Crosses

First of I gotta give you some insight into how this whole trip came about and why I was now standing where I was, the bridge that formed the official border between Azerbaijan and Georgia.

When Russia went to war with Georgia in 2008 over the the break-away region of South Ossetia, I was sitting in my office's smoking room watching CNN LIVE REPORT or whatever it's called these days. I took in the news and the reports and wondered thought to myself: "I wonder what Georgia is like?". My colleagues had no idea of my crazy plans to visit a country that had just been at war otherwise they would probably have told me that I'm crazy. True, but a bit crazy is always better than a bit lame, right? Ok it's now 2010 but what was once a silly idea became reality.
See my first blog for a reference to my "troubled country fetish".

So there I was walking towards a Georgian border guard and based on what Danielle had told me about the friendliness of the people I was a bit hopeful that I would maybe see a smile or two. I handed over my passport to him and after asking: "From Germany" - which I personally always find a retarded question because obviously my passport says so - he actually said, and I am not lying: "Welcome to Georgia".
Phew that was a good start.

I changed some dollars and manat at the exchange booth and passed through customs in a breeze.
The nearest town, Lagodekhi, was a short taxi ride away and there I had to board a Marshrutka (minibus) to the capital Tbilisi. A toothless old man handed me my ticket and indicated I should wait somewhere.
Things take their time here and I was already used to that. As I gazed at the people around me I immediately noticed a difference in appearance and complexion. People here were much more European than only 6km behind me where the local look was much more Turkic.

Eventually my minibus started filling up and we set off along the "highway" to Tbilisi. We passed little houses with rose covered fences and yards where vegetables grew plentifully. Like in the Sheki region the hills were lush and green and as we descended towards the capital I spotted snow capped mountains and deserted fortresses in the background. If I had been into hiking I would have jumped straight off and made my way to the beautiful Caucasus mountains, but I wasn't. Not on this trip at least.

Georgia is one of the oldest and first Christian nations in the world. Another intriguing fact that lured me here. It was once kingdom of men, powerful empire and most recently a Soviet satellite state until it gained independence from the USSR in 1991. Although its billed the most democratic and forward thinking of all Caucasus republics, you can still see the scars that decades of Soviet rule have left behind.
None the less, it was always a favourite destination for Russian travelers for its rich wine culture (wine was first invented here) and its mild climate.

I was curious to find out how much of this rich heritage was still left.

We entered Tbilisi and the minibus parked at a relatively remote bus station. I managed to haggle a good price with a driver who then took me to my hostel (my CS attempts had not been successful here). It was a curious little place that had only recently opened up and as I walked into the small courtyard where it was located I was greeted by a bunch of kids who were clearly delighted to see another foreigner and let me know very loudly and clearly that they knew how to say: HELLO HELLO!



I grabbed a shower and wandered off towards Freedom Square, which during Soviet rule featured a large statue of Lenin in the center, which was now replaced with St.George killing a dragon, all in Gold of course. ;-)
The day was almost over and my goal for now was to find a place to eat and then go to one of the famous sulfur baths that are said to have "magical healing powers".

I walked down Lesedidzis qucha in search of Shemoikhede Genatsvale that according to my bible was a good place to taste some local fare. I ordered some eggplant with walnut and these little pastry squares filled with cheese and meat and was literally stuffed all the way top of my throat when I walked out of there. Mission part 1 completed.
I continued down along the same road towards the river and passed a collection of stores, a synagogue with a border looking Jew outside and a couple of little churches that were all in the typical Orthodox style of the region (and similar to the ones I had seen in rural Romania and Moldova). When I finally reached the little domes of the sulfur baths I couldn't decide, which one to pick. I was told to go to one of the communal baths but all they offered me were private baths costing 50Euros an hour. So no bath for me tonight :(

I wandered back to my hostel stopping at this little cafe that was half bookstore/half cafe with a very friendly owner and chilled out there for a while.

Back in my hostel I met a young American guy who told me he had spent 3 months in Azerbaijan therefore he now spoke fluent Azeri and was on his way from Georgia to Germany overland. I wished him good luck and didn't bother with him any further.

Ok I gotta be honest with you. I didn't actually do very much while I was in Georgia. I am going to use the lame excuse that I was dead tired from all the travelling and just wanted to chill for a couple of days but of course one could always counter: "Sure mate just stay in and see x y and z next time you're here".

The next day I spent walking around Rustaveli, and enjoying plenty of lattes at Entree cafe, which I declared my favourite hang out because I got excellent coffee, delicious almost croissants and free wifi here. I was satisfied.

After realising how little a pack of my favourite smokes brand cost I decided to also start sending little packages filled with Kent home. I bought a carton of Kent for 10 Euros from the local store and neatly filled an A4 envelope with 10 packs wrapped in a newspaper and walked to the central post office, that for some bizarre reason was located in a tiny building in a hidden courtyard. The woman at the counter took the package and held it with an awkward look on her face and then went: "What's inside? Can I see?". "Erm sorry are you from the KGB? Of course you cannot see it's not addressed to you is it?" I told her. Luckily that shut her up but being curious as she was I bet she opened the package after I left. Unbelievable! (I know it's totally illegal but still haha)

Later I ventured to the other side of the river passing a newly built and most bizarre looking bridge that in my opinion did nothing in favour of the beautiful old town with its delicate wooden balconies and the various church towers that peeped out here and there.
The Lonely Planet pretty much missed out this part of town for some reason also rendering the maps completely useless despite this part of town being almost 60% of the map of Central Tbilisi and only 8 or 9 streets having been graced with street names. As you might be able to imagine I was soon wandering around aimlessly not knowing where the heck I was. I asked around for the nearest Metro station but everyone I asked just looked at me as if I had oranges on my eyes or something.
Was the metro not called metro here?

Eventually I stumbled on a main road that lead towards one of the many bridges and there it was, thank god! Starving as I was I headed for a small local eatery that served up the most delicious Khinkali you'll ever eat. They are like big dumplings (like massive steamed dim sum) filled with spicy meat. If you ever come here you must visit Sashashnike and fill up on dumplings and beer and believe me it's only 2,50 Euros. You'll love it.

I took the metro back, I am still in love with those deep escalators, in fact the first time I was coming up at Rustaveli the day before I burst out laughing when I just saw a little head go past me on the downward escalator because people just sit down to do the 5 minute ride down and for some reason I found it hilarious.

Back in my own hood near the parliament building I wondered down tiny alleys and deserted streets of the old town that were speckled with charming old villas until I ended up Rkinis Rigi that was the hub of Tbilisi's coffee culture with charming places such as "KGB STILL WATCHING YOU".
When the evening came I got myself a bottle of very nice Georgian wine and just drank myself to sleep at the hostel for I was not going to wander around looking for party action on my own.

The next morning started with a latte, an almond croissant and of course a quick iphone check of news and blabla on facebook before I headed to Georgia's spiritual captial of Mtskheta. I took the metro to Didube bus station, which was more of a sprawling market (fancy buying a chick? check) and had to ask around several times before I found the right Marshrutka going that way.

This little town was only about 9km out of the center of Tbilisi and as soon as we left the city behind us all I saw was rivers and hills all around me. I got off the bus and walked up to Samtavro Church that had an army of old babushkas waiting at its gates for a merciful donation. I always found it interesting going to Orthodox churches because their lack of pews really confused me and because the customs inside the church are so different to what we're used to in the West.
People cross themselves 3 times everytime they pass a church (whether walking or driving), the kiss the door of the church and every religious artefact inside the church and stand in a cross formation inside the church during mass.

Later I wandered down to the Sveetitskhoveli Cathedral where I was lucky enough to witness a sermon given by the patriarch of the Georgian Orthodox church. It was quite a spectacle and when he exited the church he drove off in a big Landcruiser 4x4 that had to beep its horn quite significantly when trying to get out of the church grounds because some Georgian youngsters were showing off their tuned cars to each other in the square.

I took a Marshrutka back to Tbilisi and went for a walk around the old town and ended up having a drink at a KGB Still Watching you and engaged in a last bit of people watching for the day.
Georgian girls are actually quite pretty I have to admit and as I sat there I saw a couple of young guys and girls walk around with white shirts that had short messages and people's names written all over them. I never found out what this was for but it seemed like some "I finished school/exams/lost my virginity" thing.

ALSO: Very important! GEORGIAN WINE IS REALLY REALLY NICE! Give one of their reds a try they are really good! Yum :)

The next day I woke up quite early and headed to Ortachala bus station to catch my minibus to Armenia. After the taxi driver dropped me off an old man approached me and told me he was driving to Yerevan in a car and there was enough room for me to come. It cost a bit more but a least I would arrive earlier and a bit more comfortable. Or so I thought.
As it turned out I had to sit in the back in the middle between a mum and her screaming child and and older sweaty lady from Armenia.
Oh dear...

Gentlemen and walnut jam

I awoke ubruptly from my short slumber aboard Belavia flight B2 1739 from Minsk to Baku. The stewardess asked me to open my window's curtain in preparation for landing.
With plenty of sleep still lingering in and around my tired eyes I peered outside to catch a first glance of Azerbaijan country of oil, oil and oil oh and Iliah Aliyev, son of modern day Azerbaijan's "father" Heydar Aliyev.
What I saw was desert as far as the eye could see shimmering in the rising sun.
It was still early mind you 6:20 maybe? Who knows what this place really looked like in daylight.

After landing I proceeded to first! get my passport stamped and then to request my visa from a sleepy customs guy who was playing games on his mobile when I approached. After 10 minutes I was 60 Euros poorer but had successfully managed to gain access to this bizarre country that most people probably couldn't place on a map.


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Well there you are. North of Iran, South of Russia and East of the eternal enemy Armenia (more about that later... I haven't been there yet, ok? Christ).

I collected my bag and ventured outside the customs area to be received by a dear crowd of eager taxidrivers all wanting to win my business. I waved them off in search of an exchange booth and a decent coffee but one managed to shadow me for the entire journey around the airport building, lovingly whispering "taxi mister?" in my ear about every 20 seconds or so.
After getting my Manats (local currency) I tried to shake him off and walked outside to the parking lot in desperate need of a cigarette and a less annoying driver. I forgot to check the LP for how much taxis should cost to the center so eventually I agreed to 20 Manats with another driver who was less annoying but still annoying.

As we sped down Heydar Aliyev Boulevard and towards the trainstation where I had asked him to take me to he turned around and reconfirmed my destination. "To the trainstation, ok?" I told him and he looked at me in the mirror with an expression that told me: "I am going to rip you off, you just wait you silly white boy".
As we entered the city's core he suddenly turned around and drove back towards where we just came from. Just before I was about to scream: "WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU GOING?" he stopped by a little hotel and jumped out. Soon after he came back with a dude who double checked with me in good English where it was I wanted to go and where my hotel was. "I am going to the trainstation and I don't need a hotel thanks very much." "Oh, trainstation is very far that will be another 20 Manat", he said. "Are you out of your fucking mind? The trainstation is not even 5 minutes from here. Tell him to drive me there as agreed. End of discussion", I responded. In writing it looks much nicer than it actually sounded but I was in absolutely no mood to get ripped off at 7am so I lied I knew where the station was and ahhhhhh who would have thought? After the driver grudgingly got back in the car we drove for another 5 minutes before the station appeared in my sight. Before we parked he turned around and asked me again: "Ok trainstation. 10 Manat extra?" "Fuck off you cunt", I hissed at him as I stormed out of the cab and slammed the door in his face.

God or should I say Allah? I wasn't even awake yet and then I have to deal with this shit. Not cool!

I walked into the station to leave my luggage in the left luggage room, which I thankfully found quite quickly and to purchase my onward ticket for the nighttrain to Sheki the next day. Despite a significant language barrier my mission was a success and the price (4 Manat) seemed almost ridiculous compared to what the taxi ride had just cost me or could have cost me if I hadn't used my traveller's wit to get out of this annoying situation.

I wasn't sure if I would have a place to stay here since my local CS host had not responded to my last emails but luckily I had his number and decided to give him a call and see what the deal was avec mon lit.

I walked away from the station towards the "Samad Vurgun" gardens, which looked like a perfectly manicured beauty in this early morning sun and really took me by surprise. It was a Sunday morning yet there was plenty of activity already going on in the streets of Baku. I walked along in search of an internet cafe (which turned out to be closed) and stumbled across Hayat bakery that did some of the most amazing "Pendirli Xacapuri" I have ever tasted. All the girls inside giggled while I tried to order but luckily a friendly local came to my rescue and told me what was inside each one of those appetising pastries. I sat down on a step opposite and waited for 9 o'clock to come so I could call Kyle and find out what the plan was.

I turned on my dormant phone and waited for the signal and the message onslaught to arrive after almost 2 weeks of being offline. Kyle responded quite quickly sounding sleepy and immediately agreed to come get me from the station. Thank fuck for that! I was worried I might have to stay in the aweful dive that the Lonely Planet described as: "an ugly, roach infested concrete tower above the trainstation"...

After Kyle arrived he took me to his house via a little bakery that made oven fresh bread that smelled as good as it tasted. We walked along 28th of May street and arrived at his place, which was located in an old apartment block but the flat was surprisingly modern and spacious for one person.
I dropped my bag on the floor and went for a very necessary shower. Kyle went back to bed and as I tried to figure out how the shower worked I started hearing him talk. "Is he talking to himself?", I wondered. I wasn't sure. I peeped out of the shower to see a girl in bed with him and felt kinda embarrassed that I didn't see her. "Erm, how do you turn on the shower?", I asked meekly. "Just pull the big button up.", he said.
"Boys and technology from the Middle East", I thought disappointed with myself for not having figured it out.

Later I left his apartment and took his advise to grab bus 14 going towards the center and jumped out near the waterfront. One thing I immediately noticed here was the extreme amount of police everywhere on the streets. On motorbikes, in cars and on feet they were omnipresent and shouted their orders at people using loudspeakers whenever possible. I supposed this was one of the by-products of a dictatorship.

My stroll took me towards the striking "Maiden's tower", a bizarre part of the old town, which dates back to around the 12th century but nobody is exactly sure what it was used for or why it was built in this particular style.
I waited around a little while until it opened and then climbed to the top to get a better view. The guard who had opened the gate for me offer to take some photos of me in all 4 directions of the compass. Sadly all of them turned out shite haha.
Later I walked through the Eastern part of the old town and tried to find a couple of cafes that the Lonely Planet recommended, which were sadly non-existent.

Eventually I came to rest in a local cafe headed by 2 lovely toothless women who offered me a hot cup of chai, kind of exactly the opposite of what I needed now in this scorching heat.
It was after 12 when I continued down along the outside of the old city when I stopped at Divan's for 1 lovely kebab, which quickly turned into 2.
The buildings, just like the rest of the old town were lovingly restored and told of a glorious past that due to oil seems to be shimmering again for modern day Baku.

Everywhere there were parks, which were utterly well kept but what I noticed immediately was that nobody ever sat on the grass. With so much police present, I was not surprised why...

I re-ntered the old city and got lost in it's winding alleys for a while before I came out just outside the famous Shirvanshah's Palace, one of the main landmarks of old Baku and a place that tells of the city's former rulers and visitors. Now just a museum it offers nice views of the "new" city consisting mainly of tell glass towers and other modern structures as well as a couple of remaining structures inside the palace grounds like the hammam and the mosque.
Wanting to hide from the blazing sun for a while I looked for Aroma cafe, which was outside the old town in the buzzing commercial center of Baku. It took me quite a while since I relied on the very unreliable Lonely Planet maps that were often not only completely inaccurate but often were split in the middle of where you were walking... I finally found the right door and stumbled inside. I don't care where I am in the world if I can at least enjoy a latte for a couple of minutes.

Previously, Kyle had mentioned that he was taking part in a walk/run at around 5pm that quite a few foreigners were meant to attend and he asked me if I wanted to join. Honestly, this heat and the long trip from Minsk had drained me but I figured it would be a good opportunity to meet some new people and to "get involved" as they say.
I jumped on the Baku metro, which like all other ex Soviet metro networks was built deep underground (and had the exact same trains as Minsk) and headed off to Nazimi somewhere in the North West. As I walked out of the station I was greeted by a very strange sight.
Something you should know at this stage is that locals frown upon foreigners wearing shorts in public, especially if women do it, hence you might be able to understand when I saw 40 foreigners as wildly mixed as a small child's pick and mix bag all wearing shorts and walking gear. It was just too weird.
This group was the Baku HASH, a concept of which I had previously never ever heard and apparently this is something they did every Sunday, always in a different place somewhere in Baku.
As I stood there waiting for someone to tell me what the hell I was meant to do a bald Croatian man called "Boris" shouted at everyone. "MAKE A FUCKING CIRCLE YOU FUCKING LAZY FUCKERS" - Erm WTF?
After quite a bit of rude bla bla from Boris the angry bald man we split into 2 groups and began our Hash walk (the other group did the HASH run in 28 degrees heat - yea good luck with that).
The walk took us through some outer suburbs of Baku that first housed quite a nice collection of massive mansions and then quickly turned into very poor slums. Every time we turned a corner the fat Yank at the front called "teletubby" would should "ON ON" or "CHECK" or something else. After a while I just trailed the group because it also turned out that I had nothing to talk about with anyone. It seemed very cliquie...
The locals sometimes stuck their head out the windows like ostriches and most of the time everyone was really friendly, probably dumbstruck at the sight of 20 sweating foreigners in their hood. At one point I was trying to take a picture of an old lady sitting outside her house when I didn't see a pole and walked straight into it with my private bits. Very ouchy.
I was just wearing flip flops, completely unprepared for what I was doing now and sometimes had to tread through mounts of garbage that probably housed large roach families just waiting to pounce on some white meat.

After 1 1/2 hours we finally came to the end near a big Mc Donnalds and met the runners in the middle of a small park. They offered beer and water and soon after we were surrounded by curious locals who wanted to know what the hell we were all doing there.
Boris began shouting again in such a vulgar way that I literally expected a sniper to shoot him in his fucking face from one of the surrounding towers. Some old hag who was German and called herself "Tracy" distributed some newsletter and then we assembled in a circle again and Boris began barking orders at people and teletubby got individuals to stand inside the circle to down shots as punishment for various things. I was eventually called into the circle and had to down 2 shots for a) being a "hashvirgin" and b) for smoking on trail... DRINK IT DOWN DOWN DOWN DOWN DOWN DOWN ... etc
Not long after an angry local started shouting at us from the side and told us we were not welcome in Azerbaijan and warned Kyle in Azeri that he could summon 50 gunmen at anytime to come shoot us down. Clearly he was not impressed with this whole shouting and drinking thing. Meanwhile I got chatted up by this horrible guy who had heard somewhere that I had a "really really cool wallet" and who reminded me so much of David Williams in this clip that I almost ran for my life...



To take off the pressure we headed to town after all the rituals were completed and the old hag Tracy was already pretty wasted. We ended up in Finnigans drinking more beer and singing more songs, well they did, I kinda kept aside. I met this young Brit called Martin who had just arrived and after chatting with him for a good while, Kyle took him and me to this small Azeri joint to have some dinner. We all had this soup with tiny raviolis inside followed by kebabs of lamb and chicken.
When we returned to Kyle's apartment I was broken and ready for bed.

The next day I woke up around 10 and went to my new favourite bakery to get some more pastries filled with this and that. Kyle told me to come to his office to get instructions on how to get to Qombustan to see the petroglyphs and the mud volcanoes but after I wandered back into town to drink my latte for the day I lost my appetite for a complicated day trip that would involved going to some metro station, negotiating with a taxi driver to take me there and then relying on his potentially non existent knowledge of where those sites were.
When I got the bill for my latte at the suitably named "Travelers Cafe" I almost fell off my chair. 7 EUROS!!!!!! ???????? !!!!!!!!!!!

Shocked and poorer than I had expected I went for a wander around the rest of town that I had not seen yet and noticed all the building works they were conducting in the pedestrian streets surrounding me. Some parts were completely ripped open with no marked passage for pedestrians others had people cutting metal in the middle of the sidewalk and massive holes in the floor that were of course not covered. It was like an army training trail... FIND YOUR WAY TO THE OTHER SIDE!

Again the LP recommended a couple of restaurants that were nowhere to be found but the 4th attempt was fruitful. I lunched in a basement Georgian restaurant (kind of getting a taste for what was in store for me in the next country) on spicy meat soup and fried Sulumi cheese that reminded me a lot of salty Queso de Oaxaca from Mexico.

The rest of the day I spent meandering around town strolling down the main boulevard down by the water, drinking beer and being stopped by police (like all other traffic) to make room for a massive car train that according to the little flag on the main limousine probably carried a very high member of the Turkish government.
All the local policemen were in their element shouting orders and telling people to do as they're told.

Kyle was back at his around 8 and we ate a roasted chicken filled with walnut paste and onions that he had brought and that was honestly one of the nicest things I had eaten on this trip. Definitely need to get the recipe!

After a very nice chat on his balcony I left towards the train station pulling strange glances at me from bemused locals who are clearly no yet accustomed to seeing backpackers walk around their streets. At the station I almost got a panic attack because there were 5 trains but not a single board that showed which train left from which platform. There was a hectic to and fro going on and me in the middle.
I tried to find a ticket inspector or some other Azeri train employee who could help me with finding my train but to no avail. To calm my nerves I entered the station store and bought a bottle of vodka, some smokes and a bottle of Sprite and blatantly got ripped off. At this point I was not in the mood to enter a discussion about the rest of my change so I ran back out and finally found someone who pointed me in the right direction. When I arrived at my carriage there were 2 inspector ladies who asked for my ticket and passport and then laughed at something that to this day remained a mystery to me. In my exasperation I yanked the passport and ticket out of her hands and told her to show me my fucking compartment if she pleased.
As it turned out I was booked into a 4 berth compartment with no windows that could be opened and 3 sweaty Azeris who crammed the compartment with bags of stuff so that it was almost impossible to get in or out. God, these are the days when I hate night trains...
No matter, I opened my bottle of vodka and drank at least half of it and it sent me off into a relatively nice slumber.

The next morning my alarm went off and I awoke to a breathtaking scenery outside my window. The desert like landscape around Baku had transformed into the most beautiful and lush green hills I had seen for a while. In this early morning sun their colour glimmered softly and every now and again they would open up to reveal a view of the Caucasus mountain range that lay behind. All the horrors from yesterday were easily forgotten.

After the train pulled into Sheki station, which funnily enough was still 17km out of town I got a taxi with 3 other guys and climbed the mountain to one of Azerbaijan's allegedly most scenic towns. I got dropped off at the bus station (after again paying too much) and made my way to my local Couchsurfing hosts Danielle and Lucy who were both in the Peace Corps, which to this day was a completely unknown concept to me. Maybe because they usually end up in developing countries and The Netherlands, well isn't exactly that.

They lived in a big old house together with Telly the dog that loved biting people in play but who I could have punched right on the nose for leaving plenty of bite marks on my toes and arms.
The house was quite run down but at least if offered a roof above my head for the night. Danielle offered to take me for a walk around town and to spend the day with me showing me the local sights.
It was a beautiful sunny day as we set off towards the bazaar where I bought a ridiculously massive amount of Saffron for like 2,50 and munched on some local chicken dish in this tiny local joint. Luckily Danielle, like Kyle spoke the language, which greatly helped.
Later we boarded a local bus (or something that looked like one) to head to the "Albanian Church" in Kis just north of Sheki.
Apparently a Norwegian organisation claims this church is in fact Albanian and not Armenian although it seems extremely far fetched that Albanians (just East of Greece for your info) came here and just decided to build a church a couple of centuries ago. The Norwegians even go as far to believe that Azerbaijan is home to the ancestors of all Scandinavian peoples bar Finland. I find this story pretty fictional and will just come to this conclusion: They made up this story to protect everything Armenian that is still left in modern day Azerbaijan to avoid churches and other monuments being destroyed by angry Azeris who still hate Armenia for winning the war in 1994.

The bus took forever to leave and what I noticed in all the locals' mouths was a huge number of gold teeth. I asked Danielle about that and she said that it was local custom to get rotten teeth replaced with golden teeth. I swear any bad boy rapper from America would feel right at home here. At some point when the bus began filling up I gave up my seat for an old lady who told everyone on board what a gentleman I was leading to every woman on board sending me loving smiles and looks all the way to Kis. I was quite touched since to this moment I didn't have the best impression of Azeris.

When we returned to the city we went to the Xanvaserai, an old palace located at the Northern end of Sheki where the famous Wolfman was already waiting for his picture to be taken. This guy is one of the funniest people I have seen on this trip. He keeps a stuffed wolf under a blanket and whenever spectators come over he slowly lifts the blanket bit by bit only revealing the stuffed wolf and his blinking eyes when the audience has reached an ecstatic climax and simply cannot take any more.
He deserved every penny I gave him. God bless!

In the palace I got a tour that was supposed to be English speaking but the guy who showed me the 4/5 rooms only said FINISH at the end. So much for the tour.

Later we wanted to drink some tea at the famous Karavanaserai but staff were most unhelpful and wanted to charge us 10 Euros for a pot of tea in the open. "Screw that", we said and headed back into town to a more local cafe. I had read that one of the specialties of Sheki was its walnut jam. I was desperate to get some because I loved walnuts and couldn't possibly imagine how delicious it would taste.
Danielle called Lucy on her phone and asked her to buy me a jar if the lady who sold it near her office had any and then to try she ordered some walnut jam during tea.

Oh dear.................

ALWAYS TRY BEFORE YOU BUY! What I got was this cup with little black balls in a type of syrup that a) looked nothing like walnuts and b) was nothing like what I had expected. Apparently how they do it is they pick walnuts before they're ripe and cook them in plenty of sugar until they are soft. Then they put those weird black and smooth walnuts in their tea. BAHHHHHHH It was horrible! :(
I did end up buying a box of "halva", which is essentially a local version of Balclava and is a total sugar overload but fucking delicious.

The afternoon finished with a dinner at the Shekivaran restaurant where we brought our own beer (apparently the girls come here so often that the owner doesn't care) and then hung around at the girl's house for the rest of the evening talking about piercings and other nasty stuff until it was time for bed. Funny thing was, they spend so long in the middle of nowhere that the only foreigners they meet are couchsurfers and somehow I had the feeling Danielle was ready for some action. DENIED!

The next morning I rose early and wandered to the bus station after being bitten in the nose by Telly the monster and being more than ready to head off to Georgia. They girls had told me that in comparison with Sheki or even Baku, Tbilisi was like heaven on earth and that Georgians were by far the friendliest people in the region.
It could only get better!
The bus drove me up to Balacan near the border from where I took a tattered Lada taxi to the border. I think they checked my passport 6 times between the entrance gate and the actual border continuously asking where I was going after Georgia. I almost felt like saying: TO YOUR ARCHENEMY ARMENIA YOU FAT CUNT NOW PISS OFF but instead I said: Oh you know, just home.

Here's your brain dear

I was engaged in a casual conversation over dinner with my lovely Belorussian couchsurfing hosts as Yulishka proceeded to fetch another bottle of wine and my eyes came to rest on something inside the fridge that was so abstract looking that my chin quite litterally smashed into my vegetable and chicken pasta.
From where i sat at the table it looked like something so unexpected that something in my stomach contracted slightly.
Yulishka, noticing my shocked/confused look informed me that this was in fact not a big brain but instead a typical Belorussian salad made with herring, beetroot, eggs, onions and mayonaise and that I was having that for dinner tomorrow. Her sweet smile left no room for discussuion. "Great", I thought, "I am having brain for dinner tomorrow"! and this was only my first evening in Belarus. What more would I have to endure during my 36 hours in Minsk?

I can't really complain though. Until this moment I had been having a fantastic time with Alex #2 (my couchsurfing host), Alex #3 his best friend (me being Alex #1) and all the other mates of theirs who had come over to join us for dinner. It was almost a little welcome committee for the couchsurfer from Germany/Amsterdam/Mexico etc...

At some point earlier in the day however I almost fretted I would be allowed into Belarus. Despite having all the right paperwork I was once again singled out at the border for "extra inspections". The border guard tried to ask me a series of questions (all in Russian) to which my only response could possibly be a pissed off stare and me being quite angry at myself for only going to 4 out of 12 Russian intentive course lessons resulting in me only being able to read in slowmotion and saying "Da", "Niet" and "Spasiba" before he placed a couple of phone calls and motioned me to wait on the side. What the hell was wrong again this time? Why was it that everytime I visited a country that had the letters "Rus" in it I would have to be singled out?
Eventually a female soldier marched into the building and barked a couple of orders at me in Russian and after I remained motionless she marched me to another window outside. What seemed to be the problem I eventually understood was that I had no proof of my medical insurance and despite making it very clear that I possessed such and that the Russians who have the same requirement let me in they still indicated Sovietstyle that I must purchase a 2 day coverage or else...

Christ what an ordeal! I almost expected my fellow bus mates to give me a round of applause when I got back on the bus and we were ready to go but no such applause was given. Only undfriendly stares. Yey!

What came then truly was some of the most beautiful landscape I have ever seen. Rolling green hills and lush forests accompanied us all the way down the M2 motorway towards the capital Minsk. Everything was so clean and orderly I was left breathless (for choking on a nut) that nobody ever talked about Belarus' natural beauty.
Maybe the last remaining dictatorship in Europe (except for Putin's Russia maybe) didn't want people to see what it has to offer? Who knows. I certainly almost gave up hope of ever getting in.

As we drove into Minsk, one thing I noticed immediately was the huge amount of communist style blocks that formed entire neighbourhoods BUT they were not as dreary as one would have expected. Just as we were pulling into Minsk's Eastern busstation another one of those lovely thunderstorms broke out essentially leaving me there.
A very nice deaf girl who was on my bus had taken the time to try and explain to me how I could get to the train station from where I was meant to walk to News Cafe where Alex #2 would meet me at 6:30/7 to pick me up.

Some people say it takes a lot of balls travelling around the world like this, taking trolleybusses with locals, eating at places where you can't decipher the menus and especially doing this all on your own. I don't agree. Sometimes this is what makes a trip special because you really feel far away from home eventhough home is only 1 1/2 hours flight away.

Eventually I stumbled into News Cafe and felt relieved to be able to sit down and have a latte (no foam please). The view I had from here was the ugliest British embassy I had ever seen and at this moment I was quite glad I'd never have to go there to get consular help haha.

Alex arrived around 7 o'clock and after boarding his car and going for a short drive around the centre I immediately felt comfortable. He was a really friendly chap who was totally excited to have me over. "My girlfriend is cooking dinner right now so we have to be home at 9 but we can hang out a bit before going back", he told me with a smile. We drove around the lake and parked the car near an officebuilding where we waited for Alex #3 to meet us in due course. 3 Alex's in one place in Minsk. What a coincidence I thought until I remembered that Alexander was one of the most common names across Russia and partners.
Together we hung out for a bit, they drove me around the city and showed me some of the brand new (and plentiful) sports buildings and arenas the city had built and we ended up inspecting the last remaining original houses from before WW2 that stood right next to one of Minsk's landmark monuments "The island of tears". As we walked away from the car Alex #2 offered me a Richmond cigarette. I had never heard of these smokes and as it turned out they were cherry flavoured. They tasted like "RICHMOND! HOOKA FOR IN YOUR POCKET". Very strange experience.
On the way home we passed Victory square to buy some wine for the evening and then arrived at Alex's and Yulishka's house, which to my surprise was built in the Stalinist style, which provided large stairs and tall ceilings. Knowing how cruel Stalin was to everyone he hated I was really taken aback by the spaciousness of this young couple's apartment.
Yulishka was a sweet girl who had taken the time to cook cabbage soup and vegetable pasta for us and who went out of her way to make me feel at home.

Now we're back where I stared so let's read on what happened then...

Instead of going out at night we decided to stay in and together with Dima and Fjodor who had arrived later that evening we smoked, chatted and watched hilarious videos of various things, amongst others a video of "Ushi" the travelling Japanese guitarrist who apparently spent 7 months travelling around Lithuania (I really want to know where the hell he went) and had stayed with Alex and Yulishka the night before. Ushi was 39 and virtually got expelled from Europe because he had overstayed his visa by several months.

The next day I awoke to find Alex gone to work (due to victory day the previous weekend this Saturday was a working day in Belarus) and Yulishka offering me coffee and a typical breakfast snack, which consisted of some sort of cream cheese in a dark chocolate coating. Quite a bizarre taste I had to admit.
She arranged for me that I would meet Alex #3 in town at 10:30 to for a wander so after downing my coffee I set off to the nearest metro station and headed into town. I love these old Soviet metros. Like in Kiev and other cities you have those eternally long tunnels that ferry you deep into the underground - it's quite the experience, which also explains why I took the metro instead of walking this one stop.
I continued breakfast with another latte from News cafe followed by getting slightly lost in the center and finally arriving at the Europe Hotel at +/- 10:30 where Alex #3 was already waiting.
We took off past the Palace of the republic, which in my view was a monter of a concrete square that ruined the otherwise pretty neighbourhood we were in. Passing the Palace of Ballet we ventured through the Gorkhi park towards my current home. The park itself, at least here was dotted with plenty of children's attractions and speakers everywhere that accompanied you with ancient Russian marching songs. Oh how I love Soviet kitsch sometimes...



We returned to pick up our bikes and cycle around the city to explore some more. Alex #3 had to return to his house to pick up his bike so I dutifully sat on a bench in the courtyard and played Challenge #40 of Worms for the umpteenth time, once again failing miserably at the last worm. Urgh how this pissed me off!

When he returned we set off towards Victory square where Dima was already waiting however with a puncture in his racing bike and thus unable to join us straight away. The day was beautiful and I was worried we'd get caught up with fixing bikes and shit so Alex #3 decided we should have lunch at Lido and then regroup when everything was in order. Some of the pavements were so high however that I either had to push the bike up, making me look like a tit or violently pulling the handle bar up causing the content of my basket to go flying in all directions.
Lido was the kind of restaurant that served every type of dish you could imagine and yet it was fresh and cheap. After taking a seat outside and me starting to devour pancakes, meatballs, carrot salad, potatos and a dumpling Fjodor joined us for some afternoon fun, which would involved us playing frisbee in Gorkhi park (once again reunited with Dima)... I could barely walk as we left Lido, I fet as fat as a pregnant cow!

In Gorkhi park we picked a nice spot near the water and started a casual game of frisbee, which in 2 instances resulted in us hitting the water and desperately trying to convince passers by on their paddle boats to come to our poor frisbee's rescue. 2 attempts failed, 2 were successful. A universal vote then decided we should continue the fun in front of the Palace of ballet where frisbee in water was less likely to put a stop to our fun afternoon.
Shorly after Alex #3 and Fjordor left us Dima and I cycled back towards town when an enormous thunderstorm approached forcing us to seek refuge in Mixx bar. The rain was so heavy it turned avenues into Rivers yet we were the only guests in here except for a fat dude on our left ferociously tucking into some ribs.

Eventually we convinced Alex #2 to join us for a drink after work and once it had stopped raining we set of on a last adventure namely finding me a postcard and some stamps. Would you believe that the only place where we found some decent postcards was at the post office in the main trainstation? It's an outrage! I have found postcards even in villages of 500 souls but no not here in Minsk! Postcards are for douches like me haha.

Later we returned to Alex #2's appartment where Yulishka, her recently arrived mum and her friend Maria were already waiting for us to enjoy some brain. I couldn't help but feel awkward at the thought of eating "salad" that looked like what's inside my head. Yulishka really enjoyed the moment when she placed a slice of brain on my plate and told me to mush it up. Ooooookeeeeeyyy...
It didn't taste that bad afterall but I am sure you know those feelings of hesitation when something looks so weird that even if it's nice you struggle to finish it.
It was nice to hear too that her mum apparently really liked me despite our inability to communicate (me no Russian, she no English). I love being liked by mums haha...

To round off my short time in Minsk the guys took me out to a surpringly awesome bar nearby, which was hidden in a backyard and apart from being a bar it was also a modern art gallery, a shop and a bookstore. Its name was "Moloko" (Russian for milk), which was also funny because it was one of the first Russian words I learned in my "money well spent" Russian course. Now I knew it wasn't just a band name!
Inside it was fully with an arty, young and funky crowd dancing to some classic tunes and really enjoying themselves. We lounged on one fo the sofas and I was bemused to see Alex #2 say "Hi, hello, what's up" to virtually every person in the club. I clearly had found myself the party king of Minsk!
At 10:30 the party was over (due to noise bla bla) and we left to return to Alex #2's house since I had a flight to Baku in a couple of hours. On the way we got stopped by a young girl taking pictures for her street style blog and I was given an opportunity to feel like a hot model when she asked to photograph me.
Could this whole experience have been any better?

Alex #2 decided to accompany me to the airport and as we said our goodbyes I was actually quite sad to leave at this moment. Belarus might be as far away as Mongolia in our minds at least but I can promise you that couchsurfing with the right crowd made this one of the best experiences I've had on this trip!

Of course I wouldn't leave without one more worthwhile experience to share with you...
Before it was my turn at the check-in I watched how a fat Azeri man gave the check-in lady a bribe in order to let him off with his 4 enormous suitcases (that were blatantly above the limit). Since she say me give her a disapproving look from wher I stood it didn't take much for her to give me the best seat on the plane... Window and massive legroom. Thanks lady, see you next time!

My name is John Eugene Quinn

Do you know this intense feeling of relief and happiness that grips you after moments of dispair?
Let me sound slightly dramatic please, I have a real need for it right now.

After rushing out of Ivan's and Anastacia's place on the morning of the 11th of May I jumped on the next best bus to travel back down to the trainstation (my 4th time in 2 days! Suspicious of breaking a record? You decide)...
The train was already waiting as I mounted the stairs but what I would find inside was not quite what I had expected. Ivan had informed me that despite or maybe because of the high price I paid for the ticket I had a really good seat. When I got in my coach however it turned out that all seats were sleepers (during the day?) and that I had half of a rock hard bench. The lovely ticket inspectress later told me I was also not allowed to lie down because I only had a "sitting" ticket. Well 6 hours on this torture seat looked like a lot of fun!

I won't bore you with the 2 hours I spent at both borders and instead jump straight ahead to the moment when Ivo (my couchsurfing host) picked me up from the bus station in Vilnius. We got along really well immediately and when I saw where his apartment was located I think I got a slight erection. His company had placed him in a very nice apartment right by the town hall i.e. you couldn't be more central even if you wanted to. Ok the Radisson BLU was a couple of meters closer but who cares? I was staying here for free!

I needed to get a shower to wash off all the grime from my Russian train ride and after feeling both refreshed Ivo suggested we go grab a burger at Charlie Chaplins. Although I had sworn myself to completely forego any opportunity to eat American fast food, a burger suddently sounded so melodic in my ear I simply could not resist.
We wandered through the narrow streets and alleys that make up Vilnius' stunning old town whose sights I absorbed with a hunger of a bear who recently awoke from hibernation. The dinner started off with a local specialty that I was to sample a couple times more for the duration of my stay here and which consisted of fried bread with either garlic cream, grated cheese or just cheese. Ours came with cheese. Yum!

Later that evening we were joined by a couple of colleagues and friends of Ivo at a place called In Vino which has a lovely outdoor seating area and where we were served by a very friendly waitress who later on decided to ignore us for the rest of the evening after Ivo started shouting "PENIS" "PENIS" in order to get her attention. How rude is she?!

After waking up the next morning I looked out of the window and almost cried a tear of joy when the only thing I could see was a stunning blue sky erm and the appartments opposite Ivo's but they don't count.

I quickly packed my stuff for the day and skipped out of the house and across the road to my favourite new hang out "Coffeeinn"... "A latte please, no foam thanks" I said to the barista before planting myself outside and greedily staring at the stunning buildings that surrounded me. After I started my tour of Lithuania's beautful capital by venturing down "Didizioji Gatve", which leads down from the city hall almost all the way to the river "Neris". I passed a small alley and decided to follow my instincts and ended up just in front of the grand Presidential Palace where the first big group of school children was hanging out taking "funny" photos of eachother. Normally those kind of groups would irritate me beyond belief but due to my elevated state of happiness I couldn't help but think to myself "Aaahhh bless".

Later I passed the stunning Vilnius Cathedral, which I mistook for a museum and hence walked on by. Don't think I am ignorant of Lithuanian art, because that IS A LIE. I just didn't fancy being inside after so many days of rain. I was even sweating but that was ok. I was using Nivea Silver Protect. Nothing could hurt me.

As I approached the river I started seeing more of the tall new skyscrapers that dotted a large part of Vilnius' new town. Not all of them were noteworthy but their futuristic design formed an interesting contrast to the delicate beauty of the old town. I took the funnicular up to the "Gediminas Tower", which not only forms an integral part of the city of Vilnius (it was built in the 13th century) but also offers superb views over the city's gorgeous old town. Contrary to my expectations Vilnius' also sported a large number of churches, all of which had different styles and colours while the new town's skyline was dominated by futuristic towers. The river Neris essentially formed a border between the two parts that looked nothing alike.



After coming back down I popped into the cathedral, which was the final point of the enormous human chain that reached from Tallinn in Estonia all the way to Vilnius at the end of the Soviet Union and in order to highlight the need for the Baltic states to once again gain back their independence. Near to the cathedral was the small neighbourhood of Uzupis, which declared its independence in 1994 and even has it's own president. Not that anyone ever recognised it but it's fun to see that there is a little copy of Christiania here also founded by drunks, artists and people with their heads in the clouds. They even have their own constitution a copy of which I purchased from the Uzupis souvenir store and which contains points such as this:
Everyone has the right to understand nothing.
Wicked!

I had lunch at a lovely restaurant that was set right next to the river "Vilnia" and where I once again lunched on fried bread (this time with grated cheese) and a big glass of local beer. I think this was one of the most beautiful days I've had this year!

After lounging a little longer than necessary I walked across town towards the other side of the old town where I found the magnificent "Genocide Museum" that is housed in the former KGB headquarters and shows a very true to detail exhibition about the horrors of Soviet rule, the continuous struggle for independence and the way Lithuanians were imprisoned on site. One of the cells in the basement was a medium room that had a slightly lower floor and a small round platform in the middle. The room's floor would be filled and covered with ice cold water and the prisoner had to stand on the tiny platform for however long he/she was put in here for.
A truly grim story but important to know about considering how little countries like Lithuania are mentioned in WW2 and Soviet history.
The rest of the day I spent wandering across to new town (not really that bothered) and through the main thorough far of the old town that housed a.o. A FUCKING WOK TO WALK!?!?!?! WTF were they doing here? Of course I HAD to have one in memory of my lovely hometown of Amsterdam. Didn't taste as good though but have you noticed how the cooks always have long dreads? What's up with that?
When I got back Ivo invited me to come along to a bar to have some drinks with the usual suspects from last night and some more people. There was a guy from Germany who worked with Ivo and whose English was so bad I almost felt like making up I was from Mongolia so as not to be embarassed for my country. Especially because as it turned out Ivo was pretty fluent in German despite being from Estonia.

After only 1 beer the group dispersed and Ivo and I decided to go home and drink some more there. Not long after his other German colleague and his most annoying girl friend joined us again and brought about 15 bottles of beer. Evening sorted I thought. How wrong could I be.

So, moving on...

The next day my goal was to visit Kaunas where a good friend of mine from Lebanon was currently finishing his medince studies and where I hoped to find another gorgeous old town that I could get lost in for some hours. Of course my day began with a coffeeinn latte followed by a failed attempt to visit the nearby Modern Art Gallery, which was currently closed due to changing of the exhibition. Fine!
At the trainstation I was informed that the next train would not be for another 2 hours so I jumped on the next minibus instead and was swiftly on my way.

After reaching Kaunas busstation it took quite a while for me to get anywhere near the old town. On the way I almost stepped into an old syringe that was lying on the pavement with its tip pointing up. It was like one of those moments that you'd find in Tom&Jerry or Willy Coyote where the eyes go very big and the time stands still for a moment.
Kaunas didn't really strike me as very charming. It has a lovely pedestrianised boulevard called "Laisves aleja" which leads directly into the old town. There I walked all the way down to the beautiful city hall and its surrounding alleys which to be honest was very little compared to Vilnius. I also found that the people here were a lot ruder and somehow not so open to foreigners wandering around their town. My friend Jad was busy until 6 so I sat down outside the local coffee shop called "Vero" where I was also witness to a sudden thunderstorm that flooded the city (quite literally) and thunder as loud as bombs crashing into the floor just in front of me. I was a bit scared, no, really!

After finding out where Jad and I were meant to meet I ran towards the next busstop (on the way I got completely splashed by a cock of the driver) and ended up meeting Jad inside the enormous shopping mall called "Akropolis" There were whole houses inside as well as an icerink, bowling and tons of shops that sold everything under the roof of this world. The last time I had seen Jad was in Beirut in 2008 when we partied our way through the legendary nightlife there. It was even more bizarre that our next reunion would therefore take place in Kaunas of all placed. He took me upstairs to one of the dozens of restaurant where I finally tried "Zeppelinas" which was like German Knoedel with a meat filling. Hm so-so.

Later he showed me his place, which was located on a hill above the city center and where I also met his cat Gonzo. Cool dude that cat.
He told me that living in Kaunas was one of the most depressing things that could happen to you and for some reason I had to think of my time in Bucharest when it was really cold. About the same kinda feeling I thought.

After returning to Vilnius that evening I went to bed and passed out immediately. Ivo was still partying somewhere haha.

On my last day in this lovely place I bumped into Ivo on the way to the bathroom. He had bright red eyes and a slumped walk that suggested a massive hangover. As he left the building to stumble to work I did a couple of workout routines for my Adonis body that were shown in my Men's Health magazin for people on the road. I mean who says you can't look good when you're travelling?

This morning I also went to Coffeeinn and was served by a stunning Barista, the first and last I would see here :(
I tried to find a post office where I could pack and send off the two bottles of vodka and cognac I had bought in Kaliningrad but they first turned out to be a fail while the second one I had to walk past 3 times before actually spotting it. I don't know why but from Lithuania it cost less than half the price it cost me from Poland for the same weight. Very suspicious...

Ivo took me to the busstation at around 12:15 and after I had loaded my backpack into the luggage compartment I set off on the next real Soviet adventure of this trip... MINSK waaaahhhhhhhhhhhh

"I have no knowledge of myself as I am, but merely as I appear to myself"

It's ironic, isn't it. As a tourist you are not allowed to enter the Russian Federation without a letter of invitation, henceforth to be called "LOI".

In other words, the Russian government has to extend an official invitation to anyone who wishes to visit its territory. Considering we are now in the year 2010 this procedure seemed to me more antiquated than the steering in any Lada car.

So, as I arrived at Gdansk bus station and went to find my bus to Kaliningrad I was ushered on board by a driver who's face was so stern and grim I got the impression all his muscles had given up the function to smile.

The ride to the border offered little noteworthy material, except the occasional sight of hopelessness that dotted the various towns and villages that we passed. In one town I managed to spy a couple of historic looking fort like buildings, however those were then quickly covered by your traditional communist blocks.
When, at the Polish border the customs officials came on board, everyone's passports were collected bar mine. I just got an unfriendly nod and was left alone.
It is not the first time that this, shall I call it "preferred treatment" has happened to me because of my passport. On a previous trip to Syria in 2008, I even got an army salut from the border official who stamped me out of the country. I was quite bedazzled as I stepped out into the dusty sun.

On the Russian side we were all asked to get out of the bus and pass through the little passport control booth on our left. As I scrambled to get my things together (mainly in fear that someone might jump on the bus and steal my precious belongings while I got my documents checked) I was last in line to appear before the lovely lady behind the window.
This is where LOI comes back into the game. Considering I went through quite some hassle to get this infamous LOI together with my visa I found it utmost peculiar that the lovely lady tossed it aside as I handed her my passport. LOI was a total waste of time it seemed to me.
What followed was an uncomfortable period of concern that something might not be in order with my papers as it took her 10 minutes to scan the passport/visa and return it to me. Occasionally I lifted my arms into a "sorry, I don't speak Russian" pose.
Finally, I was released and could enter the bizarre enclave of Kaliningrad Oblast, my first offical visit to Russia.

Shortly after we had left the border area, our bus got pulled over for apparent speeding on this human-less country road. AS we waited for our grim faced driver to re-embark the vehicle I popped outside for a "I am bored" cigarette and as I stood there gazing at the yellow cornfields that stretched as far as my vision would allow, the only sounds that pierced the silence was the occasional bird that flew by and a series of aweful Russian popsongs that blared out of the on-board speakers.

Once we could proceed we passed a relatively pretty part of the coast dotted with newly built country houses and the sun shining a deep yellow on the Baltic sea.
I was quite thirlled about this visit to Russia. I had been to the Ukraine before and obviously lived in Romania for 4 months last year but what would this strange island of Russian presence in the European Union have in store for me?

After arriving at Yushny Voksal, the Southern train station and getting my first Roubles out the cash machine, I rummaged through my bag to find the directions and address of my first Couchsurfing hosts for this trip, Ivan and Anastasia.
I intended to take a bus from the train-station to the Zoo but before I even got to the bus stop I already witnessed something that somehow didn't quite surprise me. A bunch of young Russians who were kicked out of an oncoming bus for drunk fighting.
WELCOME TO MOTHER RUSSIA I thought. Little did I know what day of the year I decided to vist this country. More on this shortly.

As the bus crept (the word is most fitting here) up Leninsky Prospekt we passed one of Kaliningrad's most famous landmarks, the rebuilt Koenigsberger Dom or Cathedral that was located on Kant island, the place where the great German philiosopher Immanuel Kant lay burried.
After arriving at the "zoopark" bus stop I got off the bus to find my hosts' apartment that was located on Prospekt Mira (Buppi, you'll love this).
The entrance was located at the back of the building at what looked like a loading bay for the downstairs supermarket. As I entered their flat to greet the two, my nose registered a strange stench, like plant product rotting somewhere in a corner. I decided not to make a remark and after laying down my bag I was promptly offered home made soup and something quite peculiar I had never even heard of. "Cedar nuts", as it turned out later was a specialty from Ivan's home region of Siberia. The nuts that grow inside a pine corn are best eaten after putting them in boiling water and then cracked open with one's teeth. It took me a while to figure out what they tasted like and after exclaiming: AHA! They taste like pine nuts! Ivan said: No.

Ivan then took me out for a walk since today was the official celebration of "Victory Day" i.e. the day that the whole of Russia celebrates victory over the Nazis and essentially gets another legitimate excuse to get drunk. All major streets were closed for normal traffic and the fireworks that were beginning to explode somewhere beyond my line of vision sounded more like exploding bombs and canons rather than fireworks. The streets were littered with empty bottles of vodka and beer and as we made our way down Leninsky Prospekt I witnessed an astounding collection of rat tails and mullets on the local guys. Was this some style from Moscow that had inexplicably escaped me?
Finally we came to a halt somewhere in the middle of the broad boulevard and watched the fireworks and listened to surrounding spectators going: OHHHH, AAAHHHH and ROSSIYA!!! ROSSIYA YAAAAAAA!!!

The next day we had breakfast together and Ivan explained to me on an enormous fold out map, where I should best go. I had downloaded the Russia section of some Lonely Planet guide for Europe and printed out the Kaliningrad part, hence I thought I was well prepared to explore what I hoped to be a communist re-incarnation of the former Koenigsberg. First stop however was a cafe on the groundfloor of the building that specialised in Croissants and other delicatessen. Feeling eager and strong after my caffe latte and almond/marzipan croissant I embarked on what was to become a tiresome and irritating day.

First I wandered back to Victory Square (the only main city square in Russia that was not renamed Lenin square after the revolution) that was the home to the newly built "Christ the saviour" Cathedral and it's little twin with their shiny golden domes. Ivan had told me the previous night that everything that covered this area + the opposite side of the road where now stood the Europa shopping mall was a large park until 6 years ago and the city's decision that more concrete would add a more tasty flavour to the already existing jungle of grey stone.
I retraced my steps from last night and followed down Leninsky prospekt to reach Kant island, which despite being an island was also an island of what remained of the former Prussian capital. Only having been rebuilt in the 1990's the church looked at me with a slightly grave expression, as if to say... God, what happened to all my friends?
Inside was a small museum dedicated almost entirely to Immanuel Kant and featuring a large painting of what Koenigsberg looked like in 1675.
I was however not allowed to enter the main hall of the church and was told so by an old babushka that sat on a lonely stool just behind the main door.
I exited the church and went to its back where Kant's tomb was located. It seemed very strange to me that this city must have looked completely different, had a completely different population, culture and language until only 65 years ago. I was stepping on a live version of what was effectively conquered territory turned sour.

Behind the island was a new development, commonly called "Fish Village" that one could reach by crossing the city's oldest bridge, the honey bridge, which to my big surprise had tons of padlocks attached to it. I tried to find out more about the meaning of this but didn't quite understand Ivan's explanation and was too embarrassed to go: Excuse me?
What was most depressing however was the stark contrast between the swish looking facade of the Heliopark Kaiserhof and the grim communist blocks just behind it. I think those were probably some of the worst I had ever seen.
I crossed the Jubilee bridge to rest at Kaliningrad's answer to Starbucks called "First Caffee" that next to Fashion TV also sported some hardcore trance music. Somehow I felt relaxed here.



Lateron I tried to find the first of 3 recommended restaurants that the Lonely Planet listed in its guide but were never to be found. Seriously, who writes these goddamn books?
After reaching the south train station where I intended to purchase my ticket to Vilnius the next day I was faced with my first "fail" for the day. Since I had not printed the whole Kalinigrad section of the guide and my 4 pages stopped in the middle of the "getting to and from" section describing train travel I had to discover that one needed one's passport to buy a ticket. Grrrr
I returned to the apartment (after a quick stop at the Cosmonaut monument and a delicious bite to eat at the Universal bistro inside the Scala cinema) to inform Ivan and Anastasia about my misfortune and Ivan promptly offered to accompany me to the station to help me get my ticket. In silence we rode the 15 min journey to Yushny Voksal and were swiftly attended by a sales clerk who kindly let me know that I had to pay almost 40 Euros because: "YOU ARE FOREIGNER". Thanks dear.

Later that afternoon I chillaxed once more at the more central branch of First Coffee and then embarked on my last quest for the day, namely a visit to the old neighbourhood of Maraunenhof that according to LP was home to some stunning old villas from the German past. On the way I passed a couple of Western clothing chain stores on ul Chernyakhovskogo whose windows began at about my eye level. Ridiculous? Yes, certainly.

The road leading past the Prud Verkhny lake and towards Maraunenhof sported another little surprise, one of the many fortresses from the German time, called Der Wrobel.
Sadly it housed a tacky cafe with plenty of kitsch decor rather than a museum of some sort.
It began to drizzle as I crossed into Maraunenhof and shielding my eyes from the annoying drops I began searching for those famous villas. Funnily enough, Maraunenhof is the German name that no-one uses anymore. When I asked Ivan how to get there I had to frantically point at my map for him to understand what the hell I was talking about.
I couldn't find any of those villas and started to wonder if the person who wrote this section of the LP had actually ever been here or whether I was being guided by a fraud. (this was also where fail restaurant find 2 occured).

I decided to take a different route back to the apartment of Ivan and Anastasia and stopped at a cafe called Don Chento where I ordered a Risotto a la milanese. The only reason why I could decipher what I was pointing at was because the names of all dishes were translated directly from Italian into Russian and reading the alphabet was about as far as it went with my Russian. 230 Euros for a 12 week Russian intensive course was money well spent...

Later as I returned to the apartment I explained to the two architects who had offered me to stay at their home that I was a little bit disappointed and I had somehow expected to see more of the old Koenigsberg. Ivan just shook his head and said: Not-thing is left, is pity.

The next day as I left to get my train I was left wondering, if the lonely planet describes Kaliningrad as "a fascinating, affluent city that's clearly going places" then I would really like to know what place that is because I probably don't want to go there.

Don't get me wrong, I think I was a little overwhelmed with all the soviet kitsch, sickles and hammers and slight impression of a mix of hopelessness and poverty that I saw during my short stay here that it might have tainted my experience of Kaliningrad. However, I took the fact that I saw maybe 10 tourists in total as an indication that something must be wrong. Maybe, removing the ridiculous visa and LOI requirement for tourists might be a good idea?

Vilnius on the other hand is meant to have all those charms of the old blended with a bit of communism and modernism that I find really interesting.

More to come soon...

I'm a dumpling! Get me out of here!

The day had finally arrived. It seemed like it was just yesterday that I started planning my next adventure, booking complicated flight routes with dodgy airlines, arranging visas and looking for suitable couchsurfing hosts across an array of countries that most people probably couldn't place on a map.
Why was it that I always seemed to be attracted to those nations that got a bad rap in the press? Lebanon, Myanmar, Moldova and now amongst others Georgia.

As my dad and I set off to Cologne/Bonn airport that morning of the 5th of May I had great expectations. The sun was rising above Northrhine Westphalia and I felt positively thrilled. First stop: Poland. Poland, a nation that for some bizarre reason had so far successfully managed to escape every single travel itinerary I had ever made. No, that's not true. In 2008 my friend Mitch and I were meant to go to Krakow for a weekend but then our budget airline decided to cancel the flights, so we decided to cancel the trip.

As I waited in the airport lounge for my flight to start boarding I read a short article in a magazine about a phenomenon called: "Legaslatur" (probably something similar in English). Essentially it means: "The inability to use clear and pretty handwriting due to overuse of the keyboard on a computer or laptop." Was my handwriting really that bad? I feared for my diary.

Later as the plane took off I hoped that I would also receive a sunny welcome in Krakow despite all the treacherous weather forecasts I had read prior to my trip. How deceitful a short nap can be. As I awoke from my involuntary powernap shortly before landing I saw nothing but grey.
Upon leaving the airport building and boarding a cute little commuter train to Krakow Glowny station I was already faced with an early contrast between old and new, communist and capitalist. Having lived in Bucharest for 4 months in 2009 I should have been more than accustomed to this sight, yet in reality it always stikes me anew. Nowhere was this more visible than at the station that was partially blocked from frontal view by a massive new shopping complex called "Galeria Krakowska". All your usual suspects were present, no need to list them all.

After checking into my hostel "Flamingo" I decided to join the free walking tour that was lead by a very Polish guy called "Chris". Our group consisted of a couple of English tourists (completely inappropriately dressed for the occasion and sadly overweight), a handful of Aussies, Canadians and Germans and together we began our wet walk (it was drizzling at this point) outside St. Mary's Church, the main landmark at Rynek Glowny, which also happens to be the largest medieval city square in Europe. Chris lead us through little alleys and past a collection of museums, monuments and gates that all formed an integral part of the old town. Although his speech always seemed studied it was peppered with the occasional joke that made me smile. I like smiling.

Back at the main sqaure he pointed at the Mieckewicz monument just outside the cloth hall. He asked us to take a good look at the statue's details and then walk away from it in a westernly direction until we were asked to turn back and tell him what we saw. Apparenly when the statue was unveiled in 1898 in presence of Adam Mieckewicz's son and daughter, the son walked away in disgust. Why? Because when looking at the statue from where I was now one of the 4 allegoric statues surrounding the main figure, symbolising "courage" looked like it had a gigantic boner. I smiled again.



Krakow struck me as the most religious city I had ever visited, bar Rome. With more than 140 churches and even more monasteries there is a likelyhood that at any point within the city's perimeter you are no further than a couple of meters from several houses of worship. In London the same applies to Starbucks.

The tour finished at Wawel Castle, one of the most dominating sights of Krakow and home to Poland's former kings (and most recently, final resting place of Lech Kaczinski, the late Polish president who died in a plane crash last month). Wawel castle was modelled on the grand palaces of Tuscany although with in this grey sky its glory didn't quite go under my skin.
For lunch I popped into what Chris had described as one of Krakow's few remaining worker's cafes, a place called "Bar Mleczny" that severed hearty Polish fare for less than what I normally pay for a pack of cigarettes back in Amsterdam. I tucked into a portion of Borscht and "pierogi" filled with cheese. Essentially, Polish tortellini.
Later that day I visited the neighbourhood of Kazimierz, which before WWII housed one of the largest Jewish communities in Europe. Still today you can see Hebrew inscriptions in the houses and see remains of former Synagogues here and there. Not much remains of this community today however (99% of Poles claim to be Roman Catholic) but one can still feel a slightly Jewish vibe in the air.
What I didn't know was that this part of Poland and adjacent Ukraine was once known as "Galicia". Any connection with the Spanish region of the same name? I wouldn't know the answer.

In the evening I retreated back to my hostel just to find 6 young Dutch guys from the province drinking and listening to Tiesto at full volume in my dorm. God bless this small nation I thought. I migrated to the common room (where they soon after followed) to meet a concoction of interesting characters from all over the world. Most amazing of them all was this young Indian guy who claimed his name was "Will" and amongst other things made us believe he was in the Royal Navy (but currently on forced sabbatical due to his young age), that his family were billionaires with massive land ownerships in India and Canada and that he actually lived just outside Amsterdam at the moment in a place he didn't know the name of. Furthermore, I was unable to understand his profession. According to him it was something to do with valuable paper transport and giving higher credits than banks. Why then I wondered are you staying in a hostel my dear friend?
He also claimed he loved "austrich" people (referring to Austrians) and that he really liked Poland and that he really wanted to live here, just not right now.
A fellow Dutch traveller later reaveled to me over a cigarette that Will and him were meant to go out the previous night and that Will had shown him these pills he had acquired that apparently worked wonders with girls. Upon inspecting them more closely, Martijn discovered that these were in fact sleeping pills and with great revulsion feigned a headache and stayed in.

Good tip at this stage: Never stay in a dorm that has 4 or more testoterone filled Dutch men in it, because you might, as in my case, find that they come back at 4:30 in the morning, turn on all the lights and shout and burp/fart and completely neglect that there are other characters like yourself trying to get a good night's sleep. I was drawing up various revenge plans in my bed as I stared at them from my top bunk.

The next day I embarked on a halfday tour to Auschwitz and Birkenau concentration (or rather extermination) camps. One of the biggest drawcards of a visit to Krakow for me was a visit to these two omminous places of destruction. Not only because of my own family's connection with Auschwitz (the Jewish side, not the Nazi side I'll have you know) but also because as a German citizen these camps form a central focal point in understanding the horrors or WWII.
Again it rained as if god were flushing the toilet relentlessly and as our minibus made its way out town of and towards the camps I thought, how depressing can this day possibly be?
Of course the camps were overcrowded with tourists from all corners of the world and I struggled to make my way through this throng of people to pick up my headphones and find the group I was meant to join. Our guide, Marcin, was in a way typically Polish although I will find it hard to describe him in words.
Most famously of course, was the gate with the headline "Arbeit macht frei" that was apparently stolen last year and now we had to look at a replica instead. Whatever, it had the same effect of causing a cold stream to run down my spine.
Marcin struck me as particularly good because he retold the story from a very neutral point. Amongst other things we were informed that Auschwitz was originally "only" a concentration camp for Polish political prisoners, and since the Brits had already been using concentration camps in Africa for a while, Auschwitz became legitimate amongst world leaders. Why shouldn't the Nazi's also have the right to build such a camp?
Only from 1942 onwards was Auschwitz and what was later to be known as Auschwitz II Birkenau a real mass extermination camp for mainly Jews but also every other living thing that did not fit the Nazi ideology. Gypsies, Gays, Intellectuals, you name it.

What struck me as most gruesome were the variuos items of personal belongings that they had managed to recover after the liberation in January 1945. Hairbrushes, suitcases with peoples' names on them, shoes, hair, Nivea cream etc... As we visited the room that housed a miniature replica of the actual concentration chamber we bumped into a group of Israelis (mainly soldiers) and for some reason I became terribly sad. What a horrific place this must be for them to visit.



After we visited a small gaschamber that was still left standing we were driven off to Birkenau to see the actual place where the majority of prisoners "lived" and died. The famous gate with the traintracks running through it and what remained of the barracks formed a sight to behold, in a negative way. The grey skies and the rain caused us to wander through it in horror at the desasterous conditions that these poor people had to endure. Not much was left of the camp.
As I left to return to the car, I witnessed the group of Israelis forming a line outside the camp in order to march inside to a sad trumpet. Apparently this was common practice, which in my view was quite understandable, yet very impressive to watch.
Left with a sour taste on my tongue but richer for the experience we returned back to Krakow where I pursued a couple of more visits to places of interest. Amongst others a display of works by "Marcin Maciejowski" - a very strange collection of paintings from the 1930s onwards, and a visit to Nowa Huta, a neighbourhood outside Krakow that during the communist regime was quite the "workers" paradise according to Lonely Planet. It took me 3 different trams and a ride past hopelessly run down buildings to arrive at Plac Centralny. I wasnt' quite sure what to expect here and what I saw didn't impress me in any way. Quite used to the sight of grand communist type building from my time in Bucharest I wandered around the block once just for my eyes to finally rest on an old Babushka on her balcony up on the 7th floor of a corner building. The way she sat there and stared out at the street, I felt an immense sadness for her. What it must be like to have lived there all your life and despite Poland now being in the European Union and Carrefour megastores popping up everywhere, you still live your life in the same kind of poverty as ever.

Once I was back in Krakow I bumped into Keith (the Canadian with maroon coloured hair) and his lovely but slightly dorky fiancee X - I never caught her name hence X - from my hostel. They told me that there was this little shop that made its own vodkas and other liquors and that we HAD TO GO THERE! Hence we went and these two lovely old ladies smiled as lovely as gummibears while they served us 70% vodka shots and other liquids "JUST TO TRY AND SEE IF YOU LIKE". I ended up buying a bottle of Apple Vodka while X watched her 70% vodka evaporate from her cup. I smiled.

In the evening Will offered me to drink his Zubrowka vodka with Apple juice, which I did and then he disappeared with his "girlfriend" - OR WHATEVER. Sadly, that meant I had to drink the whole vodka on my own and slightly tipsy I ended up following the group of obnoxious Dutch boys to the club opposite our hostel: Club Frantic.
As opposed to my inital perception, the club was actually in the basement of the building and not where momenents befor bubbles had been blown out of a window and onto the street. Sadly the music was aweful and I suddely felt horrendously drunk so I hastened back outside and in a spur of the moment figured it would be immensly clever to eat a Beef kebab. Also sadly, that came back up only moments after laying my head to rest. Urgh.

The next day I was meant to leave for Gdansk, the Polish city at the other end of the country that played a significant role during the start of WWII and where I hoped to finally find some sunshine. Normally when I have a connecting flight and my first plane is delayed I am never lucky enough for the second plane also to be late. This time however as I rushed through Warsaw airport's transfer gate I found that the flight to Gdansk was indeed also late. Phew.

Upon arrival in what was formally known as Danzig I made my was to the main train station in order to purchase a bus ticket for my next trip to Kaliningrad. Needless to say this was not fruitful in the slightest.
After finding my hostel "Old town" and laying my backpack down I ventured into the old town's center, a place that struck me with its elegance and beauty. Gdanks was almost completely flattened during WWII but the Poles did a very good job in rebuilding the city to its former glory as one of Europe's leading Hanseatic cities (Hamburg being another).

As I walked down Dluga Targ I noticed a group of pidgeons, one of which accidentally got trampled on by a passer by. Then, it just sat there on the ground as if in shock at its own misfortune and slowly but surely it hobbled towards the nearest step in search of cover.

This evening I dined in this restaurant called "U dzika", which was baffelingly recommended by Lonely Planet. Especially the "fantastic" dumplings with cottage cheese, cinnamon, raisings and peach were highlighted as something one must try. As a real anti-raisin I opted (once again) for a serving of Borscht (this time with meat) and dumplings with veal. What I was eventually served looked and tasted more like a redwine wonton soup and dumplings with veal.

The next day I rose earlyish to a pretty decent breakfast and BEHOLD! sunshine and blue skies. I couldn't believe my eyes. First off however the adventure of buying a ticket to Kaliningrad. As I stood in the tram towards the main trainstation it struck me that it was almost 50% filled with old ladies i.e. +60. Where were they going or where did they all come from I wondered.
In the station there was an underpass where old babuschkas sold single flowers. All of them had facial hair (the women not the flowers) and I couldn't help asking myself, why in old age some people just let themselves go.

After finally finding the right window I was faced with a comical situation. Very much like the sketch with Carol Beer from Little Britain the clerk exhaled loudly in disgust at my request to purchase a ticket to Kaliningrad. Then: WHEN? - ehm tomorrow please. WHAT TIME? - 3.30 if that's ok? FIFTY ZLOTY - sure there you are dear madame. I wish you pleasant day. URGHGGHGHGHGHGHAFKNSVL

What followed was a very relaxed venture through the old town, passing the beautiful Royal Chapel of the Polish King - John III Sobieski with its salmon coloured facade, the medieval port crane overlooking the Motlawa river and a series of amber shops down a small alley and the famous Neptune fountain outside the town hall.
Everywhere I went I encountered German tourists (mostly in groups) and I wondered, what must the older generation think visiting Gdansk, the city where WWII started?
I certainly for one felt kind of sad mainly because everything I was looking at was rebuilt and not original.



In the afternoon I took a local commuter train out to Sopot, the suburb 11km north of the center that used to be a very popular spa resort and apparently still is Gdansk's party town. The streets were crowded with visitors who were either enjoying a drink in the sun, walking up and down the famous pier or like some, getting married in the local church.
I enduldged in some very dangerous belgian hot chocolate that I really hoped wouldn't make me fat. Kidding.

The next day I started writing this blog but eventually had to stop (I think this is already enough for a novel?) because my friend Leon picked me up to take me to lunch in what was formally a very popular communist restaurant on the 16th floor of a tower. The view was truly stunning, especially the sight of all those ancient cranes that made up the big harbour. Leon kindly forced me to try a local specialty, something called "Flaki" and which for the life of my I could not identify. It was a soup yes but what was floating inside looked like nothing I had ever tasted. As it turned out it was cow stomach (hmmmmm) and I followed that with you may guess?
That's right... Dumplings.
Leon also showed me a couple of beautiful villas that once made up the entire neighbourhood where we now were. Sadly I forgot the name but it sounded something like Dzesz...

So, my time in Poland came to an end. I felt kind of overloaded with impressions and history but at the same time I was glad I came. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to miss Warsaw out this time but Poland strikes me as a place I'd like to visit again. Not for the dumplings though.