Travel – Maz On The Road

Mad Dash to Seoul (South Korea Part One)

November 8, 2024November 25, 2024Posted in Asia, South Korea, TravelTagged backpacking, Seoul, solotravel, South Korea, Travel, travelblogLeave a comment

The idea of a two week trip to South Korea was a last minute one, even by my standards. I have wanted to visit South Korea for a long time and imagined I’d spend at least a few weeks exploring this relatively small country as part of a bigger trip to Asia – but with two weeks to wait before starting a new job, staying at home was never an option. I have never planned a trip so quickly, booking a flight that departed just a few days later.

I got myself an old fashioned guide book and did some very quick research on the main areas in Seoul. Next was accommodation – budget wise I didn’t want to spend more than £40 per night as I ended up spending more than expected on flights (who knew the £350 return flights on Skyscanner didn’t actually exist 🤦🏻‍♀️). What was available within that budget at three days notice over the weekend was a dorm bed in the Seoul Cube Jongno, located in the prime area of Jongno-Gu meaning I could walk to a lot of places on foot.

On that note, this blog is usually just for friends and family to keep track of what I’ve been up to but in my rapid research I came across a lot of information that might actually be useful, so I have decided to make it a bit more informative this time! Scroll down if you have no intention of visiting ever. Things to be aware of:

There is a name in South Korea for hidden cameras and miniature spy cameras in women’s toilets, changing rooms and hotels and it’s called “molka”! Probably best not to go for one of the cheap “love motels”.
Google Maps does not work properly in Korea for navigation – you need to download the “Naver Maps” app and register as a user before you can save places to favourites. This often means using Google maps to find the Korean name then entering that into Naver to get directions.
Get an eSIM so you can navigate on the go – “Saily” is working well for me. I’m all for going old school and having a break from being online but otherwise it’s going to be very hard to get around in South Korea.
Uber does in fact work but it’s worth downloading the Korean taxi hailing app “Kakao-T” as well.
Travelling on buses is easy but you need to buy a “T-card” at a convenience store and top it up with cash also at the convenience store before you can tap on and off the buses. The average ride costs ₩1500 – I messed up the money and put on 70,000 instead of 7,000 so I can travel for a very long time. Or I can spend it on weird and wonderful items in the 7/11 or failing that apparently you can get a refund of the balance at the end of your trip.
Flying to Jeju Island is surprisingly cheap and worth it if you don’t want to spend a day travelling down by bus and ferry (£30 including checked baggage), but flights do actually get booked up particularly over the weekend.
Download Korean into Google translate so you can use it offline. Waking up to a Public Safety Alert message on your phone is a lot less scary when you can immediately translate it and understand that the earthquake was a long way away!

Welcome to Seoul

After leaving home on Friday morning, after a couple of hours stopover in the ultra modern Qatar airport and two long haul flights, I arrived on Saturday evening at Incheon International Airport. There are LOTS of buses and trains from the airport to the city. I was just too tired after 24 hours of no sleep to figure it out so I took the easy option of an Uber, well worth the £30 at night for over an hours drive and no hassle.

*If someone managed to fit a spycam in here, so be it!*

The driver dropped me at the address but I couldn’t see the hostel anywhere. Then I realised you need to look up in Seoul – everything is multi story. I still needed help to find the entrance, which was through a 7/11 shop.

The Seoul Cube hostel was very clean and very quiet, with women only dorms – much appreciated when powering through jet lag means going to bed at 9pm. I was so tired I had a packet of crisps for dinner and managed a bit of polite conversation with some other travellers before going to my pod.

This hostel has A LOT of rules. The most annoying one is that you can’t take your luggage into the bedroom so everyone unpacks on the kitchen floor. You’re also under CCTV in the common area and at constant risk of having the police called on you – strictly no alcohol here, no opening the fridge after before 07.00 or after 10.00 and definitely NO fraternising with the opposite sex. All of this contributes to a general lack of atmosphere but I didn’t have time to hang around the hostel anyway so it made no difference to me.

On my first morning after a great nights sleep in my pod I headed straight to the closest Tourist Information – there was no point asking any questions in the hostel as they had another sign on the wall essentially stating that they are not tourist information so don’t ask. The real Tourist Information were extremely helpful – they gave me a map and sent me off down the “stream” in the direction of somewhere open to get coffee (most of the coffee shops in the area close for a “break” mid morning).

The Cheonggyecheon stream runs 11km through the city and comes alive in the evening, conveniently passing by my hostel. It’s actually a restoration of the stream from the Joseon Dynasty spanning 1392-1910. On Sunday morning it was home to the Seoul Outdoor Library, with lots of chairs set up with a stack of books ready for people to enjoy, which looked extremely inviting.

At the end of the stream is a huge bear like figure – this is Hechi, the mascot of Seoul. Mascots are popular here and this is one aspect that reminded me of Japan. Hechi sits overlooking the stream, infront of a huge speaker. There was some kind of rally going on with music blasting out and I couldn’t be sure where it was coming from.

A short walk away from Cheonggyecheon is Gyeongbokgung Palace, meaning “The Palace Greatly Blessed By Heaven” and the largest of the five Grand Palaces. On my way there, Hechi and the outdoor library popped up again, this time with the Bugaksan mountain looming in the background.

My first impression of Seoul in the daylight was the merging of nature and urban. Mountains tower over crosswalks and skyscrapers loom in the distance behind palaces. Even when you’re in the midst of the city, a temple appears.

And the first thing that hit me when I entered the palace grounds through the Gwanghwamun Gate was the number of people in costume. This is positively encouraged in Seoul – you get in for free if you don the traditional costume known as Hanbok. Meanwhile I wandered around in my jeans and failed to get a good photo from anyone that I asked. Probably they make more effort for the Hanbok.

It’s a big complex of temple buildings, historically it acted as a small city, including separate King’s and Queen’s residences. The original palace dates back to 1395 and was the main royal palace of the Joseon dynasty. As well as the home of the royal family it was also the seat of government.

A brief history; All of the royal palaces were burned down during the Japanese Invasion of 1592-1598. In fact Gyeongbokgung Palace was left derelict for over 270 years and reconstruction began in 1867 with over 500 buildings. It was then torn down again in the Japanese Occupation and replaced by a huge Japanese Government building. Further restoration has been ongoing again since 1900 with the Gate and the residences of the King, Queen and Crown Prince being restored to their original state. That’s most of the history I gleaned from the signs around the palace – anything more is best found on Wikipedia.

I can’t take in too much information at once so I usually resort to taking photos of signs in the hope I’ll come back and read them at some point – here is one of them.

It’s definitely a good idea to learn some basic words in Korean and it’s much appreciated by the local people. Unfortunately this trip was so hurried that I only managed to half remember “thank you”. Something I regretted when I accidentally stepped on an old Korean man’s (full) coffee cup at the lake and was unable to even apologise properly. He did not see the funny side.

Coincidentally autumn is one of the best times to visit South Korea as the fall foliage is in full swing. Everything is orange and green and brown which only adds to the beauty of the temples.

*The animals on the roof are placed there to protect the building*

There are some free tours of the palace in English but I had just missed one and didn’t want to wait. It would probably be useful as there are so many corners to explore. A couple of hours wandering around was enough for me before I got hungry – many restaurants in Seoul also “take a break” between 15.00-17.00 so I went in search of a vegan friendly lunch while I could. I didn’t actually end up in the vegetarian restaurant I was aiming for (still a bit confused as to what happened), but the place I found myself in had a vegan menu with the biggest pancake I’ve ever seen.

Apparently it can be hard to eat alone as restaurants here don’t like serving single portions but this seems to apply to the meat based Korean BBQs. A win for the veggies.

*Spring onion style pancake* – *meant for sharing*

There is so much to do, see and experience in Seoul you could easily spend a couple of weeks here. My aim in the afternoon was to make the most of my limited time and visit the cultural Bukchon Hanok Village. I should have paid more attention to the Tourist Helpers who were handing out leaflets on the street – this place is a residential area and “closes” to tourists at 17.00. I had just got there when I was met by people holding sandwich board style placards, encouraging us all to leave in a very smiley and nice manner. Bukchon Hanok will just have to go on the list for when I come back to Seoul at the end of this trip.

*Resemblance to the real life helpers is uncanny*

In the evening I took a walk over to Myeongdong with it’s neon signs and late night shops and street market. This felt like the Seoul I had imagined in my head. I’ll need to dedicate some time for shopping at the end of the trip as there is a whole K-Culture that I’ve not been aware of – K-Pop (Gangnam Style is just the beginning), K-Drama, K-Beauty…

Seoul at night is beautiful and it’s a safe city. I could have walked for miles but I had to be up at 5.30am the next day for my DMZ tour. I will be breaking the hostel rule of “no alarms in the dormitory” for this one. Visiting the DMZ area – the “De-Militarised Zone” – was something I really wanted to do, where you walk through one of the infiltration tunnels and then look at North Korea through binoculars, with a suspension bridge visit thrown in for some light relief.

Next stop, as close to North Korea as it’s possible to get…

The Dollar Blue, The Devil’s Mouth and the Three Frontiers (Buenos Aires and Iguazú Falls)

May 9, 2023November 25, 2024Posted in Argentina, South America, TravelTagged Argentina, backpacking, iguazu falls, South America, Travel, travel blog1 Comment

We departed Uruguay via the ferry to Argentina after about ten days visiting a handful of places along the coast. Uruguay has been absolutely lovely and there is plenty to see and do, albeit more in high season, but for some reason this little country is often not part of the standard South America gringo trail. We just had time to walk around the jetty in Colonia with it’s fancy yachts and get whistled at by some men on a boat that was called “Zero Tolerance” of all things. Shame we weren’t invited on board for a drink!

It was great catching my first view of Buenos Aries again after all these years, barely visible under a smog cloud. After taking an Uber from the ferry terminal (which turfs you out a back door onto the smoking area on the street outside) we couldn’t find our hostel, “Del 900 Boutique” in the Monserrat district. The man at customs wasn’t even going to let me in the country without the hostel address, which I hadn’t saved and didn’t have Wi-Fi but he did let me run after Vix to get the details – luckily I got her attention just before she left the building.

Vix showing me the hostel address through the glass wall

A lady in the restaurant on the corner said it was just next door, “through a tiny little door”. Eventually we realised the entrance was actually through one of the biggest doors I’ve ever seen, housed in the most amazing colonial building. The doorway led us up a staircase and into the grandest hostel lobby that surely exists.… piano, leather sofas, old pool table … all under the highest of ceilings.

First hurdle – we tried to pay the hostel using the dollars we got from the ATM in Uruguay as hostels here generally only accept cash, but they wouldn’t take them as they were old. I knew that in Argentina the money exchanges only took the brand new notes in $100 bills and had come prepared with some but wanted to keep that as a backup. Second hurdle – trying to understand what the hell is going on with the currency in Argentina. What you need is the “blue dollar”, the rate you get when you physically sell a USD on the street or in a “cueva” (cave) for Argentine pesos and they will all take the older dollars for a slightly lower rate. This essentially doubles your money compared to if you went to an ATM (not that I could now both working cards were cancelled).

As you walk down the street in the gold district all you hear is “cambio cambio cambio”. With counterfeit Argentinan pesos in circulation we asked the hostel where a reliable exchange was. Changing the money was an activity in itself – the place we eventually changed our money at was fronting as a tourist office where they ushered us in to a booth with a one way mirror so we couldn’t see the cashier’s face. We did a crash course on YouTube in how to spot a fake and tested a small amount in a souvenir shop before changing up the rest.

The blue dollar value was changing minute by minute and it was being reported on the news that with inflation approaching 95%, people earning under a certain amount were not being paid. It’s much raise to change up your dollars and stick to cash as confusingly when we paid with card in a few shops expecting the official rate, a few days later we’d get random refunds appearing. When we finally got the cash and paid our hostel, the real cost to us had gone down to about a tenner each per night 🤯

With our new stash we enjoyed a fancy evening meal of pesto pasta with a genuinely good bottle of red wine. I always loved the restaurants in Buenos Aires, the huge areas and set tables and waiters in waistcoats, and the bowls of bread brought to the table (worth the table charge).

We only spent two night in Buenos Aries, mostly as a stop over before flying up to Iguazu and a trip down memory lane for me. With one full day, we walked up to the area of La Recoleta and browsed the shops and cafes.

We had another attempt at finding a rock bar as we went to the “Rock and Beer” pub which had an active social media page and looked like it might be a lively spot. After walking up and down past the location several times we eventually saw it all padlocked up. As Vix said, it couldn’t have been more shut if it were on fire. We also passed several signs taunting us that KISS and Deep Purple were playing next week.

I love how busy Buenos Airies is and that you can walk around at night without ending up in a favela. The worst that happened to us was when we walked past a couple performing tango outside a restaurant. We only stopped to watch for a couple of minutes but they saw us taking a sneaky photo and as soon as the music finished they appeared in front of us like magic asking for payment. Vix pretended we couldn’t speak any English and we escaped before we had to part with any of our precious remaining currency, avoiding another slightly stressful trip to a money cave.

One of my favourite things about Buenos Airies is the breakfast that is served at all of the cafes and bistro type places. For about £2.50 you get a really good coffee, freshly squeezed orange juice and tostadas (toasted bread) served on a board with jam.

We booked a flight up to Iguazu to save a 18 hour bus and there isn’t much of a price difference if you want the “cama” bed style seat. As we left we passed more protestors. These ones had closed a motorway lane by burning tires. The taxi driver explained this area had been without power for weeks now so we saw their point.

Arriving in Puerto Iguazú meant a return to hot and tropical weather. You need to be more careful in general in border towns and this one is part of the Three Frontiers, linking Argentina, Brazil and Paraguay. We booked a hostel hoping for some information on Iguazú Falls, or a social element, but again those elements were lacking. The staff at the Iguazu Falls Hostel could not have been less interested in us if they tried, and our room was down a rabbit warren of corridors, the floor slippery from leaks and padded out with cardboard. Every question like “where can I do laundry?” was met with the minimum effort answer of “no”.

We did our own thing and found a laundrette, money changer and nice restaurant and in the morning we headed off on the bus to Las Cataracas, otherwise known as Iguazú Falls. It’s actually really easy to get there with buses running every 20 minutes from the bus station in town and you don’t need any type of tour.

Not exactly prepared for what was coming

I had been to the falls on my previous trip but the customary boat trip has changed (the route I took back then is now considered unsafe apparently!) and the Devils Mouth walkway up to the top is now open so I was keen to revisit.

We made friends with an older couple from Argentina/Mexico, a spinal surgeon and his wife, who we chatted with whilst waiting for the jeep ride to take us through the jungle down to the jetty for the boat trip. The world’s most boring guide provided some commentary in lazy Spanish with an even lazier English translation that I barely understood, before they threw life jackets at us and bundled everyone onto the boat. The ride up to the base of the horseshoe shaped falls was as spectacular as I remembered. I remembered getting wet, and the excited screams of everyone shouting “otra vez!” to go again. What I did not remember was going so close to the falls that you’re hit in the face by a wall of water over and over again – the driver casually announced that “now we are going to take a shower”.

First part of the boat ride

Below is my attempt at videoing one of the close ups. Vix described it as 100 cubic metres of parasitic water chucked in your face but she managed to video it all (too big to upload here). At least I had taken off my shoes and put my stuff in the dry bag that they provided.

Best video I’ve ever taken

The Argentinan surgeon had everyone laughing as he’d worn a poncho – don’t ever wear something like this again he said, it’s a waterfall in your balls 😳

Reasons not to wear a poncho

The boat driver was also having some fun of his own on the way back, taking us over the rapids. The boat is still the best way to really experience the power of one of the Seven Natural Wonders of the World. It’s overwhelming, it’s so, so much fun, everyone is screaming and laughing and it’s really impossible to put the feeling into words other than you’re alive.

Soaking wet (denim shorts are NOT the best choice) and slightly shellshocked, we grabbed a sandwich and a coffee from the cafeteria area which still looked the same as it did ten years ago and got straight on the little train towards the Devil’s Mouth, “la Garganta del Diablo.”

Really you need two days here to explore the jungle trails with so many different birds (over 400 species) and beautiful butterflies that land on you.

Unfortunately butterflies are not the only thing that might land on you – I was walking along minding my own business covered in Deet to repel the mozzies when something stung me on the back of the ankle. It was such a shock that I fell over and dropped my sandwich into the dirt but somehow kept hold of my coffee. A passerby said it was probably a black wasp, common in the park. Once the pain subsided and I had replaced my lunch we continued to the walkways providing a passage over the river to reach the Devils Mouth.

The bridges take you right up to the “mouth” of the falls where the Iguazú river drops 80m over multiple cascades in a semi circle 2700m in diameter. The river itself is the border between Argentina and Brazil. Because we were there at the end of the day we had it almost to ourselves. It was all nice and calm and we were happily taking photos under the rainbow when out of nowhere it changed and we were drenched again.

We were quite literally the last to leave the Devils Mouth, heading back to get the ultimo train back to the park entrance, followed by a cleaning man sweeping the paths clear of any litter. We were later passed by a group of Coati, the real clean up crew, on the lookout for leftover lunches.

The feeling you’re being watched on the train

Back in Puerto Iguazú, and nice and dry, we enjoyed a meal and quite a few drinks (I still blame Vix as a Negroni is pure alcohol). The next day it was time to pack up again and embark on our adventure to Paraguay. We wanted to go the fun way via boat over the river rather than bus or taxi. Unfortunately my foot had swelled up from the wasp sting so we had to taxi to the port 🙄 after some last minute souvenir shopping as always …

Caballos and Colonia

April 29, 2023November 26, 2024Posted in South America, Travel, UruguayTagged backpacking, caballos, horses, solo travel, Travel, travel blog, UruguayLeave a comment

After leaving Cabo Polonio on the jeep in the rain, we arrived back at the visitors centre. Our next stop was only a 15 minute drive north so with the next bus not for a couple of hours we took a taxi to Los Chajá ecolodge, on the edge of the small beachside down of Barra de Valizas. This place was recommended to me by another lodge that I wanted to go to (vegetarian, horses, specified they were “not a dude ranch”) but was closed at the moment. We fell in love with the place as soon as we got there – we had a beautiful thatched roof chalet all to ourselves, one of only two on the property and directly surrounded by twenty horses munching on the marshland.

It was such a stark contrast to the last hostel that the lovely owner, Laura, must have thought I was mad exclaiming “oh wow there is a fridge! And a kettle!”.

This is the sort of place you could come back to for a week, you can cook in your own kitchen and eat on the porch with the dogs (Laura and her partner Mauro just rescued a set of puppies as well as their two older dogs) and horses who will try to steal the breakfast that Laura brings over in the morning.

Most of all we enjoyed making hot chocolate with soya milk in the evenings and quizzing each other on South American mammals (there were no English books in the library!). Turns out I have a weirdly specific knowledge of how many teeth a certain type of anteater has. In order to have a hot shower you had to light the gas hob, turn on the kitchen hot tap, run to the bathroom and turn the hot shower on, then turn off the kitchen tap and hob. These instructions were actually written in the welcome booklet. This made me nervous as I was still mentally scarred from the Cabo Polonio gas leak.

On our way back from buying supplies at the little supermarket, as the sun set car drove up the road towards us, turned around the mini roundabout and stopped. A very friendly smiley couple wound the windows down and offered us a lift, asking if we were staying at the lodge. Not wanting to accept a lift from strangers, we declined and they drove off back the way they came. This felt like a very safe place but why did they drive up then turn around and how did they know where we were staying?!

The next day we went horse riding within the Cabo Polonio national park along the beach. First of all Laura made sure we greeted our horses (Arthur and Brisa) and could control the direction and speed the Gaucho way. No pulling on reins or kicking, just use one hand to gently steer and your voice to go faster or slower.

The beach was absolutely stunning, just us and Thea the dog, and maybe one or two people we passed along the four hour round trip to the Buena Vista viewpoint where we dismounted to climb up.

Making shadows at the top of the viewpoint

Riding through sand dunes, along the beach and through Wild West type desert landscape was incredible. As we led the horses through the steeper parts of the dunes we noticed they also try to step in existing footprints as it’s easier, just like we do. We passed a herd of cows on the beach but the best part was seeing the group of horses who had just popped down from the village to the beach on their own to enjoy the weather. They were just hanging out by the water until our dog Thea had a go and they galloped off into town – I’ve never heard actual thundering hooves before. Vix’s horse almost went with them.

We also loved brushing and feeding the horses – if this place offers a volunteer program I’m there!

We did almost destroy the place though – in the same five minutes, the bottom fell off the sink and water went all over the floor, something happened to the gas heater and the room filled with gas and then the cover fell off the air vent. We opened all the windows and turned everything off before calling Laura, who was out on a ride. When she got back and saw both the bathroom sink and gas no longer worked she looked slightly worried and moved us to the other chalet as the other couple were just leaving. As they waved we realised they were the same nice couple that had kindly offered us the lift last night and they were not in fact after our kidneys.

There is only one bus out of this place per day, at 15.00. With checkout in the morning, and everything closed and deserted for the low season, we wandered down to the beach and made more doggy friends before catching the supermarket before it closed to buy avocados and wraps for our staple meal (thanks Vix!). We did, however, find the only bar open in town and enjoyed a Patricia lager with some locals who welcomed us in and even offered to turn their music down. The owner said we were beautiful like Patricia.

We waited at the bus stop as the daily bus trundled into town, turned around and came back to pick us up on the way out. With no real internet for several days now we hadn’t booked any accommodation nor were we sure if we could make it all the way to Colonia. It was about 5 hours back to the capital city of Montevideo, where we literally jumped off, ran to the ticket office and got ourselves onto the Colonia bus ten minutes later which was full of teenagers going on a night out to a club. We were absolutely starving by the time we arrived and spent the entire 3 hour journey on the bus Wi-Fi trying to find anywhere that would let us check in after midnight – turns out most places expect you before then 🤦🏻‍♀️

We found a hotel that responded just in time and walked the few blocks through the quiet cobbled streets of Colonia – in a huge contrast to Brazil where we couldn’t do that in the daytime! The journey was worth it to wake up in Colonia, as beautiful as I remembered it being ten years ago. The only thing that has changed is that there were loads of old cars, Cuban style, last time I was there which seemed to have gone now aside from a couple outside a restaurant.

Our hotel didn’t have room for us the following night which turned out to be a blessing as we moved just around the corner to an apartment in a the most gorgeous original colonial building. We booked it at 10.50 and arrived at 11.00 to find the lovely Fred, an artist who struggled to hear sometimes over his hearing aid, just finishing preparing the room. To stay in one of these buildings was amazing and we made use of the pretty garden. We had already walked past the door and taken photos of it, before realising that was in fact our new home.

The day was spent wandering around the streets and eating too much fried food in a restaurant on the sea with live music (a man pretending to play guitar and singing “Mi Corazon” with some dramatic gestures in between solar charging his equipment on the table). As well as trying to get cash – my bank card also had to be cancelled as someone had tried to swipe it in Cabo Polonio, possibly by holding a card reader against the locker, so I spent an hour trying to explain to HSBC “the local bank” that no I could not pop into a local branch as I’m in Uruguay, and no I cannot verify a payment if they can’t tell me any details, and locking me out of the banking app “for security” was the least helpful thing they could have done. We withdrew a load of US dollars on Vix’s working card to hopefully avoid needing any more ATMs for the rest of the trip.

We still haven’t found the party – we did find a rock bar with promising art work, but when we asked what’s on tonight they said they have a reggaeton DJ at weekends.

You can easily “see” Colonia in a day but it’s a lovely place to enjoy the atmosphere, walk along the coast and stroll around so you could equally easily spend a week here. But I was really keen to return to Buenos Airies again which fitted in perfectly with the ferry across to Argentina …

British Girls on a Ride and The Wasters (Uruguay Part 1)

April 24, 2023November 19, 2024Posted in South America, Travel, UruguayTagged backpacking, cabo Polonia, Montevideo, solo travel, South America, Travel, travel blog, UruguayLeave a comment

After five lazy beach days, we took a cheap flight from the island of Florianopolis, Brazil to the often overlooked capital of Uruguay, Montevideo. I have been to Uruguay once before but only on a day trip from Buenos Airies during my first trip to South America over ten years ago. At the airport in Sao Paolo where we changed planes, we noticed people taking selfies with an older man – naturally we had to get one too, having no clue who it was. He turned out to be Martinho da Vila the 85 year old Brazilian samba star.

In Montevideo we stayed two nights at the Yorki Haus hostel, run by a German man and a French man. We had a prison style room at the very top of the building with a gorgeous rooftop to ourselves.

An annoying family had taken over the kitchen, which I didn’t mind until I spent ages making coffee using our £10 Starbucks ground coffee (literally the only coffee in any supermarket without added sugar) then as soon as I turned my back to spread my £10 peanut butter on my toast The Dad poured the rest of the coffee and took it for himself.

Seeing the capital city at the weekend was great. We found a great little bar just down the road that served veggie sandwiches and cocktails and played Latin rock, and during the day we walked the few kilometres down to the old town along the beach amongst locals jogging and exercising on a Saturday morning. Like much of South America, it doesn’t get going until the afternoon. We browsed the antique shops and had an amazing lunch of grilled vegetables before making our way back via the supermarket to stock up on food for the next few days when we would be “off grid” in the hippy town of Cabo Polonio.

Having looked up rock bars in Montevideo, thinking surely we’d finally find a night out in the capital, we got an Uber across town to the “best rock bar in Uruguay”, the Roxx Bar. When we arrived at a deserted residential looking street, we asked the driver if the place even existed. The driver asked the one man hanging around outside, who explained the that he was also waiting as the owner was a “a bit late opening up”. It was already almost 11pm so after waiting for a while we decided that even if the owner did turn up, it would just be the three of so maybe not that exciting. Luckily we found a friendly welcome and a live punk covers band at Clash City Rockers bar down the road, even though it was cash only so we had just enough money for two beers between us.

Next morning we set off early to the huge and modern Tres Cruces bus terminal to get a 4.5 hour bus northeast up the coast to Cabo Polonio. It’s a scenic journey and we passed a few places we’d have been happy to get off and explore. When you get off at Cabo Polonia bus station, there is a visitors centre where you hang around for a while before a large jeep type vehicle takes you all through the sand dunes to the village, three times a day.

Whilst waiting for the jeep we made our debuts on Uruguayan daytime TV when we were asked for an interview about our visit with host Mario – although half of what we said wasn’t translated, somehow my name was changed to Alice and I have no idea where the “British Girls on a Ride” tag line came from 🤦🏻‍♀️ It’s available on YouTube although I haven’t yet got over the cringe factor enough to watch it (what was the point in asking if we are planning on coming back again when we haven’t been there yet?).

Cabo Polonio is about 9km off the main highway and there are no proper roads there. The driver had to take a run up over one mound and we passed some military looking types that were well and truly stuck in the sand. We finally reached the Lobo Hostel Bar, which we had chosen for its sociable setting and billing as the local bar – seeing as we were there off season and we didn’t want to be totally isolated. We accidentally went to the nice welcoming looking guesthouse next door, with music playing from the restaurant and tables and chairs outside – I later realised they only turn the music on and put the chairs out when the morning jeep arrives with new visitors. I never saw it open again.

Neither of us have particularly high expectations for accommodation. In fact we have pretty low standards. When the woman running the place, Celia (we think that was her name) showed us to our attic room up a ladder with only a rope to hold on to, lockable only by our own padlock, we took it as part of the adventure. We loved the window that opened directly on to the little rooftop that we had to ourselves. We loved the wind turbine next to the roof. We didn’t mind the fact the blanket on the bed was full of leaves, until we got bed bugs. I gave Celia, aka the Hunchback of Cabo Polonia, the benefit of the doubt when she shortchanged us even though another backpacker told us she’d done the same thing to her friend. We tried to cook our pasta on the frankly disgusting stove that stank of a gas leak and made me feel sick everytime I went near it. The only thing the Hunchback really said was how ugly the newer houses were (we thought they were really pretty) and essentially how tourists were ruining the place.

But we drew the line when we went down the ladder to make dinner in the kitchen we had paid to use, to find pieces of cardboard on the floor soaking up an oil spill, a “do not use” sign on the sink though there was nothing wrong with it and the fridge had been unplugged. The Hunchback was from then on referred to by Vix (whose socks were now soaked in oil) as Oil Slick Mcgoo when she tried to blame her other guests for spilling the oil and leaving it. The oil was never cleaned up over the three nights we were there, it just stayed all over the floor next to the open flame (if she’d turn the gas on and lend you a lighter).

There is a very old fashioned supermarket in the village, which weighs fruit and vegetables the old way and is open all day other than around 3-5. The empanadas looked suspiciously like the ones from yesterday, every morning, but we were just glad they took Visa since with one of my cards already lost to cloning and no ATMs in the town we had limited funds. No problem – the shop sold a great selection of wine and anything over £8 they would accept cards for. Win win (until my Visa was also stopped a few days later for a dodgy contactless transaction which was either the shop or the hostel trying their luck).

On our first night we went with another girl to try to see the glowing Bioluminescence, a type of plankton, in the water. This was a total fail but it was fun to walk around the lighthouse at night in the pitch black other than the lighthouse signal itself.

Bone, fossil or rock outside a “new” house

There are certain characters you encounter over again when backpacking. “The Waster” is one of them. They are usually European backpackers who have stayed too long doing nothing or maybe “volunteering” / skiving at a hostel, typically looking horrible and miserable. The man “working” at the hostel was definitely a Waster.

April being low season, it was a total ghost town. The next morning I tried to make us both coffee in the morning but The Hunchback had thrown the cafetière in the bin. I asked The Waster and he reluctantly gave me another from their own fully functioning kitchen. After a lot off faff trying to get it going and avoiding the oil spill and carbon monoxide poisoning, I knocked the whole thing over and was about to spontaneously combust myself when Vix calmed me down and we got the hell out of there. With nowhere open, we found an old man who opened up his tiny cafe to shelter us and two other other desperate tourists from the rain and served us coffee on a little silver tray with shaking hands.

The dogs of Cabo Polonio deserve a mention – friendly and sociable, they each have their own patch. As we walked though the village each day we would meet each one in turn, from the Hostel Dog who hung out on our rooftop and probably gave us fleas, to the Town Dog half way across the village that seemed blind, to the gorgeous blue eyed Lighthouse Dog that accompanied us on our search for the seals.

Improvised wine glass to avoid dirty hostel cup

There is a large area of “new” houses on the other side of the village, but not a single person in sight. One house had what looked like a massive spinal bone out front, one had an old bomb and most had some piece of unique art embedded into the walls.

Having given up on cooking at the hostel, we found the one more expensive restaurant that took Visa and lived it up with a lovely vegetable stir fry. Totally worth it for the view and a comfy place to hang out and drink (we went back every day). Vix even went into the sea and swam with the tiny creatures whose heads we had seen from the shore but never could find out what they were (dolphin / turtle / baby seal depending upon who you asked).

Our rooftop came into it’s own at night- this was the clearest sky I’ve seen in a long time, with the Milky Way visible end to end. I also loved having the chance to switch off from your phone with very limited electricity, and candle light in the evening means you can enjoy the night sky. But we were sitting in darkness in the hostel as the candles in the plastic bottles burned out while The Wasters cooked up a storm in the fully lit up “restaurant” kitchen next door.

Avocado, tomato and bean wraps on the roof – no cooking required

It poured with rain as we left on the jeep a few days later, after making our way back to the Visa restaurant only to find it closed and begging a man there to make us an instant coffee. We only left our stuff in the hostel for an hour, my big bag which was locked and putting our smaller bags in a locker. When we returned from coffee, both combination locks had been tampered with. Our feeling was that The Wasters either tried to get in or just turned the codes to mess with us, something I have never experienced at a hostel before. It’s probably a good thing we did our TV interview before our visit!

Breakfast- miniature bag of cornflakes from our bag of snacks and £3 instant coffee

You’d expect some Filthy Hippies at an off grid community and I love the idea behind Cabo Polonio and self sufficiency but the the place we stayed had no recycling and was just filthy, which goes against the values of an eco town. But the area itself is absolutely stunning with miles of unspoilt coastline and the nature is amazing – definitely worth a visit for a few days if you stay in one of the nice guesthouses. It’s also nice to be there off season when you can enjoy the peace and quiet.

Jeep ride out – only one poor guy was on the inbound jeep as we left

Saying goodbye to Cabo, we continued the off grid theme as we headed to a horse “eco lodge” just a few miles up the coast…

Return to the Mountains (Montenegro Part Two)

September 8, 2021September 11, 2021Posted in TravelTagged backpacking, Montenegro, solo travel, Travel, travel blogLeave a comment

The silver lining to going around in a circle to get back to Montenegro was meeting Monique on the bus that I hadn’t intended to take. We bonded when she donated 50 cents for me to use the toilet (hole in the ground) at good old Podgorica bus station as I didn’t have any money left, having traded the last of my Albanian Lek with the bus driver in order to purchase the ticket for the next leg of the journey. Monique also shouted me a coffee as we waited for our second bus which would take me to the city of Bar and her to Ulcinj (that town that we had been less than 45 mins away from the same morning). It always amazes me that when you’re travelling it’s perfectly acceptable to swap numbers with a stranger and invite them to hang out the next day, but if you did that in the UK you’d probably get a very different reaction.

My final stop in Montenegro was ‘The Grove’, the only accommodation I had booked before leaving the UK as I had a feeling it would be my kind of place. The Grove is a beautiful converted olive mill nestled between the mountains outside of Stari Bar (the old town of Bar). After the usual half hour walking around in the heat with my bags looking for an ATM I couldn’t be bothered to wait two hours for the local bus nor haggle with the taxi drivers so I paid the rip-off price of €10 to get straight out of main Bar (there’s nothing really to see there) and up to the village.

The Grove has to be one of the most stunningly unique places I’ve had the pleasure of staying in. Incredibly spacious with a huge shared kitchen and a two storey open lounge area, the selling point (and it was actually up for sale when I visited!) has to be the massive garden with its own spring (pure drinking water), firepit and pizza oven. Add a few cats and chickens wandering around as well as a beer fridge operating on a trust system and you’ve got an instantly sociable setting.

The current owners Chris and Zoe also go out of their way to make it a friendly place, organising hikes to waterfalls and getting the fire going at night. This was the perfect base for 5 nights of doing nothing.

Group singalong by the fire

The next day instead of doing nothing I jumped back on the bus to meet new friend Monique in the smaller coastal town of Ulcinj. Beach days are better with friends and a female friend means you can visit Ladies Beach… despite the seedy looking signs this is not the Montenegro Stringfellows, it is the nicest, most comfortable beach setting that I experienced in Montenegro. The key feature of Ladies Beach is that no men are allowed – sorry guys! Two bouncer types sitting at the entrance were presumably making sure only people who looked like women entered. There are even green sheets hanging from the trees that blend in with the forest to make sure there are no prying eyes. Down the stairs awaits a gorgeous secluded cove with turquoise, sulphur water and caves to explore, sunbeds dotted around the rocks with a €4 price tag and a restaurant with a waitress who will bring huge plates of watermelon to your spot. I’m not sure this could get any better, with women of all ages and ethnicities feeling comfortable to wear swimsuits or nothing at all.

Ladies Beach – not actually a strip club

Ulcinj itself has its fair share of souvenir shops but this is offset by a lovely fortress, as is usual in Montenegro. There is a distinctly romantic theme to the sunset bars which we enjoyed with a cocktail and a wander through the cobbled streets until I had missed the last bus back. Apparently once it gets to 9pm the taxi companies have closed, but luckily Monique’s hotel was run by two amusing brothers in their 60s, one of whom disappeared into the night and eventually came back with a man prepared to drive me home, who was actually an economics graduate who lost his job in banking in the pandemic and now helps his father driving taxis.

Sound on for romantic tunes

‘Money Heist’ themed bar in Ulcinj – no idea why

Stari Bar is the old town of Bar – Stari meaning old – and has my favourite fortress so far. It costs just €2 to enter and is deceptively huge. Monique is the Queen of Instagram photography i.e. she takes sneaky shots when you genuinely are unaware so I ended up with what are likely to be the most flattering photos I’ll get for some time.

The fortress is well worth a visit, there is the remains of the tower to climb, the church and ruins of the palace, all with amazing mountain views of course.

The thing about staying somewhere special like The Grove is that it tends to attract like minded people. There were always people to hike to a rock pool with, or share a home cooked dinner in the evening.

Naturally we had to climb down for a dip

A day in Montenegro is not complete if you don’t swim under a waterfall

And that concludes Montenegro for me, having backtracked through the country twice I have seen all I need to and feel I accidentally saved the best until last. I’m leaving for Serbia just as the UK puts Montenegro on the dreaded ‘red list’ and just when tourism was picking up, as are lots of other visitors who funnily enough would prefer to spend two weeks in the neighbouring countries and enjoy the September sunshine rather than give a couple of thousand quid to the UK government in a ‘quarantine hotel’…

Albania – Bunkers, BMWs and Non Existent Buses

August 27, 2021September 10, 2021Posted in TravelTagged Albania, backpacking, solo travel, Travel, travel blog1 Comment

Albania wasn’t even on my radar until fellow backpackers I met in Montenegro were telling me that the neighbouring country was well worth a visit. At the end of my first day in the capital, Tirana, I could see why.

The bus journey here from Sarajevo through Montenegro was an unexpected highlight – a cramped looking minibus was surprisingly comfortable as it transported us through the mountains, in and out of mini tunnels and on the edge of the Tara Canyon which got some whoops from the children on board. I had to spend an uneventful night enroute in Montenegro’s capital, Podgorica. It is known as the ‘most boring capital city in Europe’ but I was still expecting to find somewhere open for food. Pasta and a can of beer in the hostel kitchen was as good as it got (the miserable supermarket checkout lady wouldn’t let me purchase a bottle, which I only found out later was because you’re supposed to return the empty for recycling).

Back on another bus the next day and there was no searching of bags at the Montenegro / Albania border crossing – we didn’t even step off the bus, instead the driver simply collected our passports and handed them back to us nicely stamped into the country. When the slightly gangster looking young man (Albanian mafia featured in the movie Taken apparently) sitting next to me shared his pack of biscuits I got my first taste of Albanian hospitality towards visitors to their country.

… Along with some more interesting items

Video of the bus journey – worth it just for the views

Tirana is a really lively city with plenty of space, both urban and green. I was pleased to find a huge park to wander around and especially pleased to find a ‘cooling station’, like an open doorway that sprays cool air as you pass through.

I stayed at the gorgeous Garden Hostel which includes a breakfast buffet in the garden and a very warm welcome from the brother and sister team. I also got to check out the bunker that is under their house, with room for over 80 people (each seat has a number). Bunkers are a common sight in Tirana – by 1983 there were 173,371 bunkers in Albania, built in the 1960s and 1970s during Enver Hoxha’s Stalinist rule. This was known as bunkerisation.

The first thing I noticed in Albania is that almost every single car is either a BMW or Mercedes, and a battered up old car at that. On every corner is a car flashing it’s German logo looking like it’s weathered a fair few accidents.

With just one night here, I wasted no time in joining an evening walking tour of the city with a very entertaining guide. He managed the tricky task of showing us his hometown, presenting a crash course in the history of communismn in Albania and still keeping it fun. Tip-based tours like this are usually a great way to meet other solo travellers as most of the hostels promote them.

I hadn’t appreciated the level of communism in Albania, which did not end until 1992. According to our guide, Albania thought North Korea was ‘not communist enough’. He urged us to imagine suddenly being exposed to banks, bananas and other aspects of life we consider essential – his grandfather would ask for a ‘red banana’ when what he meant was a Coca-Cola.

The expanse of Skanderbeg Square, named after national hero Gjergj Kastrioti Skënderbeu who led the rebellion against the Ottoman empire, appears in stark contrast to the communist-era blocks of flats dotted around.

I’m including a lot of photos of Tirana because of the sheer variety of buildings I saw – including religious ones, in a country that has a population of 80% Muslim on paper and also claims Mother Teresa as their own. Though apparently so does North Macedonia.

A stark reminder of previous times is a piece of the Berlin wall on display next to the entrance of yet another city bunker.

On that note, Tirana has maybe the most unique museum I’ve ever been to – “Bunk Art 1” (a smaller “Bunk Art 2” can be found in the city centre but it’s worth the half hour bus ride out to the original – just ask around for the bus stop and the driver will tell you when to get off).

Note that this is by no means an art gallery – rather it is a huge underground maze including 106 rooms and an auditorium. There are communication rooms where you can pick up a telephone and listen to the voice of Hoxha himself, fully furnished bedrooms and bathrooms. Fairly creepy when you seem to be the only visitor! This was all built in preparation for a war that never happened and as such was never used, rather they were abandoned in 1992 with the fall of communism.

The decontamination room reminded me of Lost – turn the sound on

A helpful sign states that you are encouraged to remain calm and stay where you are in case of a powercut – it seemed very unlikely anybody would remain calm if you happened to be in one of the rooms with the life-sized gasmask wearing pretend soldiers and fake snow on the ground.

There is an enormous amount of information in this place, room upon room of photographs and letters, from relations with Italy, to the start of communism, the rescue of an American medical flight through to UK involvement. It was far too much to me to take in – once more I was reminded how little I know about this part of European history.

Original ‘Communist propoganda’ on display in the bunkers

Back up on ground level, Tirana is an opportunity to eat at vegetarian restaurants again, even a mocha with soy milk is available. I wandered around at night taking in the atmosphere but too tired to join a hostel bar crawl.

Next stop on the backpacker trail in Albania is Berat. Taking yet another bus here was an experience in itself – there are two ‘bus stations’ in Tirana, one serving routes north and south and one serving east and west – it’s important to get the right one. I use inverted commas because ‘bus station’ is a stretch – bus stations in Albania are really carparks filled with buses of varying states of decay. As soon as you arrive, a group of men will shout various city names at you. This is not a scam, it’s how you find your bus as English is not widely spoken and there is no ticket office. I hopped on just as the Berat bus was departing – the lack of following schedules actually means you’re less likely to miss your bus as the driver tries to wait until all seats are filled.

The UNESCO Heritage Site of Berat, often referred to as the city of 1000 windows, dates back to the 4th century. Berat could be visited in a day trip from Tirana but it’s lovely at night when the streets are full of people drinking coffee and eating dessert, and old men playing chess occupy the benches. Apparently if you want to find anyone in Berat, just come to the main street after dusk.

Berat’s main attraction is the fortress on top of the hill, which has a functional town inside of it with houses, shops and restaurants. The walk up is steep in the 35 degree Celsius August heat (even the first bit of rain I’ve seen in 3 weeks didn’t cool the temperature down) but the views are worth it.

I went in the slightly odd National Ethnographic Museum of Berat which is basically a house where I had no real clue what I was looking at, but mostly enjoying wandering along the river in the afternoon and stopping for coffee or food.

I stayed at the Berat Backpackers, a choice made mostly due to the Lonely Planet write up and it’s beautiful setting inside the Gorica area (across the bridge and south of the river Osumi) with a large garden to enjoy breakfast and a beer from the well stocked fridge.

The atmosphere didn’t quite live up to the reviews possibly because of change in ownership – this was a rare time where I was grateful when some other Brits turned up and quite literally brought the party in the form of three 18 year olds – India, Millie (from Budleigh Salterton – she agreed that naturist beach is definitely dodgy) and Millie’s boyfriend, who made me laugh like only 18 year olds can, and Tom who brought a plastic water bottle full of the local liquor ‘rakia’, otherwise known as pure fire, made by an old woman who ripped him off on the street. With a lack of other backpackers able or willing to speak English, a quiet Friday night quickly turned into Brits on Tour as we found the one place that had a pool table. I was slightly concerned we were now in Albania mafia territory and it was unclear how much/ what it was going to cost, but Tom assured me the locals who were by now clearly waiting for us to leave, were ‘just the lads’.

Let’s just say we were not popular in the hostel the next morning (I blame the Czechs who certainly knew how to carry the party on) but luckily I was moving south for some beach time.

What happens in Albania stays in Albania

With only a week here, I wanted to see the Albanian Riviera and chose the town of Vlorë predominantly because of the direct bus route. First hurdle – no taxis so the hostel owner’s financé drove me to the bus station / parking lot. Second hurdle – despite what the timetable said there were no buses running in that direction today, and no explanation as to why not. Having already booked the next few nights accommodation and on a schedule for once, I had no choice but to pay the fiancé to drive me the hour and a half all the way to the coast. I spotted some other tourists also trying to get to Vlorë and suggested we share the ride but they weren’t interested, expressing horror at the price. What cheapskates, I thought as I agreed to pay the 7000 lek myself (around €55). It was only when we were on the way that I realised I had done my old trick of confusing the currency and quoted them 70,000 lek, over five HUNDRED euros. No wonder they weren’t keen.

When we eventually got to Vlore, after stopping to help two German girls change a flat tyre, we couldn’t find my accommodation despite my lovely driver making several phone calls and looking so hard at Google maps that he backed into a parked car (which he totally ignored). If he was regretting taking me to the bus station he didn’t show it, refusing to accept even take a tiny tip.

My accommodation in Vlorë was the ‘Berti Apartments’, run by the sweetest old couple who did not speak a word of English other than ‘breakfast?’ – the old woman woke me up at 7am by knocking on my window to bring breakfast on a cute little tray to the table outside my room. It was only missing the coffee – with no instructions I couldn’t light the gas to make my own nor communicate this to my hosts. Cue comedic gesturing until the old man called a younger man for me to explain over the phone, who then came around two minutes later so we could all go to my room to teach me that the gas has to be turned on from the mains in order to work.

Vlorë is a beach holiday destination – lovely sandy beach and the warmest sea at the price of a €4 sunbed for the day. Wide palmtree lined streets full of cafes and restaurants turn into thumping clubs in the evening when the promenades are full of people, mostly holidaymakers from the surrounding countries. Still not quite the secluded coves for early morning swims I was looking for but beautiful none the less and with the bonus of very friendly people; as much I as liked Montenegro it is hard not to notice that people don’t really smile.

All too quickly my week in Albania came to an end as I had booked some accommodation back in the south of Montenegro, just across the border from the city of Shkodër, so I headed there for the night. There isn’t much to do there unless you’re going further north to hike in the Albanian Alps or spend time on the lake, neither of which I had time for but I did enjoy the photographic museum which I had all to myself. It contains some stunning old photographs of Albanian life, particularly the random ones of people laughing and joking with no information to explain the who / what / when.

I wasn’t that surprised when once more the bus did not materialise, despite a) my having double checked in advance with two different hostels that it existed and b) this bus was my sole reason for going to Shkodër in the first place as was less than hour away from my final destination. The journey is part of the experience as they say so I had to go almost full circle in the opposite direction, back through my favourite city Podgerica, for a final five nights in Montenegro before heading north to Serbia…

Buses, Borders and World War One (Bosnia and Herzegovina)

August 19, 2021August 28, 2021Posted in TravelTagged backpacking, Bosnia, Herzegovina, solo travel, Travel1 Comment

When you’re standing on the very spot that started World War One you know this will need a longer and more serious blog post than usual. Welcome to country number three on my Balkans Tour – Bosnia and Herzegovina.

Let’s start with the journey. I boarded a supposedly six hour bus in Budva, Montenegro with destination Mostar. I was enjoying the view along the Adriatic coast from my window seat when I overheard somebody ask the driver about a toilet stop, to which he replied ‘toilets in Dubrovnik’. That would be Dubrovnik, Croatia – obviously I should have read the timetable more carefully. This bus was taking the indirect route with not one but four border crossings to contend with – Montenegro -> Croatia -> Bosnia -> Croatia-> Bosnia due to the division of land in this area.

We hit a complete standstill at the first Croatian checkpoint until our driver had enough and floored it for what felt like a good few miles on the wrong side of the road, to audible gasps from the passengers. It turned out he hadn’t lost his mind – the ticket collector had run ahead and was now standing in the middle of the road stopping the traffic until we cut everyone else up and forced our way back in at the front of the queue.

The Montenegro / Croatia land border is an EU entry point and the reason for the delay was the border police on steroids who were ripping through every single item of every single person’s luggage, including everyone on our bus as we were ordered off. I could see my heart pounding as an officer with a gun pulled out more and more packs of my antihistamine tablets, suspicious as to why I had so many (even I wasn’t sure anymore, probably the Boots 3 for 2 offers) and clearly baffled as to how anyone could be that allergic to anything. At this point I’m regretting a) answering NO when asked ‘do you have any medication?’ as evidently I am carrying a small pharmacy, and b) emptying two months worth of multi vitamins into a plastic bag shoved into a shoe to save on space. I’m also remembering a taxi driver telling me that the Croatian police like to issue fines for any medication manufacturered outside of Croatia. We did actually have a laugh when he couldn’t do my bag back up again – for some reason I told him he needs to get better at packing. He agreed he needed more training in that department and wished me a safe trip.

Back on the bus and wishing I could flush half my bag down the toilet before the next border check, the silver lining was getting to see the sunset over that unexpected detour to Dubrovnik as I realised that six hours was long gone. By the time I arrived in Mostar it was 11pm and with no taxis in sight I had to walk to my hostel, Taso’s Place, which actually felt an awful lot safer than London with plenty of people still out and about.

Bullet holes remain in many buildings throughout Mostar

The next morning, off on a day trip that Taso organised for me with a few others, I was amazed by how beautiful Herzegovina is. All blue rivers and green fig trees and purple grape vines. The trip started with my second breakfast of the day featuring fried Uštipci dough balls, grilled vegetables and very good coffee while getting to know the others. Our guide had an incredible knowledge of UK politics and it seems most of the world. Whilst my education in Herzegovina was sorely lacking, mostly limited to their entries in the Eurovision Song Contest.

Mostar’s damaged buildings, not safe for entry

Mostar as a city has an incredibly complex history interwoven with the Ottoman and Austro-Hungarian empires. Bosnia and Herzegovina as a country has sadly become synonymous with a warzone. Here I will simply give some of the information that I managed to take in from speaking to local guides, fact checked on Wikipedia as best I can do with limited Internet access!

I always try to take the free (tip based) walking tours in the major cities that I visit as this gives you the opportunity to ask any questions you like – nothing was off limits. Highly recommended is Shiva’s guided tour of Mostar, which lasts as long as it lasts. You also get his business card which apparently acts as a ‘get out of jail free’ card.

The Old Bridge, reconstructed in 2004. Diver casually sitting up top.

Mostar is named after it’s Ottoman centre piece, the Stari Most bridge (Old Bridge) rising over the river Neretva. Originally built in the 16th century, it’s destruction in 1993 has become symbolic of the war in Mostar and the division of community that followed.

At the end of a day sightseeing around the area, our guide bought us coffees and we sat in the sunshine for a whiteboard history lesson.

After independence from Yugoslavia in 1992, Mostar was under siege for 3 years during the Bosnian War which killed over 100,000 people across the country and resulted in the genocide of over 8000 Bosnian Muslims in Srebrenica. The people I spoke to were clear that rather than a ‘civil war’, this was ethnic cleansing.

It’s important to note that the 1991 census records a population made up of 29% Croats, 34% Muslims, 19% Serbs and the remaining 18% Yugoslavs / other. At that point in time around a third of all marriages in Mostar were mixed, with the different ethnic and religious communities spread evenly throughout the city. This means that when forced to fight, you would likely be taking sides against your spouse’s family or your neighbours and friends.

Eerily almost every tombstone in this Mostar graveyard was dated 1993

Sniper tower in Mostar where the instruction was ‘shoot anything that moves’

The 90s are not that long ago – most people here have direct experience of the war. My first tour guide’s father was sent to a concentration camp and the second believes life today is generally worse than under Tito’s Yugoslavia with low wages and high unemployment. The division can still be seen today – East Mostar is known as the Muslim side with Catholic Croats on the West. There are separate schools (one mixed school now exists but has separate lessons), two fire brigades, two bus stations, two football teams… There are even three Presidents who rotate as Chairperson every eight months: one Bosniak, one Serb, and one Croat, making for an administrative nightmare.

On a lighter note the local heroes are the Mostonian bridge divers, who continue the tradition of diving into the river as a right of passage. I was passing by as local guys were drumming up tips and teasing the gathering crowd for a quite a while before jumping so gracefully it appeared like slow motion: see video below.

1981 is graffitied all over Mostar – the birth of the Red Army football team!

Mostar diving club where you can register for a try out on a smaller platform if you so wish.

I also learned where the term ‘whirl like a Dervish’ actually comes from at the 1520 era monastery where the Sufi Muslims practice rituals that involve whirling. It felt very calming with the rooms being built right into the mountain and directly on the water. As the sign on the wall said ‘we are all made from water’. Visiting inside meant covering heads and bodies – one of our group did mistake me for a Muslim woman.

Kravice waterfalls – no day trip is complete without a waterfall swim.

There was also an opportunity to sample the most delicious figs I’ve ever tasted and climb free reign over the castle in Počitelj. The lovely woman selling her fruit knows full well that she only needs to convince one person to taste it and the whole group will soon be buying the fresh pomegranate juice mixed with lemon and sugar.

Sarajevo was my next stop, only a two hour train ride through the mountains. I was not expecting such a visible Turkish influence, a throwback to the Ottoman era ofcourse. It’s also home to the place where the Arch Duke of Austria, Franz Ferdinand (not just a band name) was assassinated, widely considered the trigger for the first World War – a fact I was unaware of. This is an example of why I feel travelling is so important rather than relying on barely listened to school history lessons about Henry 8th’s wives. At least in my case anyway.

At night the old town of Sarajevo is buzzing with people, mostly sipping Bosnian coffee (which has to be savoured not rushed, and if you take it with sugar you’re supposed to put the sugar cube on your tongue then drink the coffee) and eating baklava or other similar sweet desserts. It’s a really nice place to spend an evening people watching if you can find a free seat.

The city today prides itself today on the meeting of different cultures and religions, having a mosque, Catholic church, Orthodox church and synagogue all within the same neighborhood. It is also home to the second largest Jewish cemetery in Europe, partly due to the large number of Jewish refugees from Spain who settled here.

A stark reminder of the war are the Sarajevo Roses that can found scattered around the city. These are concrete scars from mortar explosions, coloured in red to mark spots where at least 3 people were killed.

When you want to escape the city, a cable car takes you up to the Trebević mountain for scenic views and the slightly creepy abandoned Bobsleigh track built for the 1984 Olympics. Tourists have yet to return to this country in their pre-covid levels, meaning I had a cable car to myself.

One of the city’s water fountains – rumour has it if you drink from here you will fall in love and return

I only spent 4 days in Bosnia and Herzegovina, added to my route as an afterthought on the recommendation of other travellers, and barely scratched the surface of the history, culture and landscapes – but the incredibly friendly people in the small number of places I did visit have taught me more than I can possibly write in this short space of time and words. Put this country on your bucket list and see for yourself!

From Ruins to Riches (Montenegro Part 2)

August 19, 2021August 25, 2021Posted in TravelTagged backpacking, Montenegro, solo travel, TravelLeave a comment

After one week in the luxury of the Mahakala Yoga Retreat I was itching to get moving, starting with the UNESCO World Heritage site of Kotor just an hour up the coast with it’s medieval old town and views over the bay.

My current style of travel is to book private rooms in hostels, giving me my own space but keeping the backpacker vibe. I was astounded when the Old Town Hostel staff led me out of the building and around a few corners to the ‘Palazzo Drusko’, who it turns out they have an agreement with if they are full. And what an upgrade! The attic level ‘Artists Room’ of the 600 year old stone house formerly owned by Montenegrin nobility, may just be the creepiest and yet best room I have ever stayed in, with Balkan music playing from an old radio and 150 year old furniture and antiques / paintings / crochets adorning the walls. See video below – turn the sound on! Although I was relieved to be able to turn it off at bedtime.

My palace room was located right in the middle of the Old Town, a maze of cobbled streets and churches and squares – the same churches I would end up passing multiple times as I wandered around in circles all evening.

Waiting to greet me on every corner were the Cats of Kotor who have been here for over a hundred years. They even have their own museum. I stumbled upon a shop selling cat themed souvenirs and was delighted to find out this was THE shop run by the famous Cat Lady of Kotor who cares for many of them.

I really liked the atmosphere in Kotor. It may be a little touristy in the old town but it didn’t cross the line into tacky and never got too busy to enjoy.

One of the recommended activities is to climb up to the ruins of the 9th century Fortress built into the Lovcen Mountains. A few people had told me to avoid the 1350 steps up by taking an alternative route that bypasses the €8 entry fee and involves climbing through a window.

I have no problem paying the entrance fee, I am a visiting tourist after all, but couldn’t resist the climbing through a window bit. The path starts to the right of the Resto Bar Taraca restaurant (great for veggie food and a favourite of everyone I met!) and it’s best to go as early as possible, I was on the way up by 7am to beat the heat.

It’s about a 30 minute walk uphill before you pass a derelict looking church (circa 1518) where some helpful red arrows painted on the rocks confirm the way. The most fun part was climbing up the ladder and through the famous window, which is confusingly accompanied by both a ‘no trespassing’ sign and a helpful red dot. Once you’re through, you can climb all over the fortress to your heart’s content – health and safety isn’t an issue here.

I was puzzled by the face masks tied to the bridge and still haven’t found out why they are there. A bonus of being up there early is you get to feel smug as the hoards of people start to arrive huffing and puffing their way up the stairs while you stroll down having just got the best photos as the sunlight hits the bay.

The tiny town of Perast is also worth a visit, reachable by either a bus or my choice, the boat trip for €15 which also stops at the even tinier man made island of Our Lady of the Rocks with it’s interesting origin. Legend has it that a fisherman shipwrecked nearby found an image of the Madonna and Christ on a rock in 1452, prompting the building of the church from stones transported from Perast and pieces of sunken ships. The custom of throwing stones into the sea in order to maintain the island remains as the Fasinada festival every 22nd of July.

The centre piece of the museum on the island is the small tapestry which is partly comprised of actual woven hair. The woman who crafted it apparently spent 25 years working away whilst her husband was at sea, eventually going blind and using her own hair in some parts – I wasn’t actually able to tell the difference but maybe it’s visible from the photo below…

Montenegro means Black Mountain so it’s necessary to see some mountains. To the north is the Durmitor National Park and the Black Lake. This would be best visited by car with an overnight stop but without my own wheels I took a lonnngggg day trip (11 hours!). But two hours of driving actually flies by when the scenery looks like this and you have fellow backpackers to chat to.

First stop was the Tara bridge with a very sedate zipline in my opinion. €20 for 50 seconds of flying seemed like quite a lot but as our guide pointed out it’s actually 56 seconds and that extra 6 makes all the difference! Naturally I had to do it along with Caroline from Ireland. We bought the photos that I did not know were being taken and as she put it ‘you had your game face on’ – clearly I was not happy she had overtaken me during those crucial six seconds.

A sad sight was the wild fires that are raging all over this part of Europe at the moment. As it got dark we could see the orange flames in the distance and more scarily cars ahead were stopping to put out flames by the roadside with buckets of mud. Even sadder to learn that some of these fires are being started deliberately according to drone footage, with the perpetrators not even kids but in their 30s and 40s.

The smoke cleared by the time we reached the Black Lake, which is beautifully clear up close and perfect for swimming.

Last but not least was the Ostrog Monastery, built almost vertically into the mountain. This does not deter the pilgrims who walk the 3km up barefoot. Due to a quick toilet stop I missed the first part of our guide’s introductions, but got the gist that it is very important you DO NOT LAUGH when entering the cave chamber where the body of Vasilije, a Bishop of Herzegovina, lies in rest. Also you may kiss the priest’s hand if you wish to do so (no offence caused if not). Obviously this made me laugh to the point where our guide refused to catch my eye for the entire visit.

It was only when I got into the cave and saw a large, living priest standing next to the coffin with his hand outstretched I realised it’s HIS hand you should kiss, not the presumably mummified one. I forgot the rest of the protocol in a panic and turned on my heel to leave without kissing anyone. Our guide confessed afterwards he had made that mistake when he was a teenager and he still can’t face going back into that cave.

Kissing priests aside, Montenegro seems to be a hub for solo female travellers. After swapping travel stories over dinner I had been convinced to add as many countries to my itinerary as possible within the next 7 weeks.

My final stop in Montenegro was Budva. Various people had told me it’s a big city and lacks the charm of Kotor but I had to see for myself. Needless to say they were right. I soon cancelled my third night when I experienced the heaving crowds in the old town, back to back sunbeds on the overcrowded beaches and Russian women dressed to the nines on their way to the thumping night clubs. All this amidst the stifling heat of near 40 degrees centigrade. Maybe if you’re on the beach with the €150 entry fee (to be fair it includes champagne!) or the owner of one of the super yachts you might enjoy it more. Budva is definitely where the money is.

Instead of the bars with rumoured £1k rounds of drinks, us cheap backpackers grabbed some two euro bottles of wine from the supermarket and a few miniature bottles of Rakia, the local liquor. Made from various fruit, it looks and smells a lot better than it tastes at 40%, especially when drinking it from an expresso cup.

Budva by night

Budva at least gave me the time to plan the next part of my trip and I found myself booking a bus ticket to that well known holiday hotspot, Bosnia and Herzegovina…