Croatia, July 2010

Europe has this great system called the Schengen agreement, whereby most people of western countries can hang around in Europe for 90 days each year. We've already been in these Schengen countries for ooohhh 60-odd days, so we have been forced to come to Eastern Europe for the rest of our time before we fly to Canada. Forced might be too harsh a word.
We flew from London to Split, Croatia where half of Europe also seems to go for holidays. Phill was here four years ago, when Croatia was still that exotic place that was a little bit out there. It is now ridiculously accessible, with cheap flights from England, package tours from all over Europe and those inescapable Sail Croatia tours full of amazingly tanned young people.
We decided to do the country by ourselves as our budget (still surprisingly good after six months) still has to stretch another two months. We had three nights in Split, staying with Zoran - private accommodation is the norm, with most houses and apartment blocks with 'rooms/zimmer/sober/camere' signs out the front. A private room with a bathroom cost about $50 for us both, which was cheaper than the youth hostels.
From Split we went north to Zadar, then back down to Primosten and all the way down to Dubrovnik.
We are here smack bang in the middle of school holidays, and who wouldn't want to come to Eastern Europe for some sun? The scenery is lovely, the water crystal clear. Pity about all the people though. And these people - you can smell the skin cancer on them! We would be cowering in the tiny patches of shade provided by the stunted trees around the beach, while people young and old would have all their bits out getting a tan. The constellations of moles on some of these people...I would diagnose skin cancer with no qualms.
Primosten was without a doubt the highlight of Croatia - and not only because a special little boy turned 23. Phill was here four years ago and wanted to come back to spend his birthday here. It's a smaller town away from the main tourist destinations, but still packed with Croatian families having some beach time. The marina had some massive boats (we put a couple on lay by) and the restaurants were pretty good. It's nice to be able to afford a restaurant meal on a marina, looking at ridiculously wealthy people on their boats and yachts.
From Primosten we had a pretty terrible 7-hour bus ride to Dubrovnik. The view was spectacular, following the coast road through little villages with immense views of the archipelago. The air conditioning was shit and the traffic was horrendous, but we got there.
Dubrovnik is an amazing city with loads of history. It was bombed by the Serbians only 20 years ago - people our age would remember, and people older than us fought. The old town is alley after alley, and alley cat after alley cat. The restaurants and bars make for great people watching.
We stayed in private accommodation with the cutest 79-year-old, 5foot nothing lady, who said we were 'super touristic' which I'm sure means cool backpackers in Croatian. We were a 15 minute walk from the old town, and about 5 minutes from the harbour and all the ridiculously big boats, including a mega mega cruise ship. We stayed in DB for four nights, hoping to meet up with some friends also in town. We kept sharp eyes out for them, but the hordes of travellers and tourists blocked our views. We found a delightful cliff side swimming spot with shade cloth 'for locals only' and spent some lovely hours reading and diving in the crystal clear water under the sheer cliffs.

Travel by numbers.

Six months =

• 16 countries (Indonesia, Thailand, Malaysia, China, Mongolia, Russia, Estonia, Latvia, Sweden, Germany, Spain, France, England, Croatia, Bosnia, Montenegro)
• 11 capital cities (Jakarta, Bangkok, Kuala Lumpur, Beijing, Ulaanbaatar, Moscow, Riga, Stockholm, Berlin, Madrid, London)
• 8 modes of transport (Plane, bus, train, ferry, car, boat, bike, camel, horse)
• 6 flights
• 3 overnight bus trips
• 1 scary Siberian passport controller
  
• 2 hotels (Jakarta, Berlin)
• 2 couch surfers (Tomsk, Sigulda)
• 1 bout of Siberian flu
• 2 bouts of diarrhea (Phill)
  
• 4 seasons of How I Met Your Mother (in three days in Hamburg)
• 0 trains/busses/flights/ferries/horses missed
• 2 bunk beds fell out of (Phill)
• 1 very scared backpacker (when Phill fell on her in the middle of the night)
• 3 bottles of shampoo
• 2 bottles of body moisturiser
• 2 bottles of face moisturiser
• 4 tubes of toothpaste
• 2 toothbrushes
  
• 1 credit card taken by ATM
• 1 sarong lost...by Kate
• 1 pair of sunnies stolen
• 1 pair of sunnies drunkenly smashed
• 0 haircuts
• 0 beard trims
• 6 animals kicked (frog, pigeon, cat, horse, camel, fish...all by Phill. Who kicks a frog???)
• 1 time confused for brother and sister
• 1 old housemate run into in Croatia
• 1 TV interview (tourism TV Thailand, you're welcome)
• 3 fines (jay walking in KL, no train ticket in Berlin, Phill 'not realising' he had a butterfly knife in his carry on bag flying out of Germany...dick.)
• 3 times Phill has called home
• 2 birthdays
• 1 ballet performance (St Petersburg, Russia)
• 1 Westend show (Les Mis)
• 1 ping pong show (Phuket)
• 1 Jonas brother seen in real life
• 1 fire fought (Pamplona grass fire...we were all over it)
  
• 23,392 kms travelled in Asia...still adding up the rest. That's Brisbane to St Petersburg.
• 13,032 kms travelled by land
• 0 nights spent apart (yes, we both agree that's lame)
  

Pamplona, July 2010

Boy do the Spanish know how to party. And so do Aussies and Kiwis!
Phill and I both signed up about six months ago to volunteer with a tour company at the San Fermin Festival (Running of the Bulls). It was a hectic week which we started 4 days early with the volunteer crew - about 20 Aussies, Kiwis and a token Pom. We set up 200 tents in the heat of the Spanish sun and were rewarded with ridiculous amounts of alcohol and amazing food impressively cooked by Dirty Pillows. That night we drank with the volunteer crew from the Top Deck tour, met some cool people and got to know eachother. We still had another day of work, fixing tents and rabbiting about a bit, but that was rewarded, again, with ridiculous amounts of alcohol - this time Sangria, which was basically a mix of red wine and any hard alcohol Jamie, the Aussie guy in charge of us ground crew, could get his hands on. It was potent but made for a great night of singing and dancing in enclosed spaces. We celebrated being awesome at firefighting (the scrub around the campsite went up in flames because it was so hot! - so there were 20 Aussies running around with buckets of water and fire extinguishers. But it was ok, we got free beer).
The opening day of the festival, July 6, was the biggest street party in the world. Young and old, Spanish and tourists, lined the streets of Pamplona. Everyone without exception wore white, a red sash around the waist, and a red bandana first around the wrist, then worn around the neck when the festival officially kicked off with a rocket at midday.
Then came the sangria. We drunk alot, but we threw even more over eachother. Phill's beard, already a phenomenon, went to a whole new level when the Beard Shot was invented. Pour sangria through the beard - 'pour Sangria high off the cheekbone, allowing it to filter down to the tip of the beard, gaining all the nutritiousness and awesomeness of ginger infused sangria'. Strangers did it. Phill drank out of a mannequins leg and we taught some Spanish boys the classic Australian song - 'tits out for the boys'. Bless them, I hope it worked for them at least once.

People die on the opening day. There is a statue that people jump off, into the crowd, hoping to be caught - some aren't. The main town square is packed with people so you literally can't move. Champagne bottles are thrown, people lose their shoes and there is broken glass everywhere. Not to mention sangria, mustard, tomato sauce, flour and eggs in the eyes! Families still walk around, kids in strollers, aware that at any minute a spontaneous street parade could start up and they could be caught in the middle.

But man is it a party!

Then, of course, there is the actual running of the bulls. Each morning at 8am, 6 bulls (plus one each day, for 7 days) especially bred to be agro, are let free to run through the narrow streets of Pamplona to the bull ring. Thousands of Spaniards and tourists wait to catch a glimpse of the beasts before sprinting as fast as they can towards the bull ring. The runners aren't allowed to touch any part of the bull, even if it is gouging them, but they are allowed to hit it on the head with a rolled up newspaper - which one isn't monitored.

Once the bulls make it to the bull ring, they are ushered (that sounds too polite...) through the exit on the other side. Hundreds of men and a few sneaky women are now in the bull ring, all in red and white. And then they let another bull out! This is a younger bull with balls taped around the tips of its horns, so it's not as dangerous. But the men taunt and tease the bull until it charges into a pack of people and hopefully gouges someone in the arse. It's very entertaining.

I watched the bull run from the stands in the bullrun, looking for a ranga with a beard while watching the baby bull charge. Phill did the run, saw the bulls but was the first one to not be allowed into the bull ring (by a woman cop...). Some crazy Spaniards (and a crazy Aussie from the camp crew) knelt down at the entrance to the bull ring, where they let the baby bulls in. This bull, charged up from all the taser shots I'm sure the give it, absolutely charges through these people, all kneeling pack up against the gate. It's surprising how much air the bull can get in order to clear so many people. There were always one or two guys that got kicked in the head or stomped on by the bull. A couple of people got knocked out, a couple of people got punched by Spaniards for holding the bull.

Each night of the nine day festival is a party. Carparks become bars, streets are dancefloors and every person is a friend. It was great for us to stay in the one place for 8 days, with free accommodation and a great bunch of people to party with. We were also taken to San Sebastian - a beach with waves! - for one last hurrah with the volunteer crew before the epic bus ride back to London.

Spain June 2010

Well London has served up another typically inconsistent day of weather so with the rain coming and going it's a good time for blogging! While watching fat girlfriend, skinny boyfriend on Jerry Springer.
We arrived in London on Sunday arvo after 20-odd hours on a bus. A free bus from San Sebastian so we try not to complain too much. We are lucky enough to have a room to crash in, a friend from home who we won't be able to see as we were two days late getting to London (busses blowing up and what not) and Kelly had to fly to Paris Sunday morning.
We spent nearly a month in Spain, starting in Malaga in the south of Spain on the Mediterranean. A great hostel by the beach and caught some serious Spanish rays. The beach, I won't lie, was disappointing. The sand is more dirt than sand, the water seems really tidal and muddy and it was freezing! Malaga has an ancient fortress called Alcazar, similar to Azkaban but not so many dementors. Good views of the city and harbour and cool passages to pretend to be an invading Italian army. We spend three nights in Malaga before catching a lovely train to Seville.
Every town and city in Spain just has so much history. Apparently everyone didn't used to get on and so there's fortresses everywhere and palaces and churchs; it's exhausting. In Seville we had a local tour guide, Diego, a friend of my German Linhsay's (Linhsay studied in Seville for a year). He took us to amazing tapas - a table full of food for about $10 each - followed by a Seville by night tour, flamenco at an obscure bar with a guy singing about his yellow shirt and his brother being a baker, and classic drinking by the river with the under age locals. Phill also sampled the Sevillian nightclub scene and got rejected by chicks because he didn't have any shoes. Since when are thongs not shoes?
In Seville we were lucky enough (?) to go to the bull fighting, along with every other tour group and school excursion in town. It was an experience, but probably not one we'll do again. The whole show is not a fair fight between man and bull. The bull is bled for two hours before entering the ring. There are several matadors that tease and incite the bull and make it run around the ring until it is exhausted. Then they brought out a poor horse in padding and armour - BLINDFOLDED - and made it stand until its rider could get a good shot at the bull with a lance about one inch in diameter. So there's just a bit of extra blood flow for the measure. Theeennnnn one of the special mattadors with the lycra leotards and sequined capes comes in, does a bit of a dance then charges the bull, does a little leap and stabs the bull in the spine with two flowered (no kidding) spears and runs away before the bull can attack. Then a bit more teasing, a couple more spears, and the mattador finally kills the bull with a long sword through the spine and into the heart. Phill and I were the only ones cheering when a mattador got fucked up by a bull.
From Seville we went to Cordoba and saw the Mezquita - a millenia old cathedral that was first a mosque, then a Catholic cathedral, then a Mosque, then a Catholic cathedral...Luckily each leader recognised how cool the other one's buildings and decor was and so just kept adding to it instead of tearing stuff down - a really interesting conglomeration of architecture and orange trees. And of course, there was a fortress to explore and a gum tree-lined river to amble along.
From Cordoba we bussed past the ridiculously efficiently farmed countryside that is Spain. Where there were no orange trees or olive groves, there were massive wind farms or fields of solar panels. White houses grow out of the cliff sides, deserted in the midday sun. Actually the midday to five o'clock sun. Gotta love siestas.
We spent three nights in Madrid, representing the Socceroos in an Irish pub and drinking way too much Magners. Met some people from Sydney who, of course, know the same people we know. Such a fun night meant the next day in bed for me. We managed to do a bit of sight seeing but decided it's much nicer when not hungover. Saw lots of prostitutes strutting their wares in the middle of the day and random street 'performers' whose performance involved wearing funny clothes and standing very still.
From Madrid we caught an overnight bus made painful by the bitch behind me not letting me recline my seat. Arrived in Barcelona at 7am and wandered the streets and had a nap on the beach (in the only patch of shade) before we could check into our hostel, a monstrous 7-story, 12-bed-dorm kind of place with bitchy receptionists and not enough character.
Barcelona was stinking hot and awesome. We spent three nights there wandering the streets, climbing some hills and hitting the beach. There's this one bloke, some architect or something, called Gaudi. He did alright. His buildings and other buildings influence by him are all around the city. Without a doubt the awesomest is the Segrada Familia, a church he started...but then he was hit by a tram, was taken to a pauper's hospital because nobody knew who he was...and died! So 80 years later, the church is still being built to his original plans and style. It is still a massive construction site - builders in hard hats polishing new floors while thousands of tourists walk around admiring the building. In perhaps the best example of how parsimonious we have become, we hired one audio guide and I managed to repeat everything to Phill and we both had a grand old day out. I had gone to the Segrada Familia five years earlier - we will go back one day, maybe it will be finished.
From Barcelona we had a quick trip north west to Pamplona in order to catch a bus to Estella, about 40mins from Pamps and our base for the next hectic week of the San Fermin festival. It deserves its own post.

Stockholm, May 2010

The coolest way to get from Riga to Stockholm? On a party ferry! And what better way to arrive in the massive archipelago that is Sweden than by meandering through tiny islands with massive houses and massive boats - the play land of Scandinavia's rich and famous. Our ferry dwarfed their boats though. Nine decks of hip-hop-happenin' fun times, complete with discoteque, kids play room (with the legendary pit of balls), swimming pool, sauna, karaoke, restaurants, and no doubt awesome suites for said rich and famous travelling home from holidays in the Mediterranean. Our cabin had four beds, a bathroom and a set of curtains revealing a wall. We could hear the excited school children on excursion in the cabins around us - kids and backpackers only go for the C-class. The trip from Riga to Stockholm took about 16 hours.
We met a French guy, Guillame, in Riga who was lovely enough to invite us to stay at his place in Stockholm. We jumped at the chance beacuse just looking at a hostel in Stockholm makes money fall out of your wallet. Everything is so expensive but four months on the road has taught us to be stingy.
The city planners of Stockholm should be given an award. The city is on 14 islands with roads, bridges and subways connecting all of them. It was such nice weather when we were there - their first taste of Spring - and at least half the population crowded the many parks and walkways and worked on their tans. Which made us wonder...don't these people have jobs! How can they afford to bask in the sun when a bread roll costs $6? Maybe they are all models with flexible photo shoots.
We slapped laps around the King's castle, walked the cobbled stone alleys of Gamla Stan, the old town, and admired the boats moored at the many little marinas around all the islands. That night, Guillame went beyond all expectations and cooked us a three-course meal of traditional Swedish food - pickled fish, smoked salmon and meatballs. Very impressed.
Our second day in Stockholm was another beauty. We went to another island (it's not hard to) Djurgarden, to Skansen, an open air museum started in 1891 when a bloke brought some houses from the north to the city dwellers of Stockholm to admire and wonder at. There's hunters cottages, manor houses, reindeer herders camps and BEARS! That's right - real live brown bears, three cubs and a mumma, dancing around their enclosure and having fun. A long way from the Beijing zoo. There were also massive elk and their babies, otters, wolverines (not as impressive as Hugh Jackman), seals, bison and wolves. In the 'town centre' there were blacksmiths, glass blowers, bakers and corners shops, all with servers in genuine old school costumes. Obviously we had to try a baked good. They were still delicious after hundreds of years (the recipe...not the actual apple donut).
And to top off our taste of Sweden, we saw Sweden thrash the Czech Republic in ice hockey...but only on the TV...then some hard core metal karaoke at a bar. That's right - metal karaoke. No Vanilla Ice in sight or sound.

Latvia, May 2010

Latvia was a great experience. We spent five nights in Riga, the stag party capital of Europe. Ryanair flies direct to Riga from London, ferrying fat middle-aged men to the party capital of the Baltics to drink themselves silly before one of them gets married. Young Dutch boys made up the rest of the clientele at our hostel, Friendly Fun Franks, complete with guided pub tours and 24-hour bar. Here we met the first Australian since Mongolia; Phill was stoked to talk about the footy. The pub tour took us to four authentically un-Latvian bars, including the Kiwi Bar (owned by the elusive Friendly Fun Frank), a Belgian beer bar, and, obviously, an Irish bar. The night ended with Phill hiding in bed begging not to go on the club tour - that night anyway.
In Riga we partook in a popular walking tour with Zane, a student. She showed us interesting sights and told us when to look up for the things we would otherwise have missed. The streets of Riga old town are cobbled and thin. Turn any corner and you will find a church, and don't forget to look up for maximum effect. The intricate art nouveau facades gave us sore necks and exhausted the 'cool buildings' quota on our camera (and, no doubt, Facebook as well). Our tour ended with amazing Latvian food at Lido - a chain of restaurants with traditional Latvian food for locals and tourists alike. Boy can those Latvians do potatoes.
After five nights and lots of beers at the hostel, we jumped on the bus for four hours to Kolka, the most North-western part of Latvia, where the Gulf of Riga meets the Baltic Sea. The bus took us through the seaside resorts where Latvians chill out, and small fishing villages with their fair share of old people, Kolka included. Having not booked accommodation, we wandered the street (non-plural) looking for Usi farm, the only address we could find on the Internet (the address - Usi, Kolka, Latvia). A huge campground, an old farmhouse and one room for rent - luckily it was available.
Kolka is part of Slitere national park and has a whole network of hiking, cycling and bird-watching routes. We chose the cycling, on bikes with no gears and back pedal breaks. So much for extreme mountain biking. We rode for about 7kms along the beach, sand flat-packed with the rain and constant drizzle. We saw no-one on the beach, just a few old tractors waiting for boats to come in. When we came to a small creek flowing into the Baltic we headed inland, got lost, got a little bit scared, but eventually found a track to follow. The ground was spongy with moss and intermittent ponds and lakes from all the melted snow. The track took us through centuries old fishing villages and past old soviet army barracks and through ridiculous amounts of deserted forest. Eventually we came back to the beach, had a picnic, Phill got naked, and rode the 20kms back to Kolka along the road, stopping every 3kms for a Snickers.
Back to Riga for one night, then off again to Sigulda, about one hour west of Riga and in the Gauja river valley and national park. We couch surfed for the second time, with a French girl, German girl, and Spanish guy, all European volunteers in the park and at schools. Like in Kolka, there were great walking tracks and maps for the national park. The first day, we followed the river south through the forest. There was a luge park and a bungy jump thing and a Tarzan adventure park...but we stuck to the walking. Had a lovely picnic on a sandy bank and basked in the warm weather. Walked back through fields and meadows of tulips...awwww...
That night we went for drinks with our couch surfing hosts. The boys made a triumphant return at 5am, when the sun is already high in the sky. The next day we trecked along the river to the Turaida castle, 800 years old, and managed to sneak into the massive castle manor complex by taking the hard road uphill. Nothing like a free manor. We splurged on the cable car to cross the river and admired the old woman with the massive nose whose job it was to open the door, take some money, close the door, and enjoy the ride over the valley.
Back to Riga for another Saturday night, another group of stag parties at Frank's and another pub crawl. Latvia made a good impression.

St. Petersburg

St Petersburg is one of those cities where you can walk about for ages and be impressed at every street corner. And this is what we did. Our hostel, Nevsky Hostel, was one of the best we've stayed in. It was super clean, had a washing machine to use for free, a big kitchen, bunk beds that didn't squeak and was almost within spitting distance of the Hermitage (if all those buildings weren't in the way. We knew some guys staying there that we met in a ger in Mongolia so it was good to catch up with them and swap stories about our Trans-Siberian journey.
Of course, such a rendezvous also meant a night on the piss. We sampled local beers and dodgy vodka at our hostel before going to a club...I think it was called Cuba, with Tyler (Canadian), Theago (Brazilian) and two Russian girls those guys had met. The bar was tiny and absolutely packed (lucky I wore my hiking boots; my feet got trampled) but was good fun to rub shoulders (literally) with St Petersburg's youth. Needless to say, it was a big night and we paid for it the next day; in bed until 4pm.
Once we ventured outside, we turned a corner, and, voila, another awesome church - The Cathedral of the Spilled Blood, built on the sight where Tsar Alexander was murdered. It was modelled on Saint Basil's Cathedral in Moscow, but just a little bit cooler for the canals and parks around it. We also visited Kazan Cathedral, a working cathedral where people lined up to touch and kiss icons and pray with Orthodox priests. It's pillars are impressive and arc out to envelop the people of St Petersburg. Riiiiigggghhhtttt... Beggars stood out the front hoping people felt generous after being absolved. We didn't.
On Sunday we crossed the Neva River (on a bridge) to Vasilevsky Ostrov, an island with a mad
fort, churches and museums. We bypassed the gym on a ship and walked the exterior of the fort. Sand lined the banks of the river - swimming was not allowed - and old Russian men and women leant against the walls of the fortress in speedos, mankinis, bras and undies, catching some sunrays and possibly coughs and colds as the wind was still biting. Gold church spires shone against the approaching storm, which would hopefully hit the sunbathers before us.
We walked through some gardens with green grass and trees almost blossoming.