Travel Writing Contests

Details of the Bradt/Independent travel writing competition for 2015 are now out and can be found here. This year's theme is 'Serendipity.' The main prize is a fly-drive holiday to Iceland, and the prize for the best 'unpublished' writer is a holiday for two to the Cinque Terre in Italy.

Granada

If you are interested in travel writing, it's well worth having a go; my husband won the 'unpublished' category in 2008. His prize was a travel-writing weekend in Granada.  I went along for the ride as a paying customer, and won an i-Pod Nano in a Dorling Kindersley competition for writing about the Monastery of San Geronimo.  Come to think about it - that was quite serendipitous!

The cats of Kyrenia

The Turkish Republic of North Cyprus (TRNC) does not exist. That is, it is not recognised by any country other than Turkey. This has several consequences, the first of which was that we couldn't fly direct to Ercan airport when we visited in 1999. Our flight had to touch down in Antalya en route. 

The second consequence is the game played at passport control, where nervous travellers who aim to visit Greece at some future date try to avoid the TRNC stamp in their passport.  According to the brochures, the immigration officers will stamp a separate slip of paper for you, with no problems.  According to the Bradt guide to North Cyprus, this is unnecessary, as there is no difficulty in getting into Greece with a TRNC stamp - the Greek immigration officers will simply cross it out for you.  Since we had a trip to Greece already booked for September, I was not sure that I wanted to risk it, so asked for a stamp on a separate slip.  “Why do you not want our stamp in your passport?” enquired the immigration officer.  Somewhat jaded after the flight, including a fairly hot and stuffy sixty minutes on the tarmac at Antalya, I knew that ‘so I can go to Greece later on’ was probably not the most tactful response, but was I totally incapable of thinking of another one. We were later told that British citizens do not need a stamp at all, that the immigration officers do not want to stamp the passports and that they are hoping that visitors will say that it is not necessary.

Having arrived, the place seems disturbingly familiar. Kyrenia harbour is a typical example of the Venetian-type harbour which can be found on other Mediterranean islands, notably Crete and Rhodes.  Except, that is, for the British postbox, which a coat of yellow paint cannot disguise. There are several of these relics of the British occupation in Kyrenia town.

Kyrenia harbour is guarded by a castle which originated as a Byzantine fort, but was subsequently remodelled by Crusaders and then by Venetians.  It is exceptionally well-preserved as the Venetian garrison surrendered to the Ottoman Turks without a shot being fired.  One of the towers houses dummies representing the different soldiers who would have been stationed at the castle, from Byzantine right up to British army.  The costumes however lack a certain degree of authenticity: the British soldier sports a distinctly non-regulation haircut, while Richard the Lionheart’s army were apparently clad in woolly jumpers. The castle also houses a Shipwreck Museum, which displays the remains of a 2,300 year old Greek ship and its cargo, recovered from the sea bed in the 1960s.  The sailors apparently lived on almonds: thousands of them were recovered from the wreck.

Kyrenia Harbour

The harbour area houses a number of restaurants, many of them specialising in fish. Eating here is good value, though we were told that much of the fish is not locally caught but imported from Turkey.  Local fish stocks have allegedly been depleted as a result of the use of dynamite by Syrian fishermen.  Eating out in the harbour area is not for the faint-hearted, or those with a cat allergy. The area is patrolled by feline vermin controllers, who would much prefer to try your fish, and will sit there, gazing soulfully at your sole.  They will even take to the water (well, the moored boats) in order to ensure that you are surrounded.

The shops in Kyrenia are a little odd.  There are of course the usual souvenir shops, although perhaps not quite as many as one might expect.  But aside from these three types of shop seemed to dominate: selling silk flowers, lingerie or curious mixture of imported china and glassware (from Murano glass to Royal Albert Country Roses china) and plastic dolls.

 Efforts are clearly being made to attract tourists, one of the few sources of hard currency which are available to TRNC.  Work was underway to upgrade the facilities, by building nice neat pavements, for example.  One of the side-effects of the pavement works was literally the perfect tourist trap.  Where the new pavements had been finished, the manhole covers (nice solid paving slabs) had not been put into place, but left beside the holes.  The unwary could therefore trip over the slab and fall headlong down the hole.  Coupled with an absence of street lighting, this made for adventurous walks back to the hotel after dinner.

 The other source of hard currency for the TRNC is from expatriate Turkish Cypriots.  There are far more Turkish Cypriots living abroad than in TRNC, but many of them invest in hotel or other developments in TRNC, or return build themselves second homes.  Once particularly palatial mansion we saw belonged to a pizza magnate from Muswell Hill.  Our guide for a tour of the Karpas was a former London bus driver, who regretted not going into the pizza business instead.



Bellapais

A short distance from Kyrenia is the village of Bellapais. A ruined abbey commands a wonderful view down to Kyrenia.  It was in Bellapais that Lawrence Durrell lived for a time, as described in his book Bitter Lemons.  In the village is the ‘Tree of Idleness’, so-called because anyone who sits beneath it is struck by indolence. Fortunately, a neighbouring cafe has adopted the name, and since it has its own tree, many passing tourists are saved from a life of indolence by the fact that they are sitting under the wrong tree.

Whilst Kyrenia and its surrounding area are pleasant, if quiet, resorts, Famagusta, with its stretch of long-abandoned hotels by the Greek border, is rather depressing.  The old town area is eerily quiet. Attractions include two ruined churches, St George of the Latins and St George of the Greeks, destroyed by the Ottoman Turks in 1571, the former cathedral of St Nicholas, now a mosque, and Othello’s Tower, the fort guarding the harbour.

A further consequence of the non-recognition of the TRNC has been the absence of foreign funding for archaeological work. Sites which were partially excavated earlier this century have been virtually abandoned since 1976, as there has been no money to fund teams of international archaeologists. There has been no further excavation, and very little preservation.  At Soli, a beautiful Roman mosaic floor uncovered in the 1960s is fading under the sunlight.  The problem is now being addressed and work has now started on a roof to protect the mosaics from further damage. However, the work is being undertaken by local workmen with no particular expertise in archaeological conservation. Digging deep holes to support the roof can be tricky in an archaeological site, and several holes have had to be abandoned because of the archaeological remains which were found in them.  Throughout TRNC, attempts are now being made to raise funds for preservation through making a more realistic admission charges.

Soli

The TRNC is a botanist’s paradise.  In spring the historic sites are covered with wildflowers, and the comparatively few visitors can enjoy them without all the crowds and tacky gift shops which are found elsewhere.  However, the locals’ idea of preservation does occasionally run to wreaking havoc with a strimmer, which is what had happened to the courtyard of Othello’s Tower shortly before we arrived, much to the disgust of our guide. Salamis, on the other hand, was a mass of yellow chrysanthemums, giant fennel, henbane, oxalis and assorted other flowers. 

Salamis

The ancient town of Salamis was devoted to pleasure, and the gymnasium had facilities similar to those at a modern health spa with various hot rooms, cold rooms and pools. One facility which might not be so popular today is the 44-seater open-plan latrine.  Another interesting site is Vouni, a Persian palace perched on a hilltop overlooking Soli.  This is worth a visit simply for the view, although the drive up is not for the faint hearted.

A number of the former Greek Orthodox churches and their contents have been preserved as ‘Icon Museums’. There is one in Kyrenia itself and we visited three or four others, including that at St Barnabas’ monastery near Salamis and the church of Ayias Mamas in Güzelyurt.  The icons are not all of any great age or artistic merit, but some tell interesting stories.  Ayias Mamas is particularly notable for being the patron saint of ear, nose and throat infections and of tax evaders.  This church is worth seeing not only for the icons, but also the elaborate chandeliers, which cannot all be lit simultaneously without blowing a fuse.

The TRNC also incorporates the Karpas peninsula, the ‘pan-handle’ of Cyprus.  This is a very remote and rural area, and the only place in TRNC where a community of Greek Cypriots remains.  At the extreme tip, wild donkeys roam freely.

All in all, the TRNC is wonderfully unspoilt. Holiday complexes are springing up, particularly in the area around Kyrenia, but these are all low rise and relatively unobtrusive. Whilst I sympathise with the need for hard currency, the selfish part of me hopes it will stay that way.

Rendezvous with the Rector

An interview with the Rector of the Polytechnic University was not on my itinerary. Even when, in a moment of desperation, I had suggested seeing the university, the possibility did not cross my mind.  But then I had reckoned without Ilir, my Albanian guide. 

 

Short, stocky and dark-haired, Ilir’s defining traits were an insatiable curiosity and contempt for all politicians and their works. He had originally been an English teacher. In communist times he occasionally acted as an interpreter for western tour groups, until he was found to have accepted the occasional kindly-meant gift from grateful clients. He was disgraced and his hoard of cigarettes and instant coffee confiscated by the authorities. But the comrades did not find the stash of tips in western currency under his mattress. 

 

In the heady days after the fall of communism he worked for a time in the budding tourist industry in the southern resort of Saranda, but the collapse of the pyramid savings schemes and subsequent unrest in 1997 had stalled the influx of tourists. Nowadays he worked mainly as an interpreter for businessmen or journalists. I was simply a curious tourist, and Ilir’s talents were sadly wasted, but he tried his best.  He scoffed at my guidebook’s warning about phone-tapping. But that evening he spoke to a friend of a friend who worked in the security service.  Next day he reported with interest that there were strict procedures: telephones could only be monitored in the case of suspected criminal or terrorist activity, and a court order was required. It was just unfortunate that the way the telecommunications network was set up meant that in order to monitor one suspect’s calls, the whole block had to be tapped.

 

Tirana

Tirana is a compact city. There is, frankly, not all that much to see. Its architecture is mainly twentieth-century: modern boxes jostling with Italianate government buildings erected by King Zog in the 1930s.  Touchingly, the Communists retained one or two ‘historical monuments’ from Ottoman days, mainly in the east of the city.  Visiting them does not take long.  The Tanners’ bridge is just that - a small stone bridge that elsewhere would probably not merit a second glance.  The Türbe of Kaplan Pasha is an octagonal stone mausoleum on a traffic island, smaller and less imposing than a municipal bandstand. I spent a little longer at the mosque of Ethem Bey. It is unusually and attractively decorated with floral paintings in natural pigments. Moving on from Ottoman Tirana, the National Museum in Skanderbeg Square is a modernist box. Its exhibits cover the history of Albania from the Stone Age to the reign of King Zog.  I was curious about the communist period, but these rooms were closed, it seemed, because they were ‘not historically accurate’. 

 

The archaeological museum was also closed that day, much to Ilir’s consternation. We were only halfway through the one day city tour and he was running out of things to show me. That when I had my big idea. I work in a university, so I asked if there was one in Tirana. We swiftly arrived at the Polytechnic University, an impressive stone edifice at the end of the main boulevard.  I expected to take a couple of photos and go for lunch.  Ilir had other ideas.  “Perhaps someone can show us around? I’ll look for an administrator.”  He clearly was not going to take no for an answer so I reluctantly followed him in.  Inside, it was very quiet, if not deserted. Eventually we encountered an elderly man in shabby overalls who appeared to be a caretaker.  He clearly, and correctly, thought that we had no business to be wandering the corridors during the summer vacation and was happy to escort us out.  Ilir thought not.  A conversation in Albanian ensued.  Ilir told me to wait, while he followed the caretaker down the corridor. I had no choice but to wait in the dusty entrance hall. When Ilir returned he told me that he had arranged for me to talk to an administrator.  To my consternation, I found myself shown into a large and important-looking office. The ‘administrator’ who had agreed to meet me turned out to be the Rector.  Ilir came to interpret, though the professor spoke excellent English. Despite the fact that I was somewhat casually dressed for such a meeting, he was very polite and we chatted for a while about the differences between the Albanian and UK university systems. Ilir was fascinated. It was entirely by chance that I had suggested the university and that the Rector was even available, but without the intervention of Ilir this ‘chance’ encounter would never have happened. I never did find out who Ilir had told the professor I was.

Green Singapore

‘Lane 1 Closed for Pruning’ said the road sign on the way into the city from Changi Airport. You don’t see that on the M4. Despite the horticultural hazards, we arrived safely at our hotel to the unexpected but welcome news that we were entitled to a free dinner on one night of our stay. It was July 2014 and we were passing through on our way to Adelaide, Australia. My friends and colleagues had all looked bemused when I mentioned Adelaide, but  assured me that I would like Singapore.  Being a contrary sort of person, I was fully expecting to hate the place, but the initial indications were certainly looking promising.

For a city with a limited amount of land, Singapore manages to pack in a lot of greenery – even the pedestrian bridges across the busy roads are festooned with plants, and some buildings have a vertical ‘garden’ cladding their walls.

National Orchid Garden

Orchids, the national flower of Singapore, can be seen everywhere, but most notably in the National Orchid Garden. This is the only part of the Singapore Botanic Gardens to have an admission fee, but it is well worth the $5 charge. There are over 1,000 species and 2,000 hybrids, all beautifully displayed.   Within the overall Orchid Garden are special gardens for orchids named after visiting dignitaries including Prince William and Nelson Mandela and visiting celebrities. I suspect that many of these celebrity orchids are of interest more as a result of their associations than their horticultural merit, but as I failed to recognise many of the names, their significance was lost on me.

The Orchid Garden is spectacular, but there is far more to the Botanic Gardens than that. I was particularly fascinated by the Ginger garden as I had no idea the family was so large. The Botanic Garden has other surprises.  Symphony Lake is so named because it has a concert stage in it. Also in this lake is the Greenwich arrow, marking the spot where scientists from the Royal Observatory conducted experiments into the Earth's magnetic field.

The Ginger Garden

The new Gardens by the Bay (part of the Marina Bay development), which have won awards for their innovative design, provide a more modern take on the traditional garden.

Like the Botanic Garden, there are a number of different gardens within the site.  These include: the Heritage Gardens (Chinese, Malay and Colonial); the Golden and Silver Gardens; the Children's Garden (with lots of motion-activated water features for children to play with and cool off); the Supertrees - with plants displayed vertically; the Flower Dome (a huge dome containing Mediterranean and subtropical plants) and the Cloud Forest (another huge dome containing highland species such as orchids and pitcher plants). Admission to the site is free, but visitors pay to enter the domes.

Cloud Forest

As we were familiar with Mediterranean flora, we opted to go in the Cloud Forest dome only. This included a man-made mountain and waterfall, with a lift taking visitors to high-level walkways. Being from cooler northern climes, I’m used to thinking of enclosed glasshouses as being warmer and more humid than outside. In Singapore, where the heat and humidity makes it deeply unpleasant to walk for long outside, this was reversed.

A country girl at heart, I always make a point of visiting at least one park or garden in any city. (This once completely bewildered our local guide in Urumqi – but it was his own fault for pointing out the park in the first place). Despite the relative shortage of land, Singapore definitely did not disappoint.

The Teapot's in Bahrain!

When I suddenly received an e-mail out of the blue from my old school friend Z, I was surprised to learn that she was getting married.  I had always admired the way Z had studied for a PhD, become a research chemist, joined the Territorial Army and become a black belt in karate and I had not expected her to settle down. This was an event I had to see, and the next thing I knew, I was being measured for a sari, and flying to Lahore to be bridesmaid.

Sightseeing in Lahore

Three bridesmaids and two significant others duly arrived at Lahore airport, and not wishing to push ourselves forward, soon found ourselves at the end of the queue at immigration. When we had finally got through, we found Z, who had travelled out on an earlier flight with her brothers and one of her sisters, waiting for us.  We had clearly had the better deal, for she told us that four of their suitcases were still in Bahrain, and were unlikely to arrive until Thursday - after the wedding.  Fortunately her wedding clothes were being made in Pakistan, but she was missing vital things for the wedding, including clean underwear, chocolate, decorations, chocolate, coffee, chocolate and a hand-painted teapot (£2.50 from Woolworth’s).  “It’s in Bahrain!” became the catchphrase of the week.  The other catchphrase was ‘it’s traditional’ which was used whenever we asked the reason for any of the ceremonies.  This would have been fine, had both of the families involved agreed what the traditions were.

We climbed into a minibus for the hour and a half journey to Gujranwala, where Z’s parents lived.  There were lots of animals in the streets.  The size of donkey used to pull carts appeared to be in inverse proportion to the size of the load.  Many sheep, cattle and camels wore decorative collars, as the festival of  Eid was only a few days away.  We even saw a sheep travelling (reluctantly) on the back of a moped.

On arrival at Z’s parents’ house we were united with the rest of the wedding party..  After refreshments, it was time to try on the clothes which had been made for us, and which were absolutely beautiful.  We then went to the bazaar in search of bangles, but the prices were increased as soon as the shopkeepers saw us, despite our efforts to blend in. We had an early night to recover from the journey.  I was slightly concerned to discover (after dark) that there was no electric light in the upstairs (on the balcony) lavatory.

Bazaar, Gujranwala

The following day we set off for the main bazaar in town by motorcycle rickshaw, which was a hair-raising experience.  This was a ladies' trip, but my husband apparently counted as an honorary girl. Our first stop was at a shoe shop.  The boxes of shoes were kept in a sort of loft, and hurled down into the shop through a hole in the ceiling. We then found a better shop for bangles, where the henna for the evening ceremonies was also purchased and went on to the jewellers, where Z was having her necklace and head-dress for the wedding altered. We were there so long that they brought us soft drinks, which were very welcome in the heat. Our final call was to the tailor’s to collect some of the clothes.

Back at the house, the village people were gathering. The evening ceremonies started with a showing of the dowry and trousseau to the assembled crowd.  We had changed  into decorated outfits, but Z had to wear an unattractive outfit so that she would appear all the more beautiful the following day. Our next task was making mud pies out of henna in tinselled plates, and sticking candles in them. We then (eventually) lit the candles and paraded downstairs with them. At this point the video cameraman hired by the family arrived, and we had to repeat the process, despite the fact that the candles were nearly burnt out.  The cameraman fortunately noticed at the last minute that he still had his lens cap on!  Having finally got the plates downstairs, we arranged them on the floor, whereupon we were supposed to do a sort of morris-like dance around them.  I kept my two left feet in the corner of the room at this point.

The next stage was another procession downstairs, this time with Z. We bridesmaids were supposed to be holding a scarf above her head, but as we were moving cautiously in the unaccustomed dress, she (characteristically) took the lead. This part of the ceremony, like many others, was not explained to us very well beforehand, so we had no idea what we were supposed to be doing.

Z then sat on a chair whilst female guests, including us, took turns to pour oil on her head, put henna on her hand and feed her a sweet.  The poor girl was looking quite green by the end. This was followed by singing and then the painting of henna designs on the hands which went on well into the small hours.

The wedding day began with breakfast upstairs. The arrangement was that the people who had come from the village slept in the downstairs rooms, while the visitors from England, including Z’s brothers and sisters, slept upstairs.  There were considerable altercations between Z’s parents, particularly her father, and the younger generation about the rooms to be used for the ceremony. Z’s original plan had been to use the main downstairs hall for the ceremony, and for the bridal procession to come down the stairs.  Her father changed this, so that the ceremony was to take place in a smaller room downstairs, and the upstairs rooms would be used for extra guest seating.  This left us with just one small room in which to dress, and which also contained everyone’s luggage. 

 

We were told that the groom’s party was expected at 1.00 p.m., but there was considerable confusion about getting ready.  Having cleared the rooms, we put on make-up, and then went downstairs to help with the decoration of the room in which the ceremony was now to take place.  We decorated a large mirror and the adjacent walls with strings of roses, concealed the entrance to the adjoining inside lavatory, and covered the sofa with a bedspread.  Z’s pearlised balloons being still in Bahrain, along with other decorations, we made balloon trees with helium filled balloons from the local ‘balloon man’.  A further period of waiting ensued, during which we gathered that the groom’s party was now expected at around 4.30. At about 2.30 we had lunch (a packed lunch of chicken and rice, the same as that which had been supplied in advance to the groom’s party – we were told it was against the law to feed the groom’s party at weddings in Pakistan). We then went to change, only to discover that the groom had arrived.  We rushed down, without our jewellery, to scatter rose petals, and then rushed back upstairs to finish dressing. During this time, we discovered later, the bride and groom separately signed the marriage register and were officially married.

We then crept back downstairs to the room where Z was getting ready.  At this point there were long delays and total confusion.  There had been a power cut for most of the day, and there was therefore no electricity to run the lights for the video cameraman.  The groom’s family lost patience, and went downstairs and sat him on the ceremonial sofa. Eventually, with the light beginning to fade, we started.  It was less of a procession, and more of a push through the crowds. The bridesmaids lined up behind the sofa on which Z and her husband were sitting.  The next stage should have been some fun for the bride’s sisters. One of them was supposed to sit in the groom’s way, and only agree to move when he offered her money.  This was made more difficult by the fact that he was already sitting there, and that his family claimed not to recognise this ‘tradition’.  Her other sister’s turn came next, and she offered him a drink in a suitably decorated cup (which looked to me rather like a very ornate McDonalds milkshake).  He did not offer her any money, however, but produced a ring for each of the bride’s sisters.  I don’t think that he drank much of the drink, but his brother nearly choked on it.

The next stage was a long period where various people took turns to sit next to the happy couple, offer them money, and have their photos taken.  Shortly after the sofa session began, the power came back on, and in addition to the natural heat generated by cramming a hundred or so people into a small room on a warm day, two very powerful video lights came on, making it unbearably hot.  Eventually we were allowed out from behind the sofa, while others took our place.  After an hour or so, some of us escaped to the roof for some air.

We then heard that the couple were leaving, and went downstairs to say goodbye to Z.

Later on we had a meal downstairs, and an opportunity to try the special wedding tea, which the guests had been given earlier, but the bridesmaids had missed.  I thought it tasted rather like Ambrosia creamed rice, but my husband thought it was more like hot strawberry milkshake.

The following day was the day for ceremonies at the groom’s house. We piled into a minibus at about half past eleven, and we arrived at 1.00 p.m. Z was still at the beautician’s when we arrived. The men sat in the main area, whereas the women were seated in a classroom at the side, from which we could not see anything. This   After some time, we were asked if we would like to see the furniture that had been part of the dowry, and so we went up to the bridal chamber. We also had a chance to meet the groom in a rather less formal setting.  Eventually Z arrived, we all rushed to greet her.  There then followed a similar routine to the previous day, with guests taking it in turns to sit on the sofa with the couple. 

The trip was rounded off with guided sightseeing of Lahore led by Z’s new brother-in-law on the following day.  I don’t think he knew what he was letting himself in for though.  He had a severe case of shopper’s fatigue by the time my fellow bridesmaids could be prised out of the bazaar at 10.00 p.m.

All in all, it was an unforgettable experience. I feel very privileged to have been invited to take part.
 

It sure is a Great Wall

Great Wall at Jinshanling

The problem with the Great Wall of China is that it is not flat.  Obviously this was not a problem when it was built.  The mountainous location was after all a design feature intended to keep barbarians out.  What I mean is that my problem with the Great Wall is that it is not flat. Heights as such do not bother me, but I find steep or uneven steps and ladders terrifying. My husband Neil hates heights. Not an ideal situation, but you can’t visit Beijing and not see the Great Wall.

 

On arrival at Jinshanling, we took the gondola up to the Wall itself.  Swift action was necessary at the top to get out of the moving car - not that easy when encumbered with a large camera bag. Once we had extricated ourselves there was a short walk to the wall. The path was level and flanked by sweetly-scented shrubs. Ahead, we could see the wall stretching across the hillsides into the hazy distance.  This was not so bad. 

 

Then we reached some metal steps with open treads that led up to a watchtower. We couldn’t just look at the wall.  We had to climb onto it.

Taking a deep breath, I cautiously clambered up, closely followed by Neil, our guide Penny and two ‘helpful’ ladies who had joined us in the hope of selling a book or T shirt later.  I had made it!  I started taking photos of the view.  However, it became clear that this was not to be journey’s end.  We were expected to walk along the wall.

 

Watchtower, Jinshanling

“Which way would you like to go?” enquired Penny. 

“This way?” I suggested, boldly turning right.  This was a mistake.  The steps leading out of the tower simply crumbled away into a 45-degree slope half-way down.  There was no way I was going to get down there, let alone back again. The surefooted helpful ladies had gone on ahead and grabbed my hands trying to pull me down.  I pulled back.  They spoke to Penny and I caught the word “Taitai” (wife).

 

“No, Taitai is not going down there. Perhaps we should try the other way?” I suggested. We retraced our steps through the watchtower and went out through the other door.  This time we were faced with a flight of steps that were all there.  The only problem was that the treads were only about 4 inches wide.  I gritted my teeth and managed to scramble up using hands as well as feet. Penny gave me a pitying look. Neil was troubled by the height so didn’t look at all. We struggled only as far as the next watchtower, then retraced our steps, to the great consternation of Penny and the two ‘helpful’ women. To Penny’s great disgust, the highlight of our day was the chicken with peanuts we ate on regaining terra firma.  We had been there and done it, but we did not buy the T-shirt.

 

 

Pickpockets

One of the most common questions I see on online travel forums concerns the 'dangers' of pickpockets in European cities.

Pickpockets are not dangerous. If they are doing it properly, you will know nothing at about it until you look for your wallet some time later.

Palacio Real, Madrid

Pickpockets are a fact of life in big cities and places where crowds gather. But that doesn't mean you need to be a victim. There are basic precautions you can follow.

1. Don't keep valuables where they can easily be reached, such as an outside pocket or backpack. Ladies: choose a handbag with lots of flaps and fastenings. If it has a strap, wear it diagonally across your body with the flap towards you. And don't put it down on the floor of a cafe!

2.Don't put all your eggs in one basket. Only carry the cash/cards you need each day and leave the rest in your hotel safe, and carry everything you do take with you in the same place. That way, if you should be unlucky, you won't lose very much.

3. Avoid distraction. Some pickpockets work with an accomplice who will distract your attention by pointing to a stain on your clothes, asking if you have lost a ring they have found, or holding up a newspaper.  If you encounter any of these, just ignore them and walk on. Others are opportunists who take advantage when you are distracted for other reasons, such as when boarding a train, or where there is a crowd.

I have been pickpocketed twice in all my travels.  The first time was in Amsterdam, when I was boarding a tram, and was concentrating on tickets and whether it was going to the right destination, rather than on my belongings. Unfortunately for the pickpocket, it was the last day of my holiday, most of which had been spent in Belgium, and I had my spending money in separate purses.  He (or she) got away with the equivalent of about a pound in Belgian francs (this was a long time ago!)  The second time was in Madrid, when I was watching a procession. at the Palacio Real  On that occasion, they took my 'English' purse rather than my 'travel' purse. I lost a credit card (which I stopped before it could be used) and a small amount of pounds. Neither of these incidents was serious.  The worst part was wasting an hour or two at the police station trying to report it.

For another perspective, on my first ever trip to Europe, I was walking down a road in Luxembourg with my parents, when someone called after us.  My father had actually dropped his wallet and a kind passer-by had noticed.

Chinese food at home and abroad

“Chinese food in China is completely different from Chinese food at home.” As a first-time traveller this message had been repeated so often.  I knew to expect the unexpected.  But was it actually true?

Beijing Street Food

Up to a point. On our first evening in Beijing we found the street with food vendors serving everything from whole starfish to deep-fried ice cream.  You have probably seen it on a travel programme on the television.  It is compulsory for western presenters to be filmed munching a scorpion on a stick.  However, as we had no film crew and there was a very strong prevailing smell of drains in the area, we opted instead to try the famous Beijing roast duck in a proper restaurant. This was not as different from the aromatic crispy duck we get at home as I had been led to expect, but the waitress was clearly exasperated by our attempts at making pancake rolls, and demonstrated the technique, though she ‘cheated’ by using three chopsticks, when we had only been provided with two. Very good entertainment for 75 yuan (c.£5).

After a somewhat hair-raising visit to the Great Wall at Jinshangling we were taken to the restaurant about which our itinerary gave dire warnings. It was air-conditioned and we were served a set meal of chicken with cashews, sweet and sour pork, stir fried cucumber and aubergine in black bean sauce, which we found extremely good. Our guide, Penny, could not understand why we were so enthusiastic, as it was not that good in her opinion, so we let the side down again. 

Tang Dynasty Show, Xian

In Xian, we agreed to go to a Tang Dynasty show in the evening for 300 yuan (£20) each, including dumpling banquet.  The banquet comprised 18 different kinds of dumpling (chicken, pork, abalone, prawn, pickle, walnut etc.) plus soup, meat and peanuts. All very tasty, though I really didn’t feel the need for a dumpling again for the rest of the trip.

At the Chinese restaurant in our hotel in Dunhuang we had shredded beef; duck with green peppers and broccoli with bacon; accompanied by an endless supply of jasmine tea for 69 yuan (less than £5).  Some of the other menu options were rather exotic: ‘delicious braised pig’s hoof soup’; ‘sautéed agglomerated pig’s blood with hot pepper’; ‘black bone chicken and Chinese caterpillar soup’; ‘braised donkey’s meat with lump’; ‘braised camel’s paw’; ‘assorted slivers of camel hump’. At lunch the following day we  again avoided the more exotic fare in favour of  minced lamb and spring onions with pancakes; chicken and peanuts and stir-fried strips of potato for 62 yuan. 

So was the food really that different from Chinese food at home? Yes and no. It was really not so far removed from our local Chinese restaurant, but that is (or was, as it has sadly closed now) exceptional.  It was certainly different from an average British all-you-can eat ‘Chinese’ buffet. And in a good way.

Chinese lunch for two

 

 

Tailor-Made Tours: the pros and cons

Group tours can be frustrating.  You sit on a coach for hours and your guide drones on and on ‘and if you crane your neck really hard you can just see the new cement works on the left hand side…’ while you are trying to sleep. When you arrive somewhere interesting, you have to follow the local guide with a flag or a paper flamingo on a stick, or whatever, for an hour’s route march, when you would really rather explore at your own pace.  When do you finally get time to yourselves, it is only an hour, and you are so worried about being late that you get back early, only to find that two old dears have got lost (again) and the coach finally leaves half an hour late.  Then there will be the ‘character’ on the coach, who will fail to understand anything the courier tells him/her, provide loud daily updates on the state of his/her bowels, and take it upon him/herself to organise a group photo and whip-round for the courier.

Tirana, 2003

On the other hand, truly independent travel can be time-consuming to organise, particularly in countries where public transport options are limited and you do not speak the language.  An alternative, if you do not have time to research and book every element of your trip yourself, is to book a tailor-made tour with a specialist operator.  You specify what you want to see, and the operator will put together a package including accommodation, travel and sightseeing with your own guide.  Or that is the theory.

My first tailor-made tour was an 8-day visit to Albania in 2003, arranged by Regent Holidays.  We provided a list of the towns that we wished to visit and the number of nights in each, and they came up with an itinerary.  We were accompanied by a driver and an interpreter for the whole trip.  This meant that we were able to see much more in the time available than we could have would have been possible if we had had to rely on public transport.  The tourist industry in Albania was in its infancy.  There had been an influx of curious tourists immediately after independence, but this had dried up as a result of the unrest following the collapse of the pyramid savings schemes in the late 1990s.  Our interpreter, Ilir, had worked in the fledgling tourist industry in the early 1990s, but was essentially an interpreter rather than a guide, and was more used to accompanying journalists and businessmen than tourists. He was also very inquisitive. This suited us very well, as he was able to tell us a lot about life in Albania without going through the standard tour guide-type lecture on agricultural and industrial activity. It also meant that we got more than we bargained for. Asked what else we would like to see, after a tour of the main sights of Tirana, I tentatively suggested the university.  Before we knew it, we were having an interview with the Rector.  At archaeological sites and other places of interest, Ilir acted as interpreter to the expert local guides. 

The second tour was of the Silk Road, from China to Uzbekistan, with Audley Travel. Again, we sent a list of places we did (and did not) wish to see, and they came up with an itinerary.  This was most impressive on first sight, being a 30 page spiral bound document with colour photographs throughout – rather more impressive than Regent’s two pages of photocopied text. Closer inspection showed that it was pasted together from various standard itineraries and descriptions and not quite as tailored to our needs as it first appeared.  However, we were able to make an appointment to meet one of their country specialists and discuss the itinerary in detail. He certainly earned his commission, as we were there for almost two hours, while he attempted to persuade us that the best way to get from Kashgar in Xinjiang Province, China, to Uzbekistan, involved a 14 hour drive over the Torugart Pass and two nights in Kyrgyzstan.  Having eventually taken his word for it and done the trip, I am convinced that there must be a better way.

Mingsha Dune, nr. Dunhuang

This trip was different from our Albania tour, in that although we had a local guide and driver in each city we visited, they generally did not accompany us on the journeys between them. We would be taken to the airport or station, for the flight or overnight train journey and then met at the other end by our new guide. I later learned that this was in fact quite unusual – other visitors, including a family of Australians we first encountered in Dunhuang, had a guide who accompanied them en route in addition to local guides.  Only where we were travelling from city to city by car were we accompanied by our guides (Turpan to Urumqi; Torugart Pass to Bishkek, across Uzbekistan from Khiva to Tashkent). 

We found the Chinese tourist industry much more organised than that of Albania. Our local guides on the Silk Road were for the most part professionals. All of our Chinese guides had degrees in tourism. Although we were not part of a group, we were given standard tours, with very little flexibility.  We were in some cases able to resist the obligatory visits to silk factories and the like which are something of an occupational hazard of tourism in China, but this did not go down too well with our guides.  Although they explained that the purpose of the proposed visit was either simply to learn how X is made, and/or to use the clean toilets at the factory, these visits all end in a hard sell at high prices.  As we learned from a guide from Urumqi, it was their ‘duty’ to deliver us to these establishments. The lack of flexibility was most apparent on our last day in Beijing, when, according to our itinerary, we were supposed to catch the train to Xi’an at around 5.30 p.m.  However, it transpired that our tickets, which we received on arrival in Beijing, were for a train at 9.30 p.m.  Our guide suggested a Kung Fu show to while away some of the extra time.  We weren’t keen on this idea, and suggested a restaurant instead, but it appeared that our tour ended at 5.30 at the station, unless we purchased the Kung Fu show tickets.  Fortunately, Beijing West station had comfortable seats and somewhere to buy food. This was a complete contrast with our experience in Albania, where our car and driver were at our disposal for the entire trip, and an invitation to dinner with a friend’s family was easily accommodated. The organised nature of the Chinese part of our trip was also apparent at lunchtimes.  According to our itinerary the only meals included were breakfasts.  However, everywhere in China we were taken to a restaurant for an included lunch.  I am never one to refuse a free lunch, but the quantities of food ordered on our behalf were rather excessive for someone used to just a sandwich in the middle of the day.

Uzbekistan was a little more relaxed than China.  Our two guides (a city guide in Tashkent, and a guide who was with us for several days as we travelled from Khiva back to Tashkent) were both very experienced, and showed a greater degree of flexibility.  We were both a bit thrown, on arrival in Tashkent  after a very early morning flight from Bishkek, to be asked what we wanted to see, rather than to be told what were going to see. Lunch was no longer included. We were still shepherded into a restaurant by our guide, but we were at least given a bit more choice over when and where we ate and allowed to choose our own meal, and the guide sat with us, rather than at a separate table. 

It is clear that the experience of tailor-made tours will depend on at least as much on the culture and nature of the tourist industry in the country visited, as on the company making the arrangements. There was a clear difference between the nature of the Chinese, Kyrgyz and Uzbek parts of our second trip.  There are some general points about tailor-made travel that apply whatever the location.

Pros

Flexibility to choose your itinerary at the time of booking. As noted above, flexibility once on the tour itself will depend on the country and, to a certain extent, the guide.

Avoidance of irritating fellow travellers. Though you may find that at certain places you will be part of a group tour of English-speaking visitors, as we did at the Mogao Caves in Dunhuang.   

‘Luxury’. This is not necessarily a 5-star option. The nature of the places visited may mean that some accommodation is decidedly basic, but for a peasant like me, having a chauffeur-driven Mercedes at my disposal for a week, even if it is a little old and shabby, definitely feels extravagant.

Cons

Cost.  Tailor made tours are of course not cheap.  The smaller the group, the larger the share of the guide and/or driver’s salary per head. On the other hand, they are not necessarily the most expensive option.  I have seen advertisements for a group tour of the Silk Road by private train covering much the same ground for twice what we paid.

Pressure to be interested in everything. Even on a tailor-made tour, there may be some parts that you find less interesting than others, but you may feel obliged to look interested in order to be polite.  You also need to have researched the area so that if your guide asks you if there is anything in particular you would like to see, you can come up with an intelligent suggestion.

Don’t expect everything to go according to plan.  Particularly in countries where tourism is in its infancy, things can go wrong, and it will be down to the local agents to sort things out.  In Albania, the local agency found that there was no room with a sea view available in the Saranda hotel listed in the itinerary, so switched us to a new hotel where we would get a better view.  The view was certainly excellent, but the hotel was not finished. Our room was fine, and we found the whole thing rather amusing, but Ilir was very upset.  In China, we had a couple of problems that were down to the arrangements made by local agents: the long wait for our train from Xi’an to Beijing, and a rather strange and unhelpful guide in Kashgar. Our biggest problem however was an eight-hour delay in our departure from the UK owing to a security scare at Heathrow.  Our Audley contact was very helpful during this time.

Would I go for a tailor-made package again? Definitely.