VE Day in France

Looking east along the coast from Marseille

So the biggest surprise about France was that Ryanair got us there without incident. On time, in fact, although you’d be hard-pressed to be delayed leaving Zadar airport, which hosts no more than half a dozen flights a day, it seems. We were flight number one and our departure left the terminal building desolate.

Mind you, the spectacle of nearly 200 people trying to secure their spot on a plane that has no allocated seating and discourages checked-in baggage is a sight to behold: like an emergency evacuation in reverse. Leaving France on an EasyJet flight a few days’ later was a similar experience, except EasyJet is even less fussy about what you take on as hand luggage. Chaos.

John and I were glad each time that we had small-ish, flexible bags that could be stowed at our feet.

Flying into Marseilles was a delight. It’s only a short hop with 30-45 minutes at altitude so, with the clear visibility and a window seat that we had, you can see all the detail of the landscapes you’re crossing, from the islands along the Dalmatian Coast to the snow-capped alps of northern Italy and southern Switzerland on to individual towns along the Cote D’Azur.

OK I now need to interrupt this program to make a party political broadcast on behalf of Australia’s Transport User’s Network.

AUSTRALIA NEEDS SOME DECENT FAST TRAINS.



Bike rack on TGV



There – I’ve said it. We’ve got the gorgeous Ghan and the superb Trans Pacific routes but it’s the terrain they cross that makes them wonderful. Our pathetic attempt at fast, inter-city trains can be seen for what they are – pathetic – when you’ve experienced the speed and efficiency of the French system. Even the tram we later caught out to Lyon airport on our departure was faster than most Australian trains.

Despite being hampered by rusty French that hasn’t had an airing in decades we were able to find our way around, buy direct tickets to the tiny country town as directed by my old school friend, Fay, (and have all the changes and transfers explained in English with a smile), plus you could set your watch by the trains’ departure times.

The first train even had free WiFi at first – although of course it dropped out just as I was about to ‘send’ my note to Fay telling her which train we were on….

Consequently we arrived in Tour Du Pin without her phone number, with only email for means of contact, only to find the town was closed. Mondays are quiet at the best of times in France, but it was also May 7 and, with May 8 a national holiday to mark the end of WWII in Europe, many shops had closed for a long weekend – including the biggest hotel. OK, a couple of cafés were open, plus the Post Office and one Tabac, but everyone raised their hands in horror and confusion when I asked either for Internet access or directions to Fay’s village, Izieu. (It was only 30km away but in another region, so effectively doesn’t exist, apparently.)

Fay's house in Izieu

After an hour or two of traipsing around the town  we gave up and went to the pub (what else?), where we were finally saved by a lovely Madame who phoned directory inquiries for Fay’s number then let us use her phone to call Fay, too. And we were met within the hour.

Amazing how, after more than 30 years of lost contact, the recognition was instant and friendship kicked off again as if it was only a year or two apart.

We collected her two youngest children, Felix and Isabel, from school on the way home and by the end of the day has also enjoyed a tour of her partner Jean-Michael’s dairy farm and been introduced to the delights of his brother Denis’s cellar-door wine sales. As the last customers of the day, we were plied with champagne until the bottle was empty. To complement this, John-Michael makes his own brie-style cheeses, so Fay has a pretty tough life.

With Fay and Denis in the wine cellar

Their village is a stunning collection of stone buildings set around a lush valley filled with wildflowers and vertical limestone escarpments that rise up to offer magnificent views of the Rhone River and snowy French Alps beyond. No matter which way you look, you are met with breathtaking views that were especially green after quite a wet spring.

On Tuesday morning, after a lazy breakfast, we drove up to the main village for the May 8 ceremony, which involved John-Michael and his voluntary fire brigade colleagues marching down from the village hall to the cenotaph outside the church, where the Mayor laid a floral tribute before making an inspiring speech (well, it sounded impressive in French) and inviting everyone back to the hall for Denis’s wine plus cheese, coffee and snacks. Half the kids in the village are cousins of Claude, Isobel and Felix, and the rest are former school friends, so it’s all very cosy. Fay’s mum lives in the village too, but we failed to meet up with her on our stay.

May 8 ceremony at Izieu

Later we wandered up the lane for a walk that had me in seventh heaven as we kept discovering new orchids and other wildflowers (wild pinks, geraniums, lesser periwinkle, rock roses, wild strawberries, vetches, broom, daisies, St Bernard’s Lily, grape and tassel hyacinths, Solomon’s Seal and globularia, which is far prettier than it sounds) and even saw a slow worm before we emerged on the edge of the escarpment and spent a while picking out what we could see.

That afternoon we went off to a local market where second-hand bikes were on sale and Fay found 'new' bikes for herself and both children, which they proceeded to ride up and down the street for ages, scattering the cats (there are nine - all gorgeous but not too keen on strangers).

The new bikes.

Felix and Isabel on the cliff overlooking their house



The next day we’d been due to leave but I stuffed up booking our flights out of Lyon (put in wrong date) so we had an extra day and decided to go into Lyon for the day. Fay and the children all have Wednesdays off so joined us but we decided to stay in a hotel that night and go straight to airport from there in the morning, rather than go back to Fay’s (Felix told us off for wasting money and said he’d gladly sleep in a tent, which was sweet of him.)

 

Kids were a bit fed up with walking at this stage...



We had a brilliant table d’hote fixed menu meal at a place near the hotel then wandered through the old city, which is riddled with old alleyways and apartment blocks set around hidden courtyards. There are also lots of quirky bits of architecture and figurines on buildings and unusual shops and buildings as well as grand vistas, so it was lots of fun to explore. Dozens of ice cream shops, too, so we had to try a few. 

Felix and Isabel outside a 'witch shop'



Finally we parted company in the evening after a lovely day and feeling radiant after such a brilliant catch up and walked back along the river (Rhone or Soane? – we crossed both and I kept getting them mixed up) to our hotel near the university.

(When we’d first booked in we were told the website had made a double booking – it’s fifth in two days – and there were no rooms left, but somehow the Madame found us a place, bless her.)

Flight was uneventful except the cloud cover kicked in around Paris and was thick fog by the time we reached the UK – and didn’t lift until the weekend. C’est la vie (en Angleterre…).

Managed to find our way by train to Fareham, which is nearest station to Mum and Dad, and quite impressed by helpful train staff, although each of the three trains we took was delayed, at least they let us know what was going on and all were clean and warm.

WONDERFUL to see mum and dad waiting for us at Fareham, and we’ve been here about a week now, catching up with family, friends and making plans to see others, while rejoicing in the everyday things such as checking out the latest yogurt flavours in Sainsbury, remembering all the garden birds and spring wildflowers that I haven’t seen in years, and trying to pick a newspaper that actually has something interesting to read.

Annie and Rob

We also had a HUGE night at my cousin and his wife’s combined 50^th (plus 10^th wedding anniversary), which was lots of fun and the key event we’d been setting our timetable around.

Annie and Renee doing my nails...

More on that later – loving the green. Going out for dins tonight – walk this morning along the Itchen navigation – so beautiful…..

After the May 8 ceremony

View towards Fay's house from her mum's

Fay and John on escarpment

Orchids in Izieu

Well in central courtyard, Lyon

Two of Fay's nine cats

Detail of Lyon Carousel

John's new suit, took a lot of hours to find! 

Felix and Isabel by Punch and Judy display

View of Alps from Fay's 'hill'

Table d'hote meal, Lyon

backtracking to Athens

Planning the onward trip from Athens I felt like Forrest Gump opening a box of chocolates  – you never know what you’re going to find inside.

View from the Parthenon

That’s the sensation we got looking up all the possible flights we could take out of Athens –  international trains stopped running last year and buses are proving hard to research with no timetables in English and a different story from everyone you ask – that you could reach all these exciting, new cities just with a click of the mouse. 

Except it wasn’t that easy, because Tirana, Albania, was proving too expensive to reach by plane and, even if we could face the 13-15 hour bus journey, no-one could tell us where the bus left from. Travelling via Corfu seemed an option for a while, until we realized the ferry service from Patra wasn’t up to speed yet (despite a few packed cities, it’s still not high tourist season yet).

Our second choice, Montenegro, was proving just as elusive within budget and time constraints.

Flea market Athens with Dee and Shirley

Stuff it, we thought, we’ll go elsewhere.

So that’s how we ended up in the Serbian capital of Belgrade last week, after a two-hour flight that took in views of the snowy peaks of Mt Olympus, the rocky peninsulas of Thessalonika, the mountains of Macedonia and a bird’s eye view of its capital, Skopje.

All because I couldn’t handle the idea of a second day in Athens.

After the laid-back, clean, picturesque setting of Paros, Athens proved a sensory overkill, in all the worst possible ways. A lot of people sleeping on the street (and performing all other bodily functions on the streets, too) and, as John describes it, walking through the morning streets felt like being on the set of Shaun of the Dead, with zombie-like creatures at every turn.  

Typical buildings, Athens

The city looks very unloved and its people discontent, with many resorting to self-medication to ease the pain.

“I will stay and watch my city die,” declared the taxi driver who took us to the airport, after explaining that he couldn’t join his cousin in Melbourne because he was divorced and it would mean leaving his 10-year-old son.

The elections of May 3 weren’t seen as offering much hope to the people we spoke to, either, with most describing the options as ‘disappointing’.

“Nothing changes,” was the phrase used by both our taxi driver and Vasili, from Santorini. “Maybe a new face here or there, but behind it’s all the same.”

Greek sandals

Ironic sentiments from the birthplace of democracy.

However, we did enjoy seeing the main monuments from the top of a double-decker tourist bus (which we usually avoid but distances and temperature meant it was the easiest option) and exploring the Acropolis, although it was the most crowded site we’ve visited to date and I think we were a bit spoiled by the quality of the prehistoric, Roman and Hellenistic ruins in Turkey, many of which are worthy of as much attention as the Acropolis. I was actually more impressed by the story of building the Stoa of Zeus, which is in a less impressive site near the centre of town, but which took 600+ years to complete.

Stoa of Zeus, Athens

Athena’s temple took about a tenth of that, but its position overlooking ‘her’ city is certainly awe-inspiring.

We were in Athens on a Sunday, staying in a retro hotel (authentically old-fashioned, not artificially contrived) but in a seedy part of town and, as we escaped the mid-afternoon heat in our room, we could hear the (99%-male) crowd in the taverna down the street gradually getting more and more rowdy until we decided we might stay indoors for dinner. We haven’t felt like that in any city before.

So by 10am the next day we were in Belgrade, staying in a tiny hostel room set in a crowded apartment block with the most archaic lift I’ve ever seen and set around a central ‘void’ that echoed up a zillion partying voices from other floors as we tried to sleep, preparing for an early morning train to Sarajevo the next day.

Gridlock, Athens

But it was in the heart of the city, so an excellent base to explore the meager offerings in the market (very cheap and reasonably fresh but quite limited: polyester clothes, cleaning stuff, fruit and veg [apples, cabbages, potatoes, tomatoes, cucumber and some leafy green the staples], and one more interesting stall with an old buy selling bags of dried herbal tea mixes), the bohemian quarter with its  the Sava and Tisa rivers, forming the Danube, a pretty park with a touristy craft market, where I bought an embroidered shirt, and the many  wide boulevards and avenues where Belgradians relax with a coffe, cigarette, meal, cigarette, or beer and cigarette at ridiculously cheap prices (for us).

Belgrade city walls

The currency is startling at first, with the cost of a (large, 500ml) beer 150 dinars – until you realize it converts to less than 1.50 Euro or $2.

But if the cost of living is low, so too is the standard; most of the tourists seemed to be from neighbouring, former East-bloc countries and English is not widely spoken, few of the shops I saw offered much beyond the basics of life and, according to a TV cameraman we met (working as a builder’s labourer for want of ‘real’ work), most people work long hours for little pay and fewer opportunities.

We were there on the eve of the May Day holiday, though, and can bear witness to the citizens ability to enjoy themselves. In a city where Big Brother still casts a shadow (our hostel had to register our presence with the police), we couldn’t imagine these free-dressing, colourful characters submitting to any authoritarian overlord. In wonderful spring weather, the streets were packed with people out enjoying themselves – keeping it nice – and, from the train the next day we saw hordes of happy campers out making the most of the sun, good food and company in the shade of homes, vineyards, trees by the river or even just under a shade tarp on the edge of a ploughed field.

Belgrade fromthe air

Yet after Greece it was noticeably organized, clean and orderly, in the city as well as the countryside. Not a scrap of farmland seemed wasted from what we saw from the train, although the plentiful hedges and copses seem to support a good level of wildlife – we could hear songbirds all along the tracks.

OK I’m rambling so here’s some brief word associations:

PAROS – good coffee, cute villages, sun-dried mackerel (who knew it could be so yummy?), sunsets over the harbour, mussels with haloumi, marble quarries, wild sage. Byzantine Way – I still need to find out what that was all about.

ATHENS – Zombies, gridlocked traffic, graffiti, run-down, honey and yogurt, crowded, dirt and cigarettes.

Belgrade fast food

BELGRADE – cheap, sunny, skinny people, meat and potatoes, beer, river houseboats, clean, orderly (pedestrian traffic lights count down the seconds til they change to curb impatience), horse chestnut trees, Cyrillic.

 TRAIN VIEWS – Flat plains at first (inspiration for Terry Pratchett’s Sto Lat?), wheatfields, cabbages, limewashed fruit trees, chalet-style houses, corn storage sheds, tall trees (pine, sycamore, elm, ash, linden, poplar, beech, birch), barbecues, chalet-style mosques, cigarettes, rubbish dumped along river, broad rivers and high mountains.

Houses and haystacks from the train.

Wall art (and grafitti) Belgrade.

Pack horse, Belgrade.

Awesome VW, Belgrade.

Life-threatening walks. Belgrade

Crazy mone, Serbia.

Fountain, Belgrade. There are heaps throughout most towns.

Wildlife in the war zone

There’s a songbird that likes to perch in the scrub of almond and fruit trees outside our window here in Mostar, in southern Bosnia, and he’s been singing his heart out all night. I don’t know what a nightingale sounds like, but I’d like to think that’s what it is.

One of Mostar's bombed out buildings

I wonder what happened to the wildlife during the three-year war here in the ’90s when about 80 rockets a day were apparently being fired from one side to another. Certainly the pictures we’ve seen of the city when peace was finally brokered in ’95 show how much of the beautiful old Ottoman and Austro-Hungarian architecture was reduced to rubble, despite its thick stone walls, and the trees were bare, leafless stumps.

Our hostess, Jedrenka, told us how most people had no choice but to hide in their basements all day long, venturing out occasionally for buckets of water or food. She evacuated first to Croatia with her two young children then, because she is married to a Muslim and has a Muslim surname, had to move on and ended up in Norway for two years. Her sister is still in Bergen, where she works in a fish factory: “She is rich,” Jedrenka said. By Bosnian standards, she probably is.




Site where Franz Ferdinand was shot.

 

Her husband stayed behind to fight and, luckily, survived but Sarajevo especially is full of overflowing graveyards packed with bright, new, shiny white gravestones of the many thousands who died between 1992-1995. I'd forgotten, too, the role Sarajevo played in WWI, as the site where Crown Prince Franz Ferdinand and his pregnant wife, Sophia, were assassinated, prompting the start of hostilities. We visited the site, where there is now a small museum. 

Mostar's tourist traps - views and good food.

Jedrenka has named her hostel – which is really just part of her home – after her 32-year-old daughter, Nina, who also lives there with her husband and their two-year-old son, and pretty much runs the business except for meeting travelers off intercity buses. We were met from the Mostar bus at the main terminal and gladly accepted her offer of a room at reasonable rates – and a lift!

“Mostar survives just on tourism now,” she told us. “So thank you for coming to Mostar and helping us.”

view from the bus

My pleasure, I replied, and I meant it. On the bus ride in we’d been stunned by the magnificent mountain ranges of layered rock – the higher peaks still topped with winter snow – and the many rivers run fast and wide in shades of clear blue, green and turquoise, depending on the bedrock. White water rafting and skiing are becoming popular but we haven’t met any travelers who’ve taken up the challenge yet. The water is predictably icy cold and taste wonderful in the taps but even in the 25-30C days we’re enjoying, you’d have to be brave the take on the rapids we’ve been seeing.

On our last morning in Mostar we saw someone jump off the 21m-high ‘old’ bridge – locals get tourists to pay them to dive so we thought it was someone earning his living from the busload of Italians passing through town at the time. However it turned out to be an American overseas student (about to spend a year in Poland) who we caught the Dubrovnik bus with. He did it for his own ‘fun’ but said it was freezing. And a long way down.

Grape vines growing in the valleys near Mostar

The villages are reminiscent of Austria with wide, chalet-style roofs on the houses protecting the last of the winter supply of wood, a few chickens, goats or sheep around the home and always a meticulously laid out assortment of vegetables being tended in neat rows, often edged with lime-washed fruit trees and with grape vines growing in the lee of the house or shed. Further down the valleys corn appears to be a staple, and many properties have long, thin timber storage sheds with vented walls, all packed with dried cobs of corn.



Tea house, Sarajevo.
Might look old but the proud owner
said he only opened 10 days ago



Both Mostar and Sarajevo have at their centre a network of narrow streets and alleyways full of timber-shuttered buildings dating back to the Ottoman Empire times, when Turkish customs and architecture influenced the architecture, while the more recent stone buildings have the larger, grander style of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Handicrafts are still a mainstay of the tourist stalls – carpets, silver and copper/bronze jewellery, woven fabrics, ornate coffee pots and cups, knitwear with intricate patterns similar to Austrian or even Scandinavian designs, plus more recent military memorabilia: medals, old guns and sabres and 1990s bullets fashioned into ballpoint pens. And lots of nationalistic flags and hats.

Souvenirs, Mostar

Wine is a big local industry too, and not bad from what I’ve tasted.

We also visited the local brewery in Sarajevo, which is in a wonderful old building with domed, brick-lined ceiling and ornate chandeliers and side lights. They only brewed three beers – dark, light filtered and light unfiltered – but all pretty good. It cost 5KM for 500ml = about 2.5 Euro = $3.50-$4. Even cheaper in the shops, where a ridiculously large 2L plastic bottle of Sarajevskaya costs between 1.80KM to 3.50KM, depending on size of the supermarket.

Food is also very affordable, with a full place of Cevapi (10 meat fingers, round bread, salted cream sauce and chopped raw onion) only costing about 7KM ($4-$5) even in tourist areas – less elsewhere. The yummy Beg soup (hearty chicken and veg) was only 4KM ($2-$3). 

We’ve been impressed with standard of English of some young people we’ve met (and the responsibilities they take on – our hostel in Sarajevo was being run by 18-year old son of the owner, done while juggling legal studies and some seriously hard partying on May 1 - which we joined for a while) but then unemployment in Sarajevo is apparently at 50% and, while there’s a lot of building a repairing still going on, it’s impossible to ignore the extended and overflowing graveyards everywhere and the pock-marked buildings, either half-occupied or now deserted, that keep the recent troubles right at the forefront of your consciousness.

John on official beer-tasting duty.

On the surface, everything seems fine, although I’ve heard the ‘front line’ road in Mostar now separates the population more than it ever did before, and children in schools are more likely to be separated by religion than in mixed classes, but the people we’ve met have been positive and hopeful – and falling over themselves to make your stay comfortable and enjoyable. OK, maybe not the tram driver who wouldn’t let us on because we didn’t have local coins after arriving on an international train on a public holiday when all the banks and exchanges were shut, but the Dutch/Bosnian good Samaritan couple who paid our fare for us certainly made up for her.

  

Stream through graveyard, Sarajevo.

Inside Sarajevska Brewery

Sarajevska Brewery

John by shot-up building, Sarajevo

Marble cobblestones, Mostar bridge

Market stalls by mosque, old Sarajevo



Mostar's rebuilt 'old' bridge at sunset



View from Yellow Bastion overlooking Sarajevo. Snow on peaks top left!

Site of caravanseri, Sarajevo - offered free accommodation.

Anyway, I have a bus to catch to Dubrovnik, and still haven’t told you of our high-speed travels from Athens to Bosnia, so the next blog will have to be a bit of a restrospective.