Hi everyone,
In the last couple of weeks I’ve been getting a little fed up. I started to feel like I was rushing through the European leg of my trip, blurry-eyed, sleep-deprived and experiencing it all through a salt-damaged camera lens. I had spent five weeks exploring Israel alone, yet five weeks later I had visited eight nations and accumulated a further 3915 kilometres. The last two blog posts were little more than accounts of the towns and cities I hardly saw; no unique cultural anecdotes or interesting insights into the national psyche as I wasn’t around long enough to find any. In the last post I even managed to mistakenly label one of my Romanian hosts as Bulgarian! I was no longer a traveller but a tourist. I felt like I was constantly on the move, often forgetting which town (and occasionally which country) I was currently in. But then I did only have a month before Germany. I thought I should just keep going.
So on the 27th March I caught a minibus to Chişinău in Moldova. I was staying with couchsurfer Irina and her mother for a few days in their cosy suburban flat. The first topic of conversation concerned Irina’s numerous male admirers and her mum’s pride in the likelihood of her daughter bagging a foreign husband. I initially felt like I was being touted as a potential suitor, but my concern that I’d wandered in a Tennessee Williams play was alleviated when she confided that she wanted to live somewhere warm. After that, I had a lot of fun staying with this small, hospitable and friendly family.
I spent the day on Friday exploring the city, including a nice cathedral, a mildly triumphant ‘Arc de Triomphe’ and the very interesting but badly translated Ethnographic Museum (dinosaur bones were displayed in the anthropology section). In the evening Irina took me to a German pub complete with traditional Bavarian food, beer and ambience, including a live oompah band sporting reproduction-threatening leiderhosen. On Saturday I decided to visit Orheiul Vechi, though I was informed that Moldova’s premiere tourist attraction did not have a single bus heading there. I therefore decided to catch the first bus that was heading north on the A253, and jumped off at the junction. A sign informed me that I had seventeen kilometres of walking ahead of me and it was already lunchtime. The trip through small villages and rural communities was very rewarding, as I got to see the traditional side of the country (including stopping to have a cup of tea with an amiable local), but it was gone 4.30pm when I finally arrived at the town of Trebujeni, deep in a rocky valley. The Cave Monastery was already closed, but I managed to catch a minibus heading back to Chişinău. I’d completely missed Moldova’s biggest tourist attraction but the day’s trip had given me a slightly better sense of the country I was in. It was travel at the expense of tourism.
On Saturday I decided to go to Transdniestr. Though an internationally undisputed part of Moldova, this breakaway republic boasts its own government, flag, constitution, national anthem, currency, police and military. As one of the world’s last surviving bastions of communism, it is how I imagine a trip to the USSR would have been, with large imposing buildings, huge statues of Lenin and countless national flags depicting a yellow hammer and sickle of a red background. It is also fiercely anti-Western, with people having been beaten up or arrested simply for speaking English. The most interesting part of the trip however was not the place itself but the route there. At the technically non-existant Moldova-Transdniestr border I was yanked off the bus and interviewed for an hour by four different police officers. They all wanted to know my motives for entering the territory and, more importantly, what I was willing to pay for the privilege. I had been briefed about the likely bribes at the border so had kept some money aside while hiding the rest of my cash in my socks; this turned out to be a smart move as I was made to empty all my pockets and patted down as they searched for funds. I had kept 130 leu on me to ‘buy’ the required entry visa, but was asked straight away for 500. In the end, after a lot of fierce negotiation, I managed to get the chief police officer to accept 100 (about five quid); he was apparently unconcerned that, as far as he knew, I was then left with only 30 leu for a day in Transnistria and transport back, not to mention the bribe to leave the country. I spent the day in Bender and Tiraspol, Trandniestr’s capital or Moldova’s second largest city, depending on your viewpoint (ie. whether you’re from Transdniestr or from anywhere else in the world) then exchanged some of the hidden cash for a bus fare back to the border. I had been told the exit fee was normally higher than the entry, as visitors are essentially impotent when it comes to negotiation in this direction, so kept 150 leu in my pocket and the rest tucked deep into my pants. However, after being dragged off the bus and rustling my way into an interview room, the officer was distracted by a situation outside. He went out to investigate and left my passport on the table, so I grabbed it and, as nonchalantly as possible, strode back to the bus, telling the driver that it was “all sorted”. Five minutes later I was safely back in Moldova and retracted my sweaty currency.
I had planned to catch a midday bus on Sunday to Ukraine but discovered that it went back through Transdniestr, so I decided to hang around for the direct midnight bus instead. I arrived in Odessa at 6am the following morning and caught a taxi to couchsurfer Sasha’s flat. This was one of my most challenging couchsurfs. I had contacted him after seeing the following on his profile; “No Europeans or Americans! Your embassies humiliate Ukranian citizens when applying for visas”. I consquently wrote him a polite if mildly arsey message arguing that it was unfair to discriminate against entire nations based on the actions of their politicians, and that I’d like to stay with him and change his mind about his fellow Europeans. He reluctantly agreed, but by Monday evening I hadn’t succeeded, so he kicked me out. I felt I’d seen a reasonable amount of Odessa (including the April 1st “Humour Day” festival) so went to the train station and decided to get an overnight ticket to Kiev.
On the train I thought long and hard about why I was still travelling. I had planned months ago to head to Simferopol (Crimea) before Kiev, but having been unable to find couchsurfers or accommodation online I’d now chosen to bypass it. I thought back to my pre-couchsurfing days in Japan, where I never made sleeping arrangements in advance; I figured at worst I would simply have to wander the streets for the night, or find a park bench on which to get a few hours kip. I would never wimp out of visiting things just because it was a little difficult – if I’d done that in Jordan I’d have missed out on so much. My sense of adventure was obviously waining and I was craving comfort and certainty. I was growing tired of having the same conversations, and even generalising, exaggerating or bending the truth to save explanations; for the last month I’d been British not English, a student not a graduate and from London not Camberley. I made up my mind that I would spend a few days in Kiev and if the bad times were still outweighing the good I would look into flights home. This schedule was thrown out the window as my wallet was stolen on the Kiev metro and I was left with no cards, no travellers cheques and no cash besides a single twenty euro note. I didn’t even think about resolving the issue but simply about going home. I arrived at couchsurfer Anna’s at 8am and by 4pm I was on a British Airways flight headed for Heathrow.
So that was it. After 228 days, 3 continents, 2 sub-continents, 15 countries (plus 3 self-governing provinces), 71 major cities, 10 islands, 94 long-distance buses, 58 taxis, 33 long-distance trains, 17 hitchhikes, 16 ferries, 12 flights, 8 cable cars, 7 trams, 26 hotels, 25 couchsurfs, 16 hostels, 38 brands of beer, 24 blog posts (containing 31,871 words), 13 SCUBA dives, 12 naked saunas, 7 organised tours, 3 coats, 3 beards and 1 conjoined dog later, I arrived at Terminal 5. And I could have been back three hours earlier if I hadn’t bothered working that out.
I have absolutely no regrets; I know it was the right time to come home and my seven-and-a-half month trip was absolutely incredible. I have visited both the highest and lowest places on Earth. I’ve taught English to monks, been on safari, learnt to SCUBA dive, sailed on the Nile, slept in the desert, worked on a farm, been very nearly mugged and very actually sexually assaulted and tucked into some unusual local delicacies. Travelling alone has been a real challenge but it has been very good for me; I have become much more confident and mature and feel significantly further on the road to understanding who I am. I expected to return from my trip feeling more like a world citizen and less defined by nationality, but I have never felt more British. I already knew that people across the globe shared the same base instincts, emotions and desires, but I learnt that what really makes us unique – our mentality, our personality, how we interact – is a product of our influences, with nothing more influential than the culture we happened to be born into. Travelling has given me much more insight into what it is to be British, good and bad. Perhaps it is because you’re constantly asked where you are from – by border guards, hotel receptionists, locals and fellow travellers – and judged accordingly, or perhaps definition can be found in what you miss most about your own culture; the humour, the whinging, the etiquette, the four distinct seasons, the defiantly antiquated measurements. Maybe it’s seeing your compatriots throwing up in the streets of Tokyo, slowly turning to leather on the beaches of Sinai or cramming into English pubs across Eastern Europe. But I don’t think you ever feel your nationality more than when it’s under attack; when being taught about colonialisation and slavery in Asia and Africa, learning how the British Mandate refused Nazi-fleeing European Jews entry into Israel, or discovering that Winston Churchill was responsible for choosing the Japanese cities on which to drop atomic bombs. The fact that none of this is on the school curriculum is its own disturbing insight into the British psyche. I feel much more a product of my own culture, but not necessarily more patriotic. That said, I’m awfully glad to be home.
I hope you’ve enjoyed the blog. I know the quality has been a little inconsistent but I suppose that’s inevitable when travelling. As for the future, I have now been home for three days and feel it’s time to begin applying for jobs. I need to start taking responsibility and enter the real world. Perhaps I’ll wait until after Germany…
Cheers,
Joe x
PS. I am aware that as this post is after arriving home I shouldn’t be including it in the blog/word count, but it just feels so deliciously self-referential.
PPS. If you're interested you can click here to see my couchsurfing profile, with links to the profiles of all my hosts.
Sunday, 6 April 2008
Friday, 28 March 2008
Bulgaria & Romania
Salut,
Just two countries this time, which is hopefully more palatable. I arrived in Sofia mid-morning on the 12th and met couchsurfer Bogidar. From the profile picture I had expected a woman, so when my very male host turned up I tactlessly asked if he was "a friend of hers". The confusion continued as he nodded, and when I started to tell him about my trip he kept shaking his head at me. I was later told that this is because the gestures are opposite in Bulgaria – nodding means 'no' while shaking your head means 'yes'. I left his confusing household in the afternoon to explore the capital city and saw most of the unremarkable sites in a couple of hours. Consequently I spent the following day hiking on nearby Mt. Vitosha. After about half an hour I noticed I was being accompanied by a cute little puppy, who followed me for the next few hours all the way to the top and back down. Hermann and I became firm friends, though I started to wonder what I'd do with him when we got back to civilisation. Luckily we came across a couple walking their own dogs, and while Hermann was busy sticking his nose in their behinds I legged it down the hill, leaving the baffled couple with a new Germanic furry friend. In the evening I caught a train to Plovdiv, which I'd heard was much nicer than Sofia. I ran into trouble with a dog again; while I was waiting to meet couchsurfer Ivan I wandered into some nearby shrubbery to relieve myself, when an Alsatian came tearing towards me out of nowhere. Interestingly, although I was quite scared – due to my currently vulnerable stance – the flow just kept coming. The dog began to jump up at me so I was dodging from side to side, urine darting all over the place. But my embarrassment became my saviour as the dog retreated from my newly-declared territory. When Ivan finally arrived he very kindly didn't question why I smelt of piss and dog.
Plovdiv was indeed nicer than Sofia; I spent two days visiting the churches and museums of the Old Town, shopping for upcoming-birthday presents, eating lunch in an unusual restaurant (day one was 'lamb's head'; day two was 'smoked buttocks' – I never discovered whose) and climbing the Hill of the Liberators, home to a huge statue of a Russian soldier and some nice views of the city and its surrounding mountains. I also helped a woman put up a few 'death posters' – obituaries for the recently deceased that are plastered on all available wall spaces (including, rather heartlessly, over rival death posters). On Saturday evening I headed to Veliko Turnova, the ancient capital of Bulgaria. The city is absolutely stunning; from the ancient cobblestoned Gurko Street to the bustling central square to the huge Asanevs monument. The highlight however is Tsaravets Fortress, with amazing views over the town below and home to the ruins of over four hundred houses, eighteen churches and a Royal Palace, all built between the 5th and 18th centuries. It also houses watchtowers, an 'execution rock' and the amazing Patriarch's Complex – a renovated church containing gothic murals painted in the 1980s. It is one of the most interesting and unique churches I have ever seen. I stayed with five student girls in Veliko so on Sunday evening, after I had wasted three disposable razors getting rid of my beard and slicing into my cheeks, we went out to a trance club. It was an interesting experience (especially the dancers, male and female, who wore nothing but a light wrapping of clingfilm) but a very long one; we entered the club at 1am and emerged in the sunlight. Incidentally trance music is everywhere in Veliko – it plays in shops, cafés and can even be heard in the backrooms of churches! When we arrived home one of the girls paid me a compliment by saying I had "nice eyes", though immediately undermined it by adding "with really big pupils"...apparently I look like a Japanese cartoon. I was also berated for not shaving my armpits like Bulgarian men. On Monday afternoon, after a few hours sleep, Milena (the actual couchsurfer) and a couple of her friends took me to nearby Arbanasi, with a great view over Tsaravets. One of her friends was trying to become a prostitute and was currently "practicing" her trade by sleeping with anybody who'd have her. Though I was initially appalled, the more I spoke to her the clearer it became that this was not a choice forced upon her by another person, or by difficult circumstances, but was rather a considered adult decision. Prostitution is actually a common choice for women in Bulgaria and girls often enter the industry straight from school...I couldn’t help but imagine the meeting with the Careers Guidance Counsellor. In the evening I experienced a traditional Bulgarian meal of sausage and baked beans in a clay pot – they were flabbergasted to learn that the same dish was a student favourite in the UK – and at midnight I caught a train bound for Romania. On her profile I noticed that Milena’s next couchsurfer is an Italian called Francesco Pasta.
I arrived in Bucharest at 6am on Tuesday morning and caught the metro to Frank and Tia's place. He is an Irish writer and she's a Bulgarian musician (they both do web design to make ends meet) and they've been living together in Bucharest for four years. We spent the morning chatting about art and literature over a cultured coffee then I went off to explore the city. The most interesting sight is the Palace of the Parliament, supposedly the second-largest building in the world (after the Pentagon) and at least the second ugliest. It was built by Ceauşescu as a typical, grey and imposing Communist building, but with badly-executed attempts at continental flourishes along the balcony and roof edges. It is absolutely massive (though was never completed) and still half empty, despite housing both chambers of the Romanian Parliament, a massive array of conference halls, a fantastic four-floor Contemporary Art Museum and much more. Bucharest also has a couple of nice parks, churches and the Museum of the Romanian Peasant, voted Europe's best exhibition in 1996. It is essentially just an indoor ethnographic museum but with well displayed exhibits, whole themed rooms and even entire peasant houses and chapels within its walls.
On Thursday morning I caught a train to Braşov, right in the heart of Transylvania, where I stayed with couchsurfer Dan. He is an unemployed musician (and occasional DJ) so his flat was suitably squallid. We spent the morning erecting a box from a flat piece of cardboard (one of those 2D cross-shaped things you do in primary school) so we could send my presents home, but when we got to the post office our effort was pooh-poohed and I was forced to buy a ready-made package. We spent the rest of the day trying to find a new pair of trainers for my ridiculous flapping clown feet. Asking for European size fifty in every shop warranted a roar of laughter and a hasty exit, but the assistant in the last shop replied "of course", as though we'd asked if the shop contained oxygen, and produced shoes in size fifty-four! On Friday morning I fulfilled my sightseeing duties in the pretty town centre then went to meet Dan and his friend Reuben on Mt. Tampa to play bongos; the rarefied atmosphere makes the tone very clear (plus the neighbours were complaining the night before). On Saturday I took a trip to Bran – home of Dracula's castle and the reason I’d been reading Bram Stoker's torturous novel for the last week – and was thoroughly disappointed. The castle looks more like a country retreat and the inside is whitewashed with nothing related to the legend. The whole thing was quite dull; if it wasn’t for all the Dracula/Vlad the Impaler themed tack being sold in the market outside, you might as well be in Belgium. I stopped at the much more impressive Râşnov castle on the way back to the flat, where I was greeted by two French couchsurfers. We went out to a 'Traditional Scottish Pub' in the evening, decked out with bagpipes, kilts, postcards and flags (just like the real thing). Also, everything sold was English not Scottish – Newcastle Brown and Old Peculiar ale (chilled!), steak and kidney pie, fish and chips, hotpot and the Traditional English Breakfast. Punters also had the choice of Irish Coffee or Scotch Coffee - the former made with Jack Daniel's and the latter with Jim Beam.
On Sunday, after spending the morning hiking on Mt. Tampa, I caught a train to Cluj-Napoca in the north of Romania. I arrived at couchsurfer Solene's about 9pm amid a very French dinner party involving red wine, chocolate and a selection of cheeses. There were about ten people there, eight Frenchies, one Austrian and a bonafide Romanian, all of whom conversed in English. It was a fun evening though the 'elephant in the room' was that I clearly hadn't changed my socks for several days. Monday morning was spent exploring the town, including the pleasant botanical gardens and a huge hillside Hungarian cemetery. I met Solene for a traditional lunch of sarmale (meat and cabbage rolls with yoghurt) then went for a coffee to meet the Romanian girl. She is a journalist and is doing an article on couchsurfing so we spent the next couple of hours being interviewed on screen, filmed 'seeing the sights' around town and chatting in Solene's house. I discovered that my host has spent the last six years living and working in Greece, Macedonia and Romania. In the evening we went out on the town in a big group and, for some reason, ended up drinking more English ale.
Tuesday was pretty uneventful. I had planned to visit a salt mine in the nearby (unfortunately named) town of Turda, but sometime in the morning became spontaneously inspired, so spent the day writing Britain's next great sitcom instead. In the evening Solene took me to see a theatre production in French, where we foolishly sat in the front row. It turned out to be audience participation and I was inevitably picked on, though didn't understand a word the guy was saying. My baffled reaction got a good response from the crowd so the guy kept coming back to me throughout the show and at the end he dragged me on stage and spent ten minutes talking to me in French while I fixed my expression somewhere between confusion and encouragement. Finally he conceded "tu comprends pas" and let me sit back down. It was actually quite enjoyable and not overly embarrassing – probably as I was catching a train immediately afterwards to the Eastern city of Iaşi.
I spent a day and a half in Romania’s second-largest city with Iulian and Oana, a young married couple. There are some interesting sights including a beautiful Orthodox church and a palace which is part-Gothic, part-Imperial and part-Disney. On Wednesday evening I was forced to watch Romania vs. Russia in the pub while knowing England were taking on France – though it sounds like I got the better match. On Thursday morning we went to see some monasteries on the outskirts of the city and in the afternoon I caught a bus to Moldova, though that can wait for the next post. I am hoping to make it all the way to Germany with couchsurfing, and to keep my hosts as varied as possible. As I know I'm only spending a short amount of time in each place I have made a concerted effort to meet people who seem very different from myself and from previous hosts. This obviously backfired in Kosovo, but since arriving in Bulgaria I’ve stayed in seven places with a mixture of locals and resident foreigners; with an unemployed film buff, a young computer professional, five rowdy student girls, a cultured middle-aged couple, an aspiring musician and DJ, a French woman who has lived all over the Balkans and a young newly-married couple. I’ve also learned (whether good or bad) to become comfortable somewhere very quickly – I could not imagine seven months ago turning up in a stranger's house and be happily digging into the cookie jar within the hour. I have a lot of readjusting to do when I get home.
Anyway, that'll do. Hope you're all well!
Joe x
PS. Milena is considered to have a speech impediment in Bulgarian as she cannot roll her Rs. As her English sounds perfectly fine, it made me realise that problems with pronunciation are purely cultural; if I was born in Spain my lisp may have been an asset!
PPS. Click here to see a now infamous clip from Bulgarian Idol.
Just two countries this time, which is hopefully more palatable. I arrived in Sofia mid-morning on the 12th and met couchsurfer Bogidar. From the profile picture I had expected a woman, so when my very male host turned up I tactlessly asked if he was "a friend of hers". The confusion continued as he nodded, and when I started to tell him about my trip he kept shaking his head at me. I was later told that this is because the gestures are opposite in Bulgaria – nodding means 'no' while shaking your head means 'yes'. I left his confusing household in the afternoon to explore the capital city and saw most of the unremarkable sites in a couple of hours. Consequently I spent the following day hiking on nearby Mt. Vitosha. After about half an hour I noticed I was being accompanied by a cute little puppy, who followed me for the next few hours all the way to the top and back down. Hermann and I became firm friends, though I started to wonder what I'd do with him when we got back to civilisation. Luckily we came across a couple walking their own dogs, and while Hermann was busy sticking his nose in their behinds I legged it down the hill, leaving the baffled couple with a new Germanic furry friend. In the evening I caught a train to Plovdiv, which I'd heard was much nicer than Sofia. I ran into trouble with a dog again; while I was waiting to meet couchsurfer Ivan I wandered into some nearby shrubbery to relieve myself, when an Alsatian came tearing towards me out of nowhere. Interestingly, although I was quite scared – due to my currently vulnerable stance – the flow just kept coming. The dog began to jump up at me so I was dodging from side to side, urine darting all over the place. But my embarrassment became my saviour as the dog retreated from my newly-declared territory. When Ivan finally arrived he very kindly didn't question why I smelt of piss and dog.
Plovdiv was indeed nicer than Sofia; I spent two days visiting the churches and museums of the Old Town, shopping for upcoming-birthday presents, eating lunch in an unusual restaurant (day one was 'lamb's head'; day two was 'smoked buttocks' – I never discovered whose) and climbing the Hill of the Liberators, home to a huge statue of a Russian soldier and some nice views of the city and its surrounding mountains. I also helped a woman put up a few 'death posters' – obituaries for the recently deceased that are plastered on all available wall spaces (including, rather heartlessly, over rival death posters). On Saturday evening I headed to Veliko Turnova, the ancient capital of Bulgaria. The city is absolutely stunning; from the ancient cobblestoned Gurko Street to the bustling central square to the huge Asanevs monument. The highlight however is Tsaravets Fortress, with amazing views over the town below and home to the ruins of over four hundred houses, eighteen churches and a Royal Palace, all built between the 5th and 18th centuries. It also houses watchtowers, an 'execution rock' and the amazing Patriarch's Complex – a renovated church containing gothic murals painted in the 1980s. It is one of the most interesting and unique churches I have ever seen. I stayed with five student girls in Veliko so on Sunday evening, after I had wasted three disposable razors getting rid of my beard and slicing into my cheeks, we went out to a trance club. It was an interesting experience (especially the dancers, male and female, who wore nothing but a light wrapping of clingfilm) but a very long one; we entered the club at 1am and emerged in the sunlight. Incidentally trance music is everywhere in Veliko – it plays in shops, cafés and can even be heard in the backrooms of churches! When we arrived home one of the girls paid me a compliment by saying I had "nice eyes", though immediately undermined it by adding "with really big pupils"...apparently I look like a Japanese cartoon. I was also berated for not shaving my armpits like Bulgarian men. On Monday afternoon, after a few hours sleep, Milena (the actual couchsurfer) and a couple of her friends took me to nearby Arbanasi, with a great view over Tsaravets. One of her friends was trying to become a prostitute and was currently "practicing" her trade by sleeping with anybody who'd have her. Though I was initially appalled, the more I spoke to her the clearer it became that this was not a choice forced upon her by another person, or by difficult circumstances, but was rather a considered adult decision. Prostitution is actually a common choice for women in Bulgaria and girls often enter the industry straight from school...I couldn’t help but imagine the meeting with the Careers Guidance Counsellor. In the evening I experienced a traditional Bulgarian meal of sausage and baked beans in a clay pot – they were flabbergasted to learn that the same dish was a student favourite in the UK – and at midnight I caught a train bound for Romania. On her profile I noticed that Milena’s next couchsurfer is an Italian called Francesco Pasta.
I arrived in Bucharest at 6am on Tuesday morning and caught the metro to Frank and Tia's place. He is an Irish writer and she's a Bulgarian musician (they both do web design to make ends meet) and they've been living together in Bucharest for four years. We spent the morning chatting about art and literature over a cultured coffee then I went off to explore the city. The most interesting sight is the Palace of the Parliament, supposedly the second-largest building in the world (after the Pentagon) and at least the second ugliest. It was built by Ceauşescu as a typical, grey and imposing Communist building, but with badly-executed attempts at continental flourishes along the balcony and roof edges. It is absolutely massive (though was never completed) and still half empty, despite housing both chambers of the Romanian Parliament, a massive array of conference halls, a fantastic four-floor Contemporary Art Museum and much more. Bucharest also has a couple of nice parks, churches and the Museum of the Romanian Peasant, voted Europe's best exhibition in 1996. It is essentially just an indoor ethnographic museum but with well displayed exhibits, whole themed rooms and even entire peasant houses and chapels within its walls.
On Thursday morning I caught a train to Braşov, right in the heart of Transylvania, where I stayed with couchsurfer Dan. He is an unemployed musician (and occasional DJ) so his flat was suitably squallid. We spent the morning erecting a box from a flat piece of cardboard (one of those 2D cross-shaped things you do in primary school) so we could send my presents home, but when we got to the post office our effort was pooh-poohed and I was forced to buy a ready-made package. We spent the rest of the day trying to find a new pair of trainers for my ridiculous flapping clown feet. Asking for European size fifty in every shop warranted a roar of laughter and a hasty exit, but the assistant in the last shop replied "of course", as though we'd asked if the shop contained oxygen, and produced shoes in size fifty-four! On Friday morning I fulfilled my sightseeing duties in the pretty town centre then went to meet Dan and his friend Reuben on Mt. Tampa to play bongos; the rarefied atmosphere makes the tone very clear (plus the neighbours were complaining the night before). On Saturday I took a trip to Bran – home of Dracula's castle and the reason I’d been reading Bram Stoker's torturous novel for the last week – and was thoroughly disappointed. The castle looks more like a country retreat and the inside is whitewashed with nothing related to the legend. The whole thing was quite dull; if it wasn’t for all the Dracula/Vlad the Impaler themed tack being sold in the market outside, you might as well be in Belgium. I stopped at the much more impressive Râşnov castle on the way back to the flat, where I was greeted by two French couchsurfers. We went out to a 'Traditional Scottish Pub' in the evening, decked out with bagpipes, kilts, postcards and flags (just like the real thing). Also, everything sold was English not Scottish – Newcastle Brown and Old Peculiar ale (chilled!), steak and kidney pie, fish and chips, hotpot and the Traditional English Breakfast. Punters also had the choice of Irish Coffee or Scotch Coffee - the former made with Jack Daniel's and the latter with Jim Beam.
On Sunday, after spending the morning hiking on Mt. Tampa, I caught a train to Cluj-Napoca in the north of Romania. I arrived at couchsurfer Solene's about 9pm amid a very French dinner party involving red wine, chocolate and a selection of cheeses. There were about ten people there, eight Frenchies, one Austrian and a bonafide Romanian, all of whom conversed in English. It was a fun evening though the 'elephant in the room' was that I clearly hadn't changed my socks for several days. Monday morning was spent exploring the town, including the pleasant botanical gardens and a huge hillside Hungarian cemetery. I met Solene for a traditional lunch of sarmale (meat and cabbage rolls with yoghurt) then went for a coffee to meet the Romanian girl. She is a journalist and is doing an article on couchsurfing so we spent the next couple of hours being interviewed on screen, filmed 'seeing the sights' around town and chatting in Solene's house. I discovered that my host has spent the last six years living and working in Greece, Macedonia and Romania. In the evening we went out on the town in a big group and, for some reason, ended up drinking more English ale.
Tuesday was pretty uneventful. I had planned to visit a salt mine in the nearby (unfortunately named) town of Turda, but sometime in the morning became spontaneously inspired, so spent the day writing Britain's next great sitcom instead. In the evening Solene took me to see a theatre production in French, where we foolishly sat in the front row. It turned out to be audience participation and I was inevitably picked on, though didn't understand a word the guy was saying. My baffled reaction got a good response from the crowd so the guy kept coming back to me throughout the show and at the end he dragged me on stage and spent ten minutes talking to me in French while I fixed my expression somewhere between confusion and encouragement. Finally he conceded "tu comprends pas" and let me sit back down. It was actually quite enjoyable and not overly embarrassing – probably as I was catching a train immediately afterwards to the Eastern city of Iaşi.
I spent a day and a half in Romania’s second-largest city with Iulian and Oana, a young married couple. There are some interesting sights including a beautiful Orthodox church and a palace which is part-Gothic, part-Imperial and part-Disney. On Wednesday evening I was forced to watch Romania vs. Russia in the pub while knowing England were taking on France – though it sounds like I got the better match. On Thursday morning we went to see some monasteries on the outskirts of the city and in the afternoon I caught a bus to Moldova, though that can wait for the next post. I am hoping to make it all the way to Germany with couchsurfing, and to keep my hosts as varied as possible. As I know I'm only spending a short amount of time in each place I have made a concerted effort to meet people who seem very different from myself and from previous hosts. This obviously backfired in Kosovo, but since arriving in Bulgaria I’ve stayed in seven places with a mixture of locals and resident foreigners; with an unemployed film buff, a young computer professional, five rowdy student girls, a cultured middle-aged couple, an aspiring musician and DJ, a French woman who has lived all over the Balkans and a young newly-married couple. I’ve also learned (whether good or bad) to become comfortable somewhere very quickly – I could not imagine seven months ago turning up in a stranger's house and be happily digging into the cookie jar within the hour. I have a lot of readjusting to do when I get home.
Anyway, that'll do. Hope you're all well!
Joe x
PS. Milena is considered to have a speech impediment in Bulgarian as she cannot roll her Rs. As her English sounds perfectly fine, it made me realise that problems with pronunciation are purely cultural; if I was born in Spain my lisp may have been an asset!
PPS. Click here to see a now infamous clip from Bulgarian Idol.
Tuesday, 11 March 2008
Greece, Albania, Kosovo & Macedonia
Hi everyone,
Well I'm not posting from Albania, and I didn't get to Montenegro, but I have travelled quite a bit. After my last entry I still had half a day in Israel so spent it visiting the City of David. It was interesting enough, with some nice views across the decrepit Arab side of Jerusalem, but the real highlight was Hezekiah’s tunnel. This was (according to the Bible) created around 701BC to provide Jerusalem with water during the Assyrian siege, but it wasn't the history that impressed me…it was the childlike pleasure gained from wading through waist-high water in a 530-metre narrow and claustrophobic tunnel. I regretted it later though as I had to fly with sodden, smelly trainers. Before I boarded however, I had to pass through ridiculously stringent security. Between entering the airport and taking my seat on the plane I was questioned three times, x-rayed twice (shoes and socks off), had my passport checked by seven different people, my bags scanned twice then both opened and emptied with each small item double checked (the security woman spent two minutes rigorously scanning a packet of cotton buds). In total it took over an hour-and-a-half to get from check-in to the departure lounge, and I didn’t even stop to buy a Toblerone.
In Athens I stayed with couchsurfer Asterios in a very nice flat. I spent two warm and pleasant days exploring the sights of the city including the impressive Acropolis, the National Archaeological Museum and Ancient Agora, where Socrates philosophised to the gathered crowds below. My favourite moment was watching the sun set over the sprawling city from Lykavittos and tucking into a souvlaki. I spent the next morning wandering the coast at Piraeus and the afternoon on Aegina Island. When I got home in the evening I received the timely email confirmation for my Tel Aviv-Athens flight. On Friday evening I caught a fifteen-hour overnight bus to Tirane and at the Albanian border I was forced to pay an extortionate one euro entrance fee.
We drove through the dynamic, cold and misty landscape towards the capital and I really began to feel that I was back in Eastern Europe. Tirane is unusually colourful however, as when Sali Berisha came to power in 1992 he gave free paint to all residents to revolutionise the grey Communist-era developments. If it wasn’t for the sinister red and black two-headed eagle flag peering at me from every direction I would have felt very welcome. I stayed with couchsurfers Miranda, Mark and Jeff and on the first night they had a Bon Jovi themed party. Unfortunately I hadn't the foresight to pack any tight jeans or vests for my travels so my costume consisted rather lazily of putting a bandana around my head...something I don’t think Jon actually ever did.
On Sunday the four of us went to Kruje. This is a beautiful hillside town with an incredible antique bazaar; you could make a fortune buying stuff here and flogging it back in England. Miranda bought a couple of Russian ration cards from 1912 for one dollar apiece, and I saw a pristine gramophone from a similar period for fifteen quid! Above the market there are some pleasant castle ruins with some nice views where we stopped to watch an Albanian wedding in progress below. On Monday I got up at the ludicrously early hour of 5.30am to catch a minibus to Shköder. This is because I planned to catch a 9am ferry to the Korab mountain range for the day, but upon discovering that the buses to the Koman ferry port weren’t running I decided instead to spend the day hiking above the lake. The views of the town below were spectacular, especially from Rozafe castle, and you could see pill boxes peppered across the landscape; they were built during Enver Hoxha’s regime to avert internal revolution or external invasion. When planning this part of my trip I had considered heading to nearby Ulcinj in Montenegro and travelling from there to Pristina, but to save me carrying my bag around I had scrapped this idea and decided to leave from Tirane.
On Tuesday I explored the city, which is home to some interesting statues and museums. The National Art Gallery was deserted so I wandered around the poorly-lit rooms by myself, slowly getting freaked out by the hundreds of life-sized statues staring at me with their pupil-less eyes. I also went to visit a beautiful statue of Mother Teresa. Incidentally, after national heroes George Skenderbeu and MT, the most popular figures in the country are George W. Bush (due to his role in Kosovo) and Norman Wisdom! The latter is so widely known in the country as he was the only Western actor whose films were allowed to be shown during the Communist dictatorship. When the England football team played Albania in 2001 his presence even eclipsed that of David Beckham! On Tuesday evening I caught an overnight bus to Kosovo, slightly disconcerted as upon boarding all the locals bade me "good luck".
I arrived in Pristina at 6.30am on Wednesday and walked to couchsurfer Enis’ place. It was immediately obvious that he was a little odd, but I had absolutely no indication of what was to come. I spent the morning exploring the Turkish bazaar and at 11am there was an annual parade to commemorate the death of Adem Jashari, commander of the Kosovo Liberation Army (KLA). Due to the country's newly declared independence there were hundreds of posters and t-shirts with Jashari's image and the slogan "Bac, U Kry!" (“Uncle, It’s Done!") I spent the rest of the day wandering around the city and returned to the house in the evening to find Enis watching porn on his computer with his mother and two sisters in the same room! I was a bit thrown by this behaviour but managed to convince myself that perhaps this was normal practice here. That evening Enis took me to a theatre production that he claimed would have subtitles in English...it didn’t. Consequently, I sat in the theatre like a chump for an hour and a half, watching the audience guffaw at the antics of the Up Pompeii-esque performance on stage. The most entertaining aspect of the night for me was hearing people fart loudly and unashamedly throughout the show. On the way home everything I said was interpreted by Enis as a homosexual innuendo, even when discussing innocuous and unrelated topics like my journey or his university work...it was like hanging around with an especially immature eight-year-old. Back at the house his relatively normal sister spent a while explaining the new Kosovan flag to me; the six stars are supposed to symbolise Kosovo’s major ethnic groups (Albanians, Serbs, Turks, Gorani, Roma and Bosniaks). However, having spoken to people from other areas of the Baltics before and since, it is almost unanimously believed that they are actually representative of the six territories that most Albanians want to fashion into a Greater Albania; parts of Montenegro, Serbia, Greece and Macedonia to be added to Kosovo and Albania.
The next day I left the house before anybody else was up and caught a bus to Prizren. The town is very pretty and I decided to walk up to the castle ruins above the city. At midday all the mosques begin their call to prayer and from the peak it sounded like a choir. Back in the town I tried to enter several Serbian Orthodox churches but found them closed by Kosovan troops – I hope this is not censorship since the independence. From Prizren I caught a northerly bus to Peja, but it was gone 4pm by the time I arrived. I just had time to walk to Patrijaršija Monastery, the "Sistine Chapel of the Serbian Orthodox world", but was turned away by the troops at the gate. Oh well. On the bus back to Pristina a bloke came and took the seat next to me. I apologised for taking up so much room (my legs were spilling over to his side) but, gesturing to the woman in front, he replied "it’s fine, I just didn’t want to sit next to the nigger!" I immediately asked him to let me out, stood up and took a seat next to the woman in front. I felt all political and righteous (like a white Rosa Parks) before the woman started shouting and trying to push me off my seat. I had to slink off and find another spot.
In the evening I went to a bar with Enis and two of his friends. I struggled to make conversation for a couple of hours with people I had nothing in common with, but what I thought had been an awkward evening became a lot more so when we arrived home and Enis tried to kiss me. When I backed away to explain that I wasn’t interested he plunged his hand down my trousers, at which point I angrily pushed him out of the room. He ran upstairs calling me a homophobe and I paced around, wondering what to do. My obvious instinct was to leave but it was 2am and I had nowhere to go. In the end I hung around in the room until 5.30am then walked to the bus station to get the first bus to Macedonia. I left a note explaining that not wanting to have your cock fondled by another man isn’t homophobic, it simply isn't homosexual. I haven’t heard back from him.
On arriving in Skopje I met a couple who immediately restored my faith in the community. Kristijan and Nina fed me breakfast, set me up a bed so I could have a mid-morning nap then took me to the pub with Kristijan’s brother Daniel, who happens to be a kind of football Rain Man (he knows every score from all the European leagues this season – even Doncaster Rover’s results!) In the evening we went to a house party and I was introduced to (and became firm friends with) the local beer. Afterwards Kristijan, who was very drunk, drove us home. It’s strange how you just accept the norm in different cultures – there’s no way I would get in a car with a drink-driver in the UK.
I spent the next couple of days seeing the surrounding area. We took Nina’s dog for a walk along the dams at Lake Matka on Saturday, and on Sunday Kristijan and I went hiking up Mt. Vodno. The mountain overlooks Skopje and the huge cross on top is visible from anywhere in town. The walk was very pleasant and the views across the city and its suburbs are amazing. Kristijan managed to turn a potentially healthy day into a long drinking session – we had rum at the top, stopped for beer on the way down and were on the whisky at a live music bar in the evening. Yesterday I caught a bus to Ohrid, three-and-a-half hours south of Skopje. As you walk from the station to the centre you gradually discover the small Old Town of winding narrow cobbled streets and quaint gift shops. At the end of the main street you come across the huge and dramatically beautiful lake, with snow-capped mountains plunging straight into the water. And as you walk along the lakefront you come across more and more scenes of beauty – stunning small Macedonian Orthodox churches perched on jutting rocks and old city walls. High above this all there is a large fortification which, though closed, has lovely views across the red roof tiles of the town below. In the evening I sadly said goodbye to my new favourite town, but certain that I will return.
Today was very rainy so I didn’t go out very much. I haven’t experienced very good weather in Macedonia but at least it’s reasonably mild; the country is notorious for their extreme seasons, with temperatures having reached 46˚c in summer and plummeted to -27˚c in winter. I did manage to nip out for a couple of hours earlier this afternoon to see some sights and stumbled across a betting shop called ‘Wil Hil’, using half of the William Hill logo. The laxness of copyright laws has been noticeable throughout Albania, Kosovo and Macedonia, with an internet café in Tirane called ‘Yahoo!’ (using the famous logo), an orange drink in Kosovo called ‘Tango’, and ‘fotokopje’ places on every street corner (it’s cheaper to copy an entire library book than to buy it new). McDonald’s refuses to launch in Albania because of two copycat chains – ‘Donald’s’ (written in the same type) and ‘Koronin’ (which uses a yellow M logo on a red background).
Tomorrow morning I head to Sofia, Bulgaria. I will do my best to post a little sooner next time – four countries in one post is mildly ridiculous.
Take care,
Joe x
PS. I was very annoyed to hear about the earthquake in England right after my last post. I’ve travelled halfway around the world to have this amazing experience and I could have stayed at home. I have now scrapped future plans to go to South East Asia – I’ll just plonk myself down on a beach in Cornwall and wait for the first tsunami to hit.
Well I'm not posting from Albania, and I didn't get to Montenegro, but I have travelled quite a bit. After my last entry I still had half a day in Israel so spent it visiting the City of David. It was interesting enough, with some nice views across the decrepit Arab side of Jerusalem, but the real highlight was Hezekiah’s tunnel. This was (according to the Bible) created around 701BC to provide Jerusalem with water during the Assyrian siege, but it wasn't the history that impressed me…it was the childlike pleasure gained from wading through waist-high water in a 530-metre narrow and claustrophobic tunnel. I regretted it later though as I had to fly with sodden, smelly trainers. Before I boarded however, I had to pass through ridiculously stringent security. Between entering the airport and taking my seat on the plane I was questioned three times, x-rayed twice (shoes and socks off), had my passport checked by seven different people, my bags scanned twice then both opened and emptied with each small item double checked (the security woman spent two minutes rigorously scanning a packet of cotton buds). In total it took over an hour-and-a-half to get from check-in to the departure lounge, and I didn’t even stop to buy a Toblerone.
In Athens I stayed with couchsurfer Asterios in a very nice flat. I spent two warm and pleasant days exploring the sights of the city including the impressive Acropolis, the National Archaeological Museum and Ancient Agora, where Socrates philosophised to the gathered crowds below. My favourite moment was watching the sun set over the sprawling city from Lykavittos and tucking into a souvlaki. I spent the next morning wandering the coast at Piraeus and the afternoon on Aegina Island. When I got home in the evening I received the timely email confirmation for my Tel Aviv-Athens flight. On Friday evening I caught a fifteen-hour overnight bus to Tirane and at the Albanian border I was forced to pay an extortionate one euro entrance fee.
We drove through the dynamic, cold and misty landscape towards the capital and I really began to feel that I was back in Eastern Europe. Tirane is unusually colourful however, as when Sali Berisha came to power in 1992 he gave free paint to all residents to revolutionise the grey Communist-era developments. If it wasn’t for the sinister red and black two-headed eagle flag peering at me from every direction I would have felt very welcome. I stayed with couchsurfers Miranda, Mark and Jeff and on the first night they had a Bon Jovi themed party. Unfortunately I hadn't the foresight to pack any tight jeans or vests for my travels so my costume consisted rather lazily of putting a bandana around my head...something I don’t think Jon actually ever did.
On Sunday the four of us went to Kruje. This is a beautiful hillside town with an incredible antique bazaar; you could make a fortune buying stuff here and flogging it back in England. Miranda bought a couple of Russian ration cards from 1912 for one dollar apiece, and I saw a pristine gramophone from a similar period for fifteen quid! Above the market there are some pleasant castle ruins with some nice views where we stopped to watch an Albanian wedding in progress below. On Monday I got up at the ludicrously early hour of 5.30am to catch a minibus to Shköder. This is because I planned to catch a 9am ferry to the Korab mountain range for the day, but upon discovering that the buses to the Koman ferry port weren’t running I decided instead to spend the day hiking above the lake. The views of the town below were spectacular, especially from Rozafe castle, and you could see pill boxes peppered across the landscape; they were built during Enver Hoxha’s regime to avert internal revolution or external invasion. When planning this part of my trip I had considered heading to nearby Ulcinj in Montenegro and travelling from there to Pristina, but to save me carrying my bag around I had scrapped this idea and decided to leave from Tirane.
On Tuesday I explored the city, which is home to some interesting statues and museums. The National Art Gallery was deserted so I wandered around the poorly-lit rooms by myself, slowly getting freaked out by the hundreds of life-sized statues staring at me with their pupil-less eyes. I also went to visit a beautiful statue of Mother Teresa. Incidentally, after national heroes George Skenderbeu and MT, the most popular figures in the country are George W. Bush (due to his role in Kosovo) and Norman Wisdom! The latter is so widely known in the country as he was the only Western actor whose films were allowed to be shown during the Communist dictatorship. When the England football team played Albania in 2001 his presence even eclipsed that of David Beckham! On Tuesday evening I caught an overnight bus to Kosovo, slightly disconcerted as upon boarding all the locals bade me "good luck".
I arrived in Pristina at 6.30am on Wednesday and walked to couchsurfer Enis’ place. It was immediately obvious that he was a little odd, but I had absolutely no indication of what was to come. I spent the morning exploring the Turkish bazaar and at 11am there was an annual parade to commemorate the death of Adem Jashari, commander of the Kosovo Liberation Army (KLA). Due to the country's newly declared independence there were hundreds of posters and t-shirts with Jashari's image and the slogan "Bac, U Kry!" (“Uncle, It’s Done!") I spent the rest of the day wandering around the city and returned to the house in the evening to find Enis watching porn on his computer with his mother and two sisters in the same room! I was a bit thrown by this behaviour but managed to convince myself that perhaps this was normal practice here. That evening Enis took me to a theatre production that he claimed would have subtitles in English...it didn’t. Consequently, I sat in the theatre like a chump for an hour and a half, watching the audience guffaw at the antics of the Up Pompeii-esque performance on stage. The most entertaining aspect of the night for me was hearing people fart loudly and unashamedly throughout the show. On the way home everything I said was interpreted by Enis as a homosexual innuendo, even when discussing innocuous and unrelated topics like my journey or his university work...it was like hanging around with an especially immature eight-year-old. Back at the house his relatively normal sister spent a while explaining the new Kosovan flag to me; the six stars are supposed to symbolise Kosovo’s major ethnic groups (Albanians, Serbs, Turks, Gorani, Roma and Bosniaks). However, having spoken to people from other areas of the Baltics before and since, it is almost unanimously believed that they are actually representative of the six territories that most Albanians want to fashion into a Greater Albania; parts of Montenegro, Serbia, Greece and Macedonia to be added to Kosovo and Albania.
The next day I left the house before anybody else was up and caught a bus to Prizren. The town is very pretty and I decided to walk up to the castle ruins above the city. At midday all the mosques begin their call to prayer and from the peak it sounded like a choir. Back in the town I tried to enter several Serbian Orthodox churches but found them closed by Kosovan troops – I hope this is not censorship since the independence. From Prizren I caught a northerly bus to Peja, but it was gone 4pm by the time I arrived. I just had time to walk to Patrijaršija Monastery, the "Sistine Chapel of the Serbian Orthodox world", but was turned away by the troops at the gate. Oh well. On the bus back to Pristina a bloke came and took the seat next to me. I apologised for taking up so much room (my legs were spilling over to his side) but, gesturing to the woman in front, he replied "it’s fine, I just didn’t want to sit next to the nigger!" I immediately asked him to let me out, stood up and took a seat next to the woman in front. I felt all political and righteous (like a white Rosa Parks) before the woman started shouting and trying to push me off my seat. I had to slink off and find another spot.
In the evening I went to a bar with Enis and two of his friends. I struggled to make conversation for a couple of hours with people I had nothing in common with, but what I thought had been an awkward evening became a lot more so when we arrived home and Enis tried to kiss me. When I backed away to explain that I wasn’t interested he plunged his hand down my trousers, at which point I angrily pushed him out of the room. He ran upstairs calling me a homophobe and I paced around, wondering what to do. My obvious instinct was to leave but it was 2am and I had nowhere to go. In the end I hung around in the room until 5.30am then walked to the bus station to get the first bus to Macedonia. I left a note explaining that not wanting to have your cock fondled by another man isn’t homophobic, it simply isn't homosexual. I haven’t heard back from him.
On arriving in Skopje I met a couple who immediately restored my faith in the community. Kristijan and Nina fed me breakfast, set me up a bed so I could have a mid-morning nap then took me to the pub with Kristijan’s brother Daniel, who happens to be a kind of football Rain Man (he knows every score from all the European leagues this season – even Doncaster Rover’s results!) In the evening we went to a house party and I was introduced to (and became firm friends with) the local beer. Afterwards Kristijan, who was very drunk, drove us home. It’s strange how you just accept the norm in different cultures – there’s no way I would get in a car with a drink-driver in the UK.
I spent the next couple of days seeing the surrounding area. We took Nina’s dog for a walk along the dams at Lake Matka on Saturday, and on Sunday Kristijan and I went hiking up Mt. Vodno. The mountain overlooks Skopje and the huge cross on top is visible from anywhere in town. The walk was very pleasant and the views across the city and its suburbs are amazing. Kristijan managed to turn a potentially healthy day into a long drinking session – we had rum at the top, stopped for beer on the way down and were on the whisky at a live music bar in the evening. Yesterday I caught a bus to Ohrid, three-and-a-half hours south of Skopje. As you walk from the station to the centre you gradually discover the small Old Town of winding narrow cobbled streets and quaint gift shops. At the end of the main street you come across the huge and dramatically beautiful lake, with snow-capped mountains plunging straight into the water. And as you walk along the lakefront you come across more and more scenes of beauty – stunning small Macedonian Orthodox churches perched on jutting rocks and old city walls. High above this all there is a large fortification which, though closed, has lovely views across the red roof tiles of the town below. In the evening I sadly said goodbye to my new favourite town, but certain that I will return.
Today was very rainy so I didn’t go out very much. I haven’t experienced very good weather in Macedonia but at least it’s reasonably mild; the country is notorious for their extreme seasons, with temperatures having reached 46˚c in summer and plummeted to -27˚c in winter. I did manage to nip out for a couple of hours earlier this afternoon to see some sights and stumbled across a betting shop called ‘Wil Hil’, using half of the William Hill logo. The laxness of copyright laws has been noticeable throughout Albania, Kosovo and Macedonia, with an internet café in Tirane called ‘Yahoo!’ (using the famous logo), an orange drink in Kosovo called ‘Tango’, and ‘fotokopje’ places on every street corner (it’s cheaper to copy an entire library book than to buy it new). McDonald’s refuses to launch in Albania because of two copycat chains – ‘Donald’s’ (written in the same type) and ‘Koronin’ (which uses a yellow M logo on a red background).
Tomorrow morning I head to Sofia, Bulgaria. I will do my best to post a little sooner next time – four countries in one post is mildly ridiculous.
Take care,
Joe x
PS. I was very annoyed to hear about the earthquake in England right after my last post. I’ve travelled halfway around the world to have this amazing experience and I could have stayed at home. I have now scrapped future plans to go to South East Asia – I’ll just plonk myself down on a beach in Cornwall and wait for the first tsunami to hit.
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