europe

I awoke with a start to Chris’s banging on the door, him bringing us the time and a cup of tea. Thanks to Chris and Jo we made it safely across London to Cleopatra’s Needle, the bus and the awaiting media from the BBC. After introductions with Mark, Andrew and our fellow travellers we were interviewed for the One Show with our backs to a beautiful emerging dawn across the Thames, illuminating of all things The Festival Hall. Being a member of the Grenoside Sword team it seemed ironical that our bus journey should start out facing the building where Grenoside danced in 1951 to celebrate peace and end in Boston dancing with them in March.

The trip down to Dover went smoothly, caught an early ferry and France passed by unnoticed. After a long journey past Brussels, Brugge, Aachen and Trier we arrived at 6.45pm at a very quaint campsite in St Gaor on the river Rhine. When I walked into the bar the owner’s wife, a celebrity in the area, threw her hands in the air exclaiming I was Joe Cocker. I didn’t no whether to take it as a compliment or an insult. It seems my 25 years of teaching has had the same effect on my face as the drugs, fags and beer have had on the ex gas board plumber from Crooks. However, the river, site, food and accommodation all lived up to expectations: for an extra 2 euro we upgraded to a caravan. All in all a very pleasant day passed as we skirted by the birth places of two of my favourite historical figures .i.e. Charlemagne and Carl Marx.

With very little ceremony we enjoyed a hearty menu consisting of a tasty salad starter, pork, peas and fritz and peaches and ice cream all washed down with copious amounts of passable German wine and excellent larger. Afterwards we experienced a surreal session in the night club situated under the restaurant which brought back memories of a similar evening in the Ecuadorian Amazon. On this occasion instead of UB40 singing ‘Red Red Wine’ Hermie the campsite owner played a selection of umpah music through an enormous box speaker while equally as loud some opera singer stood arms under her breasts singing Wagner as the backdrop to a TV presentation about Rhine wines. This kind of evening is obviously a regular occurrence because the ceiling of the club is covered in beer mats containing messages posted by previous travellers and revellers. Just as on Facebook Lucy Allen dominated with a message for all of us that ‘the first bus is better than ours’

This appropriately leads me on to the crew and our fellow travellers. Simon Caudel’s observations in the Independent that the trip could become big brother on wheels is a lot closer than even he could image. The bus consists of, at the moment, 35 travellers and three crew members. The crew, strangely enough, seem more normal than those sitting behind them.

The bus is being driven by JonPal a coach driver from Brugge, Belgium. Over a beer last night he told me the story of how he came to be here. Earlier in the year he was fined €750 for breaking some EU driving regulation and was so pissed off that he handed in his notice. His boss asked him if he would reconsider his decision and drive his coach to Calcutta. After a little convincing that the boss was not taking the micky he jumped at the opportunity. After a day and bit of driving us I’m very glad he agreed to because he’s a very steady driver and a thoroughly nice person. However, I daren’t ask him what the offence was for just in case it changes my opinion of him. The backup driver Marcus is a Kiwi returning after working in Edinburgh. However, normality stops with the leader of the bus Layton an Irish Pakistani ex PE Teacher with striking dark eyes and a very strong County Down ascent.

On the other hand the travellers are something very different to a normal coach party and I use the term ‘party’ very wisely because a certain small section are intent on doing exactly that all the way to Sydney much to the annoyance of Leighton who is at the moment adopting a similar approach to another of my heroes (all in one day) Napoleon.  Just as that great figure attempted to steer France from anarchy after the Revolution Leyton is trying to work the same magic on the bus. At the moment the trip is more Animal Farm than Big Brother, although I suppose they are similar. I am convinced the outbreak of violence is more imminent here on the bus than up the road in Iran and Pakistan. I just can’t wait!

Day two started very early with breakfast in a kind of garage area under the restaurant.  I attempted to jog up and down to get warm and was compliment by Simone who approves of personal fitness.  It was at this point that I noticed that there was still someone asleep in the caravan next to ours and fearing Leighton would carry out his much promised threat to leave anyone not ready to go I gave the door a good rattling.

The drive during the morning up the Rhine Valley was beautiful even though it was through the bus window.  It had not occurred to me before that we would be seeing the world through the buses window and this would also affect the quality of the photographs.  If we had been driving in our own car we would have been stopping every few minutes and it would take 12 years not weeks to get to Sydney.

We did stop at Heidelberg and were allowed to two hours to sightsee and take photos.  The weather was beautiful and the old university town looked magnificent. I hoped to see students’ walking about promoting facial scars from duels still being fought but the place was a picture of fine architecture and calm and tranquility.

We arrived at our next stop, a campsite in Prague.  As we made camp the cooks began preparing the evening meal. After the meal we settled down in a circle and began singing and playing.  Leighton had brought a guitar which was a great improvement on the travel guitar I’d bought especially for the trip.  The party gang set off into town to find the night life.

Day three started at the now regular time 7.30am with the most beautiful sunrise. Those from the drinking party who managed to emerge briefly for breakfast very quickly disappeared back to their pits. Ben climbed out of his sack at 5.00pm and missed Prague.

After the now typical 10 minute breakfast of cereals, toast and a lukewarm cup of tea we set off into the centre. We parked the bus behind the palace overlooking a sunny skyline and I disembarked in shorts and tee shirt. As the coach slipped away back to the campsite the sky turned grey and then black. Within 60 minutes it was pouring down. We spent most of the day in two bars with Gordon, Ted and Mac. We’d been driven into a bar come pizzeria by the weather and had an omelet and the first beer of the day. We had the second in the Café Monmatre once the haunt of Franz Kafka and the third and fourth in the old communist bar. After a very short look around the wet and cold streets leading from the bar to Wenceslas Square we were forced back to the bar by the cold and my prostate. I had a similar experience on my last visit to this beautiful city but on that occasion we stood in the cold watching a strange procession of very large men dressed like the blues brothers’ but carrying red roses.  At one point I was trapped by five or six of them in a small toilet in a bar across the road. I eventually discovered they were the Czech National Ice Hocky team attending the coach’s funeral. On this occasion I did manage to find an internet café and check my mail before surrendering to the weather once again. It had gone from autumn to summer and then winter all in a day. I was totally unprepared. We had a further beer in the communist bar to wash down a perfectly cooked sirloin stake in a cream and mushroom source accompanied with potato scallops and French beans wrapped in ham. Finely before returning to the tent we retreated to a fancy wine bar and had a couple of palatable bottles of Cabernet Sauvignan from the Morava area. We arrived back at the campsite to find no bus. JonPal had taken it to have the thermostat replaced. Not a good sign after only three days.

All in all, despite the weather we had a very rewarding day. The inclement conditions afforded us the opportunity to get to know more about our three travelling companions. Mac was taking 3 months paid leave from his job as a turbine engineer based in Dublin. He’s been doing the job for 15 years and spends most of the time travelling the world installing turbines. He’s not touched alcohol for three years but didn’t reveal why.

Gordon is outgoing and far more revealing than Mac. After gaining a degree and getting his ideal job as the Cultural Director of a theatre in Glasgow he was sacked because he claims he was not up to the job. I admired his honesty.  I suspect Glasgow for him was a return to his family roots, his father had left the city, as many Scots did, to work in the steel mills in Corby in Northamptonshire. Later his father was made redundant like thousands in the rolling mills in Sheffield after Thatcher had weaved her spell on the industry but was lucky to find employment with the post office. We agreed we would have a party if she was to die while we’re on route in homage to Corby and South Yorkshire. The conversation made me think of my song about the effect of Thatcherism on Grimethorpe.

Grimethorpe

You dug to survive like a mole underground,

risking your life just to keep the bills down

And what spare cash you made well you spent in this town

You were born and brought up in this place

Chorus

There’s a hole in the ground where the money came from

There’s hole in this town now the old mine has gone

and the shop fronts are bordered from despair and fear

With no chance of work and no signs of the old winding gear

One man knew a decade ago,

that the mines would be dead along with king coal

But it’s time to stand firm and don’t give into the dole
Remember your sons and your daughters

Chorus

So you fought like a dog to keep the old ways,
for the nurses the workers and their rights to a say
But the times have little changed as back in old days
Betrayed by all trades and their leaders

Chorus

And the Grimethorpe’ band played the miners’ anthem,
as a tribute to halcyon days
Sing follow the horses oh Johnny my laddie
And the miners were forced out to graze

There’s a hole in the ground where the money came from,
remember your past and the things you have done
And don’t ever forget your part in that year
And the name and the faces of those who shut the old winding gear

The third Muskateer, Ted, is much more reserved and less forthcoming than the other two. He’s taking three months unpaid leave from his job as a programmer in Dublin and is very quietly spoken making it very difficult for me, with my failing hearing, to follow much of what he said.

Thank goodness the rain had not returned during the night but there was not enough sun to dry things out: everything was wet and damp except our spirits. The breakfast crew had the food on the table and cleared away in 30 minutes. I had to run from the toilet to get on the bus for Vienna as the engine hummed for take off. Leighton’s remonstrations about lateness made every body conscious about being on the bus on time.

The journey started with the usual morning briefing

Leighton: today is a short journey, passports out in five seconds,

He starts the countdown immediately but everyone has them in the air in no time at all except Anne and myself. 

Leighton again  ‘All things are what?’ he shouts

Coach in chorus ‘subject to change’

Finally he informs us that four new members arrived late last night. He announces the family is now complete and invites each in turn to introduce themselves as we have all had to do. Along with our names each had to give reasons for picking Ozbuz, favourite mythical creature, place most looking forward to seeing and finally plans after Sydney?

The first up was Fergal a 26 year old doctor heading to take up an appointment in Melbourne. He was the first one to get an applause for his occupation but I can’t help feeling it was out of relief. It’s always good to have a doc on board even if so young. He’s followed by Paul a construction worker who gets a loud cheer from Leighton who sees the potential if we need to dig the coach out at any point. Next to take the mic is big Geoff a farmer from Ireland who delayed his start to the trip to play in the final of a Gaelic football competition. Unfortunately for him they drew which means he will have to fly home for the replay. He must be good because the club is paying for his flight from Turkey and back. Last up but by no means least, is Andrew an Australian who’s been working for an advertising company in the Big Apple. He’s now returning home to Sydney to get the necessary qualifications to become a lawyer. We have something in common he’s also looking forward to seeing India.  Andrew should have joined the bus in London but overlaid, after flying in from New York, sleeping soundly in a hotel just a few hundred metres from the Embankment.

After a short drive the coach pulled in to a small supermarket to stock up with food for lunch. Panic sets in when it becomes apparent there are no toilets. Sue finds a corner behind the shop, the young party group head down the road to the next supermarket. Anne notices a sign for a restaurant with parking and toilet symbols and a large group of us make towards it. We all feel guilty at using the clean free toilets and out of embarrassment a mass order is given for soup and beer. The garlic soup was memorable and will take some beating especially for the princely sum of 15 koruna or 40 pence. We arrived in Vienna at about 2.00pm.

After an excellent lunch of salad, sliced meat loaf and chicken followed by a fruit salad we headed off into the capital for some high culture. As we congregated outside the entrance to the Natural History Museum Das and Barry climbed onto the back of a bronze statue of an elephant.  So much for culture.  After a good hour in the natural history museum we headed towards the opera house and St Stephens church. Lastly we dropped into an Australian bar recommended by Leighton to find Scooby, now firmly established as the leader of the lets get drunk brigade, and the rest of the gang downstairs going at it as though they were entering dry Iran tomorrow. It was obvious they had been there since leaving the coach three hours earlier. I finished up having two pints of a delicious local wheat beer and a very tasty beef burger. At about eight we joined the party gang downstairs who were by then in full flight much to the delight of the pub’s manager and the amusement of the two Ozzie waiters serving them. In the middle of the table were two glass towers of beer, with pouring taps at the base. One was a 1 metre and the other larger and with all the screaming and shouting, laughing and guffawing, pushing and shoving it was a microcosm of what I imagined Babel must have been like just before it fell. When we left at 9.15pm to get the coach the lads were in heaven and Babel was still in tact.

We finished the night off sitting in the campsite kitchen drinking wine and hot chocolate. Although we went to bed reasonably early many found it hard to sleep for the noise being made by a group of Ozzie campers.  I heard nothing.

The day started very early at 6.00am and by breakfast, 7.30am, the lads had slept for a whole two and half hours. Scooby and Co left the Australian bar at 5.00am having paid a drinks bill totaling €500. This was after they had negotiated a special deal with Barry, one of the waiters, who did not charge them for bottle beers and provided a free tower. The bar management must have thought Christmas had come early. I have to say my first thoughts were for the poor unsuspecting Australians this lot are staying with on arrival in Sydney but Fe then told me later that she couldn’t get into the campsite launderette, the night before, for very, drunk ozzie teenagers who had also thrown everyone’s clothes out of the tumble dryers. This gang were also staying on the site while travelling around Europe with a company called Top Deck. Top Deck 1 Ozbus 0. I found out, even later still, from Viv, that the bar manager had approached Leighton about bringing future Ozbus partys’ to his bar. Ah well so much for my comments as we headed into the capital about high culture. In this world profit always takes precedent.

Breakfast finished and cleared away, bags all stored on the coach everyone’s attention turned to the topside of the site where Sue was banging on a camper van and a tent and screaming in German at the young Aussie occupants who kept them awake until 3.00am. When one of them emerged from his tent to investigate the din she threw the contents of her coffee mug in his face. All of this was done to clapping and cheering from the others whose night sleep had also been destroyed but did not have the bottle to strike back. Well after two meetings between us and Top Deck I think it now stands 1 nil to the Brits.

Later, at about 12.30pm, we arrived at a rundown looking campsite in Budapest. We quickly set up camp and headed in the centre. Budapest is no different from every other city, because of the traffic it took an hour to negotiate our way to the slots besides Elizebeth Bridge. We then spent a short hour perusing the market while Leighton went off to source lunch.

We finally had dinner at about 4.00pm, everyone was very hungry.  We had a reasonable meal of Goulash soup, chicken paprika and a beer. This was followed by a further pint in an unusual bar called For Sale. The roof once again like Hermies was absolutely covered with messages of kind written on beer mats, business cards, cigarette packets etc, etc. The whole place was designed to be different and bohemian but the waiters were especially unwelcoming. After just the one drink we all headed for another bar where the staff were completely opposite. The barman asked me where I was from and when I told him then said that McCabe(of Sheffield United fame) had attempted to buy some Hungarian team. The rest of the time we spent drinking and talking. I bought two glasses of Unicum for the group to taste and with the exception of Ian (Kwok) who knocked it back in one all the found it foul. Strange that tastes can be so regional. After a trip up to the Citadel to take photos looking straight down the river and finding the battery in my camera was flat (no shots) we headed back to the campsite to park the bus and go for some more beer down by the river just a few minutes walk away.

I was last off the bus and found Mark cuddling Lucinda who was crying. As I made for my tent it became apparent that the tents had been broken into and possessions stolen. I was relieved to find ours was still in tact. Immediately there were shouts, flashlights in the wooded area of the site and the sound of people running. The ‘party gang’ led by Barry from Nevin was branding a rather large torch and had disturbed the culprits and were now in full pursuit without considering the consequences. I certainly would have thought twice about following a group of thieves into a dark wooded area late at night armed with one large torch. Amazingly and to their credit they quickly found Lucinda’s case with the belongings scattered along the path. Unfortunately or perhaps fortunately they got away with Ted’s rucksack which was locked. Mac lost his supply of condoms but not the wad of dollars he pulled out of the tent. The boys spent a good hour scouring the site for the sack. It became apparent the thieves were going to go through all the bags in the safety of the tents and left with Ted’s bag because it was locked. Thankfully all they got was clothes and no one was injured in the pursuit. Ted, Leighton and few others still went to the pub (now 11.50) to try and cheer Ted up but surprisingly the heroes’ of the night turned down Leighton’s offer of a drink instead going for a shower and a bit of boy bonding. I think the bridge between the Navan boys is reducing. Whilst we were searching the area for the bag I asked Barry why he’d brought such a large, heavy powerful torch. ‘I didn’t’ was his reply. I had to spend all my spare useless Czech money on something before heading into Austria.’ He happened to see the torch in the supermarket the day before. While we were eating that beautiful garlic soup Barry was making the purchase of the trip so far and with the look on his face he new it. Barry 1 Leighton 0.

Before we managed to get into bed the heavens opened up and quickly this was followed by our first storm of the trip. I found it very easy to go to sleep even though Anne was worried about the lighting and our position under the trees. I was more concerned about having to pack a very wet tent away for two or three days. Even though the good news was we were spending the next three nights in Romania and Bulgaria in hotels it was spoiled by tonight’s incident and poor old Ted loss. This was the first night that the whole party went to rest feeling a little down. I can only hope that tomorrow and country number six has better things to offer, especially for Ted.

Not seen the sun since the second day, our first in Prague. Today no different, awoke at about 7.00am to the rain on the tent and mud on the ground for the first time. Thankfully not too bad but perhaps a little taster of things to come.

This weather is seriously testing my lack of organisation. Need to plan everything well in advance or be exposed by the elements. Spent the night in Prague freezing because of the sudden weather change. Usually find that whatever I want for the day is in my rucksack somewhere under my backside in the side holds. Camera battery still flat, only consolation the weather is reducing the scenery to a wet cold English type scene.

Left late at 9.00am because of the incident the night before. Took an hour and half to get out of the city because of the rain and traffic and slowly made our way to the Romanian border and the unknown. Arrived at the border at 2.20pm, Still raining. Heading for Cluj-Napoca and a hotel bed, a beer festival and the furthest point east we have ever ventured. My first impression is one of poverty and large open expanses of farmland waiting to be utilised.

Arrived at the Hotel Cluj-Napoca also the name of the town about 9.00pm. The last kilometre spent following a paid taxis. The section to seriously test the resolve of the group. Passed through the Romanian border with little fuss in pouring rain and headed for Cluj just 127 k down the road so not one of the long sections. Just down the road came to a small junction with a diversion sign and petrol tanker blocking our progression. After a toot on the horn we followed him to the right. Our first real mistake, over two hours later we came back to the main road with 97 k still left to. We had taken a long winding road through an impressive Mountain range rising to 1790 metres. Didn’t see much of the scenery because of the weather. The driving rain was the significant feature of the whole section. It was great to see the wooden, horse-drawn carts plodding along road but there was so many, returning from the field that they seriously slowed us down. Although the journey dragged on it was made easier by playing games and listening to some good music: Snow Patrol, Bob Marley, Neil Diamond, Clash, Bob Dylan and finally the Beatles. We enter Cluj to Lucy in The sky With Diamonds.

After being allocated room 414 along with Noreen from Ireland we were given 15 minutes to clean up and get back down for dinner. Didn’t hear anyone complain, we were all very hungry. Devoured a goulash soup exactly like the one Budapest but unfortunately out of a packet. This was followed by cabbage and tomato salad in a very nice sweet dressing. Main course consisted of boiled potatoes served cubed and a pork and chicken winleshinzel.

Met later the lounge before going to look at the town. Met Scooby on the stairs as he was going for the left. Told me the hotel wouldn’t exchange his dollars for Lei the currency. Lent him 50 euros. He emmediately set off to the bar to buy beer. Later saw him and the rest of the party gang with crate of beer. Told me they had anoher crate in the cooler for later and they’d given him 30 euros change.

Set off in the torrential rain to see the main town square with Maz who was, once again, guide and leader. The September Beer Fest in soggy ruins in the square with Mathias and his party gang looking down simpathetically. Talking to Maz I learnt she actually worked for a month in Cluj on a teaching exchange. Conversation came about after she’d stopped two young women and asked directions in Romanian. Made our way into a bar called Deizel. Very pretentious establishment sold very expensive, for Romania, canned beer which we washed down with canned music that played for over an hour without changing tempo, melody or rhythm. By far worse bar so far by a mile.

Returned back to the hotel to find the lads partying in full throng. They were down to the second crate which they were sharing. Stayed with them till just gone 3.00am. Best part of the whole day. Language, loud constantly, foul very frequently but fun to be with all the time.

Today the seven day anniversary of our voyage, awoke early feeling queasy, may have been the dish of sausages cooked in beer that I had last night. Didn’t taste too good when eating them and then spent the first hour of the morning repeating on me.

Spent my first night not sleeping with Anne. It seems for some reason, poor communications, Leighton thought we wanted to sleep apart. I said we would be happy to sleep apart if the room equations didn’t workout. I wasn’t well pleased!

My new sleeping partner, Gordon, drew back the curtains to let in a beautiful hazy blue morning. At last, the weather has turned. Breakfast was good, mainly because of the presentation but I didn’t feel like it. Forgot totally about my stomach as we boarded the bus, even before numbers were counted it was clear that Ben was missing. It emerged very quickly that he was about at 3.30am, in the hotel, sitting very drunk trying to play the grand piano in the lounge. It was obvious that he was asleep somewhere in the hotel once all the young women in the group had been counted in. Just as we were about to leave, as Leighton threatens to every day if anyone is late, Ben comes staggering out of the hotel assisted by Geof who had found him asleep in the cellar. On being awakened by loud and desperate shouts of ‘Ben’ he opened his eyes fearing the worse. He cried out to Geof ‘I thought I was in prison. I want England’. Bus very quiet in antıcipatıon of forthcoming ranting from the boss. I suspect he was just relieved to see him safe and well. He was eventually hauled out to the front: his penalty coachyoki or miming with headphones on to a song from Leighton’s Ipod. I think his punishment might have been swifter and more severe if our leader had not clashed with the party gang in some way most days over the last and Sue and me in the last twenty four hours.

We spent a very enjoyable morning at Dracula’s castle. Very touristy. Bought a little chanter pipe for 35 lei about six pound. Carried on with our route through the Carpathian Mountains. The scenery is absolutely incredible. I can see why people rave about Romania and this particular area. Valley after valley with few houses and little sign of people. Main mode of transport still the horse drawn cart and the Romanian equivalent of a Renault.

Eventually got out of the mountains and on the road to Bucharest. Had to have lunch at a service station, the local feral dogs feasted on the groups’ leftovers. Our first view of the capital did not inspire me, the main road was one long testimony to concrete. One block of awful flats after another stood as the consequence of misrule and the earthquake damage. After a few turns around what looked like a poor man’s version of the Arch de Triumph we arrived at our campsite.

As soon as I got of the bus the camp had a great feel about it with a central area with tables surrounded by brightly painted chalets some with pointed roofs like those in the Alps. Everyone relieved not to be camping. Once again the allocation of rooms lead to conflict and yet again it was between me and Leighton. The argument did not quite lead to blows but it did bring things to a head. After a 10 Euro meal consisting of coke, plain salad with no dressing, some kind of schnitzel and six chips – on everyone’s plate – followed by almond ice-cream and an half hour show of traditional music, dance and song we assembled outside on the restaurant patio for a meeting to clear the air. Pleased to find it wasn’t just me and the party gang that had grievances. A wide range of issues were exercised and changes promised with regards to allocation of rooms (Emmett to arrange for one week), more information about length of journeys, lunch breaks in the countryside not garages and by the road in towns and finally Leighton to improve the tone of briefings. Things could have been much worse. General consensus was that Leighton was taking on too much responsibility and needed to delegate relieved. Many felt they were being treated like school kids and I have to say some acted like they were. Meeting ended in congratulations and hugs all round. We had travelled through France, Belgium, Germany, Czech Rep, Austria, Hungary and Romania safely and on time and mainly due to the skills of a 26 year old from Naven. I do think if anyone can get us to Sydney then he can. However some of us are aware that the easy bit is over and the next 9 to 10 weeks are the real test of all of us.

After the meeting we all headed back to the campsite, to sit, drink and have a good old sing song. Maz had brought a brandy flask and a bottle of Polinka to the table and Daz seemed to be taking most advantage through innocence and in an attempt to forget the bad day he’d had. He’d broken his camera and was feeling a bit homesick after speaking to his mum and girlfriend. I think he may regret his actions.

Best nights sleep so far in our little blue chalet. Anne awoke with a start thinking she could hear the bus engine running outside. Went for breakfast to the restaurant we’d visited last night: sliced bread, a tomato and two types of reconstituted meat; both not to my taste.

Arrived back at the chalet to see Scooby and Barry trying to awaken Daz by thumping the side of the chalet. This went on for some time with little response from the inhabitants. A few minutes later I opened the door to see Daz starkers, except for his money bag appropriately placed in front of his bits and pieces, staggering around and gibbering. I think the healing lotion had worked.

Set off for Bulgaria at about 9.05am with the intention of calling into a supermarket to buy food for a picnic lunch somewhere rural and use up everyone’s Leis. Bought two nectarines, two kiwi fruits for Barry, two bottles of water, some small plasters to supplement our first aid kit and four hot chicken legs for Barry who is diabetic and needed something to eat.

Passed from Romania into Bulgaria without fuss or cost. We crossed the Danube for the last time and I couldn’t decide which country it is in because of its proximity to the border and the length of no-mans land. According Simone’s Pocket World Atlas it is the border.

Next part of the journey took us through the beautiful Balkan Mountains with all the hills covered with deciduous trees. Once over the top we descended down an amazing gorge and into our destination. At one point two gorges crossed each other at 90 degrees, the second consisting of old houses built into the cliff face high above a fast-flowing river. Unfortunately the coach was moving too fast and I didn’t even have enough time to get a photograph. As we approached the town Leighton gave us some basic information about the place. Kazanak stands at the entrance of the Shipka Pass and has a long tradition of growing roses but has prospered since the WW2 making weapons including Kalashnikovs. He made the observation about ‘guns and roses’.

Kazanak lays in a very wide bowl of a valley and although of Roman origins we only saw evidence of Soviet architecture of the high rise type. Coach stopped to ask the way to the hotel and she (Daniel) climbed aboard to direct us to it. When we arrived there was some confusion about whether it was the right hotel. The 3 star Hotel L3ophuua stood on a hill overlooking the town and consisted of white buildings laid out more like a Roman villa with patios, verandas and a pool which alas was empty. We arrived just in time to witness a beautiful sunset over the mountains. Made our way to our room with some trepidation after the last two nights capers. The rooms were already allocated in advance and we were gob smacked to enter a suite with double bed, couch, chairs, TV, mini bar, phone, a beautiful marbled bathroom and a red rose on the pillow. Jackpot! This was luxury by our standards. After a refreshing shower we had a good dinner consisting of a bowl of fresh salad sprinkled with goats cheese, followed by a very tasty meat stew and fresh fruit to finish. Consumed two bottles of a very well balanced Bulgarian Merlot with Simone and Noreen while Anne, Fe and Viv stuck to a rose. Night finished off with beer and dancing to a duo who somehow managed to do impersonations of Bob Marley ‘No Woman No Cry’, Sting Message In a Bottle’ and La Bamba with Spanish accent and all

Fell in love with the city the moment I stepped out onto the cobbles of the Sultanahmet district and stood outside the Orient Hostel, our home for the next two nights. On the surface it’s just another mad, bustling, chaotic jungle of cars, yellow taxis, buses and trams all vying for the same space and often overspilling and invading those small areas allocated to the people. The area surrounding and separating the two great mosques is an amazing community consisting of little alleyways of cafes, bars, street stalls and people all eager to sell you something. It seems as though every single inhabitant of this place is intent on selling you something and each prospective transactions starts exactly the same with the seller first establishing the buyer’s nationality: a barrage of welcomes: bonjour, hello, hola etc.

Nowhere is this technique more horned than in the Grand Bazzar. I have heard and seen many programmes about the place but none of it had prepared me for the reality. I expected a dirty market of discarded boxes and packages, rotting smelly food and aggressive selling techniques and the reality couldn’t be more stark. The architecture alone is worth the visit, from outside another fine old building like many surrounding it but on stepping inside one of the main entrances and looking down the main thoroughfare is breath taking. The vaulted roofs are a mosaic museum of coloured tiles setting off all that lies below. The main street is a series of jewellery shops and stalls all glittering silver and gold and meticulously hand placed to maximise the overall impact. Running of this main alley at 90 degrees is a warren of further alleyways each reflecting colours like giant kaleidoscopes. Carpets of every size, colour and quality, sparking lamps showing every coloured shade imaginable , antiques and pottery of every green, blue and jade, headgear to suit everyone from a Tommy Cooper to a Lawrence of Arabia, leather goods from wallets to overcoats like ones worn by the SS in Hallo! Hallo!, musical instruments hanging like curtains and meerschaum pipes of Turks and horses heads, and of course, spices of every hue and smell, completing the dimension of the place and intoxicating the senses. Standing outside each establishment like a sentry guard on duty waiting patiently to question ‘who comes there’ and then commence transaction irrespective of creed, colour, nationality or language. ‘Feel the quality of my hand made towels’, do you want to come inside and see my full selection of rings and bracelets?’ and all at the very best prices. A very business looking shop keeper takes me towards his shop, lined with carpets of every pattern and quality. Pointing to one small example he says in near perfect English ‘guess the price of this lovely hand made carpet correctly and I’ll give you it for nothing’ In order to help me further he tells me that it took a single individual months to make and then writes the correct price into his calculator and holds it away from my prying eyes. ‘guess to the nearest dollar and it’s yours’. Smiling at his little game I utter ‘300 dollars’. He smiles as he turns the calculator’s screen towards me. ‘You see’ he says ‘it is much cheaper than you thought’. The screen clearly shows two hundred dollars. We part like old friends, me saying as I slowly walk away ‘it’s too heavy to carry around the world’, he ‘retorts give me your address and I’ll post it’. I respond not wanting to be too final ‘I’ll visit next year and buy it’ and he replied from a distance ‘I’ll look forward to seeing you’. Nothing in this alli Baba wonderland hinders the act of final exchange. I left the bazzar the owner of a Lawrence of Arabia head scarf for fifteen lira and two Turkish towels to replace the tatty one I brought from home.

The visit to the bazzar came after a morning amazing at the two great mosques. Firstly Ayasofa, once a Christian church and now a museum of awesome proportions. The central dome, some 30 metres across, fifty four metres above the ground and the fourth largest in the world and held up by a series of semi circular arches traversing the walls bellow. All the arches are covered in frescoes which were only saved because the church was converted into a mosque and instead of being destroyed they were whitewashed over and uncovered when it became museum.

After the mosques we made our way to what is left of the Hippodrome: three columns; one with a base of figures from antiquity. Mohamet our guide then led us to what I thought was the old sewer. His English was pretty poor, although better than my Turkish, and I left the mosques knowing little more than on entry. Many of the group drifted away to explore forsaking the mixed up broken sentences. It surprised me that an academic didn’t have the English skills of most of those selling in the bazzar.

Anyway on paying our 10 lira and entering the expected sewer I was gob smacked to walk down into a cavernous underground water cistern built by the Romans two thousand years ago to provide fresh water for Constantinople.

The Cistern is an underground temple consisting of three hundred columns stretching for as far as the eyes can see in the dimly lit chamber and supporting the roof some thirty to forty feet above a solid stone floor which now lies under a foot of crystal clear water. The pool is now the home for a collection of aged carp some very large indeed. After traversing the raised stone walk ways we eventually came to a column with the ancient sculpured upside down face of Medusa. As I attempted to photograph the blue lit base I was engulfed by a crowd of Italian and Japanese voices and bodies who then, positioning themselves firing squad fashion with their backs to me, block my view and opportunity of a good shot.

Had our first real scare as we sat to have dinner close to the Grand Bazzar’s entrance. Being concerned about my head being in the sun we moved tables as one in the shade came free. In the rush to gain the table I left my rucksack at the previous table which contained my PDA with all our bank information, phone addresses and nearly two weeks observations for my blog. It also contained the camera and all its minicards. A sudden feeeling of sickness overwhelmes and adds to the confusion. Anne very quickly asked the waiter and he indicated that he’d picked it up and placed it inside the café. Relief fills the senses and settles into a feeling of grovelling gratitude. I tip the waiter thirty lira to try and obsolve my stupidity and I suspect embarrassed him in the process. Later when we enter a tea (chi) shop nestled in the grounds of a synogogue and a 19th Century grave yard I am conscious of making the same mistake. Before returning to the hostel we stop for Anne to buy a ring for Lucy outside a Muslim grave yard. All the graves have stone columns of varying size ring from them. John tells me he believes the size of the column is the height of the deceased incumbent. Before returning to the hostel we decide to eat dinner at a fast food café displaying all the exotic dishes in the window and a man outside on, establishing we are English, began reciting ‘yummy yummy yummy we need food in our tummy’. I had beef and vegetables wrapped in a kind of cheesy membrane and an auborigine stew. Anne and John both had what looked like a Spanish omellette, stuffed auborigine and coucous. Food looked great but the taste was a little disappointing. Found an internet café which turned out to be as slow as my Virgin account at home and only had time to check and delete email. I’m finding it very hard to upload my blog and download photos. Life on the road is very much wake, wash, eat and take down tent and shoot lots of photos through the coach windows before putting tent back up, eat, drink and sleep. Hopefully things will improve when we enter Iran in a few days.

Arrived back at the hostel to find everyone across the road outside the bar, all seated crossed legged on cushions drinking beer and smoking from three or four of the hubble bubble things. We stayed here until bedtime at about 12.0pm. Some of the more adventurous went off to explore the night life.

Instead of the briefing as usual when we set off on the bus we were treated, as a warning to all travelling fools, by Andy and how he was relieved of his money by four or five Turkish gorillas in night club. It conspired that he and a New Zealand backpacker, who’d joined our group on the cushions earlier, had set off to find a club and were stopped by what they thought was a Turkish businessman, expensively suited and driving a big car, who offered to take them to a club with girls. Once they arrived they were surrounded by Turkish girls who did not speak English but these were quickly replaced by others from Belarus. On realizing they were in the company of prostitutes they quickly got up to leave but were confronted by a barman who presented both of them with a bill for five thousand lira. On saying that they didn’t have that kind of money they were roughly led to an office where four large Turkish gorillas began to frisk them. After taking their money and credit cards they were allowed to leave poorer but wiser for the experience. So far we have been lucky not to have more of these stories to tell.

After a, frightening at times, drive down a long winding road that meandered its way around an open field system that arose and fell towards the Sea of Marmari and the Dardenelles we arrived at our next home for a night a campsite on the shores of Gallipoli.

The tents were erected in double time and a meal of mushroom soup, salad, chips and meat balls and spaghetti in a tomato sauce were prepared, tabled and cleared away in the time it takes to order the meal of the day in French bistro. In less than hour we had made camp, eaten a four course meal and were seated back on the coach to pay our respects to the young lads who’d forsaken their lives half a world away from their homes on the beaches of Gallipoli. I couldn’t help thinking that if the ANZAC forces could surmount the stones, briers, bushes and shrubs while dodging bullets and shells from superior Turkish numbers position on the heights above then poor old England stands no chance on the manicured fields of Eton. A rather sobering place to be, irrespective of nationality or age, sitting there as the sun sets below the horizon of the Dardenelles and stretches its warmth over the wind swept graves nestling amongst the pines and trenches.

Get back to the campsite in darkness and quickly make our way down to the beach to sing a few a songs and drink tubes of beer: Turkish not Aussie. Get Mac to sing ‘And the Band played Waltzing Matilda’,

When I was a young man I carried my pack
and I lived the free life of a rover.
From the Murray’s green basin to the dusty outback
I walzed my Matilda all over.
Then in 1915 the country said son
better stop all your rambling there’s a job to be done
and they gave me a tin hat and they gave me a gun
and they sent me away to the war.

And the band played Waltzing Matilda
As we sailed away from the key
and midst all the cheers hand waving and tears
we sailed out for Gallipoli.

Can’t help wandering whether any of the young lads laying out there in the dark spent any of their young lives night clubbing like their fellow countryman sitting on our bus happily telling his story of our lived to survive. Nevertheless, thanks Mac, a fitting end to a day to remember.

Out of the campsite by 8.00am and quickly bordering the ferry that will take the bus out of Europe and carry me back into my old history and geography lessons and the evocative land called Asia Minor.

Once on the other side after a pleasant thirty minute crossing we were quickly handing over our ten lira entrance fee into the ruins of the city that launched a thousand ships and gave Brad Pitt immortality. I was surprised, reading one of the information sheets, that the real battle that Homer based his mythical story on was between the inhabitants of Troy and the Persians who were pushing towards Europe. Nothing really seems to change, two thousands years later lads from our final destination attempted a similar operation. I noticed at the museum the epitaph shamelessly inscribed, below the commemorative plaque by lying politicians Lest we forget. However, I enjoyed my glimpse of Troy and found the site interesting and well worth a visit

A little further down the road we were sent off to buy food at a Large Carrefour supermarket and were amazed to find a traditional open air market stretching from the supermarkets car park, a good couple of hundred yards, up to the mosque. If this is a sample of what is to come then we are in for a treat: fruit and veg arranged in pyramids, baskets of peppers and spices surrounding and embracing a smiling, weather beaten face that may also have encaptured the heart of some 20th Centre Paris before the sun and toil took its toll.

Arrived at Atillah’s at 7.00pm and again after much confusion we were upgraded from camping to a chalet with Noreen again. Had no time to wash or dress before a plate of mashed potatoes, salad and barbecued chicken was laid out around the pool area. We had been told by Leighton, on the bus, that tonight is party night and everyone must be in drag or no food and booze. Most people entered in to the spirit, especially the party gang who took the opportunity to expose has much of their bodies as possible skinny dipping in the pool. They eventually told by Atillah to put their clothes on. The evening then went very much as normal with the lads drinking themselves in to unconsciousness and the rest of us have a good time. Good fun later in the pool. Leighton was not happy when Jim threw him in dressed in his drag outfit

I was awoken by Noreen shuffling things in her rucksack. Outside another fine warm day emerging but not one for photographs. Although the weather has been a great improvement since entering Turkey it has been very hazy. It’s almost two weeks now since we set out and yesterday was the first time I heard anyone commenting about feeling discomfort. I have to say, that so far, I have had no problems with the long journeys and if the tall ones on the bus have then they have kept it secret. I know it’s still early days but those of my friends who said we would be bored out of our minds couldn’t have been more wrong. The scenery is constantly changing and although it is a bit difficult writing these notes on the move it is possible and very time consuming and when all else fails there’s always someone new to talk to.

I should say something about the roads which have varied as expected. It was not until we entered Romania that things deteriorated although we did loose the congestion. Bulgaria started out poor but improved as we got further south and got even better once we entered Turkey. The road leading into the city was very good but once again very congested and manic which may have had something to do with it being teatime and Ramadan. The road from Istanbul, down The Straits of Marmara to Gallipoli was quite scary, dropping all time and narrow for a main road but also in a picturesque way interesting. It stretched out in front like a long winding country road passing through gentle sloped fields and had the feel and texture of an impressionist watercolour. The roads around the battle sites and cemeteries were well kept although narrow.

Strangely the roads improved when we entered Asia Minor and even broke in to a dual carriageway and later a motorway as we got nearer to and skirted round Izmir once the home Homer. Once we left Selcuk, near to Izmir which is the third largest city in Turkey, the roads quickly declined and once again we are being buffeted about like a cowboy on a bucking bronco. If you want to get some idea of how frustrating it is inputting text into a blackberry type device then imagine a cowboy, both hands on device typing text style, while being thrown about on the back of some mad steer. Just one severe bounce and whole paragraphs disappear never to be seen again. The paragraph about the Grand Bazzar was my second attempt having lost the first as the bus bounced back to the road on our way down to Gallipoli.

Today’s’ journey is quite short but it will take all day because of the stops we’re making. Our first stop was only ten minutes away from last night’s stop.

I have heard many comments about Ephesus but they didn’t prepare me for the reality. This is an amazing archaeological site and the two hours we spent there was not really sufficient to do it justice. Being the largest city and commercial centre of Asia Minor with a population of Two hundred thousand people, not much smaller than modern day Rotherham, it consists of latrines, temples, Library of Celsus and an enormous amphitheatre seating over twenty thousand. The city was dedicated to Artemis and the temple was thought to be one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. Unfortunately the whole site was swarming with tourists from all corners of the globe. The army of tourists made their way down the site, leaders hand held high with stick, pole or umbrella to aid recognition, men clad in baseball hats and Japanese women in white gloves and all camera clicking and probably doing as much damage as the Mongols who brought the empire to its knees.

Our second stop was the magical and beautiful natural site at Pamukkali. I have wanted to see the thermal spring waters cascading down the limestone cataracts and basins since seeing it in geography books at school. I didn’t realize it was on the itinerary it until I talked to Andrew in Istanbul and so it came as a very pleasant surprise. Unfortunately it doesn’t quite look like it does in the brochures thanks to all the tourists who have visited it over the years and done great damage in the process. Much of the site is now cordoned off to allow it to recover. Just like Ephesus, before it, the place was congested with human movement and I have to say it spoilt it for me. I know it is selfish but it would be nice if all other tourists stayed at home. However, we will start to loose the tourists as we go further east and get closer to Iran.

We got to Egirdir late, in the dark, after perhaps the most tiring journey so far. We were met by one of the Hostel’ managers whose name sounded like Muslim. I was too tired to check my hearing and each time I called him he responded promptly with good English. We followed him from the bus up a dust track to a building with the outside walls painted and then we were separated into two groups, our names called first, and led down to an annex with very sparse facilities: one toilet to twenty two people and two showers but at least we did have a double room although it was more like a kitchen with a bed.

We quickly made our way back to the main hostel to check emails, drink beer in the rooftop bar and eat. The bottle beer was appreciated (Efus) and the freshly caught trout and salad was delicious. As we came down out of the mountains we could see a large freshwater lake with the lights of the town twinkling in the edges of the water. Sat with Barry and Leighton and listened to Paul Brady sing Arthur McBride and talked about Irish music and the singing of Christy Moore before making our way back to the annex and tomorrow’s long journey to Goreme.