Reading: The Host by Stephenie  Meyer and let me tell you it’s rather  dull, but bizarrely I’m still keeping with it. I was reading Dostoyevsky, which was much more interesting until the events to be described …

Doing: Walking around a lot from train stations to subways to airports; just recently have I managed to walk around a lot doing touristy things.

Misadventures

It’s begun! My first of ten weeks  of budget stricken travel, starting in Istanbul, taking in Gallipoli and finally ending up in Sevilla. My first stop was … Lille! Yes!  the same little uni city I’ve lived in for six months. Okay, not really, it was the most convenient place to take a bus to London (buses from Brussels run only at 6am – ouch), and I was only there for an hour.

First misadventure: bus was an hour late. I wasn’t so worried. Eurolines buses are famous for being late. However, I was more worried about the fisherman’s strike which was blocking ferries running across the Channel. This turned out not to be a problem: for the first time, Eurolines fronted up the extra cost to take the Eurotunnel train. However;

Second misadventure: the bus driver left me behind at the boarding gates. For real. I went to the toilet,  put the book I’d been reading on the toilet paper dispenser, and was then surprised by a man’s voice yelling in a slavic language. Assuming – correctly, it turned out – the bus driver had come to gather us toilet-goers. I hurried through my business, only to be met with an empty parking lot, and  the Eurolines bus disappearing into the distance. Arsehole. The Eurotunnel operators had a wry smile on their face – clearly this sort of thing happens all the time. They drove me out to the train, told me to wait till boarding had finished, and then let me walk up 20 train cars to  my coach, in the first car. The bus driver nodded and smiled at me. Prick.

Third misadventure: I’d left the book sitting on the toilet dispenser! Major big deal, I was really enjoying the bloody thing! Now I’m stuck on my travels with nothing to read.

Fourth misadventure: I had to sleep at Gatwick, and not on Brad’s sofa. I hadn’t realised it was so difficult to get to Gatwick at 2am in the morning.  But that wasn’t a big issue: by the time I’d arrived, there were about thirty other passengers doing the same thing – oldies included. When I woke up, I swear there more like a hundred. I laughed a little when I saw the sofas in the cafe on the second floor full of sleeping passengers,  some of which had even been decent enough to buy a cup of coffee before doing so.

Fifth misadventure: EasyJet are a lot stricter about their carry-on baggage size than Ryanair, and my backpack, sleeping bag and hand bag didn’t quite make it. I pleaded poverty to the assistant (checking in my backpack as hold luggage would have cost 13pounds), shoved my handbag into my desperately groaning backpack, and shoved the whole thing into the Carry-On dimensions gauge. It got stuck – I had to push it out the bottom. ‘You know, I really shouldn ‘t let you through?’ she said, before letting me through. She did warn me that the gate assistant may not let me in; however, the gate assistant didn’t even bat an eyelid at the dozen or so people bringing in three or four hold-sized bags each, so my little bursting backpack with attached sleeping bag was no issue.

Actually, from there, it’s gone pretty smoothly.  I estimate that 2/3rds of my flight were Australian or New Zealander; despite being a flight to Turkey, there were perhaps only a couple of non-English speaking travellers. I’d expected the transfer from Sabiha Gokcen airport to Sultanahmet (the backpacker hub of Istanbul) to be  difficult, but the Havas bus took me to Taksim easily enough, and from there it was relatively easy to use a map and a compass to get to the tram line.

Orient Hostel is a dump, but apparently most of the hostels in Istanbul, and at least it’s not terribly expensive: AUD $70 for three nights, not as bad as, say, a French hostel. I’m looking forward to Egypt, though, where the hostels are AUD$6 a night. Now here comes my usual money grump: my main hiccup here is food: I’d been happy to book into a hostel that doesn ‘t have a guest kitchen because I’d  expected to be able to buy cheap meals in their restaurant. Turns out their ‘restaurant’ is a dodgy money spinner, with AUD$7 house wine and $12 kebabs. Turkey is the home of kebab! Why is it that I can get a decent kebab (yiros) at home for  $5 in the middle of the city, but not here? Even in Lille, the most a kebab would put me back was AUD$ 10. My bag full of tea bags and spices are sadly going wasted here – here’s hoping the rest of Turkey has some monetary sense.

So, I’m already exploring alternative avenues of food, leading me to a dodgy conversation with a drunk  Turk in a nearby convenience store. He promised to pay for half a bottle of wine if I would share a glass with him, and then told me he’d pay for my chips (Lays, some bizarre Turkish flavour that was really really really good) and orange juice (Minute Maid – not not not good. Coca-Cola and Tetra-Pak have made it all the way out here it seems). I didn’t let him, of course, and the shop keeper gave me a sympathetic look when I paid. I later saw the same drunk chasing some middle aged British tourists, before stopping to chat to a local shopkeeper.

Istanbul

… really is a bizarre and cool city, though I do wish I’d come here with more money, and taken the time to choose a better hostel (I went with Orient cos they came highly recommended by Lonely Planet. I must have a really really old edition).

I’ve definitely been beset by ‘Hello? Where are you from?’, ‘Are you lost’, and ‘Do you want to buy a carpet?‘, followed by ‘Bonjour? Bongiourno? Hola?’  as I ignored them (touts and scammers are everywhere here). I went out to the Grand Bazaar, more out of love of the Tea Party song and out of a need to buy a scarf, than for any touristic interest. It’s gorgeous, ancient and full of action: but the goods are mostly the same sort of things I could find in Central Market back home, and the Pashmina scarfs were three or four times  the price.  I was quoted 45 Turkish Lira for a cashmere-silk blend scarf I’d liked; even haggling wouldn’t get it down to the price I was thinking about spending: 5lira (the Lira to Aussie dollar is not-quite-but-almost parity, and I’m working on a 15dollar a day budget).  So, I walked around a little more, and bought a 5lira scarf somewhere else (100% Cotton! Made in  Turkey! the sign claimed, but I’m sure it was more 100% Polyester! Made in China!).

It started raining after that, which, after eating  ( AUD$8 for a wrap and a cup of tea! I thought this was a low socio-economic country. Oh, I’m going to be broke really quickly), forced me back to bed for half an hour. I did drag myself out again to go to the Blue Mosque and the Basilica Cistern, of which I’ll talk about when I get my pictures in order.

Now, back in Orient Hostel (after my meal of Lays chips and Minute Maid), I’m here for the promised ‘Belly Dancing show’ which is actually so far the fat hostel assistant in shorts, a clown wig and a sequined skirt. Something tells me I’m going back to bed.

Watching: Still stuck into ER. Ran out of TvTorrents credit to do so. Michael Moore’s Sicko: can’t stand him on the best of days, and the Guantanamo Bay stunt was pathetic. But, it did make me feel glad not to be American.

Doing: Travel planning. A lot of it. Packing, too.

Listening To: If, five years ago, someone had told me that I would spend my commuting time bopping along to hip hop of all things, I would have slapped them. But, in truth, it’s the rock-n-roll choruses, clever producing, and politically minded lyrics that have put The Herd’s The King Is Dead and 2020, and Bliss n Eso’s The Sea is Rising on high rotation on the alternika iPod, rather than the rapping; just can’t stand international hip hop: it’s all too “card tricks, big cribs, and cars, bitch“. I also just love how John Howard got “his arse played by Mandarin”.

Countdown …

I’m not exactly counting down the hours, but I am very aware that my France experience ends this weekend. Friday or Saturday, I stay with the generous Caro and family, for whom I am eternally grateful. Monday, I take a bus to the UK to crash on Pam and Brad’s sofa; at 7am Tuesday, I’m on a flight to Istanbul.

From there, it’s two and a half months of cut price tourism; cookinmy own meals, staying in 10euro a night accommodation (and, I suspect I’ll be resorting to couch surfing again), and avoiding admission prices with an out of date student card. Money’s a lot thinner than I would’ve liked at this point: the Ruddy payment, if it comes through will be appreciated! Hopefully they still want teachers, cos I’m going to have one nice credit card bill to pay when I get home! Hallo rural South Australian public high schools: need an English teacher? Hey, I’d give SOSE or Psych a go as well? I’ll even teach middle schoolers, how about that? Please?

Luckily I’ve just booked – and paid for – my flight home, so Adelaide is in my sight early July. Caught up with the oldies on Skype today, and got to see – albeit pixellated and blurry – my psycho kitty Lily, for the first time since she went missing in July last year. And the very fat dogs. And Mum has very blonde hair!

My last day at Baggio was supposed to be today, but essentially was yesterday (I had two no-shows for my Wednesday evening classes – they’re voluntary classes, the weather was beautiful and it’s the last week of the semester, so I don’t blame them). Some of the kids were sad to see me go and wished me well, but the teachers (who eternally despaired at my total lack of commitment to, well, doing my job) were, I think, a little relieved! I sincerely hope I can get my working mojo back before I have to throw myself into the 70 hour weeks which await me as a DECs teacher. By the way – how did the striking go? Did we get the payrise? Ah, perhaps I am more French than I thought.

The plan so far:

1. Turkey. Guess where I’ll be, April 25th?* Along with, it seems, every other young Australian doing their ‘year in Europe’. Plus I’ll go to Istanbul, check out some old Roman stuff, and some fairy caves in Cappadocia.
2. Syria and Jordan. The last place on earth I ever thought I would go, until I was put onto Tucan Travel in a form. They do tours where they take care of the transport and accomodation in countries where independent travel is difficult. I first chose this trip back in September; I was tired of ‘ABC tourism’** Anyway, I was sucked in by a total nerdlinger reason: I’m going to go see the Temple of the Holy Grail!***
3. Egypt. Never thought I’d see the Pyramids. Thought Egypt was too sketchy to travel through independently. Turns out it’s a backpacker mecca; though my view of the Sphinx is now forever soured, thanks to Brad’s recent visit:
   

   Sorry Brad, I just had to steal this photo.

4. Romania. Yes, chasing Dracula, though Lucy back home always waxed lyrical about her homeland. Will probably spend a minimal amount of time in the capital Bucharest, and move straight onto Brasov, the castle homeland.
5. Hungary. Only because it’s on the way to Poland.
6. Slovakia. Same reason as Hungary.
7. Poland. So I’m a nutter; my favourite museum is an anti-Stasi museum in Berlin (Checkpoint Charlie Huis);  I spent hours in Anne Frank house; a big part of going to Japan was to going to Hiroshima; I’m going to Turkey to sit and watch the sunrise at the site of the bloodiest battle in Australian military history. So, I’m going to Poland purely to visit Auschwitz. I’ll see the pretty old town of Krakow as well, and there’s apparently a salt mine (!) that looks cool. But it’s all about going to Auschwitz. I’m a nutter. Plus, the Polish are very cool people. They like vodka. A lot.
8. Czech Republic. Well, it’s like a requirement, now, that if you do a ‘year in Europe’, you go to Prague. Amsterdam, Paris, Barcelona, Rome, Berlin and Prague. If I didn’t go to Prague I’d be insane. It’s awesome. Full stop.
9. Slovenia. I can just see every Australian back home going ‘where???’. Well, it’s the most Western European of the Eastern European countries: it’s next door to Italy; most people there speak passable English; and it has a famous hostel, in the capital Ljubljana, which is a converted prison. And I met five Slovenians in Barcelona who talked the place up. And Slovenians are cool people.
10. Spain. You might notice that Slovenia is all the way over t h e r e to the right, and Spain is all the way over h e r e to the left. Seeing the Alhambra has now become an obsession, after missing the Sevilla trip, so I’m heading down to Granada, Sevilla and Cordoba on the tail end of the trip. Mind, I have to fly to Stansted (!) and back down to Granada, to do so.
11. And then I go home.

Looking back on it, it seems a very short list considering the time spent planning I understand why people take tours now, this is exhausting – and I have an 8 hour work week. How the hell did I ever manage to plan trips when I was working/studying full time?!

One good thing with all this extra time: I managed to research all the cheapest transport links possible: the entire transport bill comes in around $500, made entirely of discount flights, specials on overnight trains and Eurolines promo bus specials. Now I realise my mistake for basing myself in France: I really should have gone to London for a year; I could’ve gone anywhere on my weekends for as little as $50 return with Ryanair, Easyjet or Wizzair. And I would’ve actually had a real job (and I might even have committed to working it).

So, goodbye for a few months; when I take my sabbaticals at the house of the wonderful and amazing Caro and family I will update my blog. Bye.

___________________________

* For the non-Australian readers, click here.

** ABC: ‘another bloody church’

*** I realise that is as bad as when I went to Paris and Rome to follow the steps of Robert Langdon. I am very ashamed.

Watching: Series 3 of ER – yes, I know, incredibly daggy. But, my previous belief that decent television didn’t exist before Lost has been dashed.

Reading: True History of the Kelly Gang by Peter Carey. Taking a break from Sci Fi.

Doing: Knitting another beanie. The last one was too small. Planning my June travels (April and May travels are – fingers crossed – taken care of). Booking my flight back to Australia. Praying I receive the $900 financial stimulus payment to pay for said flight back to Australia.

Semana Santa in Sevilla, Spain.

How wicked does this look?

Collections of Spanish Catholics running around in KKK style hoods of multiple colours, displays of religiosity and bizarre costumes; it’s everything I want in a bizarre festival. I found out I had the time free to go. I booked the flights. I booked the accomodation. Sure, it was going to be expensive, but hey, it was going to be worth it. Plus, I could check out Andalucia, one of the coolest parts of Spain, with all it’s medieval Islamic heritage going on.

Instead, I’m sitting here fiddling with my computer, watching old episodes of ER and knitting a beanie.

Why I didn’t go is a comedy of errors.

1. January. Excited. Find out about Semana Santa (holy week) in Spain. Decide on tourist magnet Sevilla. Book ludicrously expensive flights, but decide it’s worth it. Book Anzac Day trips, including a Gallipoli day tour that starts on the 22nd of April.

2. February. Okay. Find out on a trip to Barcelona that despite being in the Schengen area, Spain actually likes to see your passport when you cross their border. It’s fine, as I have mine on me for once.

3. 19th March. Unease. Apply for Syrian visa in Paris. Expect it back in 10 working days, giving me a week long window before the Seville trip.  Only, lady who takes my application says that, as I’m not a French citizen, processing should take one month.

4. 20th March. Panic. Passport won’t be back in time for Seville trip: will have to cancel. May not even be back in time to get to Turkey for Gallipoli. Hell, I’d have to stay in France until it returns. Investigate refund process for Ryanair and Vueling, the two companies I was going to fly with to go to Seville – maybe I can work in a trip to Pamplona for the running of the bulls?

5. Early April. Anguish. No idea when Passport returning. All travel plans in jeopardy. The thought of staying in my bedroom at Lille, doing and achieving nothing more than knitting beanies and watching downloads for weeks after my contract finishes is disturbing.

6. Slightly less early April. Elation. Despite visa-lady’s dire predictions, my passport arrives. They didn’t use the Registered Post envelope I’d paid for, but doesn’t matter, I’m happy. Seville trip back on. Gallipoli trip no problems. Ring and email everybody. Stress over. On the 9th of April, at 9am, I am flying out of Charleroi airport, one and a bit hours to the east of Lille, for Seville.

7. 8th April, 8pm. Night before leaving for Seville. Excited. I check the train timetables again to find out what time I have to set my alarm in the morning. I check in online to Ryanair flight, ask landlord if I can borrow his printer.

8. 8th April 8:05pm. Alarm. The earliest train from Lille to Charleroi gets me to the airport 5 minutes after the gate closes. Checked in or not checked in, Ryanair waits for noone. Surely there’s another option.

9. 8th April 8:15pm. Hope. If I can get to Belgium early in the morning, there are Belgian trains to Charleroi which arrive an hour before I have to be there.

10. 8th April 8:35pm. Despair. There is no possible way to get to Belgium any earlier, by train, tram, bus or walking. Keep looking. Try everything: buses to border villages where I can walk across; metro lines; tram lines; Eurolines buses; Eurostar and Thalys trains to Brussels so I can turn around and come back down to Charleroi.

11. 8th April 8:50pm. Hope. If I get to Belgium now, I can sleep overnight in Belgium. Try calling Caro to see if I can sleep there, but then I remember she and her family are on Easter holidays. That’s fine, I can sleep in a Belgian train station – or if there’s the trains there this late, sleep overnight at the airport – done it before. According to Deutsch Bahn (standard website for checking train schedules) there’s a train to Belgium, departing Lille Flandres, at 22h09! Go!

12. 8th April 9:25pm. Urgent. Quickly packed bag, fiddled with computer and landlord’s printer to print boarding pass, grabbed tomorrow’s lunch and my ’sleeping bag’, run to metro station to get to Lille Flandres (train station).

13. 8th April 9:40pm. Despair. There is no train to Belgium. There are no trains at all going anywhere near Belgium at 22h09. SCNF (French rail system) has thwarted me again: it must have been cancelled. Or maybe there’s a strike. Run to Lille Europe (other big train station in Lille) to make sure I didn’t go to the wrong station. Nope. Check timetables on bus shelters near train stations to check there are no buses running to the border towns this late.

14. 8th April 10:30pm. Exhausted. Arrive back home. Check website. Yep, I wasn’t wrong, there was supposed to be a train at 22h09. Half heartedly start looking for alternatives.

15. 8th April 11:30pm. Resigned. Just as I was about to give up and go to bed and risk the train that would get me there at 5 minutes after the gate closed, I found out that the bus connection between Charleroi Sud and Charleroi airport would actually get me there just as the plane is taxi-ing onto the runway. I didn’t want to be like this lady:

Decide there’s no hope.

16. 8th April 11:35pm. Really fucking tired. Hey, the metro runs pretty late, right? Find a way to get there: involves running back to the metro, taking the last train to C.H. Dron (the end of the line), arriving around 1am. Walking for an hour, across the border to the Mouscron train station, which will be closed, taking a path I’m unfamiliar with, in the dark. Waiting outside, until 4am for the first trains of the day, get to Tournai a little later, and arrive at Charleroi around 6am in the morning. Wait till 8am to check in. Fly out at 9. This was to be followed by a two hour flight and 6 hours on a bus (it was hard getting flights to Seville so I had to fly to Madrid instead). No chance for sleep until arrive in Seville Thursday evening.

17. 8th April 11:36pm. Resigned. Decide the metro-walk-to-Mouscron-plan is insane. It’s clear I’m not going.

So Thursday morning I slept in, got up, and started some serious hard core travel planning. So far, I’m intending to make use of the $300 Vueling flight I’m not taking on Monday morning by planning a Seville trip after my Prague/Krakow/Ljubljana trip in June; but I’ve still lost a mass of money. And I’m very very bummed about missing Semana Santa.

The funny thing is: when I booked the flights in January, I vaguely remember being aware of the Charleroi airport access issue for a 9am flight; I had intended to stay with Caro the night before (of course, I would have changed this to staying at the airport when I knew she’d planned to go on an Easter trip); but because of the hassle with the Syrian embassy holding onto my passport, I had totally forgotten that small detail. Sure! leaving at 5:30 to get to a 9am flight was no issue – there just weren’t any trains to get there on time! So that’s why I’m sitting in my room, finalising my June travel plans instead of checking out the Granada Alhambra, or taking photos of nutters in blue hoods. Bummer.
But all is not bad: it is possible to visit Sevilla later, after the June trip; though I can’t decide between two things: should I go to the Running of the Bulls festival in Pamplona (to make up for missing out on this festival), and coming home to Australia later; or should I forget it and come home a week earlier. Ideas?