München

15 minutes to noon, the main square is already packed. Eyes heads up, towards the figurines in the Neue Rathaus tower. Women and men. Giggling children. At noon sharp, the bell starts to ring. However, it is not the Townhall. It comes from behind the square, maybe from St. Peter church, maybe from Frauenkirche, maybe from another church. The Neue Rathaus is still quiet. Tourists first time in München become worry 3 minutes latter when another bell rings. Then it is the turn of another one. One may feel disappointment within the crowd gathered in Marienplatz. And some hope: “We are so many; they could not have fooled all of us”, everybody thinks.

7 minutes past hour, the crowd is happy. The figurines in the bell tower are moving. It was worth waiting. The champions go round, and in the end, one knight wins the jousting tournament, the other being pushed off the horse by the blunted tip of the opponent's lance.

An enthusiastic reaction comes from the crowd. Eyes are glittering, the droplets of rain do not matter, and there is a murmur and a tremor. Nothing like an extraordinary feeling, but smiles and friendly eyes welcome the putting in motion of the second set of figurines in the tower.

For me, the actual show is the crowd, reacting to little thinks. The thrill of humanity sparkled by puppets put in motion by a mechanism designed and built 200 year ago.

The light in the eyes.

Humans, which turn irrelevant politics, pop stars, reeky mobile phones, or stupid radicalisms.

The new geopolitics of oil-richness in a Cretan beach resort

It is my first time in three years in a Greek all inclusive resort. It might be related to the place, but the striking difference is that the (wealthy) Russian tourists managed to counterbalance the influence of the German and British throngs of tourists. One can easily see it in the songs they play during the minidisco, and in the noisy presence of the Easterners, which are much more visible despite the Germans and British seeming more numerous.

(Romanians and Poles never played a role in the upper price market, there is almost no Dutch, the Belgians and Swiss are too lovely tolerant, while French, Italians and Spaniards are incredibly quiet in this resort)

(No, my amazing, lovely, but blasé, almost-teenager daughter decided not to go to the miniclub. "It's for another age", she told me. A little bit too much social change in my life, isn't it?)

Meteora

Din faţa altarului vine o voce fermă, feminină. “Ştiţi de ce iconoclastul a zugrăvit astfel pe fecioara neprihănită?” Se lasă câteva momente de linişte. „Nu ştiţi niciunul?” Pauza subliniază retorica. „Aş fi mulţumită dacă aţi reţine trei lucruri: …” Ascultători, turiştii, cam 40 la număr, dau umili din capete. Bărbaţii poartă bermude, însă nu din cele înflorate, ci în culori neutre. Nu au voie în pantalon scurţi. Femeile au braţele şi picioarele acoperite de şalurile urâte din cele care se distribuie la intrare. Vocea femeii spune explicaţii pe un ton răspicat ce solicită supunere.


Desfrâul nu este permis în mănăstirea din vârful muntelui golaş. Cândva, pentru a ajunge aici îţi încredinţai viaţa în mâna călugărilor. Nu existau scări, nu existau poduri. Sunt mai bine de 100 de metri de la baza stâncii, în fapt o bucată de sandstone ridicată de pe fundul mării cu mii de ani în urmă şi până la mânăstirea din vârful ei. Călugării, toleraţi de turci, aruncau frânghii şi te ridicau sus. Dacă li se părea că eşti suspect te lăsau să cazi în gol.


Un rege sârb s-a călugărit în urmă cu sute de ani şi a venit aici, în una din mănăstirile din Meteora, donând toată averea comunităţii monastice. Mă gândesc că o fi fost vrăjit de peisajul absolut fascinant, de neratat în opinia mea.


În prima încăpere a bisericuţei din mănăstire sunt doi preoţi greci, vizitatori. O aroganţă specifică preoţilor ortodocşi atotcunoscători, deţinători ai adevărului absolut. E imposibil să nu o vezi, să nu o recunoşti (asta nu înseamnă că nu am văzut şi preoţi umani, inteligenţi, cei doi greci se încadrează însă perfect în acel patern al aroganţei atotştiutoare al preoţilor ortodocşi).


În faţa altarului, fătuca blondă, cu tricoul cu barete ce îi lasă părul să se răsfeţe pe umerii goli, cu siguranţa ei şi stilul răstit de învăţătoare din perioada comunistă ce se zdroșește la nişte elevi puşi în bănci pentru a învăţa obedienţa, îşi continuă reprezentaţia. O chem pe Mălina să o vadă, încercând să nu se vadă că vorbesc româneşte. E în mine un amestec de stupefacţie, oroare, amuzament, ruşine. Nu ştiu dacă să râd sau să plâng văzând atâta înapoiere. Turiştii aceia au plătit bani buni să ajungă aici, au mers un drum lung cu autocarul ca să fie snopiți cu vorbe, al căror conţinut informaţional este de altfel redus. Nu aud nimic nou faţă de ceea ce citisem în Lonely Planet. Aud în schimb pilde bisericeşti cu nemiluita. Dar turiştilor le place şi ceea ce aud şi modul în care sunt trataţi.


Ne desprindem să admirăm priveliştea cu adevărat fascinantă a Meteorei. Sunt formaţiuni muntoase rezultate din încreţirea fundului mării, pe când aici era o mare. Sunt prin urmare munţi de fund de mare topit, având consistenţa şi culoarea macadamului. Munţi golaşi, fără nici urmă de vegetaţie pe coaste. Doar în vârf sunt mănăstiri şi copaci răzleţi. Localitățile din vale înfloresc din turism.


Incredibil de multe autocare cu români vin aici în pelerinaj. Limba română deţine probabil majoritatea absolută printre turişti. Habar nu aveam despre asta. Sunt femei şi bărbaţi, tineri şi vârstnici, în pelerinaj religios. Par că nu au timp să observe cu adevărat frumuseţea locului, mănăstirile sunt cele fascinante.


Dar nu, aceasta din urmă pare o impresie falsă. E un tur mai lung după cum aflăm. Revedem grupul cu fătuca blondă cu braţele dezgolite. Ea este ghidul lor atotputernic. Acum sunt în subsol şi le arată portretele grecilor importanţi ce au trecut pe aici. Mesajele ei au o tentă destul de pronunţat naţionalistă. Le arată un poet şi e spune că e un soi de Eminescu. „Să ţineţi minte asta, să ştiţi mâine când mergem pe insula unde s-a născut el!” le porunceşte. Mă aştept mereu să îi văd luând notiţe asudaţi, dar nimeni nu scoate notesul şi creionul…

Noi ne suim în maşina închiriată şi fugim, departe de aici, departe de lumea asta, spre soarele plajelor greceşti.

Road signs in Greece

The pictures say everything. The Southern you go, the lower the odds that the road signs are not covered with advertising, various messages, unclear posters, of graffiti (the later resembles to a national sport).


One may think that this is a way of protesting against politicians and the state, an act of civil disobedience. However, this is rather directed against public and own safety, and I see no way in which it may lead to any positive outcome... :(

Love food, not waste!

Strange campaign for a five star hotel which does not provide so much variety for lunch/dinner, isn't it?
[not to mention that they have three errors in seven words, when it comes to the Romanian translation]

(Hotel Possidi Holidays, in Halkidiki, summer of 2013).

Driving in Greece

This summer I have discovered that driving in Greece is different than what I thought. My previous experiences included holiday destinations: In the islands of Crete, Rhodes, and Corfu, the summer traffic largely consisted of rented cars of even foreign ones. Although not majoritarian, they contributed to setting up social norms of driving close to Western Europe. Thessaloniki and Northern Greece, along Ignatia Odos, were not much different than the pattern that we met in the islands.

This summer, it happened that we came again to Greece, for a wedding. Therefore, we took some time to do sightseeing. We landed in Thessalonikki and headed south towards Athens. It was like in a different country. The traffic made Romania look Western, and definitively much Northern than Greece. Drivers do not bother to follow speed limitation, to obey interdictions to overtake, or to wait until you finish your overtake on the highway. There were moments when, driving 20 kilometers faster than the speed limit, I apparently was the slowest car on the national road.

In Athens, if turning right in a crossroad, they horn even when you let pedestrians cross on their green light.

They tax incredibly heavy the usage of the erratic highways. From Thessalonikki to Athens we stopped at least 8 times to pay highway tolls to sum up to around 20 Euros. Out of the 550 kilometers, half were not on proper highways, even if they claimed to be on a highway. Ironically, you may easily predict when approaching a toll point: speed limitation becomes normal (130 km/h), and one may use two lanes for each direction. After no more than two kilometers, one should decrease speed, and stop to pay a new tax of 1-3 Euros.

When arriving to Athens, you end up in the most chaotic traffic that I ever experienced, except Istanbul, where, however, I have been only as pedestrian or passenger. In Athens, rules loosely apply, horning is part of the normal habit, parking your car in the middle of the street is frequent, while cars, pedestrians, and taverna’s tables share the same narrow streets.

The sad face of Greece

In front of our hotel, in Plaka, just a whisker to the very heart of Athens, there is a tiny restaurant. Its keeper, a milk-chocolate-skinned woman, tries to summon customers in: "hello, my friend", "how are you tonight my friend?", "have a good night my friend". She wears a slightly loose yellow shirt and makes large gestures. A big smile. No fat, the bony type, but not skinny. I have no idea what she wears as trousers or skirt. The face, the contrasting yellow shirt and brownish skin, the large gestures are the ones to put for the show. Two young kids complete the picture. The eldest is around 4 and wanders around wearing a large transparent plastic container around his head. It is large enough to avoid involuntary suffocation, but the original function was to hold some five liter of water.

The yellow-shirt lady looks in her mid-40s, but should be 30, 35 at most. Not a beauty, but pleasant. She started saluting us two hours earlier, when we arrived. This is the local custom, to lure or even push customers in the taverna. The other shop-keepers on the street did the same, promising to entice us with their amazing dishes. After all, we have a booking in the next door hotel.

We took dinner a couple of streets uphill, and now we're back in our room. The hotel's wireless connection is like a ghost. You connect, but with no line in the graphical display that shows the strength of the signal. It takes ages to load a banal webpage.

I need to know if Petrolul managed to score again after Swansea's rebuke, so here I am, in the lobby. The wireless connection is even SLOWER, as compared to our first floor room. And this is not a cheap hotel, I can assure you.

It is about 11pm. A lonely customer sits at the table in the dirty restaurant across the narrow street. He is an old Greek, savoring a beer. The man looks like he enjoys too much drinking. An old British couple gets summoned by the Egyptian woman. Is it still open, they ask? All other commerce on the street has already closed down for the night. They take a beer and an orange juice.

I cross the two-meter-wide street. I take a retsina. It proves to be middle quality at best. I ask for an Internet connection. The Egyptian woman does not understand enough English to figure out what I ask for. She shows a business card, with the name of the shabby tavern on it, and points to the tablet I hold: "search this name there and you find", I get instructed. The tablet finds no wireless network named similarly to the place. I gave up. Three minutes later she asks if I found their place on the Internet. I say I will look for it later. When leaving, I have with her a short conversation which reveals her personal history: born in Egypt, married with an half Greek-half Egyptian. The whole restaurant is on the Internet, I will learn. This includes the full staff.

But this will come later. In the meanwhile, the British couple receives melon "on the house". I also get mine. It does not go well with retsina, but it's tasty. The old Greek speaks on the phone. He looks addicted to alcohol, but drinks his beer slowly, like a Belgian.

Disappointment comes as a cloud on the Egyptian women's face. The British couple lives the next day, to a Greek island, and they will not be her customers anymore. They say goodbye.

A very large, blonde, and very white-skinned girl helps the yellow-shirted Egyptian to carry a big garbage bin. I ask for the bill. It’s 3 euros, I gave her two coins, of two Euros each.

I receive another retsina, on the house. I refuse: I have already drunk enough. I also refuse the offer for packing it. She says that I should get it for free tomorrow evening. She immediately returns with two half-liter bottles of water, similar to the one I had with retsina. She says ‘it is for the wife and daughter’, and explains, mainly by hands, that they might have been already sleeping.

I stand, and I leave. In the middle of the street, she explains me her story and the rather ditty restaurant is a family business, their only source of income.

The husband also shows up and salutes. In the coming days they will wave and greet us all the time but will not manage to summon me again. Their marketing was too loosely targeted and lusting for customers brought them no further profit. Maybe redesigning the product, cleaning and renewing the place would be more efficient.

Otherwise they will end up with the three tables where Greeks enjoy Friday and Saturday evenings, speaking and laughing loudly, while the yellow skirt of the Egyptian woman brings the orders. As happens in Greece, the husband will stand or will sit on a chair, in front of the taverna, luring customers.

I have no idea if she has several long-sleeved yellow skirts, or if she washes it daily. I also do not know if they acted the same before crisis, if she undertaking male roles is part of the Egyptian heritage or simple desperation. But I red in their eyes barely hidden sadness.

Bucureşti-Sibiu. (2) De la un celular la altul

\\ continuare //
-drumul cu Dacos de la Bucureşti la Sibiu, ajuns la autogara din Râmnicu Vâlcea-

În autogara Rm.Vâlcea

Toaleta, cu acces gratuit, şi doar câte o cabină pentru bărbaţi şi una pentru femei, cu spălător comun, este neașteptat de curată. Doar anunțul acela este amuzant.

Afară, revăd grupul vorbitor de franceză. După accent, băieții sunt mai degrabă belgieni. Tatuajul are de fapt caractere latine, însă se văd prost, nu le pot citi. Bruneta ar putea fi (fost) (şi) studentă. Blonda e mai stingheră; sigur nu e cu brunetul, care e mai fluent în engleză decât toți ceilalți. Bruneta îşi tot îmbrăţişează prietenul blond, care arată cu măcar patru ani mai tânăr.

Revin în autocar. Unii călători au coborât, alții i-au înlocuit. Telefoanele sunt folosite intens, suntem cam 10 care citim, o cifră bună pentru un autocar de 50 de locuri, circulând în Romania. În spatele meu fetele citesc în engleză, băieții în franceză. Aflu că îşi vor continua drumul până la Cluj. Nu ar fi fost mai simplu cu trenul??

La Europa FM se spune că femeile preferă pe bărbaţii care cântă la chitară celor care au un loc de muncă. Aflăm mai apoi ca sursa e un sondaj de pe un site de online dating. Mda, jurnalism, să zic aşa.

Soarele strălucește, autocarul pleacă spre Sibiu. Șoferul s-a schimbat şi el.

La ieșirea din Vâlcea ne oprim prinși în trafic. Stăm pe loc 30 de minute, apoi coada începe a se târai prin Bujoreni. Când ne punem în mișcare, întâlnim un camion şi un tir, pe sensul opus de mers, încercând să facă stânga, pe o stradă secundară. Nu le dăm voie, nici noi, nici alte numeroase vehicule. Cum să treacă oare ÎNAINTEA noastră???? Ce dacă nu câştigăm nimic astfel?!!

Trecem pe lângă o casă aflată la stradă, cu un afiş mare, de lemn, pe care scrie „Opincărie” cu litere pirogravate. În vitrină se văd nişte opinci. Cool!

Pe locurile din stânga mea, pe cealaltă parte a coridorului îngust, este un cuplu suit din Vâlcea. Merg la Cluj, unde mâine, de la ora 2, ea trebuie sa facă o ecografie mamară. Ea vorbește non-stop la telefon. Noul șofer a dat pe un alt post de radio unde se difuzează muzică românească sacadată şi stridentă, cu versuri aproape porcoase. Radio Zu.

Femeia cu ecografia mamară l-a luat cu ea şi pe Nelu, ca se plictisea singura în autobuz. Au cam 55 de ani fiecare. El poartă costum gri şi cravată albastră. Ea are o fustă neagră, cămaşă roşie, pantofi cu negru şi bej, şi geantă gri. A fost mai greu să se decidă să meargă la ecografie, dar oricum a zis să o facă, ca să nu se gândească la alte alea, deși deja uitase... Oncoloaga ei a zis la 6, ecograful la 3, așa că are programare la ora 2.

Sunt o grămadă de informații care mă bombardează auditiv şi nu îmi permit să citesc. Mai exact, reuşesc să o fac fragmentar.

Femeia cu ecografia a sunat acum pe altcineva: "Sunam mai devreme, dar am zis să nu îl scol pe Naşu'. …. A făcurăţi sex iară, Naşa!"

Autocarul ajunge în Sibiu cu 30 de minute întârziere. Şoferul anunţă 30 de minute pauză. Cobor. E 19:30 şi, chiar dacă e destul de frig, vremea senină va continua aici până după miezul nopţii. Codul galben de la Europa FM cred că se referea la convorbirile călătorilor din autocarul cu care am mers.

Toilets in St. Petersburg

As one may have noticed, I often take pictures of strange or funny toilets and post them on this blog.
This time I should tell you about the most spectacular bizarre toilets I have seen yet.

Hermitage is in the very center of St.Petersburg, a place that I learn about from my father stories, some 30 years ago. Being very young, the image of the place were the czar lived more than hundred years ago remained strong in my mind.

This summer I have seen the place myself, and I have discovered there a quite nice city, with several interesting buildings. Close to Hermitage were these unusual toilets...

... set up in former buses, connected through huge hoses to the sewage system, were people were queuing to pee, and where the pestilential smell was strong even at 30 meter distance.

Bucureşti-Sibiu. (1) De la un miros la altul

Călătoria de la București la Sibiu începe prost. Mă tai la un deget pe când îmi fac un sandwich. Folia de aluminiu în care învelesc pâinica de tortilla îmi pătrunde în piele şi face o crestătură fină, dar de destul de adâncă. Nu doare, dar curge sânge ca la un robinet închis cu garnitura stricată. Opresc sângerarea, fac un bandaj, arunc în bagaj un plasture şi o bucată de fașă. S-au pierdut însă 10 minute dintr-o zi în care totul a fost cronometrat aproape la secundă.

Taxiul până la autogară prinde un trafic mai firav, ceea ce face să ajung cu doar 5 minute mai târziu fata de ora de îmbarcare anunțată. Șoferul autobuzului spre Sibiu se uită un pic curios la biletul meu cumpărat online şi apoi printat. Îmi spune să stau liniștit că avem timp. Nu prea are chef de conversație, chit că nu are clienți în clipa respectiva. Îl înțeleg însă: are de condus o ditamai mașina timp de cinci ore şi un sfert. Sunt 280 de kilometri. Adică doua ore, poate doua ore jumătate în Germania.

Autocarul e aproape gol. Mă gândesc fericit că voi avea mai mult spațiu la dispoziție. Constat că radioul este pus pe Europa FM, în surdină. Cât se poate de civilizat. Îmi amintesc cum la jumătatea anilor 1990, Dacos şi Ionescu îşi construiau flote concurente pe ruta București-Vâlcea. Acum merg cu un Dacos. Oare o mai exista Ionescu? Ar fi păcat să fi dispărut, avea un nume cu potențial comercial enorm în opinia mea. Poate mă înșel însă.

Când se face ora de plecare, autobuzul se umple instantaneu. E însă nevoie de timp ca tot acest șuvoi de oameni şi mirosuri să îşi ocupe locurile. Sunt alergic, am o rinita cronică, aşa că unele mirosuri nu le simt deloc, iar pe altele le detectez pregnant. Mie mi se pare că sunt destul de sensibil la mirosurile neplăcute. Mălina spune însă că nu ar fi aşa, iar alergia ar face astfel să am o viziune mai optimista asupra vieţii, protejându-mă de la a detecta relaţia proastă pe care o au unii cu săpunul şi gelul de duş.

Încerc sa îmi imaginez cum o fi cu adevărat în autocar dacă Mălina are dreptate cu privire la capacitatea mea de a mirosi. Oricum mă consolez la gândul că, astă vară, în St.Petersburg mirosurile se simțeau puternic şi pe strada, deşi era mai răcoare.

În fine, se suie toţi şi plecăm. Sunt 10 minute întârziere. Nu contează, la urma urmei sunt 280 de kilometri de parcurs în 5 ore...

La Europa FM se anunţă cod galben, de furtună, valabil şi în Vâlcea şi în Sibiu. Deocamdată este însă soare.

Domnul lângă care stau citeşte o carte. Mai sunt încă 4-5 călători cu cărţi, din câte observ. Nimeni nu are ebook reader. Nimeni nu citeşte pentru a învăţa sau a lucra. În schimb e un murmur continuu, de la cei care vorbesc la telefonul mobil. De exemplu, un bărbat a plecat dimineaţă din Ploieşti, iar săptămâna viitoare are un program dificil, "crima şi pedeapsă" după cum îi spune secretarei cu care vorbeşte la telefon. A văzut în orar că are programată o restanţă, dar e complicat din cauza simpozionului pe care îl au la institut. Se interesează de situaţia pe care o are restanţierul la alte materii şi anunţă că se va gândi la o soluţie. Poate îl cheamă la institut măcar să se vadă...

În spatele meu se vorbește franceză în amestec cu engleză şi română. Accente nu foarte școlite, deși după vârstă ar putea fi studenţi. Ce să caute însă studenţi vorbitori de franceză pe ruta asta? La primul popas, la Piteşti, îi vad mai bine. Sunt doi băieţi pe la 23-24 de ani, poate chiar mai puţin. Aş zice că cel blond, un pic mai înalt şi mai plinuţ, este cu un an mai tânăr. Are un tatuaj lung, vertical, cu semne desenate cu albastru, un soi de litere chinezeşti care pornesc de la gleznă, urcă pe gambă şi se pierd deasupra genunchiului, pe coapsă, sub perechea de khakis scurţi bleumarin pe care o poartă. Pare mai degrabă muncitor manual decât student. Nu pare a fi turist. E greu de spus ce caută în România. Sau poate este într-o originală misiune de a spori numărul celor care citesc pe ruta Bucuresti-Sibiu ;)

Prietenul său brunet, tot cu tuleie, ar putea fi student, dar ceva îmi spune ca ar câştiga bani prin propriile forţe, de undeva. Nu mulţi însă.

Cele doua fete par fi în jur de 30 de ani. Chipuri ușor obosite. Oboseală cronică, de la muncă. Sigur nu au copii. Sunt îmbrăcate mai degrabă modest. În română au accent ardelenesc. Bruneta este perechea blondului, şi ştie şi un pic de franceză. Vorbesc intre ei engleza, însă aceasta nu pare a fi limba lor de comunicare cotidiana. Excepţie poate face bruneta, cu o fluenţă superioară.

La începutul anilor 2000 plecam din Bucureşti cu Transmix dimineaţa, pe la 7. Aveau un microbuz, iar pe la 9:30 mâncam un mic pe Dealul Negru. Era cam singura oprire mai consistentă. Acum sunt măcar două: Piteşti şi Râmnicu Vâlcea.

În autogara din Pitești apare şi un cerșetor, la fel de urât ca cei de pe străzile Atenei, creaturi nefireşti desprinse parcă din filme post-apocaliptice...

Tot în Pitești, accesul la toaletă costa un leu. Prin uşile deschise se văd mulţi oameni, bărbaţi şi femei, în încăperi separate, spălându-şi mâinile. Mă gândesc că o fi o afacere bună, are vad. Felul în care arată clădirea nu mă îmbie însă să testez calitatea... Amân pentru popasul din Rm.Vâlcea o oră mai târziu.

Detectez toaleta călăuzindu-mă după mirosul puternic de clor. Nu e nici un indicator către ea, sau cel puțin nu îl detectez eu. Surprinzător, e coadă la cabina bărbaților, nu şi la femei. Pe ușile cabinelor remarc un anunț amuzant. Vine rândul celui dinaintea mea. Mă apropii de uşa cabinei, mai mult decât ar implica-o simpla așteptare, ca să fac o poză cu telefonul mobil. Instantaneu, doi dintre cei din spatele meu mi se bulucesc în spinare. Deh, puterea exemplului!

Toaleta, cu acces gratuit, şi doar cate o cabi///////


// va urma //

Peeing ... à la Chateau

Dacă vizitezi toaleta de la Chateau de Vianden, ai ocazia de a urina ... ca la castel. Uul dintre pereții băilor cu pricina este de fapt zidul exterior al castelului...

Uite și chateau-ul în sine, că e și el simpatic. De altfel, conții de Vianden sunt asecendenți direcți ai familiilor domnitoare din Luxembourg și Olanda.

Mai multe info:
- wikipedia
- pagina oficială a castelului
- castles.nl.

Two castels and ... a toilet

The restaurant in which we have been was proudly announcing that it serves as restaurant and hotel since 1790. The food was decent, with an excellent soupe de lentilles, but the toilet was the one that really made a difference. The pictures speak about the size. I wonder how a taller guy would manage to wash his hands in the tiny space over there. Probably this is why they have included an antiperspirant as well! :)

The restaurant is called Auberge Rustique and it is located in the nearby of the Chateau Beaufort. The castle, in ruins since the beginning of the 18th century, did not know any modern transformation. Its remains tell a nice story about how wealthy people were living a few hundreds year ago.

Chateau Beaufort, Luxembourg

Chateau Beaufort, Luxembourg

We have also visited Chateau Larochette. It is located on a high rock, from where the name (rocher=rock), and has a nice view on the bellow valley. The castle was shared by several noble families, but it went to fire in 1565. Since then, it was never rebuilt, due to the quarrels between the inheritors.

Chateau Larochette, Luxembourg

Both castles tell the story of an age when the rooms where small and the walls where thick, and comfort was a very strange word… If in the area, take a car and visit them. You may also find some more pictures and more information about the castles in Luxembourg (as well as in other countries) by vising the site/blog castles.nl.

From Corfu to Wien: Better than in the West

Starting from Greece, except for around Sofia, there were not so many traffic jams. Then, Romania was really bad. After escaping Romania, driving becomes much easier, except for, maybe, some more traffic around Budapest and Wien. Well, now it is time to get to Germany. The highway network it is just amazing. It looks that there are several light-years that separates the country from Romania and Bulgaria. However, if Sunday, you get so many chances to catch a stau (the German name for traffic jam) due to road works that you may wonder if you did not get so unlucky that started to drive in the road work season.

If Easterner, you would get amazed how long before the road work they start to close one or several lanes, and how you may spend two hours or even more for a distance of 100 kilometers. Then, you will discover that sometimes, even if the lanes are closed, nobody seems to work, and would have been very easy to (re)open the road for the traffic. You will fast understand that free time is treasured here, and the workers seem to work many times like they did in 1980s communist Romania: they close today the lane, and start working three days after that, when the week-end is over.

You might then think, that from this point of view the incipient capitalism in the East, with very weak labor unions, and working during the weekends when necessary (but not always!), is much better than the well-established German society.

Or you may remember certain SciFi novels in which the new societies, which never experienced war, need the experience of the old generations and resuscitate some 20^th century generals, to help them deal with the invaders. With other worlds, deprivation of good road connections seems to have taught the Easterners to faster repair their poor connection routes. The basic question remains if these quick maintenance works actually lead to a comparable quality…

Until answering this question, the image of the German never-ending road works makes Eastern people find the case in which their societies seem to better look.

Previous post in the series: Hungary!
The whole series (6 posts) is available here.


[Well, I dedicate this post to Dana's "aura", she knows what I mean ;)]

From Corfu to Wien: Eastern Europe by car. 5th part: Hungary

Well, I have no intention to give very many details on how to drive from Corfu Island to Vienna, crossing Northern Greece from West to East, Bulgaria from South to North, Romania from South to West, and Hungary from East to West. However, I feel that it might be interesting to underline some peculiar features of driving this way, which shows common Eastern features, and might be useful particularly for Western European travelers. Also, Greek, Romanians, Bulgarians, and Hungarians may see what they have in common and what makes the little, but important differences. In the end of the series, I will underline a couple of nice Eastern futures, which provide to be better off than in the West.


Please note that the following include only my personal, non-systematic observations, and should be treated as such, not as a scientific truth. At their best, the beneath comments are an “educated guess”. (Remember that I am a sociologist :)!)

Part 5: Hungary

This is the shortest part of this series. Hungary is already different. You have escaped from the Romanian dust, you speed up on highways, and unlike Romania you may also find road signs directing to Vienna or Bratislava. Since you head mostly on highways, there are no prostitutes, and the toilets in the gas stations are decent enough. They still have some strange ways to signal (or rather not to signal) detours and road works on the highways, but this is much better than what you have experienced before.

If deciding to get out the highway, prepare the passport as I explain that you have to do it in Bulgaria: there are several impossible speed limitation (like 30 km/h, in the middle of nowhere, and sometimes the policeman that stops you naively explains that this is why they imposed the speed limit: to get money from drivers).

Their particular road sign shows a truck on a slope and a car hitting the back of the truck. I would say that it means “be careful to trucks slowing down when going uphill”?

Previous post in the series: Romania. Next one: Better that in the West!
The whole series (6 posts) is available here.

From Corfu to Wien: Eastern Europe by car. 4th part: Romania

Well, I have no intention to give very many details on how to drive from Corfu Island to Vienna, crossing Northern Greece from West to East, Bulgaria from South to North, Romania from South to West, and Hungary from East to West. However, I feel that it might be interesting to underline some peculiar features of driving this way, which shows common Eastern features, and might be useful particularly for Western European travelers. Also, Greek, Romanians, Bulgarians, and Hungarians may see what they have in common and what makes the little, but important differences. In the end of the series, I will underline a couple of nice Eastern futures, which provide to be better off than in the West.


Please note that the following include only my personal, non-systematic observations, and should be treated as such, not as a scientific truth. At their best, the beneath comments are an “educated guess”. (Remember that I am a sociologist :)!)


Part 4: Romania

Romania is a country with virtually no highways. There is this guy, a politician, former captain in the commercial navy, who was and is influential in the Romanian Ministry of Transportation. It seems that EU granted money for building highways in the mid-1990s, but Romanians did not managed to build almost nothing. In the same time, using same kind of financing, Hungarians and Greeks managed to set up a nice road infrastructure. For his efficient management, the former minister of transportation was elected president of the country. Now he has a second term. Recently, he advised some foreign potential investors, to visit the country by helicopter, not by car.

Since regular people cannot afford a helicopter, let get back to our road driving. Romanians love to have the road crossing their localities, and insist that their villages and even small towns are splat in two different, not communicating parts, due to the national road which makes the separation. The only highways that you find on your way to West is 100 kilometer long. This makes 1/8 of your driving through Romania. The rest is national road, crossing localities, as I have mentioned.

There are three exceptions: Bucharest is the first, but here the ring is a nightmare, where you have to survive in the dust, permanent traffic jams, and the gases of the trucks intensively using the only available lane. Very new rings are available around Piteşti and Sibiu. (the only older ring seems to be around Ploieşti, once the main European oil field, intensively exploited by British and Americans, and later on by Germans, during WW2; however, your road does not goes through Ploieşti anyway :() More, if finding the way around Sofia is difficult, finding the way around Bucharest is a sort of nightmare. I would say that it is easier to get though the city, which is also time consuming.

This permanent crossing trough locality has the advantage that let you admire beautiful girls, women and men, probably the best richness of the country. The asphalt is, somehow surprisingly, of better quality than in Bulgaria or in Greece, but if you dare to get out of the main road, the impression might change.

There are definitely fewer prostitutes than in Bulgaria, but they still represent a reality, particularly on Valea Oltului and West of Sibiu, in Transylvania. In the Southern part of the country, the toilets are of better quality than in Greece or Bulgaria. Most of the oil stations belonging to Petrom, OMV, Rompetrol, Mol, Lukoil, Agip etc. are of good quality, but I would advise to avoid no name brands. On the other hand, I would suggest refueling in Sibiu. Later on, the Western you drive, the lower the quality.

Horse-powered carts are to be found on the road, like in Bulgaria. However, this time they share the road with a quite heavy traffic, and you should expect to experience several kilometers-long traffic jams. Expect, for instance, from Piteşti to Râmnicu Vâlcea, to be part of a 50 kilometer long column heading North with some constant 50-60 kilometer per hour. The same may repeat between Sibiu and Sebeş, for the same distance.

Older and newer Mercedes and BMW cars populate the roads. Avoid them! As in Bulgaria, they are a good sign of aggressive driving.

Like Greeks, Romanians have an interesting announcement on the electric road signs (however, do not imagine that there are very many such signs!). This time it warns to “Fasten your seat belt”. Another country, another bad habit to combat!

Previous post in the series: Crossing Danube. Next one: Hungary.
The whole series (6 posts) is available here.

From Corfu to Wien: Eastern Europe by car. 3rd part: across Danube

Well, I have no intention to give very many details on how to drive from Corfu Island to Vienna, crossing Northern Greece from West to East, Bulgaria from South to North, Romania from South to West, and Hungary from East to West. However, I feel that it might be interesting to underline some peculiar features of driving this way, which shows common Eastern features, and might be useful particularly for Western European travelers. Also, Greek, Romanians, Bulgarians, and Hungarians may see what they have in common and what makes the little, but important differences. In the end of the series, I will underline a couple of nice Eastern futures, which provide to be better off than in the West.


Please note that the following include only my personal, non-systematic observations, and should be treated as such, not as a scientific truth. At their best, the beneath comments are an “educated guess”. (Remember that I am a sociologist :)!)

Part 3. Crossing Danube

Crossing Danube is an experience in itself. The two neighboring countries, Romania and Bulgaria, are separated by the large river, with only some 100 kilometers land border, in the East, near the Black sea. Over time, there was a bridge over Danube in the West, built by the Romans which where conquering Dacia (North of Danube, in nowadays Romania), around the year 100 AD. The bridge was intentionally damaged when the Romans retreat in 256 AD. Then, a new permanent bridge was raise up in 1950s. The communist regimes in the two countries named it the Friendship Bridge. It connects Rousse to Giurgiu, at 60 kilometers southern Bucharest.

The EU gave money to build a second bridge in the mid 1990s, but the two countries have not reached an agreement of where to build it until recently. So, the Friendship Bridge is the main connection between the two countries. There are two lanes for the cars: one comes from Romania to Bulgaria, the other goes the opposite direction.

Currently they have ongoing maintenance works. Coming from Bulgaria, we had to wait some 90 minutes to cross the bridge. It was nice: a long queue, several kilometers long. We were among the first ones in the queue. Some SUVs made by BMW, as well as regular BMWs, with Romanian number were coming on the other way, And sneak in the front of the queue. Romanian and Bulgarian border police contemplated this condescentely: "they had expensive cars, so they are entitled to do it".


Previous post in the series: Romania. Next one: Better that in the West!
The whole series (6 posts) is available here.

From Corfu to Wien: Eastern Europe by car. 2nd part: Bulgaria

Well, I have no intention to give very many details on how to drive from Corfu Island to Vienna, crossing Northern Greece from West to East, Bulgaria from South to North, Romania from South to West, and Hungary from East to West. However, I feel that it might be interesting to underline some peculiar features of driving this way, which shows common Eastern features, and might be useful particularly for Western European travelers. Also, Greek, Romanians, Bulgarians, and Hungarians may see what they have in common and what makes the little, but important differences. In the end of the series, I will underline a couple of nice Eastern futures, which provide to be better off than in the West.


Please note that the following include only my personal, non-systematic observations, and should be treated as such, not as a scientific truth. At their best, the beneath comments are an “educated guess”. (Remember that I am a sociologist :)!)

Part 2. Bulgaria

If you got out of Greece, the toilet nightmare gets to an end. Look for gas stations which are part of international chains: Shell, Rompetrol, OMV. Do not risk your pee safety in other gas stations, otherwise you will continue to experience the Greek style again.

On the other hand, if the partially built highway which connects Thessaloniki to Bulgaria disappointed you, you are in a very bad situation: in Bulgaria, the road crosses very many villages and towns until it finally transforms in a short highway. The 50 kilometer per hour limit is present in every single village, but also sometimes on the national road, and even on highways. It looks like the speed limit is not design to protect traffic and people, but to put money in the policeman pocket. Therefore, you should have been prepared: put a 10 Euro bill, or better a twenty inside your passport. It will be useful to clean your good driver name when the policeman will unexpectedly stopped you. Remember this strategy in Hungary, too. It will prove very useful in similar situations.

However, there is a long way to go until Hungary. You are still in Bulgaria, the peeing man is everywhere, the more Northern you go, the more prostitutes you find exposing themselves along the road. The landscape is greener, the villages - a little more frequent than in Greece. Around Sofia, on the highway, there are interesting tunnels, very dark, and not particularly well lightened, probably built many years ago. Use a GPS, otherwise you have all chances to get lost when trying to find the way around Sofia.

When driving, no matter if national road or highway, you may also notice that there is easy to say where the speed limitation starts, but often it is impossible to understand when it ends. This also happens in Greece, but Bulgaria is the headmaster in this kind of guessing sport. I have no tip to share, other than listen to your instincts!

Pagoda Palace in Zlatna Panega

There are several thinks to see along the way. If you are Western, I would suggest to miss not Melnik, and the nearby monastery, for a jump back with hundred years in the past (it is true that I have visited the place some 15 year ago, but I doubt that it changed much). If looking for bizarre houses, do not miss the one in Zlatna Panega, probably a gypsy palace, with a pagoda at the entrance, and some golden signs on the iron fence (unfortunately the picture that we took shows only very few of the grotesque kitsch of the "dwelling").

The Bulgarians have their own peculiar road sign, which I do not remember seeing anywhere else. My guess is that that black point in the red triangle is a warning that a hole in the road will follow. So, drive carefully, there are very many such signs!

When driving Northern, the landscape becomes arid again, even if not as dry as in the Greece. The highway ends, and the road gets through villages and small towns. However, most of the time, it goes not through the locality center. It is just a warm up for the very demanding driving that you will have to face in Romania!

The absence of highways is somehow logical: the traffic is not heavy at all, and many times you are alone on the road. When crossing localities, you still may have the rare opportunity admire trucks and police cars built in the 1960s Soviet Union, and still working. They are not as many as a few years ago, but are still present in the Northern Bulgaria. Horse-powered carts are also quite frequent, and represent a good opportunity to teach your kids a practical history lesson. However, if you missed the chance, do not worry, you have plenty of them after crossing Danube, in Romania. They drive along the way with SUVs, Mercedes and BMW cars, symbols for the nouveau riches status and barely legal activities. 

Previous post in the series: Greece. Next one: Crossing Danube.
The whole series (6 posts) is available here.

From Corfu to Wien: Eastern Europe by car. 1st part: Greece

Well, I have no intention to give very many details on how to drive from Corfu Island to Vienna, crossing Northern Greece from West to East, Bulgaria from South to North, Romania from South to West, and Hungary from East to West. However, I feel that it might be interesting to underline some peculiar features of driving this way, which shows common Eastern features, and might be useful particularly for Western European travelers. Also, Greek, Romanians, Bulgarians, and Hungarians may see what they have in common and what makes the little, but important differences. In the end of the series, I will underline a couple of nice Eastern futures, which provide to be better off than in the West.


Please note that the following include only my personal, non-systematic observations, and should be treated as such, not as a scientific truth. At their best, the beneath comments are an “educated guess”. (Remember that I am a sociologist :)!)

Part 1. Greece

In Corfu, you should notice the tiny roads, the rather poor houses, the incredible very cheap food, and the very dirty toilets in the gas stations. This is one of the main ‘features’ of the entire area: you have to carefully choose the where to refuel, in order to be able to enjoy a decent peeing. However, Greece is a perfect country from this point of view. In the summer of 2011 the cost of the 98 essence was 1.9+ Euro per litter (!!). Probably this is why all toilets in the gas stations looked anything but clean. You get taxed for experiencing a sort of peeing deprivation. It was quite bad as a men, but you can imagine how this looked through the eyes of my wife and my daughter.,

Well, taking the ferry from Corfu to Ignalitsa, on the continent, made us forgot about the toilets. If lucky, the boat traveller might encounter the three dolphins jumping freely over the blue seawater.

Back on land, the new Egnatia Odos highway is a good example of best practices in using EU money. The road is a nice engineering outcome, reproducing the Roman Via Egnatia, which connects the Adriatic shore to the nowadays Thessaloniki, heading to Istanbul, as it did some two millennia ago! The tunnels and the bridges reminded me of Switzerland. The highway itself was a kind of strange: rare gas stations, a couple of bizarre speed limitations (probably preparing us for what had to come in Bulgaria!), and, most of all, the profile of the peeing man, dominating the arid environment, and who would become an emblematic figure of the Balkans.

The peeing man? Simple, he is a man peeing on near his car, parked on the sideway of the highway. You will find him all over the Egnatia Odos, and the car will be registered in Greece. One may also often find him in Bulgaria, and the car’s number will be Bulgarian. Some few years ago, he was a common figure in Southern Romania, but nowadays it is an endangered species there: almost nobody sees him, and they do have more and cleaner toilets in the oil stations around the road. Well, this is the problem with the Northern countries :p

Metsovo

On the way to Thessaloniki, there are very many things to see. If one needs variation, and feel the mood to visit something else than ancient Greek or byzantine remains, one has to immediately visit Metsono, just on the highway. The 1700 meter above see the Vlach’s village is an impressive example of intensive rural- tourism and richness. The legend says that the Vlachs over here are the descendants of Roman soldiers guarding the valley, who preserved their privileges during Ottoman rule, in exchange of a small tax…

Ouzou Melathron

Then, stop in Thessaloniki, and eat in Ouzou Melathron Taverna, where Alexia kindly sent us. The menu is not necessary Greek, but you may get nice foods with strange names (like Maria’s Tits, or Lovehorn Plate – the last one I fully recommend, along with the feta stuffed squid), served with a Retsina, in the outdoor terrace.

On the highway, note the funny announcements: a road sign alerts you to reduce speed when the road is icy (wtf, this is Greece, it is always hot!!! – yes , I know, that we were in the mountains, but it is still funny). Another electric screen warns you not to use the mobile phone when driving. Well, this actually is a very serious one, it is definitively crisis-related: they are so poor that they cannot afford an headset :(

Next post in the series: Bulgaria.
The whole series (6 posts) is available here.

Playmobil FunPark Zirndorf

The Playmobil Park in Zirndorf is a nice place to be. I liked it much better than the Disneyland. Despite not being as “shimmering silver and gold” as the more famous attraction that I mentioned, I found Zirndorf Park is more instructive for kids (younger than 8-9 year old), more enjoyable, it has better food, and it is definitively less commercial. It is more about the content and less obvious oriented towards making profit.

Trento, pe scurt

Oraşul vechi. Nu arată rău. Merită o hoinăreală pe străduţele neregulate, cu iz medieval, străjuite din trei părţi de munţi. Ca şi la Verona, multe dintre palazzo au sau au avut faţada pictată. Parcă în Trento sunt însă mai multe astfel de clădiri. Clădirile aduc niţel mai mult a stil nemţesc (Trento a fost în Imperiul Habsburgic). Curăţenia este mai pronunţată decât în restul Italiei.



Domul. Aici a avut celebrul Conciliul contrareformist, cel care a consemnat practic separarea între catolici şi Protestanţi. Domul nu e spectaculos, dar nava cu turnuleţe e interesantă, iar piazza de una din laturi e drăguţă, cu un palazzo pictat şi cu fântâna lui Neptun (ironic, nu, să ai un zeu păgân ca statuie în locul unde catolicii i-au condamnat formal pe protestanţi).

Castello de Buonconcilio. Simpatic. Mi-au plăcut unele dintre tavanele din partea nouă a castelului, felul încare e construit în stâncă castelul vechi, fresca cu anotimpurile din turn.

Oraşul subteran, în care se intră coborând scările din piaţa teatrului, merită din plin cei 2 Euro cât costă intrarea :). Sunt acolo bucăţi de zid, camere întregi, băi, curţi, puţuri, canalizări, străzi din perioada romană, dar şi dinaintea acesteia. E interesantă piatra roz care predomină în aceste vestigii, şi pe care o puteţi regăsi şi în unele din clădirile din oraşul vechi.

Telecabina şi panorama. La funivia se ia din spatele autogării, după ce treci podul peste calea ferată. Sunt 2-4 curse pe oră, care te urcă 400 de metri, trecându-te râul şi conducându-te în Sardagna (600 de metri altitudine). Panorama oferită este deosebită: priveşte printre munţi, peste întreaga vale, vezi oraşul de sus, admiri culmile înzăpezite. Dacă urmezi drumul către centrul satului, după câteva minute găseşti indicatoare ce te condu la osteleria din centru, unde se mănâncă binişor. Din Sardagna ai opţiunea de a porni pe varii trasee montane (vârful cel mai înalt din împrejurimi are peste 2000 de metri).

Mâncarea locală. Nu e grozavă, dar am mâncat bine în câteva locuri. În principiu însă toţi îşi oferă cam acelaşi lucru. Mai deosebit este un birramisu (tiramisu cu bere în loc de rom) mâncat la Forst, unde au şi o bere proprie (made in Bolzano) bunicică. Un calzone interesant se face la Chiste’. La Patelli au nişte gnocchi cu fistic interesanţi, dar nu fantastici. Ca în mai tot oraşul, porţiile sunt mici, mai ales dacă sunteţi obişnuiţi cu cele din Germania. Prin urmare, mai indicat ar fi să încercaţi un primo piato şi un secundo piato (felul întâi şi felul doi), sau măcar ceva antipasti (aperitive). Adesea, garnitura pentru secundo piato se comandă separat. Vinul local nu mi s-a părut grozav. Atenţie: dacă nu aţi mâncat până la 2:30 de prânz şi vreţi mâncare caldă, doar cafenelele vă mai pot salva… (pe de altă parte, mai toate magazinele sunt închise de la 12:00 la 15:00)

Laundry. Un laundromat bun e Natalya, via Tore d’Augusto 21, lângă Albergo AlberMonaco. Maşini bune, noi, curate.