam hit the laundry again while I caught up on the blog.
We gave happy hour a miss tonight though, as tempting as the beers were at two euro a pop for half a litre.
We had to get up super early the next day to go to Zagreb. The train left at 7.03am but not from the station nearest to us. We would have to catch the underground a few stops along to our station to get our direct train to Zagreb.
We also had to pack, something that should have been made easier by the fact that this afternoon we posted the beer steins and Killepitsch back to Australia. Turns out there was two kilos of weight in that alone I had been lugging around. Still my bag seemed no lighter without it.
Hopefully Zagreb would have more to offer than Vienna had, a city of disappointment.
Alysia (September 5,6,7)

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

The hills are alive!





Austria - it was the prettiest place by far we have yet visited.
We left Venice on Friday morning, checking out of our hotel before it began to rain (the first we had seen in weeks).
At the train station, we bought tickets to Innsbruck, Austria, a smallish town in the alps and according to Sam it would be a very scenic trip. I bloody well hoped so.
It was a seven hour train ride with two changes - one at Verona and another within Austria, about half an hour from Innsbruck.
The guy who sold us the tickets also managed to book it so they only cost us 20 euro each instead of the 100-odd euro we were expecting. He told us though that we would have to buy tickets at our second change, Brenner, in Austria to the final destination because then it was with Austrian railways and not Italian.
No worries. We boarded with plenty of time, watched the rain begin to fall and were soon whizzing out of Venice.
The change at Verona was just under two hours and with the arrival time ticking over on Sam’s watch, and a glimpse of a sign saying Verona, naturally when the train stopped, I thought we had arrived. Sam was not convinced and asked me again and again if this was the right stop. Unfortunately we were in the last carriage at the very end of a long, long platform and there was not a sign to be seen.
Weighed down as we were with our bags there was no time for one of us to get off, check, and jump back on. So we hopped off.
Checking the tickets we realised our error. We were in Verona alright, just not the right Verona station.
We wanted Verona Nuove and we were at Verona something else.
Bugger me.
We hit the underground walkway until we got to the station to find out where the hell we were. We couldn’t be far from the right station because the time was right for us to have arrived.
Turns out we got off six minutes too early and the next train heading to the right station was about half an hour away.
Luckily for us, our connecting train to Brenner in Austria was an hour wait, during which we had figured we would get some lunch etc.
So it wasn’t disastrous but I suppose it could have been.
Back on the right platform, Sam whipped across the tracks to find us some lunch while I kicked myself and cursed TrenItalia for not having more signs on the platforms.
Our six-minute train ride went off without a hitch and we made it to our connecting train with 10 minutes to spare.
It seemed that within half an hour of our journey, the scenery had completely changed. High mountain ranges shot up either side of the valley the railway line meandered through and the lush green of grapevines abounded.
It wasn’t long before first Sam then I were pointing out to the other things of interest, including several things that looked like castles, set high on the mountain range.
It was stunningly beautiful and I have no idea why we didn’t pull out our cameras and start snapping away.
As the hours passed, the peaks of the mountains only seemed to get higher and the vegetation even more lush and green.
Houses with wooden trim and colourful flower boxes sprung up everywhere and tiny towns dominated by a central church spire passed us by every few minutes.
When I saw my first peak covered in snow, I’m pretty sure I squealed.
I’ve seen snow before, played in it, frozen my arse off in it, but this was different.
We were entering the region of the Austrian alps and the view was spectacular.
The sky was a brilliant blue, the houses and towns like something out of a fairytale and then white-topped mountains encircled the lot.
The last few hours flew by as we sat in awe of the environment we passed.
Like I said, we stupidly did not take any photos, though it did cross my mind. The windows on the train were so filthy I didn’t think they would do the scenery justice.
Finally, the train terminated at Brenner and we had to buy our onward tickets to Innsbruck.
The next train was in about half an hour but buying a ticket was more tricky than anticipated.
The ticket machine seemed to have every destination in all of Austria listed except the one we wanted.
Frustrated, we made to walk away in search of an employee when a German woman stopped us and asked if the machine was broken.
No, we told her, but Innsbruck is not listed.
She flagged a guy walking past and asked him (I surmise because it was in German) how to buy tickets to Innsbruck.
He started to walk away and the woman followed, so we followed her.
He led us to a train with Innsbruck on the destination window.
She told us that apparently we could buy them on the train so we all boarded.
Several others around us seemed just as confused and waited with expectation for the train dude to come along and ask for our tickets.
We had only six stops to Innsbruck and the scenery was just as picturesque, if not more so than what we had already seen.
Still no train guy and we were getting close to our stop. There was a chance we had got this seven-hour trip for 40 euro between us - a European bargain.
We arrived in Innsbruck without seeing any train dude and without having to buy a ticket.
It was also about 20 degrees cooler than when we had left Venice. Um, why are we here again? I hate the cold. It’s pretty, but cold.
We checked into our hotel, the easiest affair yet given the Ibis was above the railway station.
We had booked on Wotif the night before but then the woman asked for a credit card payment as well, which we thought odd at the time and questioned but seemed satisfied with her response for some reason.
It was an Ibis, actually much bigger than the other ones I have been in, and we had a view from our room of the alps - covered in snow!!!
We were both starving and the Burger King across the road beckoned.
It was about 7pm by this stage.
We were both a little excited, carrying on like stupid tourists. I think the high altitude must have touched us in the head.
After dinner we set off on a walk, freezing our arses off mind you. The time in the Mediterranean must have thinned our blood a little.
Sam was dead keen on finding some schnapps and I just wanted beer.
We found a supermarket about to close and snuck in to buy a six pack, some lollies and peach schnapps.
With our supplies we continued our wander until by accident we stumbled across the Alt Stadt, or old town.
This was tourist central, even given the late hour and we also learned a wine festival was in swing.
We promised ourselves we’d come back tomorrow, wanting an early-ish night.
Back in the hotel, we discovered we had no fridge and of course the beer was not cold - it’s actually hard to find beer that’s cold over here.
So Sam went to reception to ask for ice, while I took advantage of the first decent internet connection we’d had in weeks.
We had some beers and were excited to discover all that Innsbruck held the next day.
Alysia (September 3)

Sunday, September 5, 2010

Venice - city of love





We woke in Athens port about 6am, ready to scoff down breakfast and disembark. We had been told our bags would be waiting for us in port. It was a sad morning, the last with our Contiki friends apart from Mai and Clinton whom we would be meeting in Venice.
We had a 11am flight to catch from Athens airport and it was a 40 minute trip from the port. By the time we had picked up our bags and said our goodbyes, it was about 7.30.
We shared a taxi with Mai and Clinton, our bags overflowing from the taxi’s boot and tied down by our at first gruff driver.
He had bargained hard for our fare, trying to stiff us for 90 euro. We had been told not to pay more than 35 or 40 and managed only to get him down to 50, with an extra 10 if we liked the way he drove.
Squished in, we braced ourselves for some classic Greek driving as our taxi driver became tour guide.
The old Athens airport had been right in the centre of the city but had been moved about eight years ago to help cut pollution. Air pollution had been damaging the Acropolis. Consequently, the new airport was now three days by telephone from the city.
The guy was a crack up.
“Do you know that California is a Greek word,” he asked, having learned Mai and Clinton were from the sunshine state in the US.
“Cali comes from the Greek word for good, which comes from the …”
If anyone has seen My Big Fat Greek Wedding, he was exactly like the father in it. Mai and I couldn’t help but laugh.
We arrived at the airport just before 9am and were surprised to find check in for our flight hadn’t opened. We were flying Tarom Airlines, a Romanian airline, to Venice via Bucharest.
Mai and Clinton weren’t flying out until 2pm.
But our timing seemed near perfect. Check in opened within minutes of us lining up and we were one of the first put through.
After arranging a place and time to meet the Californians in Venice, Sam and I passed through passport control and security without a hiccup and waited for our flight to board.
The airport had free wifi and I happily chatted away with various people on Facebook until the gate opened.
Everything was going too easily and once again I think I jinxed us by mentioning this as we passed through the gate and onto the plane.
We had managed to nab the emergency exit seats, scoring some extra legroom and a fellow Aussie in the seat next to us to boot.
He had also been travelling for about two months and had been all over Europe - running with the bulls in Spain, partying in Mykonos and Croatia and was now heading to Budapest in Hungary.
He was fun to chat with but his fixation on the Romanian hostesses being vampires quickly grew old.
The flight was short and soon we landed in Bucharest.
What should have been a short walk through the transfers area to our next gate was held up by a stupid-looking security guard who insisted no one could pass in transit to meet their next flight until “the company” arrived.
Who the company was and why we had to wait he could not explain. Some people had connecting flights to meet within the hour while Sam and I at least at the luxury of a couple of hours.
Finally, after about half an hour of waiting and more and more confused people joining the rabble, a nasty looking woman from Tarom Airlines showed us.
She was the reason we hadn’t been allowed to pass through security as she had to check our boarding passes. The whole thing was ridiculous.
However, for the poor guy who had been on the phone telling whomever that he wasn’t going to make it because he was going to miss his flight, he still couldn’t go anywhere, as he was waiting on British Airways.
After that hiccup it was smooth sailing and Sam and I found a power outlet near our gate and got typing.
Another short flight, accompanied by the exact same food we had had on the flight to Bucharest and we landed in Venice about 4pm.
We were back in Italy and I was pleased because the Greek language had largely bypassed me.
We bought tickets for the water bus direct to San Marco which turned out to be expensive but probably better in the long run. The cheaper tickets were all stops and according to Mai and Clinton who caught one later that afternoon took about an hour and a half.
Ours took about half an hour and bar one other couple, we were the only ones on it. This was great because it meant as we sailed in, we had the run of the boat to take photos.
Venice is a sight to see. Pictures do not do it justice.
What surprised me was how choppy and rough the water was, at least in the Grand Canal and the lagoon.
However, anxiety gnawed at me.
We had booked our accommodation while in Athens and printed off a map that came with our confirmation in Patmos. The printing wasn’t fantastic and everyone on every website had warned - you will get lost in Venice.
I didn’t mind the idea of that so much - without my huge and heavy backpack. As it was, the longer Sam and I wore those things, the crankier we got.
Off the boat and onto the dock, we virtually faced San Marco Piazza, the most famous of Venice’s sights.
It was about 6pm and not nearly as busy as I imagined it must be during the middle of the day and Sam and I set off in the direction our hotel was in.
The place was so amazing to look at, we almost didn’t notice when we arrived at the bridge near where our hotel was supposed to be. This was about all we had managed to make of the map - a general location We had no idea what the hotel looked like and scanning our surrounds we couldn’t see it. We finally asked a man selling artwork on the bridge if he knew where it was and he pointed in the direction of a porch by the canal.
Within 30 seconds we had found our hotel, just 20 metres from a canal.
The lovely hotel owner, Alberto, checked us in, gave us a map of the city and offered to point out to us anything we might need.
Up another flight of stairs and we were in our room, spacey with a beautiful bathroom.
We also asked Alberto if we could stay an extra two nights, having decided once we saw the place that we couldn’t be bothered moving to our other digs for the last two nights. That hostel was in an entirely different district of Venice and would be a bitch to get to.
It didn’t take long before we were out and exploring and within minutes we were at the Rialto Bridge, the most famous of all Venice’s bridges, built in the 1500s.
It is one of only four bridges that span the Grand Canal.
Photos were in order but by this time we were both hungry and we found a little out of the way restaurant on the way back to our hotel to have dinner.
Squid ink spaghetti and scaloppine with marsala sauce and some red wine to wash it down and we were pretty happy little travellers.
It had been a long day that had started very early and it was to bed for us.
Alysia (August 30)

Venice Day Two
Our first day in Venice was spent very romantically doing washing. Contiki partying and Greek isle sailing had taken its toll on our wardrobes and we were in desperate need of clean clothes. Even my mammoth supply of underwear had run low.
Alberto pointed us in the direction of a coin laundry and we managed to negotiate the maze of streets without any trouble to find it.
The man working there took our money with pleasure - our most expensive laundry yet at six euro a load plus four for drying. With two loads - one of colours and one of whites - it added up.
We left the machines to do their thing and wandered around in the vicinity of the laundry, taking a few snaps as we went.
We didn't want to loiter too far in case we got lost and the loads were finished within 40 minutes, which might account for some items not being quite clean.
But we didn't want to waste too much time on chores and I was keen to explore this beautiful city.
We dumped the laundry and made for the main square, after buying a guide book from a nearby vendor.
In the middle of San Marco we had a fine vantage point for the basilica, the palace of the doges, the clock tower and the bell tower.
We referred to our guide book when necessary but on the whole we didn't recognise the names of any of the architects or artists whose work we were admiring so it was a little pointless.
We snapped away like hundreds of others around us and head towards the water.
This was where we had got off the water boat the afternoon before and we set off in a direction we thought would bring us back around to the Grand Canal at some point, so we wouldn't get too lost.
This was pretty much how we spent the afternoon - wandering around, taking photos of buildings, canals, boats. The place is just a delight to be in.
We grabbed a quick pizza for lunch and remarked on the lack of seating in the city, forcing tourists to sit on the steps of bridges and the sides of one of the 200-odd churches.
Sam still wasn't feeling the best and we headed back to the hotel in mid afternoon.
That evening we met Mai and Clinton for dinner. They had this great little guide book that had a list of restaurants they wanted to check out.
We ended up at a little place called alla Madonna or something like that that specialised in seafood.
We hadn't given it much thought before getting there, but it made sense that Venice would have great seafood.
We ordered wine and shared a cold seafood appetiser between the four of us.
For mains there was fried calamari, grilled prawns, whole red mullet and squid in ink sauce and polenta.
It was all good and we were glad we had got to the restaurant early as it filled up quickly.
We headed back to Mai and Clinton's five-star hotel to admire the view from the terrace below.
It overlooked the Grand Canal and the church and other sights Sam and I had walked to that day. It was beautiful.
More wine was consumed before Sam and I bid farewell and headed back to our own modest digs.
As we passed through San Marco, we had the luxury of being two of less than a dozen people in the piazza that is usually crowded with thousands of tourists.
Venice doesn't have much of a nightlife and we had read that a visit to the Piazza after dark was well worth it.
The buildings were lit beautifully and it was lovely standing in the cool night air admiring it without the hordes.
Alysia (August 31)

Venice Day Three
The third day passed much in the same way as the one before, minus the washing. Sam and I set off after breakfast in the hotel for a wander, but in the opposite direction.
We were determined to get lost this day which we had found difficult yesterday.
Yet everything we had read about Venice told us we would get lost.
We walked over the Rialto Bridge and found the locals fresh produce and seafood market. The restaurant we had eaten at the night before had been very near here so we were glad to know the produce was fresh.
Beyond the markets and we kept walking, turning around only when we found a dead end at a canal with no bridge.
This happened at one point opposite Venice's Casino, a very posh affair set on the Grand Canal.
We contemplated getting the water bus ... somewhere ... but didn;t really know where to go. We talked about going to Murano, where the famous Murano glass is blown into amazing objects and jewellery but decided against it as there was such an abundance on the main island anyway and we weren't going to buy any.
As we walked back toward the hotel, we stopped to admire plenty of wine bottle stoppers, with decorative glass on top but knew that for the price they weren't the real deal anyway.
We're quite picky with what we buy at the moment because we are so conscious of the weight of our bags, especially as we have several more flights before we go home.
At the moment the plan is to head from Venice into Slovenia, then Ausria, dart into Switzerland for a few days and make our way up to Paris.
The idea of spending a lot of time in France is becoming less appealing to us, though we can't really say why.
We had originally thought we would go from Venice to Verona to see Juliet's Balcony, and who knows, we still might.
Today was also exciting because it was the day we knew Clinton was going to propose to Mai on a gondola. He had spilled the beans to us in Athens and while she knew they were going on a gondola, she had no idea what was in store.
We thought about it often as we wouldn't meet up with them until tomorrow, when we were going to the beach at Lido.
In the afternoon, we started researching where we might go after Venice, given we only had one more day here.
Typing in random nearby countries into Google, we found a tour company that ran a tour starting in Croatia and ending in Prague.
The idea had appeal and the price was right.
There was also another tour, an eight-day sailing around Croatia but the dates didn't work for us, even though it sounded amazing.
We liked the idea and decided that from Prague we could head west as planned to Paris.
Dinner was a truly typical Sam and Alysia affair. Anyone who has had lunch with us in Tamworth knows how long it can take us to work out what we want to eat. This was proving to be one of those nights. So far we had been splashing out probably more than we should have been on food and we really needed to cut back. Our excuse always seemed to be "but when will we ever be in Florence/Pisa/Rome/Sorrento again".
After walking around for almost two hours looking for somewhere to eat, we finally stopped at a small out of the way restaurant somewhere near the Rialto. The place was pretty much empty and we decided, unsurprisingly, to splash out "because we were in Venice".
I had the clam spaghetti - which was sooo good - while Sam had gnocchi in fish sauce, that was soooo yummy.
Main was grilled prawns for me - disappointing - and Sam had mixed fried seafood.
It was another expensive dinner but so tasty.
Alysia (September 1)

Venice Day Four
Our last day in Venice we met up with Mai and Clinton at 10 to catch a boat to Lido, the island between the sea and the main island of Venice.
As discussed, we had our best surprised faces on for when Mai and Clinton told us their news, unsure whether or not Clinton would tell Mai we had already known.
"we're engaged!" Mai blurted.
"Congratulations!"
She was so excited and hadn't been able to tell her family or anyone. There was handshaking and hugs and we set off for the boat to Lido while Mai filled me in on the proposal.
A gondola, champagne and an opera singer - how romantic! Clinton had planned it months ago and Mai had had no idea what he was up to.
We bought out tickets to Lido, but couldn't work out where to validate them. Italy has this bizarre thing where you buy tickets then you have to validate them before you use them.
As the boat pulled into the dock, I spied a box that looked right and raced off to get my ticket stamped. The others were not so quick and I was first back to the boat. Without thinking I jumped on, thinking the others would be able to jump on before it left. But in Venice the boats don't wait for anybody and it pulled out, with the others still on the dock.
I waved goodbye and told them I would meet them there.
The next stop was only a five minute trip up the canal and I decided to hop off there and catch them on the next one, rather than wait like a Nigel at Lido.
Reunited on the next boat, it was maybe a 20-minute trip to Lido. It looked very different to Venice proper and more like a beach town you might find in Australia.
We walked up the main drag until we were on the other side of the island. It was a 10-minute walk, that's how narrow the island is, although it is rather long.
Here was the free beach, with beach chairs and umbrella which you of course paid for the privilege of using.
The sand of was soft but grey in colour and the water as flat as the Bay. It was kind of funny when Mai and Clinton said it looked "rough".
We spent several hours lying in the sun, people watching and ignoring the sarong vendors walking the beach.
Pizza and beer for lunch - this was becoming a bad habit - and Sam and I decided to head back to the main island to do some more research and book the tour we had found the day before to Prague. Mai and Clinton said they were going to go to Murano but told us later they ended up coming back too.
Back in the hotel and back online, we found another tour with the same company that went from Split in Croatia to Istanbul via Bosnia, Serbia and Bulgaria. It was only a six-day tour which would give us five days in Istanbul. Both Sam and I had said after our visit to Kusadasi that we would have loved to go to Istanbul. The only thing would be getting from there to Paris.
And wouldn't you know it, there were cheap flights from Istanbul to Paris on the day we wanted.
We were sold on the idea. But what to do in the meantime. We had to get to Croatia anyhow to start this tour, what would we do there?
The eight-day sailing tour resurfaced and we liked the sound of it even more. BUt could we afford it?
We were just over 40 days in and had 40-plus days left.
The two tours would cost us the equivalent of $3000 Australian for 14 days. It was better value than the Contiki tours, but the digs wouldn't be four-star either.
We decided to do it and started the booking process. We would go to Austria for the week in between, head down to Split, then start the tours.
But somewhere in the booking process, the net crashed and we couldn't finish the booking.
We weren't too worried, we would fix it up in Austria.
Austria, now that was exciting. Sam had been reading up on it and I knew virtually nothing about this place he wanted to go to called Innsbruck. Apparently, the scenery was really pretty and we could catch the train there.
So we booked accommodation in Innsbruck at the Ibis on Wotif. We knew where we were headed now we just had to get there.
You can't book train tickets online in Italy so we would just have to wing it when we got to the station in the morning and hope it wasn't too expensive.
That night, we met Mai and Clinton again for our final dinner.
We bought a bottle of champagne on the way to their hotel to celebrate their engagement and admired their new room. The air conditioning unit had started leaking into the wall and from the ceiling and they had been moved to a balcony room overlooking the Grand Canal.
The view was sensational.
The annual gondola races on each September were on in three days' time and some sort of official blessing ceremony was taking place at the church opposite their hotel - of which we had a perfect view from their balcony.
We drank the champagne, took photos and then headed out to dinner - another place they had read about in that guide book of theirs.
This one was more out of the way and it took more than a bit of wandering to find it.
It took us past the Bridge of Sighs, one of the most famous of Venice's bridges and we have to say the most disappointing. Because of some sort of restoration work, the entire thing is covered in and surrounded by advertising billboards. It makes the whole thing look horribly tacky and the bridge itself is completely lost in it.
Dinner was very much not a toursity place, given the entire menu was in Italian and the waiters looked like if we asked for one in English they would kick us out. Some guesswork ensued and a few casual questions to the waiter to determine what some dishes were before we made our order.
The waiter dismissed our wine order and chose for us, as he did when our second courses arrived.
It was more seafood of course and it was fantastic.
We stopped for a late night expresso on the way back to Mai and Clinton's hotel, where we left them. Sam and I were going to go on a gondola ride.
It was close to 11pm and the cost more than if we had gone during the day, but ti was worth it. I hadn't heard the city so quiet since we had arrived. The water in the canals was still and there was so little other traffic. There was also no tourists snapping pictures as we passed under the bridge they were standing on.
Mai had said that as Clinton proposed, they had passed under a very busy bridge and everyone watching had clapped.
The ride lasted about 40 minutes and our gondolier pointed out buildings of interest on the way.
It was the perfect way to cap off our time in Venezia.
Alysia (September 2)

Crete and Santorini






It was our last full day of island hopping and we had two stops - Crete and Santorini.
I had high hopes for Crete having studied the Minoan civilisation in year 12 and the palace of Knossos. Unfortunately while this was an optional excursion, no one else on the tour was interested in Greek mythology, no thanks to Dom our Contiki tour manager who didn’t highlight it as a tour worth doing.
So we decided instead to wander the city and explore it at our leisure. This also meant for the first time in weeks that we could sleep in and get off the ship when we wanted to.
The problem with this was, it was Sunday and nothing in Crete opened until 9-ish, meaning 9.30, 10, 10.30. We had to be back on the ship by 11. We had docked at 7am which meant the first couple of hours were virtually pointless unless you went on either of the excursions.
We took a long time to get going that morning, not least because of the drinks the night before.
When we finally managed to stagger off the ship, it was only 9.30 and it was already proving that it was going to be another of those unbearably hot days that had been coming thick and fast since we arrived in the Mediterranean. In fact, apart from one day in Florence and the day I stacked it in Siena, we had had sunshine almost every day.
So, off the boat and we wandered in the direction Dom had directed us, toward an old Venetian fortress closed to the public, situated on the headland.
It was much as you would expect a fortress to be and we didn’t spend long standing in the sun admiring it.
We wandered up into the town but it proved to be much as Dom described, quiet and not much to see.
Sam and I decided to give calling his parents a shot with his Greek phone card he had yet had a chance to use.
However, for whatever reason, the line wouldn’t connect and we were left more frustrated and cranky that the hot weather had already incited.
We walked back to the ship for our 11am meeting with Dom to discuss the Santorini excursion that afternoon and the disembarking process for the morning.
Dom explained that in the morning, we would wake docked in the port at Athens. We would have to leave our luggage outside our cabin door before midnight that evening so it could be taken to the dock by the porters, ready for us to collect when we got off. It would be another leap of faith like when we surrendered our passports.
Speaking of passports we had to collect them after our Santorini excursion and settle our on board account.
The whole ship was cashless, everything was charged to your room account including drinks and beauty treatments. Thanks to my hobbit feet, I had racked up quite a bill at the beauty salon.
With only a few more hours of free time on board the ship before Santorini, I kicked back on the pool deck in the sun while Sam took the time to catch up on some more sleep.
We were expecting big things from Santorini that afternoon. Dom had talked up the excursion we were going to go on, an island tour to the town of Oia, where many of the famous Greek postcards are snapped. White buildings, blue doors and windows and the famous blue domed churches on a cliff overlooking the sea and the other town of Fira.
We were anxious to see it for ourselves.
We docked about 4pm and had to catch a tender boat to the island itself, the island not really having a port. The island itself is amazing to look at. It used to be a circle but was partly destroyed by a volcano about 2500 years ago, leaving it a crescent shape with two out posts. It is also reputed to be where the lost city of Atlantis lies, the golden city claimed by the sea. The eruption was so huge, it changed the climate of the northern hemisphere. Ash from the eruption has been found in places as far away as California and evidence has been found in trees all over the world.
It changed the face of the island entirely, the island itself now an amazing environment of volcanic rock and pumice stone. The cliffs are steep and the homes of the inhabitants perched precariously on their edge. Many are built into the cliffs, like cave houses.
To get to the top, our bus had to follow a narrow road that zigged and zagged up the cliff face. It was some spectacular driving on our driver’s behalf.
As we drove, our tour guide gave us a history of the island, the volcano and the people who lived there today.
The island only gets about 10 to 12 inches (250mm to 300mm) of rain a year but sits at about 76 per cent humidity most of the time. Irrigation is impossible because of the rainfall but the moisture in the air makes some agriculture possible and in fact the volcanic soil is some of the best in the world.
The trip to Oia, the prettiest of the two towns, took about half an hour by bus. Others not participating on the excursion could catch the cable car or donkey - yes donkey - up the cliff side to Fira.
The heat and humidity in Oia was oppressive. We were soaked in sweat within minutes of getting out of the bus and our energy levels were pretty low.
When our tour guide released us for the whole hour we had in the town free, we hastened to see this amazing landscape and view we had heard so much about.
And it was beautiful. It was just as had been described - pristine white buildings built onto the cliff face, accented by blue doors and windows overlooking the sea. Blue dome churches; it was all there. The sun was beating down but we were determined to get the pictures we had come for.
Click, click, click. And it was back to the relative comfort of the bus. We were going back to the town of Fira, the capital of Santorini and where we had to find our way back down to the tender boats below, waiting to take us back to the cruise ship.
We had three options, walk the 600-odd steps to the bottom, ride a donkey down those same steps or catch the cable car which took less than three minutes.
When we had first been told about this excursion, many on our group loved the sound of the donkey, but as the day had worn on, the idea of riding a smelly donkey that the cruise ship advised us not to, became less appealing. Many were still keen, but we opted out and even the more adventurous of our bunch chose the bar for a few drinks over the 20-minute uncomfortable ride.
By this time, a strange natural phenomenon had occurred. What looked like low clouds has descended over the island, greying the sky and the humidity jumped to at least 98 per cent. I say 98 per cent and not 100 because it didn’t rain but they were humidity clouds. This was apparently where they got the moisture for agriculture without it ever raining. If we were sticky before, we were saturated now. Everything felt uncomfortable and the wind on this side of the island had blown up a gale.
We had less than an hour to make our way to the cable car or donkey and board the ship.
At the cable car, a large queue had formed and Sam and I decided to stop for a drink at a cliffside bar before heading down. The waiter offered us a seat protected from the wind but Sam wanted the table on the edge, that made it feel like you were sitting on air. And on a calm day it would have been spectacular. We could see down into the posh hotels than lined the cliff and the restaurants, the infinity pools and even the donkeys meandering their way down the 600-odd steps.
But I got the impression it was usually windy there when the waiter brought out our bill encased in a plastic tube so it wouldn’t blow away.
It was so windy, we had to hold onto our empty beer bottles once they had been poured so they wouldn’t blow away.
We hopped on the cable car for a quick ride down the cliffs and were hurried onto a tender boat.
The shower that night was the most welcome I have had since we arrived in London, six weeks ago.
It was our final dinner with many new friends before we docked in Athens.
We ate in the restaurant and had an early night. Most of us had to pack to put our bags out for the porters to collect and I knew that mine would need an entire repack.
Luckily, Sam was nice enough to do this for me. I had our Turkish rug and a few trinkets I had picked up here and there to get in and there was no way I would have managed it.
I think we got them out about 11.45 and then it was time for bed.
Alysia (August 29)

Why I love Turkey






Oh my god, I love Turkey! Not the gobble gobble kind either but the amazing shopping and rugs Turkey.
Today was another super early start for our excursion. We were going to visit the ancient city of Ephesus, a short bus ride from the port, uncovered during excavations 140 years ago and still being excavated today.
It was a Roman and Greek city built by a general of Alexander the Great’s for the Ephesian people. Apparently, Alexander had promised it to them during his travels through the region but died before he could make good on this oath. So his mate, a general under him, came back and built the city. But then, the people didn’t want to move to it, already living comfortably elsewhere. So the general stopped up all the drainage in their town and it flooded, forcing the inhabitants to move to his new city of Ephesus.
It is one of the archaeological wonders of the world and some of it is very well preserved. It is similar to Pompeii and the forum in Rome, given it was Roman architecture but the most amazing thing about Ephesus is its size. Only 13 per cent of the city has been uncovered in 140 years of excavations. The rest of it still lays buried beneath tonnes of earth and who knows what treasures they will find if they ever excavate the lot.
The site includes some Roman baths, toilets, a library, a theatre (that could seat 24,000 spectators) and many more temples as well as residential houses. Ephesus is where Antony and Cleopatra honeymooned: the boulevard they walked on is still preserved today.
And it’s accessible. Almost the entire site of Ephesus can be touched, walked on, climbed over and sat on, making it much more engaging than Pompeii and the forum.
Our guide, Emre, was very knowledgeable and a hoot to boot. We wandered the site for about an hour, taking in only about one kilometre of the vast city.
It was only 9am but it was getting hot. The heat we have experienced since being in Italy and Greece has been stifling at times.
Bypassing the guy selling photos on his camel for one euro, we boarded the bus to head back towards the port (it had been about a half hour drive) to visit the Ottoman Rug Gallery. This could have been one of those cheesy things the tour guides are known for, where they take you to certain stores in the hope of getting kickbacks from sales. And it was, but it was also very interesting.
Turkey is renowned for its rugs. For centuries, Turkish women have traditionally handmade the most elaborate, intricate and spectacular rugs. The difference between Turkish rugs and other rugs from around the world is that Turkish rugs are always double knotted, making them more long lasting and resilient to traffic.
As this was all being explained to us by the store manager, his minions unrolled dozens and dozens of rugs in various sizes, colours and patterns and some of them were very beautiful. There were rugs as small as a placemat while others would fill a large lounge room. There were “magic carpets” that changed colour as you spun them around as the lay of the weave hit the light (if you said the magic words abracadabra). He explained that while the smallest rugs could be created in as few as three weeks, some of the larger ones could take up to several years to complete and would be worked on by several women. On the other hand, a very intricate and rare rug he showed us, about the size of a pillow case took four years by one woman who worked on it for just two hours a day. But her work was much sought after and it was in silk.
They had rugs made of cotton on cotton, wool on cotton, silk on cotton and silk on silk, with the latter obviously fetching a higher price. These were Turkey’s answer to the Renaissance arts.
The tradition of rug making was slowly disappearing in Turkey and this store was part of a co-operative working with local villages to on-sell the rugs produced by the women on a world market.
And as Kylie said I would, I bought one.
After drinking our apple tea and examining all the rugs before us, almost everyone in our group left the moment the time came for the minions to start the hard sell. Sam and I left our move a fraction late and got spotted eyeing one rug too closely.
“You like?” one of the minions asked.
“Yes, they are all beautiful,” I said.
“I get you a price.”
Curious more than anything to know how much these artworks went for, we waited to find out.
The larger rug I had my eye on was about 500 euro. It was about a fifth larger than a doormat.
No way. But there was another and much smaller rug I had liked from the moment it was rolled out. It was tiny in comparison to what we had seen, about the size of placemat but a big longer. It was mostly red in colour that kind of took on a pinky hue in a certain light.
“How much for this one?” I asked.
A few calculations and our “special Contiki discount” because “you are young and not rich”.
“120 euro.”
Sam and I visibly gulped and made to walk away. Apparently it was usually 300 euro but for us it was a very special price.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I can’t afford that. I am a poor student.” Hehe.
“You like it, yes?”
“Yes, I like it but I can’t pay that much.”
“How much you pay then?”
“I can’t, I can’t.”
“How about, just for you then, let’s say 100 euro we have a deal?”
“I’m sorry, no that’s too much money. I love it but I can’t pay that much.”
“You tell me then how much you pay?”
At this point Sam chipped in with “60 euro”.
Now it was the salesman’s turn to be shocked and to tell the truth so was I. I probably would never have gone that low. The salesman swallowed, looked a tad cranky.
“Let me ask the boss, I can’t decide on such a low price.”
He turned to the owner and spluttered something in Turkish with much hand gesturing. I’m sure we were being called all sorts of horrid names.
“70, I can do it for 70.”
Done.
So we bought a rug and it was promptly rolled up, wrapped up and with its care instructions tucked into the bag we were out of there before we bought anything else. I thought we got a good deal.
Our rug took four weeks to make, is handmade and will outlast us. “Turkish rugs will last 3, 4, 500 years even in high traffic areas,” they tell us. We will use it as a wall hanging because it’s so small.
Leaving the rug store, we found the rest of the group ready to hit the Turkish baths. Having declined the offer of being pummelled by a hairy Turkish man, Sam and I decided to continue shopping in the bazaar instead.
Did I mention I love Turkey?
I loved every shop, every little thing they sold there - except Turkish delight which you could get five boxes of for 10 euro.
The hukas I really liked the look of. They are the big water pipes that people smoke flavoured tobacco out of. Now Sam and I had no interest in using them to smoke but they were beautifully crafted and very Turkish.
We particularly liked the look of the copper ones, engraved and hand painted with intricate patterns around the base. They came in all sizes but the one we liked was about 60cm tall and weighed much less than what we thought to look at, coming in at just under 900 grams.
I know this, because we bought one and posted it home.
But before I get to that, we shopped around for the huka. The first shop we tried the guy offered it to us for 60 euro and it was nice but instinct told us we might get a better price.
So we wandered in and out of a dozen shops selling the same things. The delicate tea sets were so beautiful and I desperately wanted one but had no idea how I would get it home.
Finally, in a shop that looked like all the others, selling the same things, we found a huka that seemed, actually exactly the same but the guy had cornered us this time.
“How much?”
“120 euro,” he said.
“Seriously? What’s your best price?”
“100 euro.”
Well, we can get the same one around the corner for 50 euro,” we said.
“50 euro?”
“Yep, 50. If we can pay that, we will got back to the other guy.”
“You are honest, so I respect that. I will sell it to you for 50 euro.”
Another deal done.
God I love Turkey.
Now we had this whopping huka and a Turkish rug. This was going to make my pack a lot heavier.
As we left the store, I saw a sign for the post office and we decided that if it was reasonable we would post back the huka, as the guy had put it in a box for us.
When the guy at the post office deigned to notice us, he was actually quite helpful. Like I said, the huka weighed about 900 grams, which with the box and newspaper he stuffed into it took it up to about a kilo. To send it back to Australia would cost us 20 euro, but to not have to carry it around for the next five weeks, there was no questioning the value.
While stuffing our box, the post office guy asked how much we had paid for it. When we told him 50, he seemed quite impressed. I asked him if we had got a good price or been ripped off and he said, “no that good.”
Hopefully, it gets there. Kate I sent it to you by the way.
The job done, we power walked back to the ship, having left ourselves about five minutes to get back on board.
We made it with plenty of time, as many others were late, but it was close.
Stowing our bags away in our cabin, it was time for lunch on board. Pretty much more of the same as the day before.
Today, however, after lunch I had booked in for some desperately needed attention at the beauty salon.
My hair had become unmanageable and dry and my feet … oh yeah they were bad. Weeks of walking around for between four and nine hours a day had left the heels hard and cracked, the soles dry and my nails were, well, a Greek tragedy.
I had only booked in for a shampoo and cut, along with the pedicure but as the woman put my feet into the spa bath to soak, she talked me into a manicure as well while we were waiting.
Loving the attention after weeks on the go, in and out of hotels, train stations, bus stations and airports, it was so nice to actually relax for a few hours of luxury.
My finger nails weren’t nearly as tragic as my toe nails and this was a pretty no fuss affair though the hand and arm massage were lovely.
Then we got to the feet.
With the pumice stone she set to work and the expression on her face said it all.
“I know, I’m sorry. They are awful,” I said.
She smiled wryly and said “yes, but I have seen worse … not much worse.”
Fantastic, I had hobbit feet.
I’m sure this pedicure took much longer than the woman had anticipated but she won in the end. Humiliated as I was it wasn’t difficult to talk me into buying some pedi scrub and foot lotion.
After she was done with my feet and I resembled something human again, she moved onto my hair.
It needed a good trim and I wanted a fringe again.
She took to me with scissors and the result … probably not what I would have done but it’s grown on me. I don’t think I have had a fringe this short since primary school.
She also managed to talk me into buying some conditioner, which since I actually needed some I was happy to do.
Pretty and pampered, by the time we were finished it was ready to disembark at Patmos, the third stop on our island hopping cruise.
Patmos was a disappointment. We had opted to go on the scenic island tour excursion which included a stop at St John’s grotto, the place where John had apparently written the Book of Revelations.
Not being religious I was still interested to see this holy site, which is said to be second only to Jeruselum. It attracts thousands and thousands of pilgrims every year.
The scenic island tour was a bus trip. It was very hot and the tour guide had a very monotonous voice that encouraged one to sleep rather than ask questions.
Patmos is a small island that has a huge water shortage. They ship in water from Crete and the island has no hospital. Pregnant women due to give birth have to leave for the mainland or Crete at least a month before.
Compared to Mykonos, it had little charm and compared to some of the other places we had seen like Cyprus, it had little beauty. It was quite a barren place that people apparently spent millions of euros on to live and vacation to during summer.
Personally I didn’t see it.
Then came St John’s grotto. So this was a cave basically that John was exiled to from Turkey. He was very old at the time and it was here he allegedly heard God speak to him and he wrote the Book of Revelations.
Now it has been proven that a dude by the name of John did live here for some time and did write the book.
But, you go in this cave and there are some niches in the wall that have been gilded in gold. This one was where he “used to put his hand to help him stand” up and this one “he used to rest his head and sleep ”. And people are worshipping these holes in the walls. It was bizarre. There is also no proof this is what they were used for at all. There is also a section in the rock ceiling where three lines meet in the overhang. This is apparently where John heard the voice of the Lord and so powerful it was that it cracked the rock into three - the Holy Trinity.
Now, that to me is downright bogus and I hate when the church profit off bogus. It’s not free to visit the cave and monastery constructed above it in the 15th century. Thousands of people from around the world travel here to pray and honour their beliefs at this site and there isn’t a skeric of evidence to support it. Grrr.
So anyway, it was a tiny cave that you walked around in a anti-clockwise direction to look at some gold gilded holes in the wall.
It was very underwhelming.
All up, this island excursion had cost us 54 euro each and it was the least value for money of all the Contiki optionals so far.
On the way back to the port, the tour guide spent 10 minutes selling us on why we should visit a little café situated on the water and what it sold and where we could sit there. It was blatant sales and was not well received.
So Patmos disappointed me. The only good thing about it was we found an internet café there and were able to print out our tickets for our flights to Venice from Athens and we booked our accommodation in Venice.
Back on the ship, it was time for dinner, our first on board. Eight of us went to the restaurant where we had a selection of about four different entrees, soups and salads, mains, side dishes and desserts.
The food was filling and tasty and before long it was time to get ready for our Contiki cocktail party.
This, for those avid followers of ours, was where we thought Sam would need a suit for but it seems some things changed since Contiki last updated its itineraries.
The ship used to host a Captain’s cocktail party which required a jacket and tie for men and cocktail dresses for women. This had since stopped so now Contiki held its own cocktail party for half an hour in one of the lounges on board. All drinks and cocktails during this whole half hour were “free” - meaning we had paid for it in the cost of our tour.
But anyway, Sam decided to pull out the suit because it would probably be his only chance to wear it and we had been telling everyone about his brown linen suit. I had also still never seen it on him.
I don’t know if dashing would be the right word to describe it but certainly conspicuous.
We indulged in our free drinks and stuck around for happy hour in the lounge when all drinks were half price.
We ended up buying so many in that hour we couldn’t finish them and it was about midnight that I was ready for bed.
Alysia (August 28)