Salsburg and Opera

After the departure of B and her family I was left with a few days spare before venturing off to Salzburg for some culture with Clare-bear and her family. Attempt number to of trying to get to see Maria in Vienna failed as she was not even going to be there and so I decided to stick it out a few more days in Budapest. After a tiring trek along not so clearly defined paths, I reached the top of the citadel, which was the old fort. The reward of spectacular views over Budapest more than made up for the trek to get there. Of course on the way down I found the clearly marked path that led back to street level!! I’m not sure that I could even find the path beginning of the “path” I used on the way up once I got down. Clearly they had moved it and paved the new one whilst I was at the top. Any other explanation would be pointless.
Time was also spent exploring other parts of Budapest, particularly the streets around the opera house. The buildings in this area seemed much more preserved and perhaps reflected the importance of ballet and so forth in Eastern Europe. After finally finding the Eurail help place I reluctantly resolved to begin my two months of travel since the help store had actually closed down!!
My penultimate night spent in Budapest was spent with a few of the guys and girls from the hostel at a large outdoor trance party, one bridge down from where we were all staying. Along with a few thousand other people, we partied until the wee hours of the morning. The following day we all spent time recovering, drinking heaps of water and relaxing at the public baths.
Next, it was off to Salzburg to meet Clare, her sister C and their parents. Staying at the luxurious Hotel Schloss Fuschl which was basically a castle like hotel on lake Fuschl, about 20 minutes outside of Salzburg proper. The water in the lake was, according to the cab driver, clean enough to drink although none of use were exactly that keen to try doing that.
Again, thanks to the generosity and kindness of Clare’s parents, I was treated to some spectacular meals. Our first night was at the Red Bull ™ hangers. The restaurant, which takes a year just to get a booking, overlooks a hanger full of Red Bull™ racing cars, planes and helicopters. We were treated to a wonderfully diverse blend of Japanese and Western cuisine made by the guest chef, who happened to be a chef from Sydney! This was naturally washed down with a variety of very nice Austrian wines.
After spending a relaxing day, in 35°C plus heat, by the lake it was off to Salzburg proper for a concert by the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra. The first and last pieces were both Mozart, the second being a piano concerto with the conductor as the soloist. These were separated by a unique cello concerto. It was written by a young composer (only 36 years of age) and involved a lot of Asian percussion instruments and a lot of random goings on. At times it was a little bit difficult to cope with since parts of the cello solos sounded more like dying cats trying to have rampant sex. The pause following the concerto allowed everyone a short time to let the whole thing sink in and everyone seemed to have the same expression as they waited outside for the second Mozart piece…relief.
I managed to peel myself away from the lake and play a round of golf with Clare’s mother and some of their family friends. The form was, as one would expect, of a very high standard. Playing on the club-house clubs (5 wood, 7 and 9 irons, a sand wedge and a putter) we blitzed around the 9 holes in under 2 hours which wasn’t bad since we played enough shots to have gone around eighteen!
Having never been to an opera before, I was glad when I found tickets to see Il re Pastore by Mozart. As it turned out, my seat was only one away from Clare and her family!! The opera was fantastic, even if there were no subtitles. Each of the characters were engaging and the operatic wailing, called Arias, were captivating. Thoroughly converted, I look forward to the opportunity to enjoy another opera again in the future. Attempts to watch Le Marriage de Figaro were dashed by German subtitles and a long performance. Nonetheless it was a good introduction to opera and wet the appetite for more to come.
Salzburg itself was a nice city. Nestled into, and surrounded by, mountains the charm and excitement of the festival spilled out onto the streets. Traditional dress was very prominent around the streets and even at the hotel. Tucked away behind a whole stack of little shops and other buildings was one of the most spectacular churches I’ve seen. It wasn’t a particularly large church but it was so richly decorated that I went so far as to buy a postcard of it. Unfortunately we did not have the time for the “Sound of Music” bicycle tour although in truth the stinking hot days meant doing anything other than swimming in the lake was a stretch.
After a remarkable week of luxurious food, wine and entertainment, it was time to bid farewell to Clare and her family. The card that I left them can in no way make up for the richness of their generosity and I will fondly remember my time in Salzburg when I next venture to the opera.

budapest and travelling with families

After the debacle of the train ride, I finally arrived in Budapest to meet up with my old house mate Binda (soul sister) her younger sister, Shaz, parents Judy and Izzy and the Big B, uncle Boris. Initial plans of meeting up with the girls and cruising around Prague without the parental escort were unavoidably changed due to my own prior commitments and so Budapest, and the whole family, it was. As it turns out, what was initially sold to the girls as a 2 week trip with the parents and then 2 weeks on their own was a sneaky parental way of saying they would be spending the entire time with the parents!! After coming to terms with the currency issue, I made my way towards the hotel and sat in a park to await their arrival. Usual airline efficiency meant that they were a couple of hours late, however nothing like that really bothers me as I’ve time to spare.
Budapest, made up of the main areas of Buda and Pest, is the capital of Hungary. It has a population of approximately 2 million people and was formerly part of Eastern Block Europe although now it is a member country of the European Union. They are planning to begin to use the Euro as the form of currency (and have been saying so for a couple of years!!) but currently use the Forint. (approximately 220Flo = €1). The city itself straddles the Danube which, by the way, is not and never has been blue.
After tortuously settling into the Marriott and my luxury accommodation,



it was downstairs to the lobby for a quick hello to the folks and a coffee. Coffee in Budapest is usually served with a small glass of soda water. This may seem controversial however it is actually a wonderful idea. The normal coffee grit on the teeth is no more as the bubbles clean them away after you finish. Any friends out there with restaurants/cafes might want to explore the feasibility of this practise. After the coffees it was off for dinner and importantly somewhere with vegetarian.
Vegetarian in Hungary is roughly translated to mean cheese. There is a variety of cheese: cheese with broccoli, broccoli cheese soup, fried cheese with salad, cheese with salad. The variety was endless!! After searching, we were able to find some places that served dishes other than cheese however it was a search.
Now the reason for such an extensive range of vegetarian cuisine is meat. With t-shirts saying “Save Plants, Eat Meat” in shop windows it came as no surprise to find that the average Hungarian is a carnivore. If it bleeds, eat it. Rabbit, venison, deer, boar, wild boar, chicken, duck, beef (have I forgotten anything) is all available on the menu. Of course there is also seafood but meat certainly forms the bulk of the menu. Due to the overwhelming kindness of Binda’s parents, we ate and drank very well over the time in Budapest, dining in many traditional restaurants with exquisite cuisine, including the renowned goulash.
The city itself still has many hallmarks of communist upkeep: poorly tended paths with weeds breaking through, public gardens hidden by unmown lawns and overgrown weeds and cracked facades with exposed brick on many buildings. However there is an obvious concerted effort to improve this with public works occurring everywhere and renovations happening on many public buildings. However the combination of rundown buildings and some amazing architecture give Budapest a unique charm not seen in some of the other places that I’ve travelled so far.
The days were spent as the three musketeers; Binda, Shaz and myself. The girls were clearly glad for the parental reprieve, and the option of spending the days with me rather than the parents had barely left Judy’s lips before Binda and Shaz stated, in no uncertain terms, that they were going to be exploring the city with me. Of the many experiences we had cruising the streets of Budapest, sitting in the doorway opposite a bottleshop as we shared a 50ml tester of “Unicum”, was one of the silliest. Sure that the parents were going to walk past, we huddled into this storefront and proceeded to try the drink which is an evil cousin to Jaegermeister. Clearly it is something that needs to be shared so good luck to all of those who get to try it when Binda returns.
Here are a few random photos for your viewing pleasure. bisous!!

saw him play and gave him some coin. he thought it was for his playing but.....



couldn't resist this one........me, if i were female, in 50 years??



could you please stop wearing socks and sandals!!!! obviously a special on apples that day.



favourite photo of binda and shaz. think they were just happy for some time away from the folks

Foreign Travel 2/2

Being accustomed to booking train travel whilst in France has in no way improved my organizational skills further than remembering a fully charged iPod ™ and a good book. It came as no surprise to me as I lined up at 11 o’clock to get a ticket for an overnight train that left 5 hours later. Not even when it turned 12 was I concerned. By now I had realised the benefit of “pack the night before” (Biarritz being a prime example) and so as I got onto the train with half an hour to spare, after lunch with Alice, a beer with Mads Spokes, cat time and a shower I quietly patted myself on the back and went to grab my berth.
Now was the time for the “Roulette of overnight train travel”. Who was I going to spend the next 15 hours with? Unfortunately my dreams of a troop of fashion models were dashed by the Asian family that entered.
Shortly after they entered, they berated me for being in “their” room. After finally accepting my explanation in English ,with proof of my ticket, that I was entitled to be there they sat down to murmur. When they realised that I spoke French, they quickly “directed” me towards the conductor to ask to be moved. As you can imagine, the conductor quickly realised my predicament and, in between tirads of English and finger-pointing by the afore mentioned family, vowed to find me another berth.
As we waited for the return of the conductor it became increasingly uncomfortable as the temperature rose (35ºC outside and the air-conditioning was not working inside) and the family started to openly complain about me…in Mandarin. What?!? I was the stupid foreigner?!?!?
When the conductor finally returned she kindly opened the next cabin which was mine alone for the first half of the journey, and the air-conditioning worked. As I grabbed my things, I wished the family a safe journey and that there was no need to assist me with my luggage as I was sure they were keen to get there things organised…said in my best and most formal Mandarin of course. As their jaws made a dull thump when they hit the ground, I decided against mentioning anything about the air-conditioning.
Not all was peachy on the journey however. The same conductor who kindly arranged a new berth, also stamped my Eurail pass, thereby starting my 2 month validity clock. The problem with this was that I hadn’t used my pass to buy the ticket as I was saving it for use later in the year!! After returning my passport and ticket in the morning (it is normal for them to hold your passport for overnight trains to avoid waking you for border checks) I managed to explain the problem. Despite a scribbled mess on my ticket, I believe that there is nothing I can do but start travelling.
Despite the hiccoughs during the train journey, the ride itself was enjoyable. The bed was comfortable, the free breakfast nutritional and the 3 other people I ended up sharing with friendly. The transfer in Vienna the following morning was uneventful as I headed towards Hungary to meet up with Binda and her family in Budapest.
The scenery travelling from Austria to Hungary changed in three obvious ways:
1. the majority of run down , multi-storey, concrete toilet blocks were actually apartment blocks and their presence indicated that one had indeed crossed the border into Eastern Europe.
2. the graffiti on buildings was far better in Hungary;
3. there are more wind generators in Austria.

Tips for young players:
1. if you didn’t use your Eurail pass to purchase your ticket, lie and say you don’t have one.
2. avoid falling asleep in the last hour of a train ride, particularly when the penultimate station looks and sounds similar to your planned destination. It will avoid waking up in a start, grabbing you things and then resigning yourself to the fact that you will have to take another train since jumping off the now moving train is not a good idea. Thankfully, I resisted the urge (although the thought did cross my mind!!) to disembark from the moving train as it turned out my station was next!!
3. it is normal for 3 guys with guns to suddenly crowd into your cabin demanding to see your passport. It is just border control Hungary-style.
4. appreciate that not all member countries of the European Union do not use € as their form of currency. This is particularly useful when trying to purchase metro tickets from the ticket window in said country.
5. don’t get a crap tattoo, you have to wear it for life;
6. try everything that is served but don’t necessarily ask what it is. Some things taste a lot better than they look.

Paris Encore…….The Rane: 1/2

The beauty of not working and having no real plans is that at any moment, any tentative plans can be completely changed to suit. The decision to return to Paris was one of these. Initially planning to head to Vienna, I decided to divert back to Paris to catch up with a long time friend from the Santa legal department (not surprisingly Santas need legal protection as well…there can be some nasty people who don’t get the presents they want and some bad equally useless Santas who make terrible mistakes) who was arriving in Paris for a couple of days only.
Whilst waiting for the Rane, I had the opportunity to rekindle some old friendships, particularly a great bunch from the English speaking newspaper. Whilst some had found new jobs, the humour, temperament and intelligence of conversation was a relieving change from the usual “I’m from Australia, travelling for about a year, yes I love it here” discussion.
The Rane arrived a couple of days later and we eventually hooked up at the Bottle Shop (oh the local….so good to be home!!). After spending the time catching up on gossip (thankfully no Morris stories!!) we then moved on to more important things….Bastille Day.
Bastille Day marks the revolt of the lower class against the French aristocracy when, on July 14th 1789, a mob of peasants broke into the Bastille, the main jail, and freed the prisoners inside…….all 7 of them!! As it turned out most of the prisoners had been moved and so the whole event was more symbolic than any great prison-break, however it did score the French a public holiday (Fête de la Fédération). While the French 35 hour working week (seriously!!) seems like a public holiday everyday, with shops closing for 1~2 hour lunch break and so forth, Bastille Day is a formal holiday when shops don’t even pretend to open. The day centres around a large military parade down the Champs-Élysées (didn’t go), events at the sight of the jail itself (couldn’t get there) and a huge fireworks display (couldn’t see it from where we were) at the Eiffel Tower. Although one might be mistaken for thinking that I did sweet FA for the event…patience. While I plan to make the pilgrimage to Gallipoli next year I am not one, admittedly, who wakes up for the dawn service or the parade, so I felt no guilt as I rolled over for “one more snooze” and missed the French display of the same. As for the Bastille events, I was presented with a decision: battle an inordinate number of people to get a “view” of something, or catch up with Volker, who happened to be in Paris for a lay-over, for a quiet relaxing dinner. Needless to say hunger conquered all. Finally it was off to sacred ground to watch the fireworks.
Rod, Big M, The Rane and myself ventured to an apartment block that offered multiple parties and a great view of the pending fireworks. As we sauntered between different parties, drinking and greeting as we went, we eagerly awaited the finale…the fireworks. Unfortunately the unobstructed views of the fireworks spectacular were from last year’s brochure as they had decided to move the focus of the display and all we could see were the big ones…..over the top of the buildings that obstructed our view. Of course we could see the reflection off the Eiffel Tower but that was like watching TV in the reflection of a broken mirror! In other words we could see sweat FA!
The award for the best entertainment of Bastille clearly went to Big M (“Who’s that?”…”He’s not with us?!?”) and his couch boy caveman antics with a young French lass. Don’t people ever grow out of that?!? Find a room!!! The two of them, neither petite but very drunk, attempted, on a couch too small for either of them, a mix between Greco-Roman wresting and the teenage “we shagged with our clothes on” dance. One would think that a man of his age would have felt the social necessity to find a room however, to the amusement of the entire balcony, they did not. Congratulations Morgan, do you have anything to say?
“What, her name wasn’t Isabelle?!?”