Maxted Travels with Modestine 4

All things Brighton dutiful.

2011-02-13T21:25:00.020Z

Monday 7th February 2011, Brighton
The title for this account came to me as I crouched, paintbrush in hand, working my way along the lounge skirting board of the flat in Brighton belonging to our daughter Kate! We had been sent down for a "holiday" while it was temporarily unoccupied as she debated what to do about both her home and her own future. She'd bought the flat several years ago, Brighton being the "in" place for "20 somethings" to live. Since then she'd moved on and now, after travelling around South America and with a new life back in Devon, she found the pace of things in Brighton less suited to her aging "30 something" mentality.

Her home is an agreeable Victorian flat dating from the late 19th century. Kate has her own unique style of interior design – indeed she should have followed that avenue as a career. We call it "shabby chic". She can take a worm-eaten dresser, a mirror discarded in a streetside skip, a canvas screen from a junk shop and a couple of old silk saris picked up during her travels from a market stall somewhere in India, and turn a room into something both charming and unique.

Although we'd been sent off to have fun there were a few little jobs Kate hoped we'd do around the flat – like overseeing, and clearing up after the installation of some new Velux windows in the roof and the replacement of the bathroom door leading to the roof terrace that overlooks the garden of the flat below. Yes, the flat does have its peculiar little quirks, and passing through the bathroom with a bottle of wine or a sizzling lasagne for a relaxing summer supper amidst the pots of parsley on the terrace is just one of them! We've also found ourselves bargaining with the local second-hand furniture store to swap a folding teak table, considered by Kate as too modern and smart, for a folding linen screen to shield the loo from supper guests on the terrace; and carrying bucket loads of no longer needed soil through the streets to dump back in the local park, from where it had originally been surreptitiously "borrowed". Touching up the paintwork a little ended up in a full-scale repainting of the Victorian sash windows in the lounge as well as the high mantle over the fireplace, the cream frames of all the stripped pine internal doors and the skirting boards throughout the house! It's looking so lovely now, we'd rather like to stay!

Empty lounge in Kate's flat, Brighton
Looking into the lounge from the stairs, Brighton
Kitchen in the flat, Brighton
Bathroom with new door to the terrace, Brighton
Bedroom in the roof after Ian's repair job around the new window, Brighton
Main bedroom with new window, Brighton
staircase with door to the bathroom, Brighton
Terrace of typical houses in the area, Brighton
So much for the "dutiful". The rest will be about "all things Brighton".

Brighton and Hove, together with several smaller towns, form a massive urban conurbation stretching along the south coast, some fifty miles from London. It has a total population of nearly half a million people and is within daily commuting distance of London. Brighton has two universities and many buildings of historic charm. There is a somewhat bohemian feel to the city. In the centre, and particularly the throbbing area around Preston Circus where Kate has her flat, it appears as run-down and shabby. Lovely terraces of old houses have been bought by landlords and let out as bedsits and apartments. Neither the tenants nor the owners are greatly interested in maintaining the properties. So external plasterwork decays and crumbles, rubbish bins are left on the streets, electric cabling dangles from many of the gables, streets are rarely swept and nowhere is there space for plants to grow. With so many bedsits there is not enough space for people to park and the streets are permanently lined with vehicles, often double parked. Outside Kate's flat three lanes of traffic lead down to a busy crossroads where five or six major roads converge. Traffic passes day and night but strangely, we hardly notice it. The air is dirty after Devon and it's impossible to keep windows and external paintwork clean.

There is a definite character to the immediate neighbourhood with everything you could ever conceive of needing available within a few moments walk. Predominantly it is an area of people on limited incomes. Amidst the usual banks, building societies, estate agents, chemists and mobile phone shops the main street is crowded with small individual shops selling cheap goods – 99p stores, an Aldi supermarket, charity shops, dvd and music stores as well as a YMCA second hand furniture store, a pawn broker, a couple of betting shops, cheap cafes, bakers and pubs. It's a cosmopolitan area with Tandooris, Chinese take-aways, a Thai restaurant and even a Persian run fish and chip bar. Despite the cold, benches outside the shabby but characterful pubs seem permanently occupied, during the day by pasty-faced older men, at night by young couples of either mixed or single sex.

Brighton is regarded as the Gay capital of Britain, if not Europe, with some 27% of households appearing on the census as occupied by same sex couples. The Gay Pride carnival is held for the lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender community each June in nearby Preston Park - where two minority heterosexual pensioners were recently seen dumping buckets of soil and worms! It is the largest such event held in Britain attracting visitors from throughout the country. The city has many bars, clubs and entertainment venues devoted to the LBGT community and has become the "in" place for gay weddings and civil ceremonies. I was reliably informed by the two irritating young men installing the Velux windows here that the majority of residents in this area are pink!

Nearby is Brighton Central Station, approached by a magnificent viaduct constructed during the 1840s. It has twenty seven arches and is reputed to be built from 10 million bricks! It passes overhead just a hundred yards from here with terraces of houses built right up to it. It is now a grade II listed structure.

Viaduct crossing a nearby street, Brighton
Night view of the same viaduct arches, Brighton
Brighton was already a recognised seaside resort by the 19th century with a commercial port. It was also an international ferry port linking Britain to France through the port at Dieppe. With the arrival of the railway, Brighton developed rapidly as a tourist resort for Londoners and became known as London by the Sea.

Almost opposite Kate's flat is another grade II listed building, the Duke of York cinema, currently celebrating its centenary. It is one of the oldest cinemas in the world - a delightful piece of architectural eye candy at the heart the colourful shopping and residential area. It has remained unaltered since its construction in 1910, except, that is, for the addition of a huge pair of striped Can Can legs protruding from the roof! But what else would you expect in Brighton? The Duke of York was a cinema for discerning clients, its slogan being "Bring her to the Duke's, it's fit for a Duchess". In recent years it has been sympathetically restored and is now also an arts centre – far better cared for than in its past when it sometimes hosted illegal punk concerts! Still in daily use, it is the oldest, continuously operating, purpose-built cinema in Britain. We crossed the road to explore inside. The auditorium still has one of its original box balconies. Although it now has the addition of a very pleasant coffee lounge, it was easy to imagine ourselves back in Edwardian England. Back then public cinematography would have been in its infancy - it was in Brighton that some of the very early experiments in moving pictures began in 1896 while Kinemacolor, one of the first colour processes, was invented in the town by George Albert Smith in 1906 and used from 1910-1914.

Duke of York cinema, Preston Circus, Brighton
Detail of the Duke of York cinema, Brighton
As a break from painting we took a walk around the town centre, exploring some of the streets of alternative shops and houses around the station area. Brightly decorated, highly expressive hand-painted shop fronts help make this area unique. Walls are painted with huge, colourful murals and the shops concentrate on selling extravagant shoes and clothing aimed at the young.

Hand decorated facade, Brighton
Hand decorated shop front, Brighton
Hand decorated shop front, Brighton
Hand decorated corner shop, Brighton
Graffiti wall, Brighton
Grafitti wall, Brighton
Mural on a gable end, Brighton
Making our way up towards the station we chanced on the ornate clock tower, constructed in 1888 to mark the Golden Jubilee of Queen Victoria. Each of the four sides has a mosaic portrait depicting variously, Queen Victoria, Prince Albert and the Prince and Princess of Wales.

Central railway station, Brighton
Iron and glass canopy over the track at the Central Station, Brighton
Brighton clock tower, 1888 commemorating the Golden Jubilee of Queen Victoria
Detail from Brighton clock tower – a mosaic of Queen Victoria
A fifteen minute walk from the flat takes us to the seafront and the Palace Pier – now renamed Brighton Pier. During my childhood back in the 1950s we lived in Croydon and, along with thousands of other Londoners, would frequently take the train down to Brighton at the weekend. There we would have a picnic on the crowded pebbly beach, a stroll along the pier with its penny in the slot naughty 3D photos of what the butler saw, and a paddle in the sea.

Brighton Pier, formerly the Palace Pier, Brighton
Entrance to the Pier, Brighton
The pier is another of Brighton's listed buildings. It has suffered various assaults throughout its history, including a fire and an IRA attempt to blow it up. It was also considered to be a major risk during WWII and was purposely partially destroyed to ensure a German invasion from France could not use it as a landing stage.

Brighton used to have three piers, including the Chain Pier and the West Pier.

The West Pier, built in 1866 was damaged by fire in 1975 but its skeletal remains still stand off-shore, its rusting iron legs battered by the waves. This pier figured as the control and command centre in the satirical musical about the First World War, Oh What a Lovely War. There are currently plans to replace the pier with a huge viewing platform at the top of a steel column rising 176 metres above the sea and offering views up to twenty-five miles away, along the coast, across the city and back over the South Downs.

Remains of the West Pier destroyed by fire in 1975, Brighton
The Chain Pier, built in 1823, was destroyed by a storm in 1896. The remaining Brighton Pier, built 1891-1899, strides majestically 1719 ft (524 metres) out into the waves and is one of Britain's major seaside attractions. As in my own childhood, Londoners still flock to the coast during the summer and invariably end up on the pier with its domed amusement arcade, restaurants, concert hall, bars, deck chairs, roller coaster, ghost train and even wedding venue. At night though, it seems it is starlings that flock to the pier, roosting in their thousands beneath the planked walkway.

Along the seafront between the Aquarium and the Marina runs the open top, narrow gauge Volk's electric railway. Opened in 1883 it is the oldest electric railway in the world. Like the West Pier it also figured in the film Oh what a lovely war as did the long wrought-iron arcade that runs parallel to the railway along the seashore.

Entrance to Volk's seafront railway, opened in 1823, Brighton
Volk's Electric Railway, Brighton
Wrought iron arcades, Brighton seafront
Brighton is well endowed with superlatives including the London to Brighton veteran car run, an annual event that began in 1896. It is the world's longest running motoring event and the world's largest gathering of veteran vehicles. To take part cars must have been built before 1905. The rally starts in Hyde Park and officially ends at Preston Park, a distance of 54 miles, before continuing past Kate's flat down to the pier.

Brighton is mentioned in the Domesday book. In 1514 it was attacked and destroyed by French raiders. The present area of narrow alleys of tiny shops known as the Lanes is one of the few areas to have survived the raids. It formed the original fishing village known as Brighthelmstone.

A network of similar little streets forms the ancient Lanes area of Brighton
Almost certainly the most spectacular sight in Brighton is the Prince Regent's Palace, or Brighton Pavilion, together with the neighbouring Dome and Corn Exchange, now an arts venue containing a concert hall, theatre, restaurant and museum. The buildings are linked by an underground passage as they all originally formed the palace built by the Prince Regent in 1805. The concert hall and Corn Exchange were formerly the Prince's stables and riding school.

Brighton Dome
Corn Exchange, Brighton
Entrance to the Dome, Brighton
Foyer to Brighton Dome
Corridor inside the Dome leading to the museum, Brighton
Entrance to the concert hall, Brighton Dome
The Dome seen from the Palace gardens, Brighton
Feeling we'd earned a treat we recently took ourselves off to explore the Royal Pavilion. It is absolutely amazing! Begun in 1787 by the Prince Regent, externally it is Indo-Saracenic in style reflecting the British preoccupation with India at that time. The skyline is a riot of cupolas, domes and minarets. Inside the style is quite different. It is exquisitely decorated in Oriental style known as Chinoiserie and is the largest and most magnificent example ever undertaken in Britain. The roof of the Great Kitchen is supported by four cast-iron palm trees while in the Banqueting Room a massive chandelier is held up by a silver oriental dragon. Structural iron work is made to look like bamboo, and furnishings include lacquered cabinets, silk screens, Chinese rugs, ornate oriental lamps and delicate vases and porcelain.

Prince Regent's Palace (Brighton Pavilion) seen across the gardens, Brighton
Prince Regent's Palace, designed by John Nash, Brighton
Entrance to the Prince Regent's Palace, Brighton
The Pavilion was a Royal Palace belonging to George, Prince of Wales who used it as a retreat from London where he could entertain friends and be with his mistress Mrs. Fitzherbert – whom he later secretly married. The seaside was becoming increasingly popular as a health cure and the Prince believed the sea water and Brighton air were good for his gout. In 1811 his father, King George III, became mentally incapable of ruling the country and the Prince of Wales became the Prince Regent, monarch in all but name, until his father's death in 1820 when he succeeded him as King George IV.

Regency dandies at the Pavilion, Brighton
Brighton became increasingly popular with the London aristocracy, within easy reach of the capital, and it developed rapidly. There are now hundreds of attractive Regency buildings and several squares in Brighton displaying a style of architecture typically associated with the Regency period but totally different from the flamboyant style of the Prince Regent's own palace.

Regency Square, Brighton sea front
A Regency terrace, Brighton
Town Hall, Brighton
What started as a simple farmhouse by the sea developed to become a fantasy building possibly surpassing even the Bavarian fairytale palaces of mad King Ludwig II. George had extravagant tastes, living lavishly and sparing no expense, employing top architects Henry Holland and John Nash to design the palace. Wrought iron and glass were used extensively in its construction. Unfortunately the salt air later caused expensive corrosion problems. The Pavilion and Dome are set back from the sea in attractive gardens open to the public.

When George IV died without an heir in 1830 he was succeeded by his brother William IV. He also died without leaving an heir so the crown passed to his niece Victoria. She never liked the Brighton Pavilion, finding it poky and unsuitable for her growing family. She also hated the lack of privacy now that ordinary Londoners could easily take the newly established train service down to Brighton for the day. She preferred Osborne on the Isle of Wight so Brighton Pavilion was closed and in 1850 it was sold to the city of Brighton who have managed it ever since. It is the only royal palace in Britain owned by a local corporation!

A rather nice touch is that during the First World War the Pavilion was used as a military hospital for Indian soldiers wounded fighting for the "mother country" in Europe. It was felt to be appropriate as they would feel more at home in such an architectural setting!

Tuesday 8th February 2011, Brighton
Yesterday the new windows were installed in the back bedroom, kitchen and bathroom. Everything went smoothly with the minimum of fuss, mess or noise. This morning we were finally able to repaint the bedroom and at last our work here seems to be at an end. Everywhere is clean, repainted and smart. Tomorrow we return home in time to exchange notes with Kate before she comes up on Saturday to hand over the keys to the new occupier.

Today the sun has been shining and it has felt really warm. With our work finished, we were off to enjoy a stroll along the seafront towards Hove. This area was the setting for the recent remake of the film Brighton Rock based on the acclaimed novel by Graham Greene depicting gang warfare between Mods and Rockers in the town during the early 1960s. Brighton seemed transformed without the bitter wind and mizzling rain. There were joggers, children, people in shorts and bare feet playing volleyball on the beach and hundreds of others soaking up the sun at beachside cafes or simply lounging on the beach watching the giant waves crashing onto the shingle.

Brighton beach with the Pier beyond
We strolled along the promenade, past the elegant seaside hotels and squares of regency villas until we reached Hove. Along the sea front stands the magnificent Grand Hotel, built in 1864. It was the scene of the Brighton bombing of 1984 when the IRA attacked the Conservative Party Conference intending to kill the Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher and her cabinet. Returning back along the lower, beach level we passed the ornate Victorian bandstand constructed in 1884 and the mangled remains of the pillars that once supported the West Pier.

Flats, hotels and squares along Brighton sea front looking towards Hove
Looking back along the beach from Hove with Brighton Pier and the ruins of the West Pier
Grand Hotel, scene of the bombing at the Conservative party conference in 1984, Brighton
Wrought iron bandstand, 1884, on the seafront for summer concerts, Brighton
Probably the best example of a surviving Victorian bandstand in England,1884, Brighton
Pillars and remains of the West Pier, Brighton

Once back at the centre of town we made our way to the museum beside the Pavilion. Entry is free and the collections excellent, ranging from the usual archaeological finds and the local history of Brighton, to 20th century furniture design, fashion and costume, the Egyptians, Burmese puppets, ceramics, paintings, drawings and architectural prints by Piranesi. There was also a temporary exhibition on the development of filming in colour. The building itself is as interesting as the exhibits displayed there, reflecting the Indian style of the adjoining Royal Pavilion. It's an excellent museum and we only left when asked to do so at closing time.

Boney china! A taster of the museum's exhibits, Brighton
Although this account has concentrated on Brighton and Kate's flat with its immediate vicinity, we have also had the very great pleasure of visiting a couple of different sets of friends in the locality whom we have not seen for several years. On Sunday we were invited for lunch in Newhaven, some twelve miles along the coast, from where the cross channel ferry leaves for Dieppe in Upper Normandy. Our hosts Pam and Keith retired while we have been off on our travels, to a charming little house on the cliff top overlooking the sea where they are buffeted by Channel breezes and caked in salt spray for most of the year but rewarded with occasional idyllic summer days where they lounge outside with their books and glasses of wine or take a leisurely stroll on the cliffs to watch the ferry gradually disappear over the horizon. Pam and I date back to our convent schooldays when we were aged eleven so we have many memories in common. It was a very happy day despite the rain splattering against the windows on the seaward side of the house all afternoon and the impossibility of taking a walk on the cliffs. Thank you both for your hospitality.

Acknowledgements
I am particularly indebted to Wikipedia for verifying many of my facts and dates in this report. Access to the internet is an unaccustomed luxury we don't generally have when travelling with Modestine.

Related links of interest
Kate in South America http://kateinsouthamerica2008.blogspot.com/2008/11/arrival-in-peru.html

Bavarian palaces of Mad King Ludwig http://modestine.blogspot.com/2005/10/wilhelm-tell-and-switzerland.html See second half of entry for 28th September 2005.

Images of Brighton Pavilion http://www.bluffton.edu/~sullivanm/england/brighton/pavilion/nash.html

Simon Calder's recent travel article in the Independent The screen star of Sussex celebrating Brighton's role in cinematography and the remake of Graham Greene's Brighton Rock
http://www.independent.co.uk/travel/uk/the-screen-star-of-sussex-2201280.html

Done Roma-ing

2010-11-12T10:45:00.017Z

Wednesday 10th November 2010, Exeter
Well we are now safely back in Exeter and thoroughly enjoying the comfortable familiarity of our home, not to mention all the space, our own bathroom and a kitchen with all the cooking appliances I've proved we don't really need but still enjoy having around me once more.

Since we left the Jura we have had no opportunity to complete this final travel blog for Modestine4. If we continue travelling and decide to keep a blog in the future we will need to open a new site as our past two years of travels have used up all our permitted space. However, at the moment we have no immediate plans to do other than spend some time in England and visit friends and family here.

On our way back across strike-ridden France we managed to find a restricted quantity of fuel near Orléans. It was enough to relieve our fears of being stranded along the way until the blockaded delivery tankers could reach the pumps. We camped in the cold and wet on the banks of the Loire at Jargeau-sur-Loire, near Orléans.

That day the French government ratified the change to the age for retirement, raising it from 60 to 62. They carefully judged it to be just before the country went off on holiday for a week. Holidays are sacrosanct so there would be a few days for everything to simmer down until work recommenced after the Fête de Toussaint.

On the 24th October we visited the centre of Jargeau, where, despite the cold, it was the fête des andouillettes. Food stands were doing brisk business selling burned and greasy sheep's entrails, tightly packaged into sausage skins, along with glasses of the local wine.

Patisserie in Jargeau
Flat-bottomed boats on the Loire, Jargeau
We followed the banks of the Loire to Orléans where we walked across the bridge into the city. Strangely, it is a place we had never stopped before and it turned out to be a delightful city though rather disrupted at the moment as the new tramway is laid around the streets of the centre and along the road leading up to the Cathedral.

Orléans from the far side of the Loire, part of the Unesco world heritage area
Corner of the old town, Orléans
Disruption as the tramway is laid in front of the cathedral, Orléans
Cathedral, Orléans
Baroque make-over on the façade of the cathedral, Orléans
Gothic interior of the cathedral, Orléans
Along with the cathedral the main building of note is the beautiful early 16th century Hôtel Groslot. Originally built as a private residence by Jacques Groslot, after the revolution it became for a while the city hall or Hotel de Ville. It was open without charge to the public. Inside we marvelled at the heavy, beautiful 19th century decoration of the walls and ceilings, the ornate fireplaces and old furnishings. We discovered a panorama of Orléans which we dutifully photographed for Ralph in case it had slipped through his net. Outside the building stands a statue of Jeanne D'Arc, known to history as the Maid of Orléans after she led the French army against the English occupying the city in 1429. She is riddled with bullet holes and shrapnel, presumably from bombardment during the Second World War.

Hotel Groslot, 1550, Orléans
Hotel Groslot, Orléans
Hotel Groslot, Orléans
Hotel Groslot Orléans
Hotel Groslot, Orléans
Early 17th century panorama of Orléans in the Hotel Groslot
Jeanne d'Arc in front of the Hotel Groslot, Orléans
During the fading light of a wet afternoon we continued across France, bypassing Chartres and arrived in Caen in time for supper where we received our traditional warm welcome from Geneviève.

We spent longer than usual in Caen this time. During the day Ian would frequently disappear off to the city archives and the library to check through caches of documents, books and illustrations he'd discovered in his search to comprehensively gather material pertinent to the 18th century book trade in Normandy. Meanwhile, I accompanied Geneviève on her various missions to find such diverse things as an alarm clock, purple potatoes and coquilles St Jacques.

On the Monday evening we were invited for aperitifs across town with Françoise who accompanied Geneviève to China in 2008. She lives in a delightful cottage that once formed part of the stables of a 19th century house. It is hidden away in a secret garden completely unsuspected from the street. Aperitifs are one of the really good things about French social etiquette. They can be as elaborate or simple as your host wishes. They can last a courteous half hour or linger on longer than a supper party. Françoise and her cat opted for the full monty with choices of several quality wines from the Loire, Pinot de Charente and an expansive collation of canapés which we enjoyed snuggled around a log fire in the large open hearth of Caen stone.

Françoise, Jill and Geneviève enjoy a cosy evening, Caen
Our co-host, Caen
On the Tuesday morning we walked across town to visit our friend Claire. Her daughter Katie, whom we have known since she was nine years old, was visiting from Paris with her three children. It was a chance to see them all and to catch up on family news.

Alix, Edgar and Agathe keep themselves amused, Caen
Katie and Jill enjoy a chat, Caen
Returning into town afterwards we called off at the Abbaye aux Dames. Formerly a convent founded by Matilde, wife of Guillaume le Conquérant, it is now the headquarters of the Conseil Régional (County Hall).

Conseil Régional, formerly the Abbaye aux Dames, Caen
Interior of the Conseil Régional, formerly the Abbaye aux Dames, Caen
The cloisters, the monastery and the neighbouring abbey, set in their extensive grounds all date back to the 11th century and they are stunningly beautiful. From the high mound in the park there are views across the city while the Caen stone abbey is a mix of architectural styles. The windows are rather gaudy modern stained glass but the surrounding stonework, the columns, romanesque arches and gothic fan vaulting are all exquisite. In front of the altar is the tomb of William's queen while the walls to either side are currently hung with modern tapestries of popular female saints.

Interior of the Abbaye aux Dames, Caen
Modern tapestries in the Abbaye aux Dames, Caen
During the afternoon we drove out to Torteval to check on Zoe and Eva, Chantal's teenage Vietnamese daughters currently on school holiday and left alone at home for the first time. Chantal has at last found a suitable job and is working in Orléans but cannot yet take time off for the school holidays so is reliant on Geneviève's help.

On Wednesday, while Ian continued his trawl through the archives, I received a cookery lesson in Geneviève's kitchen learning to produce pâté de saumon. During the afternoon
We drove to Courseulles in pouring rain in search of those essential coquilles St. Jacques. They were being sold on the quayside direct from the boat and were removed from their shells and cleaned for us while we waited. This was my first glimpse of the sea since we set off towards Romania back in late August. Despite the cold and the damp we walked along the sandy beach in the rain. Unpleasant as it was, it was highly invigorating. Nor were we along. Several young men along the beach were receiving tuition in windsurfing while out at sea wet-suited masochists clambered onto their surfboards to rip back and forth parallel to the shore at astonishing speed. This stretch of coastline formed part of the D-Day landing beaches where the Canadian forces came ashore in June 1944.

The above was written after our return home. We now pick up the account that was written at the time:

Thursday 28th October 2010, Caen, France
This morning we filled every possible space in Modestine with French canned groceries, wines, coffee and chocolate. All these are cheaper in France than England and as the entire country will be closed for the holiday of Toussaint next Monday there may be no other opportunity before we leave.

Sometimes I think this is a strange country. Laic it may be but it has more religious holidays than most countries. Really the day is intended to be spent thinking about family members who have died. The cemeteries are full of carnations and relatives can take the opportunity to polish up the gravestones and tidy around the family tombs. Many however seem to treat it as an extension of the week long holiday taken by parents across the country to tie in with the school holiday. Others add it to the weekend which at least gives them the opportunity to visit relatives a bit further away. France is a big country and families are frequently widely scattered.

The fuel pumps were still mainly closed today despite shortages having gone on for well over a week. The situation has improved however and returning home we managed to refill with diesel though the pumps for petrol were dry. So we will still be leaving France with a full tank of cheap fuel. (1.13 Euros, almost exactly £1 per litre even during a crisis.) Petrol is far more expensive in France so most vehicles use diesel. The government has ordered fuel companies back to work and distribution priority is being given to diesel. In the few places where petrol has been available the prices are said to have increased greatly.

Back home Geneviève was busy making a cheese soufflé for lunch. At the crucial moment Chantal arrived unexpectedly with her Vietnamese daughter Eva. There had been a demonstration against the passing of the retirement law in the centre of Caen and they'd been taking part. Really there is little point in objecting now as it has become law but I've given up trying to understand why the French behave so irrationally sometimes.

Somehow the soufflé survived the interruption almost unscathed – not quite as high and fluffy as Geneviève wished but pretty amazing by my standards. French meals are frequently bits of this and bits of that so we easily accommodated two extra friends for lunch which was a very enjoyable interlude with Chantal practicing her English which she rarely has chance to do. Later Ian and I were sent off to the florist for a bouquet of roses for Marie-Françoise who had valiantly offered to host a reunion supper tonight for all our library friends, including Bénédicte from Bayeux and Odile and Gaston who gave us the inspiration for our travels to Romania.

Just before we were ready to leave, little Anouk, who lives next door and at ten years old is just starting piano lessons, came around for a practice session on Geneviève's piano, treating us to an experience we have not had since our daughter Kate disappeared off to university leaving behind her piano and music, never to take it up again.

Anouk practices her music, Caen
Our reunion with our friends from Caen library service was a very happy time for all of us. With the exception of Odile and Bénédicte we are all now retired. They meanwhile struggle along, preparing for the new 54 million euro library planned to be built over the next few years while the rest of us sympathise with the chaos it is causing and feel relieved that we no longer have to face such problems on a daily basis. Marie Françoise had excelled herself as usual with an entire battery of wine glasses on the table and canapés and champagne as an aperitif. Geneviève's rillettes de saumon were greatly appreciated as an hors d'oeuvre and Marie Françoise's roast pork with mushrooms, peas and carrots was perfection. By the time the cheese course arrived I was losing track of the conversation and four of my wine glasses lined up in front of me were beginning to look wobbly around the edges. Fortunately it wasn't me who was driving home. It was such a delight to us to find ourselves in the company of friends we have now known for many years and represent for us everything we love about France. Whenever we pass this way they go to great trouble to ensure we all meet together and we take the utmost delight in their company. Thank you all for the warmth of your welcome, Gaston, Bénédicte, Odile, Geneviève and especially Marie Françoise for hosting the evening.

Friends around the supper table, Caen
Friday 29th October 2010, Caen, France
This morning it was market day at the Fosses Saint Julien. Even if we'd needed nothing we'd have gone. French markets are the best in Europe by far. However, our friend Claire is coming for supper tonight and we needed the poissonnier for several shining, slippery mackerel to be cooked with parsley in white wine. For the starter Geneviève is preparing the coquilles St. Jacques we bought off the boat at Courseulles the other day. All this makes me feel very inferior with my "put it all in a pot and hope for the best" school of cookery but I am following her directions and may yet learn how best to sauté a kidney or skin a rabbit.

Talking of which, this is exactly what I observed in the market this morning. Unfortunately Ian's photo misses the blood and guts as well as the body being pulled out from inside the rabbit skin as it was deftly prepared for the customer while she waited. Geneviève commented to us that her grandfather used to hang the rabbit on a hook and pull the skin off over the rabbit's head. Overhearing us the man paused, as he prised the skin away from around the eyes and cut off the ears, to explain he too found this by far the easiest method but EU market place health and safety regulations did not permit him to string up and gut rabbits that way in public. He said if an inspector caught him he'd be fined 150 euros for each animal on his stall. He then wiped the blood off his hands onto his apron, popped bunny in a bag and took the customer's money, rummaged in his tray and handed back some smeared and sticky change! He'd got rabbits and chickens he'd prepared earlier (sounds like Blue Peter) which were lying unwrapped on the counter but that was apparently okay. I never cease to be amazed by French interpretation of EU regulations concerning public health and hygiene!

Skinning a rabbit in the market, Caen
Once we'd filled our shopping caddy with mackerel, organic carrots, purple potatoes, red onions, beetroot and freshly laid farm eggs we went for hot chocolate in the market cafe which Ian and Geneviève found very atmospheric. On the way home Ian and I bought a pot of chrysanthemums which we took around to the cemetery to place on Alain's tomb as it will shortly be the Fête de Toussaint. Geneviève will make her own visit later.

Queuing for seafood in the market, Caen
Walking through the huge city cemetery we were amazed at the bustle of activity taking place. Many of the graves already had several pots of flowers on them, others were being cleaned up by the families and polished with brushes, brooms and buckets of water.

Alan died 14 years ago now. His grave, with its polished granite book, symbol of his life's interest in libraries and rare books, stands beneath a tree shedding leaves as golden as the chrysanthemums we placed there. It's hard to realise it was so many years ago that he and Ian planned to work together on a publication once they retired. After his death little did we realise it would actually happen. Ian now has all the material he needs and a deadline for producing the publication Alain started so long ago.

This evening Claire came for supper. A very agreeable and relaxed affair. By the time she left it was pouring with rain which continued all night.

Jill, Claire and Genevieve at supper, Caen
Saturday 30th October 2010, Caen, France
By contrast with last night the sun has been shining brightly all day showing the autumn colours of the countryside to full advantage. This morning we drove to Bayeux to visit the renowned Saturday market. The town is as charming as ever and we felt nostalgic for the happy weeks we spent there just two years ago.

After a sandwich lunch with coffee in the town we called on Bénédicte whom we had warned we might be in Bayeux and in need of an after lunch coffee. During the afternoon we drove across the flat countryside to the cliffs overlooking the brilliantly sparking blue sea where the ferry crossing to England could be seen on the horizon.

Normandy formed the main defensive area for the occupying German forces and bristles with defences. There more than forty blockhouses along the cliffs in anticipation of the invasion from the English coast that eventually came on the 6th June 1944. They make up the most concentrated section of the defences that form the Atlantic Arc – a line of blockhouses that stretches right around the European coast from Spain to Scandinavia. We have written about the events of D-Day in a separate blog. The area we visited today at Longues, lies between Arromanches to the east and Pointe du Hoc to the west. The blockhouses were bombarded relentlessly from warships off the coast and although eventually knocked out, many of them stand today as solidly as they did sixty-six years ago. Today the cliff tops were busy with visitors enjoying the crisp sunshine as they enthusiastically explored the bunkers with their mighty gun turrets.

Clifftops near Arromanches with remains of the Mulberry Harbour, Longues
66 years on and still indestructible! Blockhouse at Longues
Behind the gun, inside one of the blockhouses, Longues
Remains of one of the blockhouses and guns, Longues
We walked down the steep cliff path to the pebbly beach where we watched the waves breaking gently on the shore. The sea is something that we always welcome after travelling deep into Europe. There may be mighty rivers and huge lakes but the sight, smell and breeze from the sea is something very special that no freshwater lake, however large, can quite match.

Pebble Pete lounges on the beach, Longues
Sunday 31st October 2010, Caen, France
Halloween and this evening the doorbell seems to have been ringing continuously. No sooner had one coven of three or four tiny witches scuttled off down the path clutching their broomsticks and some sticky sweets than the next little group would arrive. By the sixth visit we'd run out of sweets and chocolates and the novelty was starting to wear a little thin. "Trick or treat" is definitely a girlie thing, the only boy being a small wizard with Harry Potter type glasses carrying a demon's head on a pole, who'd been dragged along by four of the girls in the street with promises of fruit flavoured sucettes and free chocolate. None of their mums could have been left with much make-up judging by the black around the eyes, the painted fingernails and the red blood smeared on their chins and clothes! Romanian vampires were as nothing to these youngsters!

Halloween visitors, Caen
Witch with her terrifying cat, Caen
Geneviève's mother Germaine, and her nephew Camille joined us for lunch, a very pleasant affair which was followed by a typical French gateau, exquisitely decorated and tasting of coffee, apples and chocolate. Having walked Germaine home during the late afternoon we took Camille down to the station with his luggage to catch the train back to Paris, where he is studying French literature at university.

Germaine and Camille, Caen
Ian looking suspiciously innocent, Caen
This morning, while Geneviève prepared lunch, we left her in peace and took a stroll beside the canal basin in the town centre. Here, as usual on Sundays, it was the huge market where couscous, paella, tartiflette and roasted chickens are prepared in the open air for thousands of Caennais to take home for lunch. Many people here are given luncheon vouchers by their employers as a tax-free perk. They are intended for use at lunchtimes in certain restaurants. However, on the market today they were being traded as currency for take-away family-sized meals of hogroast or chicken with roast potatoes.

Sunday market on the Quayside, Caen
Having searched in vain for a replacement sink plug (totally essential when camping in Europe where they are never, ever supplied) we crossed to the crowded bar of the PMU for coffee and to enjoy our usual market pastime of watching the punters filling in their betting slips over a pernod or three.

Just outside, a lady was selling jars of jams, pickles, pâtés and tapenards. To our ears her French was excellent but detectable as English. As we tasted some of her delicious samples she told us business for her was booming. She's moved to the town of Flers from South West England four years ago and while her partner was working on a house restoration project, she was teaching English as a foreign language and producing her jams and chutneys all week in her kitchen, travelling to the markets of Bayeux and Caen to sell them at the weekends. Even as we talked French customers were lining up for tastings and purchases. She then told Ian she recognised him and that she used to live in Exeter! We'd never mentioned where we came from and were suitably astonished to have been recognised. We wished her luck, promised to look her up on our next visit and purchased a jar of her elderberry and plum conserve and another of her four fruits cinnamon chutney, produced using fruits from her own garden, as gifts for Germaine and Geneviève.

As we were chatting a lady stopped to try a sample and tell us she'd just arrived this morning from Philadelphia for a year long course at the University of Caen. She was delighted with her samples and has promised to patronise the stall while she is here, particularly as she already now knows somebody here who speaks English. As she left, a couple of Irish students on an Erasmus exchange with the University arrived, also interested in samples. So business is booming for some!

Now, a message for all our Normandy friends. When you are looking for the perfect gift for your supper hostess, there is an alternative to chocolates from Jeff de Bruges. Near the tower at the Sunday market in Caen, or on the market place of Bayeux on Saturdays, you will find a little stall selling pretty and delicious jars of jams, marmalades, confits of figs or onions and fruity chutneys to accompany cheeses, salads and roasted meats. Or you may fancy being really adventurous yourselves and trying a breakfast spread of beetroot and white chocolate! You could also practice your English if you like although Rita speaks excellent French. Mention too that you are friends of Jill and Ian from Exeter as we promised we would let all our French friends know about her wonderful market stall.

Meli melo de Quatre Fruits, Rita's most popular product with her French clients, Caen
Wednesday 10th November 2010, Exeter. Continued
Our final day, 1st November, was a national holiday in France. The weather was bright and sunny and as we had all done our duty earlier visiting the cemetery, we packed up a picnic and drove up towards the Cotentin for the day. Here we stopped to explore again the unspoilt little fishing village of Grandcamp-Maisy. During our time in Bayeux we first visited the quayside during the fete de coquilles St. Jacques, a lively event when the coquilles are brought ashore and are cooked and served right there in tents beside the boats and people in local costume dance to the music of an accordion. This time we are a bit early. Dragging the seabed to scrape up the coquille has not yet begun and the fish market was more involved with the sale of crabs, lobsters, shrimps, mussels, mackerel and sea bass. The village is unspoilt and would be a far more interesting place to live than the prettified and touristified nearby resort of Port-en-Bessin which is especially popular with British house buyers in Normandy.

Mending the nets, Grandcamp-Maisy
We followed a nearby footpath, once used by customs officers to control smugglers, along the shore of the bay. The landscape here was very flat and light while out in the shallow grey waters of the bay were wheeling gulls and hundreds of oyster beds. The ruins of a blockhouse, a gun emplacement and pieces of rusted military detritus evidenced that this too was once part of the defences against a probable invasion from Britain.

Deserted bay with oyster beds at low tide, near Grandcamp-Maisy
Inland from the coast near Isigny we discovered a series of fish ponds and settled beside one for our picnic lunch. At most ponds there were despondent fishermen casting hopefully upon the water without success. Suddenly a tractor appeared with a huge vat of fish on the trailer. At each pond the driver netted four fish from his vat and tossed them into the water. Eagerly the fishermen resumed business with fresh enthusiasm, hooking them back out again! As non-fishermen we are left bemused. Wouldn't it have simply been easier to hand the fish straight over to the fishermen?

Hopeful fishermen beneath an ominous sky, Isigny
Picnic time beside the fish ponds, Isigny
Deciding fishing was a rather boring pastime we made our way through forests of glorious autumn trees to Cerisy-la-Forêt with its eleventh century abbey overlooking the monks' fish pond. In the late afternoon sunshine it was a beautiful, peaceful setting.

Abbey at Cerisy-la-Forêt
Jill and Ian at Cerisy-la-Forêt
Geneviève at Cerisy-la-Forêt
Back home Eva had arrived to stay with her godmother until boarding school restarted in a couple of days' time, while her mum Chantal and sister Zoe had returned to Orléans after the national holiday of Toussaint.

Next day we were away before daylight to catch the ferry at Ouistreham. We reached Portsmouth by lunchtime. Like Switzerland Britain is not a signatory to the Schengen Agreement. Unlike Switzerland, customs officials examine passports in great detail. We waited ages while everybody's document was scanned. When ours eventually went through they seemed to have information about us. Our travel pattern is unusual certainly, passing through the port every few months, and we were asked, very nicely, how long we'd been away, where we'd travelled, whether we'd been staying in one location, whether we'd been in Bucharest or down into Bulgaria and several other questions about our travels. After checking something on screen our passports were returned and we were heading homewards.

Wherwell village – England can hold its own for charm! Hampshire
First though we had friends to see in Andover. Erik's owners Lesley and David, with whom we travelled in Greece, were hosts to our mutual friend Charlotte from Munich. Regular followers of this blog may recall we visited Charlotte and her husband Hans back in June. Very sadly, shortly afterwards Hans died and Charlotte has been rebuilding her life without him. Visiting friends from her past in England on her own cannot have been easy for her, though I'm sure she found happiness surrounded by so many well wishing friends. Several mutual friends since our teenage years converged on Andover to see her and to share her favourite English supper of shepherd's pie that evening. Next day we all joined yet more mutual friends for lunch in Salisbury.

Teenage friends together again after forty-five years! Andover
Charlotte and John reminisce about their shared enthusiasm for amateur operatics, Andover
Even Modestine and Erik are happily reunited! Andover
We reached Exeter to find Kate had prepared supper for us. It was a joy to see her again. She is still living with us, still job seeking and still cheerful, though increasingly frustrated at the lack of jobs available for helping young people connect with society. Whenever anything is advertised now it pays little more than half what she earned managing the Teignmouth and Exeter youth inclusion programmes, closed down by the present government! As a money-saving measure it intends abandoning the care and development of disadvantaged and disruptive children to volunteers as part of its plans for the Big Society. It is making the professionals redundant, expecting them to work for jobs that pay little more than the national minimum wage and then accusing them of being work-shy!! With a degree, postgraduate teaching qualifications and years of experience and self sacrifice helping others she is deprived of employment, receives no more than the basic job-seekers allowance (c£64 per week) and is obliged to live with her parents. Meanwhile bankers, who caused all this mess in the first place, are still receiving their massive bonuses. Proud to be British?

Kati, Peter and Huba arrived back in Exeter from Romania nearly a month ago. We arrived home just in time for Kati's latest exhibition of raku pottery. She is a really talented artist. You can see examples of her work and contact her at http://www.users.waitrose.com/~vamos/
Smoked raku pottery by Kati Vámos, Exeter
Smoked raku pots by Kati Vámos, Exeter
Over the coming months there are likely to be major changes taking place in our family with which we will be involved. The immediate one is that Neil and his little family will shortly be moving to take up a new research post in Hull so we are likely to be heading northwards far more frequently than we have done in the past. Friends north of London beware!

Thank you everybody for travelling with us. We hope you've enjoyed the ride. Now though, it's time for you to have some peace from us – unless you live in Britain when we hope we will be seeing more of you before long.

Blogs of related interest include
D-Day Describes the events along this stretch of the Normandy coast in June 1944.
Tapisseries and patisseries There is a description of the Bayeux market as well as our impressions of Bayeux and a description of the Bayeux tapestry.

Back in the Jura

2010-10-29T14:05:00.009+01:00

Sunday 17th October 2010, Champagne-sur-Loue, France
Outside this evening it is cold and dark with a mizzling rain. Inside though, we are happily installed in "our" kitchen in Champagne-sur-Loue. Roland has loaded logs onto the central stove that heats the radiators around the house and we are wallowing in the luxury of space and a proper home around us. We also still have our last bottle of our Hungarian wine to finish so all is right with the world.

We last left you on Friday evening as we settled to spend the night in a cheap hotel on the trading estate up in Pontarlier in the high Jura. We both left with bruised heads yesterday morning where we inevitably hit them on the third bed fixed sideways across the normal double bed.

Back in the town it was freezing cold and raining. The streets though were crowded with protesters. That's one thing the French really do excel at! This time there are "manifs" all over France demonstrating against President Sarkozy's intention of raising the retirement age from 60 to 62. Sometimes we respect French "bloody-mindedness." Sometimes too it works. However, we do feel they are just too eager to strike about anything that changes their cosy way of life. It's not as if France is unique with this problem. All across Europe the retirement age is rising and the French have so far had it considerably easier than most. It's regrettable but stones really don't have that much blood in them and thanks to the irresponsible actions of banks, money markets and governments around the world, many nations are facing the same problems. It's not just the workforce that is taking action either. There are major demonstrations by lycéens and college students, supporting their teachers. National strikes have been taking place last week and several more are planned for next. They are well orchestrated if Pontarlier is anything to judge by and the police are kept busy clearing the marching route of traffic. It does seem lamentable that there were so many children accompanying their parents, shouting the slogans, banging the drums and generally learning at a very young age to protest and shout for their rights regardless. What about negotiation and rational argument? What is the point of vehement protest without any practical ideas for a solution? What are the syndicates or unions doing to intermediate between the government and the workers?

Protesters preparing for their demonstration against government plans to raise the age for retirement to 62, Pontarlier
Making their feelings known outside the library, Pontarlier
Demonstrating against government plans to raise the retirement age, Pontarlier
Ten of the country's twelve petrol distributors are on strike and supplies are beginning to run low across the country. There are fears of panic buying. We are at risk from this. We filled Modestine before leaving Switzerland, unsure how the situation would be in France. It's doubtful though whether we have enough to reach Normandy in a few days time.

Having watched the marchers with their umbrellas in the rain we felt sufficiently chilled to go for coffee and croissants in the large and crowded cafe on the main street. Both the coffee and the croissants were delicious and we were feeling pretty good to be back in France despite its sometimes strange ways. The museum was closed – when is anywhere not in France? However, the deconsecrated church had a rather nice art exhibition with paintings of Franche Comté by artists from the locality. By the time we found ourselves back on the wet town square the marchers had returned from their noisy parade through the town and were standing in cheerful groups beneath their umbrellas chatting with friends before invading the cafe to warm themselves up. Strikes and protests can be good business for local bars and restaurants.

We left Pontarlier after lunch and drove through the wet countryside, through increasingly familiar villages as we neared Salins-les-Bains. Now we really were on the home stretch! As we drove through the village of Champagne Susanne was at her door looking out for us. It was almost as if we'd arrived home! Over coffee in her huge kitchen we exchanged news until dusk. While we unloaded Modestine and made ourselves at home in the basement flat Susanne organised supper while Roland busied himself getting together a collection of their wines for us to sample with the different courses! Their son Hugues, has become quite professional with his care of the vines and the wine production. The cave below the house has been changed, the generations old wooden barrels in which the wine has always been fermented have been replaces by new inox ones and everything has become strictly controlled. Now the wines are fermented according to grape variety and no longer can Roland tip all his grapes into the same vat. The resultant wines though have improved and the ones we tried were delicious. So too was Susanne's fortified walnut aperitif which we enjoyed before the meal. We were at table chatting late into the evening, by which time both Ian's and my brain were finding it increasingly difficult to follow the conversation in French. We were exhausted when we finally got to bed – a real bed – where we slept profoundly while outside the cold mist of an autumn night in the Jura mountains clung around the house.

This morning when we got up Hugues had already arrived from his home in Dôle to press the fermented wine from this year's harvest, separating it from the crushed grapes. The wine will now be left to gradually mature over the coming months. The squeezed grape skins though have been put into a barrel where they will wait for a few weeks to be distilled into marc in December, just as we saw last year when we were here for Christmas.

Once the wine was sorted and Hugues had washed all the equipment at the garden tap in the freezing cold, we all went upstairs to celebrate Susanne's birthday with a selection of home produced aperitifs.

We observe that idyllic as it may appear living in a charming village in rural France, the lives of our friends are very hard and demanding. They are dominated by the seasons and the weather. Susanne and Roland are a decade older than us. For them there can be no real retirement. They are less fit than they used to be and Hugues takes on more of the workload. He though has a demanding job in the forestry industry as well as his own home and family.

Up in the communal forest Hugues has cut the family's winter logs into lengths and stacked them to dry. They all need to be brought down to the house but this cannot be done when the wood is soaked by rain. We'd hoped to help with this during the afternoon but it will now have to wait until next weekend as Hugues is at his work all week and Roland's health no longer permits him to drive his tractor into the woods and heave logs around. They all work very hard indeed.

This afternoon, despite the rain, Susanne joined us for a walk around the village in search of walnuts. Her vision continues to decline and she only really feels confident to take a walk when she has company.

Down by the Loue we found a few nuts near the farm of Susanne's brother. Following a track across the sodden fields, where the brown and white Montbéliard cattle stood mournfully in the rain, we found ourselves at Roland's hanger, full of a lifetime's debris of bits of wood, old tiles, coils of rusted wire, dead fridges, buckets, old windows and broken ladders that may one day come in useful. In their field behind the hanger the ground beneath the trees was thickly littered with walnuts. In no time we'd filled three containers which we carried home in triumph.

Tuesday 19th October 2010, Champagne-sur-Loue, France
Yesterday our friends both had all day appointments in Besançon so we were left to our own devices. Our first priority was internet access in Salins-les-Bains. On the way however we noted ominous yellow signs at petrol stations. Despite government ministers swearing blind on the television that there would be no crisis at the pumps and plans were in place to secure supplies, nobody except us believed them. All day Sunday, when protesting took second place to aperitifs and family lunch, strikers had been squeezing the last few drops into their tanks for the coming week of planned mayhem. There must be more full tanks around the country than there would ever normally be! Meanwhile, we realised, we could not possibly make it the 600+ kilometres across France to Caen and the ferry home on what we had in our tank. We decided to panic buy rather than wait and hope supplies improved.

Only one place still had supplies and we joined the long queue for the pumps, though we only had space for 20 litres. Others filling up asked us whether we had protest strikes and pump queues in England. "Rather rarely", we replied. "And when can you retire in England?" they asked. When Ian told them it was 65 and the British working week averaged 38 hours there was an awkward silence. The French have a 35 hour week and the protests are, after all, to keep the retirement age here at 60 rather than the proposed age of 62. Not all though, were in agreement with the strike action and nodded thoughtfully. Even people who are vociferous about strike action appear to be complaining about the chaos it is causing. All strikers lose their salary for each day they are on strike so it will certainly fizzle out eventually. Meantime though, their opposition is being made clear with more and more organisations joining the strike. Less than half the trains are running and airports are closing. The cash machines are not being refilled and lorry drivers are organising blockades on the main roads and driving two or three abreast along the motorways at walking pace, effectively blocking drivers in.

Why the lycéens (high school students) are striking is not clear. Perhaps they fear a saturated job market if people work longer, leaving them unemployed, or perhaps it is simply because it has been instilled in them since early childhood to be as disruptive as possible to all government policies. Certainly French teenagers always seem to be marching around the streets waving banners, encouraged by their teachers, and even burning the occasional car. On this particular issue, it will be 45 years before they will be retiring and inevitably the world will be a different place then. If we look back 45 years, never could we have envisaged society evolving quite as it has. In any case, keeping the retirement age at 60 will put an increasing tax burden on these young people over the coming years. Typically though, the French seem prepared to cut off their noses to spite their faces.

Down from my soapbox! The bar with wifi only serves drinks so the hotel bar along the street made us up a couple of ham baguettes to take back to eat at the other bar where sat in a gloomy corner with coffees and spent a couple of hours sorting out emails, blogs, finance and more. How does the barman make a living? Apart from a couple of customers calling in for a quick expresso, the place was deserted while both we, and the barman, used the internet. It has always been so on previous visits.

Salins, on the Unesco world heritage list for its salt mines, lies in a deep valley overlooked by two towering fortresses perched on pinnacles of limestone rock above the wooded gorge. We have climbed up to the Vauban fort on a previous visit. Yesterday we climbed to the other, 19th century ruined Fort Belin. We never really expected to reach it in our unfit condition but amazingly, after about an hour climbing very steeply along rough paths through woods of beeches and oaks, we struggled out, hot and sticky, onto the damp and chilly plateau beside the moat of the fort. The views were superb though hazy. Salins was just a matchbox town far below us.

Exhausted, Jill struggles up to the ruins of Fort Belin above Salins-les-Bains, Franche Comte
Salins-les-Bains seen from the walls of Fort Belin, Franche Comte
Entry to the deserted ruins of Fort Belin above Salins-les-Bains, Franche Comte
After exploring the ruins, convinced it was too dangerous to return the way we'd come with wet and slippery rocks, fallen leaves and the likelihood of getting lost on the way, we followed the narrow deserted road, assuming it would lead us down the hillside.

Deserted ruins of Fort Belin above Salins-les-Bains, Franche Comte
It contoured the hilltop, eventually leading to a pretty village where Salins was signposted as seven kilometres away! It would soon be dusk and we were already weary. Eventually we found a Sentier de Grand Randonner (long distance footpath) leading down through steep woodland and fields of cattle to emerge into a muddy farmyard. From there it was a mere four kilometres downhill on a proper little road to Modestine, patiently waiting in the car park beside the garden centre.

Dyed living heathers that the French seem to find nicer than the natural colours! Salins-les-Bains, Franche Comte
It's good to once again have a place to spread ourselves out and cook proper meals. Last night as we waited for our chicken to roast we watched French news with increasing amazement at the determination of the strikers. They react so very differently from the British when they object to government policy. Much as we love France and the French people the intransigence of many is quite alarming. How far would they go and how do they expect to resolve the situation? This is after all a country that in the 1790s was prepared to bring down the aristocracy, massacre the monarchy, wantonly destroy its magnificent architecture and then use the guillotine on thousands of its own citizens. The mob on the streets has always been a force to be reckoned with.

After supper we settled to watch a couple of dvd episodes of the BBC drama Cranford on our computer. Such a cosy, genteel way of life in 19th century rural England, whereas throughout the same period in France the nation was beset by a series of violent revolutions.

Incidentally, even our little village of Champagne is not untroubled by violence. Earlier this month, as Susanne and Roland were in their kitchen eating lunch, they were startled by gunfire just outside. Police were in pursuit of a man who had attacked his wife at their home in Besançon, shot his son and escaped into the countryside. In Champagne he paused to use the spider-ridden public phone box that we sweep out on every visit before we can phone our children. Here the police cornered him. Without hesitation he shot one of them in the chest. Fortunately the policeman was wearing an armoured jacket but still received a non-fatal wound to the neck. Police fired back, the man was injured, a helicopter arrived to take him to hospital but he was dead on arrival. Because Champagne-sur-Loue is such a rural backwater the event made newspaper headlines in France. This evening, as we passed the phonebox we noticed a bullet hole in the door frame. I hate to think of this delightful little village being contaminated by such a horrid event.

Tuesday 19th October 2010 continued, Champagne-sur-Loue, France
During the morning we worked on our computers so it was not until after lunch that we set off for an eleven kilometre round walk to Arc et Senans. We are nervous to drive anywhere, in order to conserve fuel for our journey across France. We noticed the pumps in Arc-et-Senans were dry so it still looks serious.

It was very cold because of the wind as we strode through the fields where we were kept company by a family of two horses and a foal following us on the far side of the hedge beside the Loue. Arriving in Arc-et-Senans we sought the warmth of the bookshop at the Unesco listed historic Salines, and later sheltered from a sudden shower at the local cake shop where we passed the time with coffees, chocolate éclairs and opera cakes. The walk home had to be faced eventually however and we braved the rain to walk through the village to the church. On an earlier visit we were surprised to find ten 17th and 18th century paintings by notable artists including Rubens and Murillo hanging inside the church. The church being open this afternoon we called off for a second look. They really are a prize for such a tiny town and once formed the personal collection of Monsieur de Grimaldi, director of the salt works.

Jesus Redempteur, by Antonio de Pereda, Church of St. Bénigne, Arc-et-Senans, Franche Comte
L'ensevelissement du Christ, Geerard Segbers – sometimes attributed to Rubens, Church of St. Bénigne, Arc-et-Senans, Franche Comte
La Presentation, Claude Vignon, Church of St. Bénigne, Arc-et-Senans, Franche Comte
The nearby cemetery has eight graves maintained by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission. In August 1944 a plane carrying both British and Australian airmen came down nearby and the crew are all buried here.

War graves of British and Australian airmen in the cemetery of Arc-et-Senans, Franche Comte
By the time we reached home clutching a bag of wet walnuts we'd gathered along the roadside, we were damp and weary. We passed Susanne and Roland at the gate rushing off to Arbois before the shops closed. We were happy to return to the warmth of our kitchen and start our French bag in box as we set Remoska to cook us a ham quiche for supper. Later we settled to enjoy the rest of our dvd of "Cranford".

Thursday 21st October 2010, Champagne-sur-Loue, France
Thanks to the continuing strikes throughout France our activities over the past two days have been limited to walks around the locality. We may just have sufficient fuel to reach Caen, though it will be touch and go, when we leave here on Saturday but if we use any before we leave we could be stranded somewhere in Normandy unless we chance on a supply somewhere around Orleans. The French government took action to open the fuel depots yesterday but can do little about blockages along the route that prevent tankers from reaching the pumps. Supplies in Haute Normandie and western France are apparently worse than in the south and east of the country.

According to the news, looters and arsonists are causing severe chaos in Lyons where much of the blame is being directed at the students. Cars are being smashed and set on fire, shops looted and windows broken. All this, apparently in support of retaining the age of retirement at 60. Meanwhile, it has been mentioned in the news here that in Britain there is discontent at proposals to raise retirement age to 66, suppress jobs in the public sector and reduce benefits. It is hard for us to have a great deal of sympathy with the French when we have such concerns affecting our own country. The difference though is in the way we address those difficulties. It's hard to imagine the British taking to the streets on a rampage of orchestrated violence whereas here, such an escalation is quite normal. According to opinion polls here, the majority support the current action – except of course for the universally inconvenient fuel shortages - and have confidence that it will achieve results. Hmm.

Yesterday, despite the freezing and torrential rain we took a walk with Susanne around the neighbouring village of Chissey where her grandparents and great grandparents lived. In the churchyard she showed us their grave. The Jurassiens really are tied to their terroir and frequently move no more than a few kilometres from their ancestors. Inside the church we renewed our acquaintance with the strangely carved corbels depicting the grotesque faces of creatures in torment known locally as the babouins. On a side altar is a reliquary of St. Christopher, patron saint of lunatics and safety. Reputedly his jawbone was brought home from the crusades, making the church a place of pilgrimage. It is to him prayers were once offered to drive out the demons from the demented and also, more recently, to bless vehicles and keep drivers safe. We have written elsewhere about this strange church. On this visit though we discovered an unusual stone statue we missed before, depicting the Virgin with a tiny carving of the Christ child on her stomach.

Church at Chissey-sur-Loue surrounded by its graveyard, Franche Comté
Strange statue of the Virgin in the church at Chissey-sur-Loue, Franche Comté
Some of the grotesques inside the church at Chissey-sur-Loue, Franche Comté
Baptismal font in the church at Chissey-sur-Loue, Franche Comté
Grave of Susanne's grandparents and great grandparents in the churchyard at Chissey-sur-Loue, Franche Comté
Today, by contrast to yesterday, it has been brilliantly sunny and even warm. We took a walk this morning along beside the Loue to Buffard, returning for lunch with yet more walnuts. Down at the bottom of the village stands the weighbridge, no longer used. During my time at the school here in the 1960s I would watch the cattle being weighed before they were either returned to the fields for a while longer, or loaded into a truck and taken off to the nearest abattoir. The pupils once made me stand on it but decided I was not yet sufficiently heavy to send to market and could teach them for a while longer!

Public weighbridge in the village of Champagne-sur-Loue, Franche Comté
During the afternoon we joined Susanne for a walk up onto the Clos and through the vineyards where the leaves are turning red/gold and the vistas towards the wooded hillsides rising to Mont Poupet were awesomely beautiful beneath the brilliant blue sky. So warm was it that grasshoppers and lizards had reappeared to soak up the last of the season's sunshine. We returned beside the Loue carrying bags of nuts and grapes. These last we had gleaned from the vines, missed during the vendange. They are dark and very sweet. Far too good to leave there to wither.

Meanwhile, Roland spent the afternoon chopping wood for the furnace. It takes a small trolley load every day to keep the entire house heated. He spends happy hours removing nails from old planks and sawing then up for fuel. Nothing gets wasted and he is always busy with a hammer, a saw or a monkey wrench. Summer or winter he's always active with something. If he isn't repairing a radiator or fixing a loose tile he's probably driving his tractor around the village or attending to his wine in the cave below the house. As age begins to limit his activities he is finding it very difficult to adjust to doing less and watching the TV a little more.

Friday 22nd October 2010, Champagne-sur-Loue, France
Today has been our last day here. While Ian spent the morning working on his printers, I went for a nostalgic walk across the meadows beside the Loue with just a few of the massive, Montbéliard cattle grazing in the muddy pastures for company. On all sides were the fields, woods, vineyards and rising hills, overlooked to the east by the familiar outline of Mont Poupet. Beside me the Loue flowed noisily, fast and clear, carry along the leaves that tumbled continuously from the low, overhanging trees. Just across the river, no distance away but inaccessible before the bridge downstream at Arc-et-Senanas, stood the picturesque Château de Roche. But the countryside here was deserted. It is rare to pass anybody walking in the fields – a tranquil place to think back over the past half century that this French village, perhaps no different from hundreds of others in the region, has influenced my life.

Back home over lunch the television news was not encouraging. Force is being used in an attempt to break the strike, inevitably leading to conflict and increasing the determination of the strikers. Blockades are now being set up around supermarkets to disrupt food supplies. Meanwhile, this being a week of national holiday in France, the nation is setting off on long drives across the country without knowing whether the fuel situation will have improved by the time they wish to come back!

This afternoon we walked with Susanne up into the woods above the neighbouring village of Buffard, across the river from Champagne. Up here there is a statue of the Virgin from where there is a wide view stretching to the hills, far away on the horizon. Centre frame are the villages of Buffard and Champagne nestling below the wooded clos that is topped by the local radio transmitter. From here we could see the vines where we made our walk yesterday.

Buffard in the foreground with Champagne-sur-Loue beyond, seen from the statue of the Virgin in the woods above Buffard, Franche Comte
Susanne and Jill with the statue of the Virgin, Buffard, Franche Comte
Jill and Susanne, Buffard, Franche Comte
We returned down the steep slope towards the village, walking around a group of chickens scrabbling loose beside the track and stopping to pat a couple of gentle donkeys. Back at the bridge at Champagne as we leant across the parapet searching in vain for fishes, we were joined by a fisherman who told us that although it was not the season for fishing, there were very few fish in the Loue these days. Apparently recent analysis of the river shows that it is being badly affected by pesticides and its ecosystem is suffering badly. He seemed very much to know what he was talking about and claims that whereas certain pesticides have been banned in most countries of Europe, they are still permitted in France because people at government level have a vested interest in their continued use. Use of these products in France however is forbidden near water courses but he claims the law is ignored in the interest of producing crops rather than waterside meadows used only to produce grass and hay. He also says water levels in the Loue are falling. This is quite possible in a karstic landscape such as the Jura where the rivers appear fully formed from the rockface and can disappear underground again only to reappear in another part of the region. This is the case with the Loue, a resurgence of the Doubs that is later recaptured by it. Sink holes in its bed nearer the source can lead to falling water levels. So, glorious as the Loue appears, it is actually sick. It's a sad note on which to leave this wonderful area of France.

Other blogs that may be of interest:

Back to the Jura Entry for 3rd December describes Pontarlier.

Champagne on ice Entry for 21st December describes distilling the marc.

Bees, bisous and la montagne de ModestineEntry for 22nd August 2005 describes Salins, the Salines and the thermal baths.

Polingy and elsewhereEntry of 27th August 2005 describes Salins and the Vauban fort of St. Andre.

Back to France Towards the end of the entry of 8th September 2007 there is more on the paintings in the church at Arc-et-Senans.

Swiss Roll Entry for 1st September 2005 describes the strange mediaeval creatures decorating the interior of the church at Chissey.

Absinthe makes the carp grow strongerEntry for 10th October 2005 describes pollution of the Loue by Absinthe and the meaning of a Resurgence.

Switzerland

2010-10-18T11:58:00.014+01:00

Tuesday 12th October 2010, Lungerersee, near Lucerne, Switzerland
We felt rather sad to leave Germany behind after such a short visit. My understanding of German is making rapid progress after being refreshed from our visit through Austria and Germany and I felt loath to leave behind a country that has generally been so welcoming, friendly, clean and reasonably priced. However, this part of Switzerland is still German speaking, though even Ian finds it difficult to understand and, apart from its strange road markings and funny money, it's not yet so very different from the land we left behind this morning.

Switzerland is not part of the European Union and therefore has its own currency, the Swiss franc. There would seem to be 1.5 Swiss Francs to the £ and 1.3 to the euro. Knowing this still doesn't help much working out the prices of things in a hurry but we trust Swiss honesty completely. This off-season campsite for example should cost us15 Euros according to our book. All we had was one 100 Swiss Franc note from the ATM. They charged us 20 SF.

I don't think we will be doing much shopping here. Knowing prices are dearer than in Germany we did a food shop before leaving. We also filled Modestine with diesel which, although dearer than Austria, is still cheaper than Switzerland.

Motorways are free in Germany. In Austria we paid 7.5 euros to use the motorways for 10 days. Hungary and Romania charged similarly. In Switzerland however, the motorway vignette costs the equivalent of 30 euros and is valid for a year! This is quite impractical for a short-term visitor, forcing them off the motorways with their fast, smooth tunnels, obliging them to struggle up and over mountain passes on the ordinary roads. Also in Switzerland, not being part of the EU it does not conform to the rest of Europe concerning its road markings. Whereas everywhere else has blue panels indicating motorway routes and green for local ones, Switzerland is exactly the other way around. Several times I have already almost made the wrong choice which would certainly end me up on the motorway without a vignette and liable to a fine. We've still not really sorted out Swiss road markings either. Priorities seem different and getting into the correct lane is awkward. Railway lines and roads run together, side by side along the same route, criss-crossing each other at roundabouts. The train track passes through town centres and directly in front of people's houses so that they have to drive across it to enter their own garage or garden!

Driving in Switzerland. Head for the gap between the tractor and the train!
We used the free German roads as long as possible before crossing into Switzerland at Koblenz on the Rhine. (Yes, I know Koblenz is nowhere near here. It's a different one but on the same river, just to confuse everyone.) The last town in Germany in which to stop was Tiengen, a pretty little place to stroll around and to treat ourselves to morning coffee and Pflaumentorte as a farewell treat.

Tiengen, Germany
Around lunch time we turned off the main road and made our way down to Hallwiler See, one of the smaller, crystal clear lakes. The sun obliged us and we were able to enjoy our picnic outside beside the water. Generally though, the air has been keen and chilly for most of the day.

Our plan was to pass through Lucerne, stopping to explore the city before moving on to a campsite beside the lake. Almost everywhere in Lucerne however appears to be covered parking and Modestine is too tall to enter. Right in the city centre, struggling to work out which lane we needed, we had no time to dither seeking a parking space and were swept through the centre and out before we knew what was happening. In any case, we had no money for a parking meter other than our 100 Swiss Franc note. Even to get that we'd had to park illegally in one of the smaller towns and hope no traffic warden came by while we went in search of an ATM. What use is such a high denomination note when arriving in a country for the first time and needing to park and use the loo? The euro is so much more practical when there are so many national borders.

What we did see of Lucerne was not over inspiring though we understand the old centre, down near the lake is beautiful. With the afternoon drawing on, we were obliged to give up trying to park and allowed ourselves to be carried out of the city. It's infuriating but can't be helped.

Lake Lucerne, Switzerland
The motorway swept along above the lake, passing smoothly in and out of tunnels. The ordinary roads that we were obliged to use however passed through Lucerne's suburbs, stopping at every set of lights and queuing at road works. What happens when the railway, the motorway and the local roads all run side by side along the water's edge and it is necessary to carry out maintenance and repairs? Well, the answer is send the cars out to drive on the lake! A floating pontoon had been constructed out into the lake while road works took place inside the tunnel. We bumped down from the road and rattled our way out across the water, bobbing slightly on the planking, water to either side, returning to land somewhere beyond the exit from the tunnel!

Driving on water. Pontoon bridge, Lake Lucerne, Switzerland
Leaving Lake Lucerne behind we climbed up into the first real mountains since reaching Switzerland. They are not yet particularly high but are steep and rugged. When we reached the campsite overlooking the Sarner See it was to discover it was already closed for the season! Fortunately we found another beside the next lake several kilometres further on. It is right on the water's edge, a long way from the facilities, very lonely, misty and extremely chilly. It does though have its charm. Sheltered beside the lake and surrounded by the pine-clad mountains the village farmsteads look like huge cuckoo clock houses, all dark wood, red shutters and flowery window boxes, standing scattered between green fields of contented cattle. The walls of the buildings are covered with tiny round wooden tiles that resemble fish scales. They are really delightful. High above on the hillside we can hear the gentle clanging of cow bells and there is a white cascade of water falling straight down the cliff face into the lake. Above us in the half light, the last cable car of the day is returning to the village.

View from our camping place beside the Lungerersee, Switzerland
View from our camping place beside the Lungerersee, Switzerland
Wednesday 13th October 2010, Thörishaus, near Bern, Switzerland

View down to the Lungerersee as we climbed into the mountains this morning, Switzerland
We are quickly becoming disenchanted with Switzerland. It has been a frustrating day and we have achieved nothing. Personally I'd like to cut our losses here and make a dash for the border into France but Ian is less defeatist than me and is determined we will see Bern and anyway, he is supposed to be meeting somebody at the library in Neuchatel – if we could only get internet access somewhere to check out when and where!

We have visited Switzerland before and have passed through it on our way to Italy. However we have never really spent time in the country to discover it for its own sake. We felt it was time to explore it in more detail, visiting some of its cities and its beautiful lakeside towns. We have been happily looking forward to it. Bear with me now, or skip this bit. I must rid myself of the accumulated irritation of the day so that I can become human again.

Regrettably Switzerland is the most difficult and unwelcoming country I can recall visiting. It seems designed to ruin the pleasure of any motorist trying to explore its towns and superb mountain scenery. Basically it all comes down to parking! Until now I would not have believed it possible for an entire country to make it physically impossible to park anywhere other than in designated places. The welcome sign at the entrance to most Swiss towns and villages is a notice warning that there is metered parking 0-24 7/7 throughout the town. The Swiss financial gnomes are keeping the country running on revenue from parking meters! It's not the cost I'm hopping mad about though. It's the impossibility of parking, or even stopping, if you don't have the right coins! We still only have paper money, unacceptable in parking meters, and even if you have coins, the machine will not give change so you are likely to pay over the odds. So how do you stop to get change and where do you get it? Even several kilometres outside of town centres it is impossible to stop anywhere unless you wish to use a restaurant or visit a doctor. They have parking for customers only. Even when we've seen car parks there have been barriers preventing a vehicle of Modestine's height from entering. I am quite exhausted from driving for hours on steep, winding roads, unable to pause to admire the vistas of waterfalls and mountain lakes, only to discover I am also unable to park when we come down into any of the little lakeside towns. We've been obliged to drive straight through and up into the mountains again. Yesterday I was upset at being forced to drive through Lucerne without stopping. Today I have done exactly the same at Interlaken. It looked a beautiful little town but nowhere near the centre would accommodate Modestine's height and way out in the suburbs we still needed to pay the same amount but had no coins to do so. Having wasted the morning, we decided to drive straight to this campsite where our book told us we could get easy transport into Bern for the afternoon. It transpires there is an hourly bus to the neighbouring village from where a train leaves every 30 minutes to Bern. With almost an hour to wait until the bus, we drove to the station hoping to leave Modestine there. It had five parking spaces and two were empty – it is after all a tiny rural village. However, we needed 4 francs to park even though we were taking the train. There is no ticket office – the station is unmanned. Machines issue the tickets and should give us change, but not enough to pay for the parking meter. So we stood and watched the train depart for Bern without us! Grrh!!

In a neighbouring town we eventually found a supermarket with restricted customer parking. We needed nothing but each clutching a high denomination banknote we made separate forays to the check-out, me with two tomatoes and Ian with a jar of jam. Most of the change was in lower denomination notes but pooling our small change we finally had enough for a parking ticket!!! Unfortunately it was now too late to take an expensive train ride into Bern! So from 3.30 this afternoon we have been kicking our heels at this insalubrious campsite on a cold grey afternoon with nothing to do. Tomorrow we've decided we will walk to the station. It should only take about 30 minutes at our pace, but with so much to see in Bern we really need to keep our energy for that.

Swiss money
I feel better for purging my irritation but I definitely don't like Switzerland very much. (Sorry Martine.) With three different languages and two different religions here I suppose the Swiss have learnt to be rather more tolerant than me. Being outside the European Union the country makes its own rules for the good of its own people rather than following the dictates of Brussels as the rest of us do. It does though make it very difficult for visitors. Everything is so complicated and nothing is explained. It is assumed everybody knows the rules concerning everything from different driving regulations to zonal tickets on the trains. How do we know how many zones we cross going to Bern or at what age might we qualify for pensioners' discounts? And we speak German! Heaven help anyone who doesn't! We just pray it will be easier in the French speaking part of the country.

And another thing while I'm about it!! This country is neutral and does not have a regular army. It does though have a system of conscription which means that every male citizen of a certain age has to spend time carrying out military manoeuvres on the mountain roads with tanks, guns and camouflage jackets. We've seen several convoys of them today and we recall seeing them on almost every visit we've made to Switzerland. When they've done all that I suppose the high flyers might qualify for strutting around the Vatican City in a funny uniform guarding the Pope! Why, I wonder, select soldiers from a mainly Calvinist Protestant nation to guard the head of the Catholic Church?

Military presence seen on the streets of Bern, Switzerland
Below are a couple of photos Ian took through the window as we drove towards Interlaken. Wouldn't you be irritated at being unable to stop to admire it?

Village street beside the lake near Interlaken, Switzerland
Village street beside the lake near Interlaken, Switzerland
Village street beside the lake near Interlaken, Switzerland
Thursday 14th October 2010, Thörishaus, near Bern, Switzerland
Can I revise my opinion of Switzerland a little please? After the aggravations of yesterday things could only get better today, and they did.

This morning we were up and off bright and early. It was very cold, summer had definitely said its farewell. Last night we discovered a track along beside the river and over a wooden bridge that we thought, with some confidence, might lead us to the village and the railway station. So this morning we followed a rough path through woodland, emerged into a field of surprised cows, crossed though a vegetable plot of pulled turnips and fennel roots and in record time we reached the village just short of the station. It's just as well as it then took ages working out the automatic ticket vending machine. Soon though we were gliding on silent rails through the countryside on our way to Bern, Capital of Switzerland and on the Unesco World Heritage list since 1983. At the charmingly named station of Blümpliz we paused for several shady looking passengers bound for the less than charmingly named village of Wankdorf to alight. The main station at Bern is right on the edge of the old town where most of the delights of the city are to be found. It's just as well we used the train. The only parking in the city is underground and very expensive. Without a car though, the city is sublime. The streets are almost traffic free and there is an excellent public transport system of trams, buses, trolley buses and funicular railways. For us though, the city was sufficiently compact to be able to walk everywhere with the entire day to do so.

What does Bern make you think of? For Ian it is the international convention on copyright while for me it is the bear pits. Somehow today we have reconciled the two with a visit to both the National Library of Switzerland and the bear pits. Along the way we have taken in the principal sights of the town, mainly from the exterior, including the 16th century clock tower or Zeitglockenturm with its mechanical puppets performing on the hour; the Parliament building (1851–1902) seat of the Swiss federal government, various galleries and national museums, kilometres of arcaded shops, numerous fountains, the open air market and the Town Hall.

Käfigturm, Bern, Switzerland
Zeitglockenturm, Bern, Switzerland
Fountain in the Marktgasse, Bern, Switzerland
One of the bears to be seen all over the city. This one is on a fountain in the Marktgasse, Bern, Switzerland
View along the Marktgasse with arcaded shops to either side, Bern, Switzerland
Parliament Building, Bern, Switzerland
Swiss National Bank, Bern, Switzerland
Curious gourds and squashes in the market, Bern, Switzerland
16th century Town Hall, Bern, Switzerland
Since childhood, when I discovered in the library the Adventures of Mary Plain, stories of a brown bear from the bear pits at Bern, I have longed to see the bears for myself. That a city should house a collection of huge brown bears continuously since the 15th century, simply to give pleasure to its citizens, is amazing! Legend has it that the name of the city comes from the first animal to be hunted in the surrounding forests and the captive bears have become the symbol of the city. Thankfully, since those early days, the conditions in which the bears live have improved. The old pits are still there, used as a tourist attraction and souvenir shops, while the bears are located immediately adjacent, on a huge terrace overlooking the river Aare.

All the time we were in Romania, up in the Carpathian Mountains, I was hoping to see a wild brown bear. I've had to wait until today to do so. They are huge and quite magnificent! I'm rather glad now we didn't meet one before! How can they reach that size when their diet is 80% vegetal? The younger ones were quite playful, climbing and digging, unperturbed by an audience of tourists. Meanwhile, Great Big Daddy Bear was striding around on one of the terraces looking busy but secretly doing very little. Mummy Bear however had fallen asleep – on a manhole cover!! Ian was distraught! It was one he's not seen before! How can you persuade a gigantic, recalcitrant brown bear to shift itself? In fact, many of the manhole covers in Bern have bears on then but not living ones!

Ian has a minor difficulty photographing a manhole cover! Bern, Switzerland
I don't know whether the adventures of Mary Plain and the Owl Man are still published. I do hope so. Our children grew up with her and now I can't wait to introduce her to our grandchildren.

A descendent of Mary Plain, Bern, Switzerland
Leaving the Mummy Bear still snoozing on the manhole cover while the little ones scuffled in the dust beside her, we climbed up to the rose garden above the city for a photo-shot down on to the river and the old town around the Nydeggbrücke.

Old Bern, Switzerland
Most of the city is constructed from a greenish sandstone having been largely rebuilt following a fire in 1405 that destroyed the mainly wooden buildings. It wears well and the buildings and arcades are elaborately carved and decorated. We discovered the promenades and gardens behind the Cathedral and the Parliament building with views down to the river below.

Looking down towards the river from near the Parliament building, Bern, Switzerland
River Aare passing in front of the Parliament Building, Bern, Switzerland
Nearby is the Munster or Cathedral (1421–1598). It has the highest spire in Switzerland (328ft) though today it was swathed in plastic sheeting. Inside it is an agreeable, gothic building with few decorations.

Square in front of the Cathedral, Bern, Switzerland
Gardens of the Bishop's Palace, Bern, Switzerland
By this time we were really hungry having been walking the streets since 9.30 in the cold. Restaurants and menus looked inviting. Prices did not. Having looked through the windows of several charming restaurants beneath the arcades, where well dressed Swiss bankers were enjoying delicious lunches with bottles of Chardonnay, we made our way back to the area around the main railway station in search of a sandwich. Even a salad roll was 7.50CHF (Swiss francs) - around £5, while a small bottle of water cost 4.50CHF. We ended up with substantial bowls of hot pasta with bolognaise sauce and cheese at 10CHF each at a stand in the station, while drinking our own bottle of water, refilled at the campsite. Rather like Norway, while food, drink and clothing seem to cost a great deal, house prices are relatively low. Prices in an estate agent's window for very pleasant housing in the centre of Switzerland's capital city compare quite favourably with Exeter!

Beneath one of the arcades we found the home of Albert Einstein. Born German, he later adopted Swiss nationality and lived here while working on his theory of relativity. Not understanding enough about the subject we decided to give the museum a miss, though at 3.00CHF, in theory it was relatively cheap!!

Home of Albert Einstein and typical view of the arcades, Bern, Switzerland
Crossing the Aare we found ourselves in the museum quarter. The national museum of Swiss history was hosting a special exhibition on the travels of Captain Cook. A glance at the published catalogue showed that several items had been loaned from the Royal Albert Memorial Museum in Exeter. Quite a cunning move on Exeter's part as our museum is currently closed for a multi-million pound makeover. Let Bern store some of the items for us! Our efforts to persuade the museum staff that we were on an official visit to check that Exeter's aboriginal spears were still okay failed dismally and we certainly didn't wish to pay 14.00CHF each to see them, so trotted round the corner to try our luck at the National Library of Switzerland.

National museum of Swiss History, Bern, Switzerland
The building is modern and rather uninspiring. The library receives one copy of everything printed in Switzerland, regardless of language. The online catalogue is in German, French, Italian and English. We browsed the reading room, caught up on today's news from the Financial Times – the only English language newspaper they take, and attempted to get onto the internet. All their lovely computers however were linked into their own online catalogue and those of other national library collections. The machine we were using almost spat at us when we tried to access email and Blogger, bringing up a German message telling us this was a research library and if all we wanted was to read email would we please vacate the computer immediately – or something to that effect. Ian thinks he has a bibliographical meeting in Neuchâtel tomorrow with one of the conservators from the university library but we've found nowhere in Bern to get access to our email to find out where and when.

National Library of Switzerland, Bern, Switzerland
Also across the river in the museum district we discovered a monument to the International Telegraphic Union founded in Paris in 1865. There is also a postal and communications museum here. Bern is the headquarters of the postal, telegraph, railway and copyright unions.

Monument to the Telegraphic Union, Bern, Switzerland
By this time the cold, and being on our feet all day, was taking its toll. We'd seen the city centre pretty thoroughly from the outside so made our way back towards the station, browsing the stunning individual shops beneath the arcades as we went. Every window was a work of art, regardless of what was for sale. Many were selling jewellery and watches of course. The Swiss are renowned for their luxury precision watches, and also for lenses and optics. Fashion shops were full of lovely garments I'd actually like to wear if I could afford them, rather than the trendy rubbish fashions in most high street shops in Britain. There were patisseries and chocolate shops with windows decorated in autumn colours with nuts, pumpkins, autumn leaves, prickly hedgehogs and fluffy rabbits. There were shops selling wonderful oriental rugs while others specialised in leather goods. Even Ian was impressed with how stunning all the shops looked.

Around the town we cannot fail to have noticed reproductions of the paintings of the acclaimed local artist Paul Klee who was associated with Van Gogh. The Art Gallery houses some 2,000 items by him.

We reached the station just in time for the train back here to Thörishaus-Dorf from where we walked back along beside the river and through the woods. Once back in the warmth of Modestine I promptly fell asleep until time to cook supper. It has been an enjoyable and very full day.

Friday 15th October 2010, Pontarlier, France
This morning Ian paid for our two nights at the campsite at Thörishaus. He paid in Euros rather than Swiss Francs because, for some incomprehensible reason, it worked out a lot cheaper!

Soon we were passing through very pleasant rural countryside, along Swiss valleys and through villages of wooden farmsteads. Beside the road were piled brightly coloured gourds and squashes with an honesty box for anyone developing a sudden overwhelming urge to own a gigantic pumpkin.

As we approached Neuchâtel we moved from the German to the French speaking area of Switzerland. It does not come suddenly as it does when crossing borders, but seems to gradually merge and move from one language to the other. Sometimes a sign would be in German in one part of a village, and in French on the opposite side of the road.

Reaching the outskirts of Neuchâtel we began to panic about parking. In fact it was considerably easier than in the German area. The French influence has reached this far into Switzerland and there was actually some free roadside parking! Finding a spot for Modestine we left her and continued into the centre on one of the city's clean and efficient trolley buses. Tickets are bought from machines but you need the right coins. The bus dropped us around 10.30am exactly where we wished to be, in the heart of the city just outside the joint University and Public Library.

Of the person Ian had hoped to meet there was no sign. The research room is very slow and old fashioned and Ian wasted so long filling in forms and waiting for the items he needed not to arrive, that it was lunch-time before they apologetically told him they were closing and the items would not be available until 2pm!!!

Bibliothèque Publique et Universitaire, Neuchâtel, Switzerland
Foyer of the Bibliothèque Publique et Universitaire, Neuchâtel, Switzerland
Reading room of the Bibliothèque Publique et Universitaire, Neuchâtel, Switzerland
So off we went for lunch and to spend two hours exploring the city. When we returned, true to their word, the items were ready and, because we'd wasted so much time, they permitted Ian to photograph them all so he can transcribe them later.

Neuchâtel sits on the northern shore of the lake of the same name near the border with France. It is at the heart of the Swiss watch-making industry. It has a population of around 33,000 but with its immediate surrounding area it is nearer 80,000. Its historic centre is clean and smart with some impressive buildings constructed in golden coloured sandstone, and many attractive fountains.

The University buildings face the lake, as does the shared public and university library.
Above the town, steep cobbled streets lead up to the castle from where there are good views down over the roofs of the city and out across the lake. Up here too, is the gothic Collégiale church, started in 1185 and consecrated in 1276. The most impressive feature of its interior is the cenotaph of the Counts of Neuchâtel (1372) with its life-size statues.

Route leading up to the castle, Neuchâtel, Switzerland
Castle, Neuchâtel, Switzerland
Looking doen over the rooftops of Neuchâtel from the castle, Switzerland
Cenotaph to the Counts of Neuchâtel, Switzerland
Down in the centre of the town stands the Hôtel de Ville (1790), designed by Pierre-Adrien Paris, chief architect of Louis XVI. Around it there are tasteful pedestriansied shopping areas and squares with restaurants and cafes. People seem to have plenty of time to enjoy meeting with friends for coffee. Even in the chill temperatures of today many seemed happy sitting outside.

Hôtel de Ville, Neuchâtel, Switzerland
Place du Marché, Neuchâtel, Switzerland
The vast lake has a port for yachts and sailing craft at Neuchâtel while larger ships ply around the lake. Whereas the coasts around Britain are crowded with gulls, the shore of the freshwater lakes of Switzerland are invariably crowded by hundreds of cheeky and tame sparrows.

Port area on the lake, Neuchâtel, Switzerland
None of our campsite books mentioned any open campsites in the area. The tourist office told us of one a few kilometres further round the lake. When we reached it the price was far more expensive than anywhere we have yet encountered in Switzerland. With France so near we decided to head for Pontarlier. We climbed up from the lake into a classic Jurassic landscape of sheer bare limestone cliffs protruding through a shining forest of leaves in their glorious autumn colours. Soon we had crossed the border and were back on our familiar and much loved roads of the French Jura. It seems very strange reaching a familiar countryside from the opposite side, particularly with all the very different experiences we've had over the past few weeks. We've always thought how far it is across France from Normandy to Franche-Comté, now we appreciate how close it is to the rest of Europe and recognise certain Swiss and German similarities we'd not previously fully appreciated.

By now though, darkness was falling and it was too late to make it as far as Champagne-sur-Loue. Besides, Susanne would not yet be expecting us. In Pontarlier the campsites were closed. With temperatures dropping to almost freezing at night we opted for this cheap hotel out on the industrial estate. It costs about the same as the Swiss campsite but we have a comfortable, clean bed with TV and wifi. Nor do we need to cross a field to use chilly shower block in the morning!

Once here we rang Susanne, who does not use the internet so is unaware of where we might be. She has still not received the postcard we sent from Austria warning her to expect us on 16th October! She was astonished to know we were so near but assures us there is no problem. She had asked us to call on our way back from Romania and had wondered whether we would actually do so. So tomorrow we will be in my beloved French village with our dear friends once more.

Lake Konstanz

2010-10-18T11:37:00.005+01:00

Sunday 10th October 2010, Salem, near Lake Konstanz, Germany
We left Innsbruck mid-morning, once the sun was up and the fog had dispersed proving that the surrounding mountains really were there.

We were anxious to reach Friedrichshafen on the northern shore of the Bodensee, or Lake Konstanz, as soon as possible. With over 250 kilometres to travel it was practical to take the excellent, smooth motorway, shooting in and out of tunnels rather than struggle up and down mountains all day. In Austria, even from the motorways the scenery is sublime – except when deep underground with millions of tons of rock overhead when it does tend to lose its Alpine charms. We reckon we've travelled a good 40 to 50 kilometres inside mountains today, sometimes only shooting out long enough for a quick glimpse of sunlight before burrowing back down again.

Scenic motorway, Austria
We crossed into Germany mid-afternoon and reached Friedrichshafen just before 3pm. When we last came this way we passed along the southern shore of the Bodensee, a lake 40 miles long by 8 miles wide, bordered by Austria, Germany and Switzerland. It occupies the crater of an extinct volcano.

The southern shore is mainly in Switzerland. It must be the only area of Switzerland that is flat! From there, on our previous visit, we could see a dirigible airship flying along the lake near Friedrichshafen and determined that next time we passed this way we would follow the northern shore and investigate the Zeppelin Museum in the town.

By the time we reached the town today and parked, it left us only two hours to visit the museum. It was all rather technical with texts only in German so I understood far less than I'd hoped.

Before the Second World War Zeppelins were constructed in Friedrichshafen and test flown over the lake. Named after Graf Zeppelin, their inventor, they are cigar-shaped airships. A lightweight frame was covered with a tough textile material and packed with cylinders of hydrogen, enabling them to float in the air. They were however, highly flammable. Gondolas were suspended beneath for passengers. The size of some of the airships was awesomely large. The first Zeppelin, LZ-1, was tested from a floating hanger on the lake in 1900. It was 420 ft long and flew at a speed of 20 kilometres per hour. Zeppelins were later used by Germany during WW1 to bomb London and Paris and could be airborne for over 100 hours at a time.

Early airships could only land on water. Ship and hanger on the Bodensee, Zeppelin museum, Friedrichshafen
Lightweight metal framework covered with fabric, containing cylinders of hydrogen gas, Zeppelin museum, Friedrichshafen
In the 1920s and 30s even larger ships were constructed and revolutionised long distance passenger transport with regular transatlantic flights as well as flights to India and around the world. The most famous – or infamous – airship was the Hindenburg, 804 feet long and capable of travelling at 84 miles per hour. In 1937 the hydrogen cylinders ignited as it arrived at Lakehurst, New Jersey. It was completely destroyed and 36 people died in the disaster. It effectively ended the use of Zeppelins for commercial flights.

Airships were also used for exploration. In particular the museum had a feature on the use made by the explorers Roald Amundsen, Lincoln Ellsworth, and General Umberto Nobile in 1926 to explore the North Pole.

During the Second World War the factory at Friedrichshafen was heavily bombarded by the Allies and the industry was never resumed.

Today we have clambered around in the passenger area in a reconstructed section of a Zeppelin. It was all surprisingly modern and comfortable. Indeed, to us it looked very like the cabins, lounges and restaurant areas on board Brittany Ferries latest cross-channel passenger ships! We have also seen detailed sections of how the ships are constructed including the materials and tools used, learned about the techniques and problems of take-off and landing such giant craft and come to appreciate something of the physics of flight. The engines themselves were quite beyond my comprehension when the text was in German anyway and I'm afraid I was more impressed with the elegant crockery used in the dining area and the wooly undies needed by Roald Amundsen during his exploration of the North Pole!

Double cabin on board a 1930s Zeppelin, Friedrichshafen
Passenger accommodation on a 1930s airship showing restaurant, cabins and lounge area, Zeppelin museum, Friedrichshafen
Monogrammed coffee service, Zeppelin museum, Friedrichshafen
Just when we thought we'd seen everything we discovered the top floor of the museum was full of religious art! It had nothing to do with the Zeppelin museum but with nowhere else to house the town's collections, our ticket included access to 15th century carved wooden saints and a few crucifixions.

Gallery of religious art, Zeppelin museum, Friedrichshafen
The town of Friedrichshafen lies on the shore of the Bodensee. So large is it we could not see the far shore today and international car ferries ply between Switzerland and Germany from the port. Because the Zeppelin factory in the town was so heavily bombed, everywhere has been rebuilt and it is a modern town reliant on the warm climate and the lake to encourage tourism. Today boats were plying their way around the lake, calling off in the town for passengers to disembark for cosy coffee and cakes or an ice cream as they wander the water's edge in the late sunshine of an autumn Sunday.

Ferry arriving from the Swiss side of the lake, Friedrichshafen
By the time we'd left the museum and had a look around the town and waterfront of Friedrichshafen the sun was setting, a dazzling disk to blind us as we drove west along the shore to our selected campsite at the far end of the lake. Fortunately we discovered another far nearer Friedrichshafen, set back from the lake with its northern shoreline of endless hectares of grapes. This is obviously an important wine producing area.

Children's play equipment near the Zeppelin museum, Friedrichshafen
Once we settled on the campsite we rang Eva who lives in the town of Konstanz on the far side of the water. We have been trying to contact her for a while without success. Today we were lucky. She is in Salzgitter selling the home of her late mother Ethe but will be back in Konstanz tomorrow. She suggests we take the car ferry across to Switzerland and drive along the shore on her side rather than going right round the lake.

Followers of our travels will recall that in the 1920s Ian's mother worked for the family of the renowned painter Hans Peter Feddersen in Northern Germany looking after his young granddaughter. That child was Ethe, Eva's mother, who died earlier this year whilst we were in Corsica. Etha's children, and Ian and his sister, are all anxious that the links between the two families should not end now that neither Ian's mother, nor Ethe are alive. We promised to call next time we were passing and are as good as our word. We are looking forward to seeing Eva again. Last time she was an eleven year old with pigtails. Now she will be a mature woman in her fifties!

Monday 11th October 2010, Stockach, near Lake Konstanz, Germany
We have not travelled very far today, camping just a little further around the lake from last night. We had expected to be well into Switzerland by this evening but the day has been so successful we lingered far longer with Eva than expected.

The sun was bright, the lake shining and the trees glorious in their autumn colours as we drove along beside the Bodensee this morning. Somehow we missed our turning for the ferry but it really didn't matter. We drove around the end of the lake, passing through vineyards, huge apple orchards and pretty villages with Fachwerk (half-timbered) houses, that really were called such names as Nussdorf and Dinkelsdorf.

Eva's village sits right on the lake with vistas of sailing boats and shining water from her lounge window. She was just arriving back from the overnight train down from Salzgitter, 700 kilometres north of here. Her car was loaded with boxes, carpets and books rescued from her mother's house before it is sold. We fell to and carried everything up several flights of stairs to Eva's flat, stacking it into her spare room to sort later. By this time we were all chatting as if it were days rather than decades that we were last together. Time for a coffee and some reminiscing on the sunny balcony. Jointly we produced a very nice lunch of fresh pasta and salad followed by apple sponge. Ian was sent off to Modestine for our sharp knife and to the village shop for a lemon while I was set to work preparing the desert. Ian and Eva are convinced their mothers would be overjoyed if they could have looked in on our happy day. Eva gave Ian a copy of the book written jointly by her parents on the life and paintings of Hans Peter Feddersen with some excellent reproductions of some of his works. Particularly agreeable are his rural scenes and landscapes of the countryside of Schleswig-Holstein.

Eva and Ian reunited, Konstanz
As can be seen, we are both fine, Konstanz
By the time we'd said our farewells the sun was already low in the sky. Rather than drive off into Switzerland to find a campsite for the night we drove along the lake to this site where we discovered, as we arrived, that we have already stayed here back in 2007 when we found it excellent. It still is but such was our surprise and sense of déjà vu, we accidentally stopped Modestine a couple of feet outside the designated parking place for reception. Overfull from afternoon coffee Ian then jumped out and scuttled to the loo before actually checking in. When he cheerfully and apologetically did so he got a very frosty reception indeed. We are still not sure why but at last there is a campsite lady who has definitely not fallen for his command of German and his British charm!

Related links to earlier reports of the area:
Bodensee In particular entries for 7th and 8th June 2008.

Austria

2010-10-10T09:08:00.011+01:00

Wednesday 6th October 2010, Murau, Austria
Wow, this is a wonderful campsite, well up to Austrian standards with a sanitary block so huge and gleaming I got lost in there! After the simplicity and grubbiness of off-season campsites in Romania and Hungary this is a revelation! I won't want to move on! We are the only people staying here but the heating and piped music are working just for us.

Entrance to the campsite toilet block, Murau, Austria
Ian has discovered he has the ability to charm lady campsite owners! He was gone so long registering us here when we arrived I went on a search and found him deep in discussion in a dark corner of the bar with the friendly lady in charge. She was refusing to believe he was English, convinced he was from Germany! His charm still didn't get us wifi access however. We have to wait until Anne-Lise is on duty tomorrow as she has the password. Really it would be more practical use to us than potted plants in the toilets but very few campsites seem to consider it worth providing.

It was incredibly soggy when we left Langenwang this morning with white billowing clouds over the hillside. We took the motorway to Bruck an der Mur, marked on our map as a place of interest. Parking proved to be absolutely impossible however. Modestine is too tall for underground parking and we are nervous to leave her, even if we could find a place, in areas reserved for cars only. Probably she'd be okay but some countries refuse to accept her as a car. In any case, I found myself going around in circles in a city I did not know with cars hooting me whenever I slowed to read a sign or attempt to park.

So we ended up swept back onto the motorway heading for Leoben. Here we did manage to park on the outskirts of the town and walk in. It proved to be a very pleasant place with several impressive buildings dating from the 16th to the 18th century around the main square. Outstanding amongst them was the Hackl Haus with its baroque façade where the Kaiserin Maria Theresia lived during 1765.

Baroque façade of the Hackle Haus with stucco dating from 1660, Leoben, Austria
Leoben has a modern, covered shopping centre, smart cafes and restaurants and a university that specialises in mining and engineering. The surrounding area has rich iron deposits and, as we later discovered, there are huge iron smelting works on the edge of the town. (Yet we never found a single locally produced man-hole cover!)

Main square, Leoben, Austria
On the edge of the town stands a small house in which Napoleon signed the Treaty of Leoben in 1797. During his Italian campaign he succeeded in forcing the Habsburgs back from the Venezia and his army proceeded northwards towards Vienna. Austrian envoys negotiated with Napoleon, agreeing, in exchange for the French ceasing their advance, to partition the Venezia and recognise French sovereignty over Lombardy. (Travelling the way we do, we are constantly picking up snippets of European history that gradually fit together like a jigsaw puzzle, giving us a much better understanding as to why and how Europe has become what it is today.)

House on the edge of town where Napoleon signed the treaty of Leoben in 1797, Austria
Eventually we discovered a very nice cafe with wifi access where we spent a good hour sorting emails and bank accounts and loading on the pictures for our next blog. Keeping track of bills while we are travelling can be difficult. We'd completely forgotten the standing order for the community charge! Fortunately Ian's pension arrived at the same time or we might have been in difficulty!

Concerned that our progress is too slow, we took the fast roads westwards and put some distance behind us. Austria isn't a country you can cross easily. Routes are dictated entirely by the terrain. Tunnels through the mountains, several kilometres long, have made everything much easier but generally the roads have to follow the valleys around the mountains. We are heading for Innsbruck but there is no straightforward route and we will need to wind either north or south tomorrow to make our way round.

Thursday 7th October 2010, Westendorf, Austria
This morning Anne-Lise was back on duty and provided us with internet access for an hour before we moved on, thus solving a host of little problems – such as where we will be moving on to once we leave Austria. Generally we make it up as we go but as we have hopes of meeting a few friends along the way we need to warn them of our advance.

Most of the day has been spent driving at a leisurely pace along winding roads through the pristine Austrian countryside. Steep green fields, freckled with dark red/brown cattle lay to either side of the road. Higher up autumn was turning the leaves on the trees to scarlet and gold while higher still were the dark green of the pine forests. Beyond were the peaks of more distant mountain tops. In sheltered cleaves wooden farmhouses nestled, their windows and balconies filled with scarlet geraniums, while along the valleys the main industry was timber with logs waiting for processing and long rows of planks, neatly stacked, left to season. Everything is just so perfect. Even the cattle seem to have been carefully positioned on the landscape, evenly spaced from each other!

Roadside farmhouse, Mur Valley, Austria
Castle seen from the road, Mur Valley, Austria
When we were not driving through spectacular scenery, we were driving through tunnels, worming our way through the hillsides, sometimes for seven kilometres or more. The tunnels are not pleasant at all but they are amazing works of engineering. We even encountered two roads converging deep inside a mountain with a slip road on to the major route!

During the afternoon we turned off to continue through the countryside along minor roads, stopping beside the lake near Zell am See. The sun was out and it felt like summer. People were sunbathing, boating and fishing while across the water was the little town of Zell with the jagged peaks of the Austrian Tirol looming, snow clad, above. Whether the snow has fallen already this year, or whether it is still there from last year we could not tell.

Zellsee, Austria
Zellsee, Austria
Fishing on the Zellsee, Austria
We stopped for food shopping in Zell and for a walk along beside the lake with its sunny cafes and smart hotels. It is very pleasant for an afternoon but there seems little to do in these picture postcard little Austrian towns other than to stroll between cake shops.

Town centre, Zell am See, Austria
A particularly attractive hotel, Zell am See, Austria
Mountains across the lake from Zell am See, Austria
The whole area seems to be preparing for the Oktoberfest - the time for bringing the cattle in from the fields and for harvesting the grapes. On every roundabout in every town there are superb, life-size figures made from straw and dressed in traditional folk costume. Everything is ready for a final celebration before the onset of winter.

Once we left Zell driving became very difficult. The sun was sinking and we were driving west. Our route led us high up into the mountains along twisting roads, the sun forever present. Once we reached the top of Pass Thurn at 1274 metres we had to descend an equally winding route beyond, passing through little villages with the sun permanently dazzling us. The journey was quite horrible and it was with great relief that we reached tonight's campsite.

Saturday 9th October 2010, Innsbruck, Austria
The sunshine has continued hot and glaring over the past two days but when not actually driving it has been very enjoyable.

Making our way along the valley floor yesterday we planned to stop at Wörgl, assuming it would be a typical little Austrian town – we are here without any guide books this time so everything is a mystery. We discovered soon enough that Wörgl is a rather ugly and very industrial town surrounded by countless factories involved in wood processing. We might have realised I suppose, given the name Wörgl. If we wanted a town that was quaint we should have been seeking out somewhere with a name like Dinkelsbaum which would surely be typically Austrian with garden gnomes and coffee shops.

Wörgl, Austria
So we drove on through, following the Innsbruck road straight into a hillside. Just before the tunnel swallowed us, on impulse we turned off into the little town of Rattenburg. It may not be quite as cute a place as our imaginary Dinkelsbaum but it certainly proved to be a lovely historic place where we somehow managed to spend a good four hours pottering its pretty streets, climbing up to its ruined castle, wandering beside the fast-flowing river Inn, sampling its coffee houses and browsing its souvenir shops. It has a reputation for glass products with almost every little enterprise in the main street involved in glass blowing, engraving and cut crystal. We needed nothing but it was pleasant watching the glass blowers and browsing the shelves of ornamental glass. Overshadowed as it is by the Rat mountain the town gets almost no sunlight in winter and can actually experience times of permanent darkness!

Typical home, Rattenburg, Austria
Main street, overlooked by the castle, Rattenburg, Austria
Church interior, Rattenburg, Austria
View over the town from the castle, Rattenburg, Austria
It was late afternoon before we left Rattenburg and followed the motorway to Innsbruck. The campsite listed as offering easy bus access to the city was isolated beside a lake high in the mountains above the city without any convenient transport at all at weekends. Poring over our atlas of Austria we worked out where we must have stayed on our last visit which proved to be far more convenient once we arrived. Getting here however was very unpleasant, making our way down the steep and winding road with a rude Austrian driver in a BMW hooting us on every bend and trying to force a way past. Ian was so mad he made a Churchillian gesture at the driver as he shot past us on a hairpin bend.

The campsite has changed management since we were last here and it's much more expensive. It's easy and cheap into town though and we have free wifi, a wonderful bonus. The sun was still so hot we could sit outside with our Hungarian wine while supper cooked, watching the planes flying down the valley between the surrounding mountains to land at the nearby Innsbruck airport. It's very noisy as they land and take-off but fortunately they don't seem to fly at night. Watching their landing lights skimming over the mountain tops at dusk before dropping low over the campsite is really rather exciting.

Modestine camping at Innsbruck, Austria
Our present neighbours are a retired couple from Australia. They bought an old VW camper van in England five years ago and leave it in storage in Chester. They fly over every year from Brisbane, pick it up and spend the six months of the Australian winter exploring Europe before returning it to storage in England and flying home until next year. They are on their way back from a tour around the Baltic, much as we did in 2008. So as Europeans we really are not so very adventurous at all.

It has been hot and sunny all day. This morning we took the bus into Innsbruck. It's strange revisiting a place we never expected to see again. We could not remember details of the city until we arrived. Once here everything became familiar and we even knew where to change buses on our way into the city.

We have not really worked systematically at the cultural bits today. We did all that on our last visit. We have simply enjoyed pottering around the beautiful streets of the baroque old town, watching the living statues and street entertainers and browsing the tourist shops. We did though fill in on some of the things we never managed to see last time. One disappointment was that the huge panorama of Innsbruck which we could not see last time, is still not open to the public until early in 2011. So, sorry Ralph, we could not fulfil your request on this visit either.

Street entertainment, Innsbruck, Austria
As we browsed the main square with its baroque architecture, arcaded souvenir shops and cosy cafes, we were invited to a Shiatsu meeting. Unsure whether this was a form of meditation, an alternative health cure, a martial art or a breed of oriental dog, we declined!

On the square stands the house with the golden roof. More amazing still is the highly ornate Helblinghaus with stucco dating from around 1730. Innsbruck certainly has an amazing amount of architectural bling and this property is well named!

House with the golden roof, Innsbruck, Austria
Hel(bling)haus, Innsbruck, Austria
Amongst the arcaded shops we discovered a Christmas shop bursting with everything anyone could possibly desire to make their Christmas tacky. There was a party of Antipodeans eagerly purchasing wood carved festive gnomes and Santa Clauses on bicycles, having them carefully packaged to send back home. In just a couple of months from now they will be eagerly unwrapped to grace the mantelshelves of homesteads in Waggawagga!

Wooden toys in a Christmas shop, Innsbruck, Austria
Christmas baubles, Innsbruck, Austria
The Maria-Theresien-Strasse had crowded coffee terraces around the Annasäule, an extravagant baroque monument commemorating the retreat of the Bavarians in 1703 during the war of Spanish succession.

Annasäule, Innsbruck, Austria
A stroll around the city took us to the flea-market - where we successfully resisted the temptation to purchase a deer's skull with antlers, a rusted sink and a CD of Neil Sedaka songs.

Flea-market, Innsbruck, Austria
The city has a triumphal arch built in 1765 on the occasion of the marriage of the future Leopold II and Maria Ludovica. During the festivities the prince's father died. So on one side the arch celebrated a wedding while on the other it mourns the death of the king.

Triumphal arch of 1765, Innsbruck, Austria
We took a stroll around the Hofgarten with its lung stone, presented to the city by the Feng Shui Society at its conference in 2005 to keep the city's aura calm. The trees in their autumn colours, the backdrop of the mountains and the horses and carriages lined up waiting for tourists made it an attractive place indeed.

Hofburg, Innsbruck, Austria
Lung stone of the city in the Hofgarten, Innsbruck, Austria
One outstanding attraction of Innsbruck we seem to have missed out on last time was the Leopoldsbrunnen, celebrating Leopold V, prince of Tyrol who died in 1632. Outstanding mainly because it is the oldest statue of a rearing horse north of the Alps! Why do cities always make so much fuss about their superlatives?

Leopoldsbrunnen, Innsbruck, Austria
The Hofkirche in the University quarter houses the cenotaph of the Holy Roman Emperor Maximilian I, flanked by 28 larger-than-life bronze statues of his grieving relatives. His body is actually buried where he died at Wiener-Neustadt.

Cenotaph of the Holy Roman Emperor Maximilian I in the Hofkirche, Innsbruck, Austria
Bronze statues at the cenotaph of the Holy Roman Emperor Maximilian I in the Hofkirche, Innsbruck, Austria
Next to the Hofkirche is the Volkskunstmuseum housing the most important collection of folk art for the Tyrolean region. On our last visit somebody – we regret we cannot recall who but thank you anyway – recommended that we should visit this museum. This time we managed it. It is, unsurprisingly, bursting at the seams with things wooden. There are chests, chairs, cupboards, furniture, tools, cooking equipment and more, more, more, all made from wood. There are reconstructions of farmhouse Stuben or parlours, the room in which everything in the house seems to have happened from eating meals to laying out the dead. They are all wood-panelled with carved wooden ceilings, doors, floors and window frames. Around the walls are wooden benches and all the furniture is bare wood. There is also a gallery of costume, another of religious paintings – on wood, and carved wooden statues.

Tyrolean Stube, Volkskunstmuseum, Innsbruck, Austria
Tyrolean Stube, Volkskunstmuseum, Innsbruck, Austria
The Cathedral of St. Jakob with its twin towers is highly ornate late baroque inside with elaborate stucco by the Asam brothers whose work we have previously encountered in Bavaria. The cathedral also houses the cenotaph of the Archduke Maximilian III. As we left, the tranquillity of the city was ruptured with three simultaneous bursts of sound. A siren announced midday, the huge cathedral bell, immediately above our heads, joined it and a low flying plane roared its way up from the airport to skim low over the city. Once our ears had recovered we bought rolls for lunch and picnicked in the gardens facing the cathedral.

Cathedral of St. Jakob, Innsbruck, Austria
Interior of St. Jakob's Cathedral, Innsbruck, Austria
Pulpit in St. Jakob's Cathedral, Innsbruck, Austria
Cenotaph of the Archduke Maximilian III in the Cathedral of St. Jakob, Innsbruck, Austria
During the afternoon we took a walk across the river Inn and along through a riverside park. Here Ian was delighted to discover a statue of Walther von der Vogelweide, a poet writing in Middle-High-German who died in the 1220s. Ian had studied his work at University and the words came flooding back to him. Just ahead of us were a couple of disenchanted teenage Austrians, smoking as they slouching along with their baseball caps and baggy trousers dangling off their hips. Fortunately they did not look back and see Ian as he waddled behind them, imitating their slovenly walk, while reciting 13th century German poetry. Help me someone!!

On the banks of the Inn, Innsbruck, Austria
Walther von der Vogelweide, Innsbruck, Austria
Old meets new, Innsbruck, Austria
Searching for the Olympic Village, which we eventually gave up on, we passed by the
Zeughaus - the old arsenal built around 1500. The building is now a museum of warfare and the courtyard was piled with stone cannon balls.

Zeughaus, Innsbruck, Austria
Back in the town we collapsed at a cafe table in the square, just beneath the Stadtturm dating from 1440. From the top there are stunning views across the city and out to the surrounding mountains. We however were far too exhausted to climb to the top. Instead we indulged in coffees and a cake for Ian. Today's was called Gutenburg Torte and was the obvious choice for him. Full of chocolate cream it was delicious but had little to do with printing.

Finally, before staggering to the bus stop for the ride home, we stopped at the Jesuit church – part of the old university with the tombs of the Jesuits in the crypt.

Our previous report on Innsbruck can be read on Wednesday 4th June 2008

Lake Balaton to the Austrian border

2010-10-06T12:03:00.008+01:00

Friday 1st October 2010, Keszthely, Hungary continued
During the afternoon we drove across country from Kaposvár to Lake Balaton, passing through undulating countryside, woodland, past lakes and through tidy, attractive villages where residents were busy cleaning the communal ditches along the roadside and cutting the grass. Everywhere looks well cared for, though not in the pristine manner found in Austria and Bavaria. Hungary has received considerable support from the EU and seems to have used it wisely. Everywhere is so much smarter than we remember it from our last visit three and a half years ago. People tell us the country is in great financial difficulty so perhaps many of the improvements we have noted have been carried out with borrowed money, as elsewhere in Europe.

Around five this afternoon we reached Keszthely and quickly found the campsite we have used on our two previous visits. To our relief it was still open. Many that we passed had already closed for the season. We were remembered by the owner who is as friendly as ever. Most of his visitors are German so he speaks this well. As he does not speak English and Ian's German is somewhat better than his Hungarian, it is our language of communication.

Soon we were settled and able to leave Modestine for an evening stroll beside Lake Balaton. It is the largest area of water in Hungary and with no sea coast, it is where the nation goes for its ice cream, sunbathing and swimming. It is also extremely popular with German holiday makers. There are agreeable resorts all around the lake but Keszthely, at the western end is particularly favoured by Germans – and us. The lake looked very pale in the evening light. A few swans were hopefully gathered near the boat jetty hoping for titbits, but generally there was very much an end-of-season feel with very few visitors around. We were tired after the day travelling and happy to return to Modestine for supper and to watch a dvd.

Bathing pier, Lake Balaton, Keszthely
Pleasure boat returning to the jetty, Lake Balaton, Keszthely
Feeding the swans on Lake Balaton, Keszthely
Satuday 2nd October 2010, Keszthely, Hungary
As this is the third time we have been lured back to this very pleasant town I am having a holiday and neglecting the blog. Everything we have to say about both Keszthely and the nearby spa resort of Héviz has already been said on 28th May 2006 and 26th May 2007 Both reports are still valid – though prices have increased greatly.

So today we spent the morning pottering around the town and exploring the busy market with its stalls of paprika, honey, second-hand books and lots of cheerful banter. We were constantly addressed in German and have seen no English people here all day. We sought out some of the places we enjoyed on our previous visit but have been shocked to realise just how much more expensive everything is now. Of course the value of the £ has dropped, even while we have been here. When we arrived we were getting 340 forints to the £. Today the rate on the street was 308! Our coffee and sweet quark retes was as delicious as before but at 1360 forints rather than the 960 we paid last time the real price for us has effectively doubled.

Santons for Christmas made out of the sheaths covering ears of maize. Keszthely
We walked up to the spectacular castle and strolled through the beautiful gardens with beds of brightly coloured autumn flowers. It felt quite chilly today, a contrast to our last visit when we climbed into one of the fountains to cool off!

Festetics Castle, Keszthely
Determined to eat fresh fish from the lake at lunchtime we returned to Modestine for Ian to find a warmer jumper before seeking out the lakeside stall selling whole fried freshwater fish served with pickled gerkins, cabbage and peppers. While back at the campsite we bumped in to Zylvia, the daughter of the campsite owner. She has now finished her library studies and is working in an international language library in Budapest. Her English, which we were helping her with on our last visit, is now excellent and she is very happy in her new job. So we feel delighted that there is a new generation of Hungarian librarians eager to fill the gap left by their predecessors – our contemporaries, now retiring, who have done so much to foster professional links with Britain and have given us so much personal pleasure and interest in Hungary over the years. We have promised we will visit Zylvia in her library when we are next in Budapest.

Down by the lake we ordered our fish along with glasses of Balaton red wine. Who fusses about white wine with fish when the red is so delicious? It has to be said Balaton fish is very full of bones and it is something to be eaten slowly and with great care. We sat at long, communal tables in very shabby surroundings beside the lake but it was interesting and comfortable watching local families with children and dogs arriving for quark pancakes and something that resembled Yorkshire puddings filled with cream and cheese. Unsurprisingly, these seemed particularly popular with German holiday makers who know a good, calorie-laden snack when they see one!

I shouldn't poke fun at them however. The ones sitting near us today have done us a great favour. So deep in conversation were we about the progress made in Hungary since our last visit and what might be done to improve living conditions in Romania, that we walked out leaving our bag with all our documents on the chair beside us! It was only when we reached the railway station to check the timetable for a possible ride along the lake that we missed it! When we returned our German neighbours were standing guard over it knowing we would soon miss it and return! Our gratitude can be imagined.

Ian has some crazy ideas and thought a three kilometre stroll to Héviz would be nice. It's actually nearer seven from the lake. Once we reached the far side of town and realised this he thankfully dropped the idea, promising we'd go by bus tomorrow. However, our plans have changed as we realise we need to be in England by November 2nd and at the speed we are travelling we won't make it. We also hoped to visit Vienna but that will have to await another visit. Tomorrow we move on towards the Austrian border with Hungary. Most campsites are now closed so our route depends on where we can find shelter at night.

Sunday 3rd October 2010, Köszeg, Hungary
We find ourselves this evening back at a campsite we visited in 2007. It stands on the edge of the pretty, unspoilt town of Köszeg full of small baroque houses. It is right on the border with Austria and there is something of the feel of Austria in the town. It is also one of the shabbiest towns we have seen in Hungary, although this is in some ways a part of its charm. Gradually the houses are being restored and the roads improved but in the meantime the town suffers seriously from fallen plaster and broken pavements. Last time we were here it was on a hot May evening. Tonight it has been chilly and gloomy so we have not seen it at its best. Today people throughout Hungary are voting in the local election and around the town there are posters advertising the merits of the different party candidates. We have written about Köszeg on 27th May 2007

Main square, Köszeg
Before leaving the surroundings of Keszthley we drove to the nearby spa town of Héviz. It was a chilly morning but already the German visitors were heading for the lake clutching their rubber rings that enabled them to bob around in the hot water until lunchtime. The lake is slightly sulphurous, slightly radioactive and is at a steady 33 degrees for most of the year. Today there were plenty of people in the water, pleasant enough until you want to come out! It is claimed to be the largest peat-based natural biologically active thermal lake on earth. I swam in it on a former visit and lived to tell the tale. Unfortunately we are beginning to run out of time and decided that we couldn't wait until lunchtime to watch the curists enjoying their forbidden lunches of Eisbein and Pflaumentorte, out of sight of the doctors at the spa.

Entrance to the hot baths, Hévis
On our way to Köszeg we stopped for lunch in Szombathely. Although we passed through the town in 2007 we could remember nothing about it. A second visit really confirmed my impression that it is one of Hungary's least interesting towns. It suffered serious bombing from the Americans during the Second World War and much has been rebuilt. There are though some pleasant 18th and 19th century buildings surrounding the huge central square, there are Roman remains set in a public garden and a synagogue now used as a concert hall. At present there is much reconstruction work being undertaken and a Temple to Isis in gleaming new marble rises in the centre of the town.

Temple of Isis, Szombathely
Former synagogue, Szombathely
Roman remains, Szombathely
So huge and uninteresting is the main square that a statue of the writer James Joyce has been placed against the wall of one of the houses there! The tenuous link with Szombathely is that Leopold Bloom, the main character in Joyce's work Ulysses was supposed to have come from the town. By chance, a family with the name of Blum was living in Szombathely at that time. It is almost certainly pure coincidence but with little else to help sell the town, the council are enthusiastically promoting the link.

Main square, Szombathely
Statue of James Joyce, Szombathely
The neo-classic Cathedral has been rebuilt after being badly damaged in the American bombardments. It has been beautifully done and the pink marble used throughout is quite lovely. Unfortunately the roof frescos have proved too expensive to restore.

Cathedral interior, Szombathely
Exterior view, Cathedral, Szombathely
As we looked around we were accosted by an enthusiastic Hungarian man whom we presumed at the time was an official cathedral guide. What is it about Ian that gets him into so many odd situations here? All he did was explain that we didn't speak Hungarian. Unfortunately he did it in Hungarian. Our guide started to talk to us as if we were six years old using extravagant gestures as we stood immediately in front of the altar. Generally, having read our guidebook, we understood his explanation. Then it got complicated. We still have no idea what was going on but our guide was on the floor rolling up the leg of Ian's trouser, rolling up his own and pressing their calves together as he bent down before the altar still talking to us continuously! Amusement turned to doubt and then to concern. All we wanted to do was to escape! Weird or what? Maybe he was a Freemason, or maybe he was explaining about a piece of masonry going through somebody's leg during the bombardments, or maybe the man was just completely bonkers. We headed out of the Cathedral as fast as we could and disappeared into the centre of the town. On the way we passed the Bishop's palace and the statue of Szombathely's first bishop, Szily Janos. (Not as Szily as our guide though!)

Bishop Szily, Sombathely
The town was rather boring and almost deserted. Nowhere was open for lunch except Macdonalds. So that's where we went. At least it was warm and the staff friendly. They immediately understood Ian's request for kettö dupla sajtburger (two double cheeseburgers) and one large portion of fries with ketchup, and they never batted an eyelid at his Hungarian. I feel really proud of him. How did he know to say nagy burgonya for a large bag of chips? As you see, it's not exactly an intuitive language.

Afraid of Ian having his leg fondled again if we were recognised passing the cathedral we made a wide detour around the town to rejoin Modestine. We left Szombathely with relief and a determination never to visit it again. Despite some pleasant buildings around the cathedral it has an atmosphere that is far from welcoming.

Monday 4th October 2010, Köszeg, Hungary
We are still here on the campsite. Modestine is sick and was quite unable to get going this morning! We packed everything up, paid our bill, checked our maps and turned the key in the ignition. Groans, wheezes and splutters were all she could muster. It was the same symptoms she had in Corsica so we were fairly confident we knew what the problem was. Explaining it to a Hungarian mechanic is another matter! Nobody around the campsite spoke either English or German. The public library - our usual source of help for everything when we are travelling – is closed on Mondays. Eventually a lady with a gleaming halo in the tourist information office was able to help us in German. Once we'd explained our predicament she phoned the only garage in the town and translated for us between Hungarian and English using German. By the time we'd returned to Modestine two friendly mechanics were waiting to prod at Modestine's intestines. Ian now has a burgeoning Hungarian vocabulary that includes terms such as "The glowplugs are new" "we think it's the air/diesel mixture" "Have you checked the battery?" "We squeezed that bit there because we thought it would prime the pump but nothing happened". [She does exaggerate my Hungarian capabilities!]

They had no more luck than us and disappeared back to their garage for some useful bits of resuscitation equipment. After spraying a thick haze of water repellent into the engine Modestine coughed herself into life. The mechanics are now convinced the glow plugs have gone and will return in the morning with some replacements. I still have doubts that the diagnosis is correct but hope I'm proved wrong.

Although they assured us we could drive Modestine we preferred to leave her on the campsite rather than risk her breaking down again somewhere less convenient. So after explaining our predicament to the campsite lady we set off to explore the footpaths through the dense woodland above the town. We called off on the way at the information office to thank the helpful German speaking angel. She provided us with a map of the local footpaths that even Ian couldn't understand and before long we were hopelessly lost in a forest of sweet chestnut trees scrambling up steep, broken paths and realising how unfit we have become recently.

Köszeg seen from the woodland on the Austrian border
We estimate we have walked about eleven kilometres but about half of it was up through steep woodland and the other half was winding down equally steep paths. By the time we got back I was aching and my toes swollen and sore. However, we feel virtuous and it was a very enjoyable walk. We discovered the old Hungarian/Austrian border post, now completely abandoned in thick woodland, and nearby a pool where seven springs converge. This has long been a favourite destination for the people of Köszeg and was rebuilt in its present form in 1896 to mark Hungary's millennium. Each spring was named after a Hungarian chieftain with a little nameplate. We were delighted to discover one is called Huba, like our friends' camper van!

Seven springs flowing into an open pool in the woodland above Köszeg
Fearful of getting lost forever in the eerie green woods, where the trunks of the trees reminded us of columns in a cathedral, we retraced our steps up the steep track to the hilltop and then followed the narrow road steeply downhill for five kilometres back to Köszeg. On the way we collected fat, shiny sweet chestnuts to roast in Remoska. There were dozens of different kinds of mushrooms profusely scattered beneath the trees but we are too ignorant to risk gathering them.

Steep woodland above Köszeg
Back at the campsite we had been joined by a French campervan. They had no such fears and had large boxes of wild mushrooms laid out around their van as they sorted them all, cleaned them and then dried them in a special contraption they seem to have brought with them all the way from Nice expressly for the purpose! Soon another French camper arrived. It's good to be able to chat in French again. Both vehicles had intended going through to Romania but it appears it would be unwise to go there at present in a French vehicle. President Sarkozi has caused such a furore with his policy of fingerprinting Romanian Gypsies and sending them back from France that there are major demonstrations in Bucharest and across Romania. So our fellow campers will explore something of Hungary before heading over to Croatia and Slovenia.

Tuesday 5th October 2010, Langenwang, Austria
Well before 9am our two friendly mechanics arrived clutching a box of spanners and some glow plugs. They disappeared beneath Modestine's bonnet for half an hour and she was well again! Assuming she starts okay tomorrow they will have proved the specialist Citroën agents in England and Corsica to have been wrong when they assured us the trouble could not possibly be the glow plugs.

Not knowing how much the bill would be, and knowing we would be leaving Hungary today, we did not have enough forints to pay the bill. Presumably for tax reasons the mechanics were adamant they wanted cash not a card payment, so Ian was bundled into their car and taken to the cash machine to withdraw the perfectly reasonable sum of 12,000 forints. (About £35). They even brought him back to the campsite afterwards but strangely failed to give him a receipt! Who cares? They did a good job and were very friendly and helpful. Indeed, everyone has been so sympathetic and concerned. The lady at the campsite halved our bill for last night because of our predicament and because Ian's funny Hungarian made her laugh.

Soon we were on our way to Sopron, a beautiful, historical little town in the far north-west corner of Hungary. It is practically encircled by Austria and back around 1920 it had a referendum to decide whether it wished to be part of Austria or part of Hungary. Given what happened to Hungary after the Second World War its citizens must have wished they had chosen differently.

Lying to the south of Vienna the town is much frequented by Austrians for its atmosphere, restaurants, cheaper prices and particularly for its dentists where treatment is far less expensive than in Austria or Germany. There seem to be dozens of them around the town advertising themselves in German.

It was cold today and nowhere is quite as attractive when the sun is not shining. We visited the town on a hot summer's day on Sunday 25th June 2006 and described it with great pleasure so will leave you to reread that account. The compact town centre escaped the worst ravages of the Turkish invaders and its attractive mix of baroque and gothic buildings remain much as they were back in the middle ages through to the 18th century. They are a little shabby in places it's true, with crumbling plaster and peeling paintwork, but the synthesis of architectural styles and decaying grandeur is quite charming.

Baroque Holy Trinity statue erected in 1700, incrusted with cherubs, in Fö Tér, Sopron, Hungary
Street in centre of old Sopron, Hungary
Maria Fountain, 1780, Orsolya Tér, Sopron, Hungary
Attractive gateway, Sopron, Hungary
Baroque house discovered in the suburb across the bridge, Sopron, Hungary

Sopron was founded by the Romans as Scarbantia and became an important centre as it lay on the amber route from the Baltic to the Adriatic just south of the point where it entered the Roman Empire after crossing the Danube.

Roman remains of Scarbantia with the amber road passing between the buildings, Sopron, Hungary
Bastions of the old Roman city, Sopron, Hungary
We browsed the streets, remembering odd corners and discovering different ones. At lunch time we found a small cafe serving the old fashioned foods Hungarians grew up with, rather than the pizzas that are now becoming far too prevalent in all the towns across Hungary. We had no idea what most of the dishes were but selected a thick paprika pork and tomato gulyash with rice for Ian and pork stuffed with mushrooms served with a mildly curried vegetable rice for me. We seemed to have two portions on each plate, but noticed everyone else also seemed hidden behind plates piled high with creamed spinach, boiled potatoes and hard-boiled eggs, or paprika sausage with pasta and pickled gherkins. It was our last meal in Hungary and probably just as well. We are eating far too much!

On the way back to Modestine we found a money exchange where we surrendered our remaining forints in exchange for twenty Euros.

A short drive brought us into Austria where we stopped at a garage to buy a vignette permitting us to use the motorways and main trunk roads across Austria. It only cost 7.5 Euros for 10 days and the roads are fantastically smooth after poor old Romania and even much improved Hungary. Today they were not particularly busy either. Soon we'd passed south of Vienna and were climbing up into the mountains, wreathed in a cold, clammy mist that made motorway driving very unpleasant. Visibility became really bad and it was with relief that we sped into a series of motorway tunnels. At least they kept the fog out! It's worth a few Euros to use the motorways and avoid having to climb up and over all the passes in such weather! Eventually we emerged from a particularly long tunnel to discover we'd left the mist behind. Back on ordinary roads again we made our way through spick and span villages of attractive houses and wooden chalets with scarlet geraniums on the balconies. Roadside verges were freshly mown and everywhere looked attractive, clean and cared for.

Actually it can be carried to extremes. When we arrived at this campsite, set amidst the misty peaks of the surrounding hills, the owner insisted we walk with her around the site to select our pitch. Our criteria are level ground so we don't roll out of bed, and near the loo in case we need to scamper across in the rain during the night. Hers was whether there were any fallen leaves on the the grass that might tread in to Modestine! She was really worried because she'd not swept the pitch we selected and did her utmost to persuade us to take the one she'd just cleared.

Szigetvar and Kaposvar

2010-10-06T11:51:00.009+01:00

Thursday 30th September 2010, Boldogasszonyfa, Hungary
We are camping all alone beside a fishing lake where during the summer fishermen arrive hopeful of catching a carp to barbeque during the evening as they camp beside the water, happily enjoying a bottle or two of Villány wine and some peach pálinka. Tonight though we have only a friendly little dog for company and it is too cold and clammy to venture outside of Modestine. We do however have our five litre canister of really delicious Villány wine so life is not at all bad really.

Before leaving Pécs this morning we had an interesting discussion in German with the campsite lady whom we had previously found so charming. She is still very friendly but we were taken aback to discover how strongly she feels about different nationalities living in Hungary and is convinced that much of Hungary's land has been taken from them. To some extent this is true. It used to own Transylvania and areas now in Croatia, Serbia and Slovakia. She claimed that the Hungarians had been in the area for more than two thousand years, perhaps as many as four thousand (a distorted view of history as the Magyars only entered the area in the late ninth century AD). She says she was born in Transylvania when it was part of Hungary and she objects to it now being part of Romania. Erdély, as the Hungarians call it, was ceded to Romania under the treaty of Trianon in 1920. Hitler later returned it briefly to Hungary around 1940 (which is presumably when this lady was born). However, in 1945 it was again made part of Romania and has remained so ever since. Many Hungarians, both here and in Transylvania, want it returned to Hungary but this lady quite openly told us that it was a good thing Hitler gave it back to them and they should have hung on to it then no matter what! The only reason he did this was because Hungary sided with him during the Second World War but that didn't seem to worry her at all.

She spoke of the problems of the Romanian gypsies coming into Hungary and then complained about the Jews. There were too many of them and they were buying up property all over Hungary, she complained. We mentioned that there were far fewer than before the war. She told us Hungary's current problems were the fault of the Israelis. They live in a barren land out in the desert and they are buying up properties here in this fertile and beautiful country. There are far too many Israelis with properties in Budapest. But, she told us, you also have problems in England with all the people from India and Pakistan. We found the conversation uncomfortable and slunk away, anxious not to get involved in an argument in a language that was not our own.

So we drove through Pécs and out into the countryside, along peaceful roads, through pleasant little villages to the rural old town of Szigetvár. Until we arrived we had no idea how important the town has been in the history of Hungary for its heroic defence against the Turks. The name means Island Castle. Originally the fortified castle was set in a marshy lake and held out against various attacks by invading Turks.

16th century map showing the castle of Szigetvár surrounded by water
Now the castle is a massive red brick ruin with pleasant gardens inside its walls and the marshes have been drained. However, in 1566 the castle was besieged by the 60,000 strong Turkish forces under Süleyman the Magnificent. The castle was under the command of the Viceroy of Croatia Zrinyi Miklós with a force of 2,400 men. The Hungarians held out until only a handful of the troops survived before breaking out from the castle on a final suicidal attack against the Turks. Meanwhile, Süleyman had died from apoplexy back at his camp a few kilometres north of Szigetvár. Today Zrinyi Miklós is a national hero and is honoured everywhere throughout the town with squares and schools named after him and statues of him outside many of the important buildings. Süleyman's entrails were buried near the site of his tent in which he died. A monument was erected there by the Turks but this has since been pulled down.

The heroic stand of Zrinyi Miklós has been honoured by Hungarians ever since. The event is taught in schools, there are plays, poetry and music celebrating what to Hungarians has become a call to freedom. His grandson wrote an epic about the event that has been set to music by Kodály and we even saw a poster advertising the tale in a rock musical!

Zrinyi Miklós, the rock musical! Szigetvár
The town itself is very pleasant with several buildings of interest including a modern cultural centre and a curious Art Nouveau building now a school. There is a Turkish house that can be visited though by the time we discovered it, it had closed.

Interesting building, now the Zrinyi Miklós school, Szigetvár
Bust of Zrinyi Miklós outside the school, Szigetvár
One of the attractive squares in Szigetvár
Turkish mosque now turned into a church, Szigetvár
Turkish house, Szigetvár
The cultural centre – a very bizarre structure by the eccentric Hungarian architect Makovecz - was a very useful discovery enabling us to spend a couple of hours using their internet. It's an awful waste of time during the day but we left having sorted out many of our problems. Getting access is essential for so many things and sometimes it can be surprisingly difficult.

Cultural centre, Szigetvár
Makovecz, Imre explains the architectural style of the cultural centre; no wonder the council cut his funding! Szigetvár
We realised we were hungry. The nearby restaurant offered no choice, which was good as our Hungarian isn't really up to understanding the finer points of menus. We sat there and were served a huge bowl of mushroom soup with noodles and paprika followed by port cutlet with vegetable rice, pickled gherkins and yellow peppers. It was so copious we've not eaten at all this evening.

At the castle ruins I lost Ian somewhere while I was browsing an interesting exhibition of pastels and watercolours of local scenes. I eventually discovered him in the remains of the Turkish mosque drinking plum palinka with a Croatian artist wearing a beret who was creating a gigantic painted sand sculpture in the form of a Buddhist mandala on the floor of the mosque! They'd got talking in German and by the time I found them they were inseparable buddies.

Catalogue of the works of a Croatian sand sculptor, Szigetvár
Creating a mandala in the sand, Szigetvár
Inside the Turkish mosque in the castle, Szigetvár
Millennium thumb outside the castle, Szigetvár
Driving north from Szigetvár we discovered the Hungarian-Turkish Friendship Park. This was established in 1994, set up by Turkey, presumably as an apology for the past. It was essentially Turkish in design with large sculptures of both Süleyman the Magnificent and Zrinyi Miklós. It struck us as one of those bright ideas thought up by local politicians but we wonder quite how enthusiastic the residents of Szigetvár really are to have such a monument just outside the town.

Zrinyi Miklós and Süleyman the Magnificent no longer on opposite sides, Friendship Park, Szigetvár
General view of the Hungarian-Turkish Friendship Park, Szigetvár
Arriving at the campsite this evening we hopefully enquired whether they spoke English or German. No, they said, but what did that matter when Ian could speak Hungarian! A nice compliment that proved to be true. Between us all we sorted out all we needed to know and Ian discovered even more words in his vocabulary that he never realised were sitting there waiting their chance to come out! The friendly dog then took us in hand, leading us along the lakeside for a stroll before darkness fell. He even took us to look at his kennel on our way back to Modestine!

Our camping lake on a chilly evening, Boldogasszonyfa
Friday 1st October 2010, Keszthely, Hungary
The day started with me knocking over a thermos full of boiling water in Modestine, shattering the glass and making rather a mess. After that we discovered our canister of wine had fallen over and the lid leaked. Everything has been a bit damp and red for most of the day but we've just about dried out now. Fortunately we have another thermos and most of the wine has been saved so all is well.

It has been dry but very chilly all day. This morning we drove to Kaposvár. It proved to be a very pleasant town and with more time we could have gone into it in far greater depth. It has several museums but we contented ourselves with one, choosing it because we thought it was free. It turned out we had to pay and we were too chicken to leave. We knew nothing about the painter, János Vaszvary, 1867-1939 who came from the town. His work was rather impressionistic and there were only a few canvases on display. We were not bowled over. There were some rather nice totally unconnected pieces of bamboo furniture and some delightfully engraved certificates that had been presented to the painter at European competitions in Milan, Budapest and Paris, so the visit had something of interest after all.

Cultural centre, Kaposvár
Town hall, Kaposvár
Opera house, Kaposvár
The town is largely pedestrianised. It is clean and smart with a good range of shops. Hungary has always delighted in public sculptures, either of great warriors of the past, important politicians, or simply bronze statues for joie de vivre, to enliven a shopping precinct or a corner of a park. We found several examples of the latter in Kaposvár. They were really delightful.

Pedestrianised town centre, Kaposvár
Bronze sculpture in the town centre, Kaposvár
Bronze sculpture in the town centre, Kaposvár
Bronze sculpture in the town centre, Kaposvár
Bronze sculpture in the town centre, Kaposvár
Around lunch time we found a very good restaurant serving a set price menu. The place was crowded so we selected whatever it was everyone else was having. It turned out to be a thick goulash soup with lentils and bacon, followed by what, in Hungary, can only be described as pasta in a fur coat with peach coulis! The ribbon pasta seemed to have been dipped in breadcrumbs and a large blob of jam put on top. It tasted fine but was not in the least what we expected. Over a coffee we used the restaurant's wifi which was a real bonus.

We browsed one of the bookshops. It had an excellent stock with many familiar works translated into Hungarian.

Thomas the Tank Engine, Kaposvár
Postman Pat, Kaposvár

For convenience, to avoid splitting our stay in Keszthely, the rest of today's activities are recounted in our next report.

Pecs and around

2010-09-30T12:10:00.013+01:00

Tuesday 28th September 2010, Pécs, Hungary
We were too weary to finish writing up our account of yesterday when we returned to Modestine last night and no way could Ian face processing the 73 photos he has taken. So this morning we have turned on our fan heater for the first time and are sheltering from the cold, saturated atmosphere of the campsite, busy with our computers, before venturing in to the city centre to visit some of the museums.

Yesterday turned out to be a very interesting day indeed. It is probable though that the following account will be of interest only to library colleagues so the rest will be excused if you skip the next few paragraphs and join us further down.

We had arranged to meet Judit at the library she manages, once the city library but within the next few days due to become the main branch library as the town library, the county library and the university library join forces in the prestigious new building that is to be Pécs's Knowledge Centre. Judit was invited to move to the new building but prefers to remain with the staff and resources she has managed for much of her working career. Her enthusiasm lies with helping the general public within the locality and she has mixed feeling about libraries becoming purely a source for information rather also serving a social and community role. She is very proud of her library and has some delightful and supportive staff.

Public library, Pécs
From discussions we realise many of the public and county library staff have concerns about throwing in their lot with the academic librarians in the new, multi-funtional library, feeling that, as much of the future purchasing and running costs will be from the centrally funded university, they will inevitably make most of the decisions and the locally funded public service will be side-lined. It will certainly be curious to see how university lecturers and students enjoy using the resources alongside school groups, toddlers in prams and computerphobic pensioners wanting to read the newspapers or find a nice romantic novel!

Having been given a tour of her library, admired an excellent exhibition of local watercolours and been served coffee in Judit's office, we joined her and her five professional staff for a bus ride to the new library building, not yet opened to the public. They had all been invited for an official guided tour of the building and Judit had requested that we might join them as the building will not be officially opened for a couple more weeks yet and we will be long gone.

New central library, Pécs
We were made very welcome indeed, Judit and a young English-speaking member of staff acting as interpreters. The group of around a dozen librarians were given a detailed tour of the seven floors of the magnificent new building. The entrance hall is bare and somewhat daunting as it waits for a coffee lounge to be installed and hopefully some potted plants to add patches of colour. There are several bizarre glass sculptures by a Romanian artist, most looking like clusters of gigantic red talons stuck into huge pots. Personally I disliked them and found the sculptures looking like giant spiked specimen flasks no better.

Romanian sculptures on the entrance floor of the new central library, Pécs
Romanian sculptures on the entrance floor of the new central library, Pécs
Areas are controlled by swipe cards, everywhere is pale shining marble. There are or course lifts as well as wide staircases, unfortunately without banisters, sweeping up from floor to floor. There is a huge central light-well the depth of the entire building, attractively lined with thousands of bright, locally produced Zsolnay ceramic tiles, rising up to the sun terrace on the roof. The façade is faced with glass. It allows maximum use of natural light but, as there are, as yet, no blinds fitted it will surely be unbearably hot in summer. Upper floors are carpeted but as the entire building is open-plan it is probable that the activities of the children's and music departments will interfere with the tranquillity of the research and study areas.

Central stair-well lined with Zsolnay ceramic tiles, New central library, Pécs
Entrance level, New central library, Pécs
Everywhere looks stunning, uncluttered as yet by users, with pale Maplewood used throughout for shelves, tables, desks and computer fitments. There are new, suede-covered computer chairs and loungers in attractive shades of pale green, beige and lemon. I'm led to wonder how the covered arms will look in a few years time!

Public library area on the first floor, new central library, Pécs
Main reading room, second floor of the new central library, Pécs
Main reading room, new central library, Pécs
Public library periodicals area of the new central library, Pécs
Main well of the new central library from a couple of floors up, Pécs
Area awaiting installation of computers, new central library, Pécs
European Documentation Centre, new central library, Pécs
Children's library, top floor of the new central library, Pécs
Children's library, new central library, Pécs
Ceramics made by children, top floor of the new central library, Pécs
Staff stock-checking in the music library, top floor of the new central library, Pécs
Roof terrace with light-well, New central library, Pécs
All the staff complained that the building was designed by architects and that they did not fully understand the requirements for libraries, taking scant regard of the experience of library staff. Now where have I heard that complaint before?

The shelves are already fully stocked. Judit's library seems to be the only one operating across the city at present as everything else has been integrated into the Knowledge Centre. Moving stock from so many different libraries and leaving enough space to integrate them must have been a nightmare but that aspect seems to have run like clockwork – it took three weeks to move more than one million documents! Less successful has been attempts to integrate the different computer catalogues using a multiplicity of systems. Of course we have been down that road ourselves and are well aware of the problems. Somehow though we imagined there had been more progress in such matters in the five years since we retired. Neither integration nor front end software seem to have worked on their sample trials. (Judit is now in a panic having just been informed that access to all computer catalogues will be closing down next week as they attempt to combine them. This in the middle of Hungary's National Library Week! Public library staff cite this as an example of the problems they will face with co-ordinating services. It is the university sector that has decided on the timing without consultation. They do not take part in NLW and did not appreciate the problems it will cause for the many public library events planned throughout the city.)

There are though many positive things about the integrated service. Far more resources will be available for the public and there will be additional funding. There will be economies of purchase with no need to duplicate resources. There is an excellent European Documentation Centre and only one set of government papers and official documents will need to be purchased in future. There will be far more online resources and all staff will become more adaptable with new opportunities for career progression. There is a vast music library available with scores and recordings, a floor for children's resources and activities, acres of space for general lending material, hundreds of printed journals covering topics of both general and academic interest, separate floors for the various academic disciplines – economics, social sciences, law, theology, philosophy and various applied sciences. (Other specialised academic areas such as pure and applied arts, will be accommodated elsewhere in the city.) There will be 400 computer terminals and wifi for personal computers will be available throughout the building.

I have to confess, that seeing around this stunning building, I felt the first real enthusiasm since retirement to once again be actively involved in libraries. Having always thought combining the resources of a city the most sensible and economic means of providing an equitable service to everybody, seeing it actually starting to happen here in Pécs, made me itch to be a part of it.

Of course Pécs is half as large again as pleasant but culturally limited Exeter. With its dozen museums, Roman remains, stunningly impressive multi-cultural resources – second only to Budapest in Hungary- Pécs is an obvious candidate for European funding. Such a library would not have been possible were it not for the money the city received as one of Europe's Capitals of Culture for 2010. Obviously some money came from the city, county and university, but the bulk of the 4.5 milliards of forints required came from the EU. (I cannot envisage that sum written in numbers but divide it by 340 to find out how many £s.) Will there be future funding available within Pécs to sustain it? It will be interesting to return in a few years to see how everything settles down.

After an invitation for coffee in the librarian's office, where we each had our own interpreter, we left to explore the town and to find a snack for a very late lunch indeed. Considering we are retired we have been bowled over by the willingness of the staff to discuss the library with us, answer our questions and treat us with such deferential charm. Thank you Judit for making it all possible.

OKAY NON-LIBRARIANS, back you come!

On Mondays all museums are closed. This is another area where co-operation would be of practical benefit. Why not have a selection of the many museums around the city closed on different days so that there would always be at least one open every day? The sun had come out so it didn't matter and we thoroughly enjoyed strolling the streets and squares of this delightful city. The money it has received has been put to excellent use. Buildings have been cleaned and restored, squares renovated, graffiti removed, statues erected and gardens planted up with beautiful, old-fashioned flowers. Today Széchenyi Tér was crowded as people stopped to listen and watch the music and dancing taking place. We have never really seen the square when some free activity is not taking place. Judit says it is one of the town's greatest assets.

Oldest public library building in Pécs, 1324
Same building as above with night-time illumination, Pécs
Synagogue, Pécs
Approaching Széchenyi Tér, Town Hall on the right, Pécs
We walked up to find the city bastions, an area we have not discovered before, returning through the public gardens, past the huge cathedral and down past the mosque to the modern shopping arcade where we caught the bus out the far side of town to spend the evening with Judit and Ferenc and their daughter Rita, who had again invited us for supper.

Cathedral seen from the bastion, Pécs
Ian improves on some local sculpture, Pécs
Tower on the city bastion, Pécs
Cathedral, Pécs
Once again we spent a very happy evening speaking our jumbled mix of languages. Ferenc and Ian experimented with different methods of drinking tequila while the ladies contented themselves with cointreau. Too soon the time for the last bus back arrived and we had to bid our good friends farewell. Közönöm szépen / vielen Dank for making us so very welcome. We will leave with warm memories of our stay here.

Supper with Judit and Ferencs, Pécs
Supper with Judit and Ferencs, Pécs
Tuesday 28th September 2010, Pécs, Hungary
We've not done a great deal today. Once the chill went from the morning we took the bus into the centre of town and found a student café for a bowl of paprika bean soup. Later we visited the Csontváry museum on the recommendation of Kati. Csontváry (1853-1919) was born in Slovakia the same year as Van Gogh. Like him, he suffered from hallucinations and eventually went mad. He was an artist of merit though most of his work was produced only in the late 1890s and early 1900s. From 1910 his psychosis reduced his work to schizoid scribbles, at which stage, Picasso apparently referred to him as "the other great artist of the century besides me". In fact, pencil portraits done in the mid 1890s were excellent while his canvases were enormous, vividly coloured works in a naive style depicting images of Jerusalem, Mostar in Bosnia, and the Hortobágy plains of Hungary. We rather liked them but felt slightly cheated as we had been led to expect a rapid progression to madness in his displayed works. The canvases were few and the entry price rather high.

We looked around the nearby mosque on Széchenyi Tér, now used as a Catholic church – a rather strange experience. The extension behind is in the Bauhaus style which gives the church an even more curious feel.

Mosque and statue of Janos Hunyadi, Széchenyi Tér, Pécs
We were both incredibly weary so after the usual stop for coffee and Ian's cake – cherry crumble today – we took the bus back to Modestine where we are planning our onward route. It is the end of the month and campsites are rapidly closing down for the winter all across Europe.

Wednesday 29th September 2010, Pécs, Hungary
We have returned to the same campsite this evening though we left this morning fully intending to move on. Our trouble has always been not being sufficiently focused and easily getting side-tracked. As it invariably leads to something enjoyable though, it's a habit we are not particularly anxious to break.

About twenty kilometres south of Pécs stands the pleasant little spa town of Harkány. We passed through it in 2007 on our way up through Bosnia and Croatia from the Adriatic coast. On that occasion we were anxious to reach Pécs so just stopped briefly for lunch. Today we pottered down along pleasant rural roads running through fields of maize and gentle tree-clad hills. Harkány is a quiet little town of a few shops and flat, green parkland with paths running beneath avenues of chestnut trees. Today the ground was littered with shining conkers. In the heart of the park is the spa complex, the only real reason for visiting the little town. Signs everywhere are in both German and Hungarian. The bookstall is full of German magazines and the main visitors are from Germany. Nobody we met today spoke English though almost everybody spoke German. We gave up even trying to use Hungarian and went with the flow.

Zsolnay fountain, Harkány
Germans are frequently sent for a Kur by their doctors, paid for by their health care insurance. Hungary is so much cheaper than Germany they can afford the board and lodging here as well as the treatment. They are happy and Hungary is happy. Whether the Kur does them any good is another matter but there are a lot of Germans who are convinced it does.

The pool was crowded with no room to do other than stand around in the naturally heated spring water chatting with your neighbour. After a while you climb out, wrap yourself in a towelling robe and toddle along to the restaurant for some refreshment. Then you go for a mud bath, drink a little spa water and wander around the streets, still wearing your dressing gown and slippers! Not having the regulation white bath robes we felt very conspicuous wearing our fleece jackets and jeans in the supermarket and the bakers and felt people were staring at us.

We discovered a large open market selling absolutely anything you may require. There were dozens of stalls selling bathrobes and slippers so we could have easily mingled undetected in the crowds. One stall holder tried to sell Ian an old English penny for two euros but best of all was the man who cheerily offered us his jars of home pickled vegetables – garlic, red peppers, cauliflower and gherkins. Addressing us in German he told us they were all bottled at home by his wife. Amazing they were, didn't know how she did it but they were a genuine Hungarian Viagra. His wife's gherkins were guaranteed to give you five orgasms a night or your money back!

Hungarian viagra
A few kilometres beyond Harkány is the little town of Siklós, a very agreeable place clustered around the base of a small hill topped by a castle, currently closed for restoration. It is the birthplace of George Mikes who later lived in England and in the 1960s wrote How to be an alien in which he took a humorous, gentle jibe at the British and our mannerisms seen from the viewpoint of a foreign resident.

Castle defences, Siklós
Plaque commemorating the birthplace of Mikes György, Siklós
Siklós also boasts a Serbian church and a Turkish mosque. The latter is now a museum of Turkish artefacts, the floors strewn with colourful rugs while around the walls are small dark wooden tables inlaid with mother of pearl and silver wire. There are copper bowls, hookah pipes, perfume bottles, and eastern bags, garments, footwear and ceramics.

Turkish mosque, Siklós
Turkish mosque interior, Siklós
Siklós, like Harkány also has a large daily market. Both towns are near the frontier with Croatia and do brisk business with Croatians crossing to buy clothes, shoes and household goods which are apparently more expensive across the border. There are frequent signs in Croat.

A twenty minute drive through vineyards heavy with black grapes brought us to Villány. It is at the heart of the Hungarian quality wine trade. Almost every building in the town is involved. The main street is a cheery place with customers tasting the wines at little tables outside the pinces or cellars lining both sides of the street. It was no use to me though with the zero tolerance policy here regarding alcohol and driving, and Ian didn't fancy drinking alone.

We did though visit the wine museum giving a history of the Hungarian trade, the various cépages and the developments made here in the 19th century to produce phylloxera-resistant grape varieties. Hungarian wines are generally excellent, the reds being fruity and dry. The museum also runs a wine shop. So we took a gamble and bought a five litre plastic canister of red wine to keep us happy of an evening as we continue our travels.

Cellars of the wine museum, Villány
By this time it was late afternoon and we were some twenty kilometres south of Pécs. Our intended onward route was to the north. It was not worth rushing so we simply pottered our way across a very pleasant countryside of woodland and low hills back towards Pécs for another night. On the way we passed through several little villages, suburbs really to Villány. Here the roadsides were lined with the cellars of the wine producers. Rows of tiny storehouses that led into dark, cool wine cellars cut back into the hillside behind. In one village three parallel streets of cellars ran along the hillside, the cellar of the lower street extending beneath the floor of the cellars in the street above. In the top street, there were just air vents protruding up into the fields behind the cellars. Throughout the pretty village was the smell of fermenting grapes and the roadside was littered with heaped stalks of recently harvested grapes and the pressed lees of new wines that had just finished their first fermentation. As the wine was strained from the lees, the roadside gutters ran red with the yeasty remains of the wine!

Wine pinces, Villánykövesd
Cleaning the wine equipment outside the cellars, Villánykövesd
Gutter running with wine from the first raking, Villánykövesd
Preparing the barrel, Villánykövesd
As we returned to the city the hills around Pécs were bright with the colours of autumn. Back at the campsite we are disturbed by the odd thump of a falling walnut from the surrounding trees and yellow leaves pile up on our roof overnight. Summer is fast disappearing.

Szeged and Mohacs

2010-09-30T12:00:00.012+01:00

Friday 24th September 2010, Szeged, Hungary (continued)
On our way to Romania, crossing from Austria into Hungary the country looked a little shabby by contrast. Crossing back into Hungary from Romania this morning we were impressed at how clean and cared for Hungary looks. The villages are free of rubbish, grass verges have been cut, there are flowers in the gardens and everybody looks purposeful and better dressed. Headscarves, socks, flowery overalls and aprons have quite disappeared. So too has the hand to mouth existence so evident in the Romanian villages.

It was very welcoming to cross the border and once again see the so familiar but so incomprehensible Hungarian signs up on hoardings everywhere! After some forty kilometres we reached one of Hungary's major cities, Szeged. It straddles the river Tisza, a wide and cantankerous river that has caused serious flooding here on several occasions. We are camped on the riverbank and the ground is still oozing from the recent inundations. It must be said that the campsite is rather basic but in theory provides both a swimming pool and free wifi. Neither are actually useable however but at least it's cheaper than Timosoara and the staff are very cheery and helpful.

Szeged seen from the campsite across the river Tisza
Having settled Modestine we walked across the bridge into the centre of the city. It was almost completely destroyed in March 1879 when the river left only 300 houses unscathed by flooding. It seems foolish to me to rebuild a city in exactly the same place and there have been occasional floods since, but what the town planners achieved is a delightful city of attractive buildings, almost all dating from the late 19th and early 20th centuries. There are several areas of lovely parks with extravagant fountains, several museums of note, an attractive, centrally located university building, some wonderful Art Nouveau architecture, two synagogues – the newer one being among the largest in Europe. Most awesome of all though, is the massive Votive Church, constructed after the floods, presumably in the misplaced hope it would prevent anything similar happening again. Both inside and out this church is exceptional. Inside is a riot of brightly coloured frescoes, mainly of a non-religious nature, while outside there is a huge parvis rivalling St. Mark's Square in Venice for size. It is flanked by brick walls with ornate brick columns and covered with plaques and busts of Hungarian worthies. In the square is the octagonal Demetrius tower dating from the 11th century though largely rebuilt in the 19th.

Mora Ferenc museum, Szeged
Town Hall, Szeged
Art Nouveau Reök Palace, now used for exhibitions and a restaurant, Szeged
Cupola of one of the Art Nouveau town houses, Szeged
Main university building with dancing fountain, Szeged
Main front of the Votive Church, now a cathedral, with Demetrius Tower, Szeged
Ceiling painting – roundel of three rabbits sharing ears, Votive Church, Szeged
Plaque to three Hungarian mathematicians in the square in front of the Cathedral, Szeged
Near the university we discovered a rather bizarre monument showing the butterfly of freedom sheltering students beneath its wings. It commemorates the fortieth anniversary of the Hungarian uprising in 1956. Students from Szeged had been particularly active in the demonstrations.

Monument commemorating forty years since the 1956 uprising in Hungary, Szeged
Of particular interest for us was an exhibition at the modern central library where examples of early printed books with a Hungarian connection were on display in the foyer, taken from the library's own collections. How does it happen that so many public libraries in Europe seem to be richly endowed with such wonderful treasures? Somehow these must have survived the flooding that destroyed so much of the city. We were given a beautifully produced free, illustrated catalogue to the exhibition written in both Hungarian and English.

Historical item in the library's exhibition, Szeged
Programme for fundraising in Paris to help the flood victims of Szeged in 1879
We have remembered to put our watches back an hour on arriving in Hungary. There will be a couple more changes before we are eventually home again. It takes adjusting to and tonight we are feeling very sleepy. It probably has as much to do with the weather as with the time shift however. Today it has been hovering around 30 degrees!

Saturday 25th September 2010, Baja
This morning we returned into Szeged to use the computers in the library. We lingered in the library cafe for coffee and a sticky cake for Ian before taking a walk around the city to pick up on places we missed last night. These include the neoclassical opera house and several more streets of charming Art Nouveau houses. Along the banks of the Tisza we found the paprika and salami factory offering guided tours. However, although Hungarian paprika provides a rich source of vitamin C and is delicious in their cuisine, we felt that knowing exactly how salami sausage is produced was something best avoided or we'd never touch it again!

Opera House, Szeged
Historically known as the Black House, Szeged
Matyas Corvinus, Hungary's renaissance king, outside the Mora Ferenc museum of archaeology
So we collected Modestine from the campsite and made our way across an almost deserted, flat countryside to this little town of Baja where we are camped on Petöfi island lying in an arm of the Danube. Apparently it was from this island that the last Habsburg emperor was ignominiously deported in 1921 by a British warship. The town is pleasant enough but rather low on excitement on Saturday afternoons when everything is closed and the people disappear indoors. We are making our way towards Pécs and this is a convenient stop-off point for the night.

We did take a stroll around the attractive cobbled main square, Szentháromsag tér, this afternoon in the vain hope of finding something exciting happening. We discovered several museums – all closed; the baroque Catholic church – closed; the Serbian Orthodox church with its collection of icons – closed; and the Jewish Synagogue – also closed. This last is now used as the town library - closed. The synagogue is a huge, neoclassical building with a monument in the grounds to the town's 5,705 Jews, victims of the holocaust.

Szentháromsag tér, Baja
Main street and Catholic church, Baja
Synagogue building, now the library, Baja
Over the years as we have been travelled around Europe, we have reported on eccentric cyclists we have met on campsites. I think that, without exception, they have all been British. Here this evening we have been the only campers, until a young English couple cycled in, followed shortly afterwards by another Englishmen on his bike, completely unconnected with the first two. As it started to rain they made friends, set up their tents and have now gone off into the town in search of food and excitement. I fear they will find it short on both counts.

The young couple have taken a gap year and are cycling from London to South Africa! The other young man is cycling his way to Istanbul to meet his girlfriend and then go back-packing to India! They have all made it cycling to here but can they realise what lies ahead? Cycling along the roads of Romania down into Bulgaria does not bear thinking about, and how will they cope travelling down through the war-torn countries of Africa? Beside their adventures, our must look very tame. We offered them hot drinks - they produced their cans of beer instead. How many of the eager cyclists we have met on our travels have actually completed their adventures we wonder? Their tales would make fascinating reading but those we've met have all been too focused on survival to be particularly interested in keeping a blog.

This morning we received an email that decided us to definitely go to Pécs. Devon used to have twinning links with the library service in the Hungarian county of Baranya and we have retained friendships with several of the librarians there. Judit and Ferenc have written to say they are awaiting our visit! It is so good to be back in a country where we have friends.

Our plans, once we left Romania, were originally to make our way to Budapest and spend a few days in Peter and Kati's flat after they return to England. However, it has been necessary to change those plans and seeing Pécs once more, with friends, will make a delightful alternative, particularly as it is the European Capital of Culture for 2010.

During our travels we have got to know a number of people over the internet who have picked up on our blogs and follow our travels. One such couple, Sandra and Larry from America, wrote some time ago to say they were selling up their home in America and moving to live in Budapest as it was a central location for exploring Europe. They had already purchased their flat and should have moved in early September. The plan was for us to meet up to explore Budapest together on our way back from Romania. However, back in July Larry slipped and fell, badly injuring himself and breaking his leg. Since then he has been in plaster and his American doctor and physio' will not hear of him moving to Hungary for another month or more. So all our well-laid plans have come to nothing. By the time they arrive we will be back in England. Meanwhile, they are both "sofa surfing" with family and friends as their American home has been sold and all their belongings will by now have arrived in Budapest.

Monday 27th September 2010, Pécs, Hungary
We have had continuous rain now since Saturday evening. The young cyclists at the campsite moved their tents into the toilet block overnight for shelter and did not seem very eager to set off in the rain for the next 100 kilometres of their journey down the banks of the Danube.

We drove through a flat, deserted countryside of sodden, muddy fields, some with disconsolate cattle squelching through the hazy mist until we reached the town of Mohács. Nearby stands the impressive memorial to the battle of Mohács where the Hungarians were totally defeated in a badly co-ordinated battle against the Turks in 1526. It is a date as decisive in the history of Hungary as 1066 is for Britain. We did not visit the memorial this time having already seen and described it on 4th June 2006 Instead we stopped in the little town, deserted on a wet Sunday morning, and explored the main square. The most interesting feature is the town hall, built in the 1920s in a very Turkish style, quite unlike anything we have seen before. It was built at the same time as the ugly votive church on the same square, on the occasion of the 400th anniversary of the battle, so it is somewhat bizarre that such a style was adopted.

Town Hall, Mohács
Votive church for the 400th anniversary of the battle of Mohács
2nd World War memorial, Mohács
Down on the Danube a small car ferry was plying back and forth across the swollen river while a huge cruise ship carrying passengers from Vienna to the Black Sea was moored to the bank. The sun loungers on deck were sodden wet but the passengers were all enjoying a luxurious lunch in the on-board restaurant, unperturbed by the weather.

Chugging upriver was what looked rather like a raft full of boat people. Completely square with a canvas awning to hold off the worst of the sun and rain, it made slow progress, crammed tight with passengers standing shoulder to shoulder. As it struggled past us we could hear the sound of vibrant gypsy music playing on board and have concluded this must be a Romanian cruise ship taking passengers up the Danube from the Black Sea for a weekend in Vienna – or more probably a campsite in Mohács as a cheaper alternative!

Ferry crossing the Danube, Mohács
Crowded raft on the Danube with the sound of gypsy music, Mohács
Nearby we found exactly what we fancied for lunch with the menu written in English. However it was probably just as well the restaurant was closed! We have seen some bizarre translations of menus but none quite as appetising as these! Ian was positively wiping away the tears of laughter!

For the gentleman – Pinto bean seasoned valiantly, the brew of pork change, smoked meat, the greengrocer, Mohács
And for his wife – Chicken breast fillet orly onto a manner with chips, beer pasta in a fur coat! Mohács
With nowhere open in the town for lunch we drove on towards Pécs. On the edge of Mohács we discovered one of the many 24 hour Tesco stores that have sprung up all over Hungary in recent years. This is a sign of just how much more westernised Hungary has become and how far behind Romania remains. Here there is major investment by western companies and Hungary, despite its financial problems, is now firmly part of Western Europe. Every town of any size has its own Tesco, Spar, Billa, Carrefour, Lidl and Aldi. The supermarkets are falling over themselves for a share of the lucrative market. In Romania there is almost nothing. With luck you may chance on a Penny Markt, and we saw a sign to Carrefour in Timisoara, but that is it really. Otherwise there are only street corner type grocery shops and in the villages it's a complete mystery where they purchase household essentials. It's a clear sign the West is not eager to invest in Romania.

None of this stopped us parking near the entrance to Tesco and running through the rain to discover clean loos and a restaurant serving an excellent cheap lunch. We then continued to Pécs to the same campsite that we have visited twice before and always in the rain. On our last visit we translated and updated the official campsite guide for the owner and became quite friendly with her. We were disappointed to discover she was away, leaving the running of the site in the hands of the guests! All were German, importantly telling us where to park, sweeping away the fallen leaves and replenishing the paper in the loos! They were loving it!

We rang Judit and Ferenc to discover they were expecting us for supper! Dropping everything we hurried down to the main road and caught the bus across town to arrive at their home a mere 40 minutes later! We have discovered that as pensioners we can travel free on all transport in Hungary by simply waving a photocopy of our passport at the bus driver. We can even travel on trains right across the country if we wish!

We were made as welcome as ever at the home of our friends. Judit speaks English and Hungarian but not German while Ferenc speaks German and Hungarian but not English, so we had our usual amusing, tri-lingual conversation which worked fantastically well. After welcome drinks we enjoyed Judit's stuffed paprikas in tomato sauce and her home-made rétes with sweet wine.

Ferenc and Judit with their daughter Rita, Pécs
Darkness had long fallen when they decided we had to see the newly refurbished Széchenyi Tér. It has been given a complete face-lift since our last visit as part of the massive improvements to the town carried out under its "European Capital of Culture" programme. Additionally EU funding has been made available for the building of a new "Knowledge Centre" combining the libraries of the town, the county and the university. There is a new concert hall and several of the museums have been revamped and relocated. From what we saw last night the whole city has been renovated since we were here three years ago and looks sparkling and vibrant. However, despite the multi-coloured fountains and inviting pavement cafes, on a chilly wet evening there were few people on Széchenyi Tér. During the daytime and on summer evening we are assured the square is crowded and lively.

Next we drove to look at the outside of the new Knowledge Centre. (How glad I am to have left all these buzzwords behind on retirement!) The building is in the shape of an open book. Not yet open to the general public, only the university students are currently allowed access though the books are in place and once the entrance road has been finished it will open to the public.

We have written a full account of the city of Pecs, its bid to become European Capital of Culture in 2010 and the pleasure of re-finding friends here, in June 2006 We will try to avoid repeating in our next blog what has already been well documented and hope anyone interested will refer back to the above mentioned report.

Transylvania 5

2010-09-28T16:04:00.012+01:00

This is our last blog for Romania but before we return to Hungary we want to draw your attention to the Romanian blog put up by our friends Peter and Kati. As they are Hungarians their account provides a different perspective from ours and the pictures are excellent. Peter is an Apple Mac fiend and his approach is very professional. You can access their travel account at http://web.me.com/pvamos/Travels_in_Transylvania/Welcome.html

Wednesday 22nd September 2010, Timişoara, Banat
Today has not generally been one of our more successful days. We left the campsite late having spent time loading up another travel journal on the free wifi. The campsites are few and far between on our list of well managed sites in Romania. When we told the very friendly campsite owner that we hoped to visit Hunedoara He suggested we would do best to return to his site for the night rather than press on to Timişoara as we'd planned to do. However, it seemed a waste of time to drive forty-five kilometres to Hunedoara and then drive all the way back again, only to return the same route the following day. So having visited the castle we pressed on towards Timişoara some 200 kilometres further on. The route was dreadful. We were squashed between container lorries on the busiest route in Romania for most of the distance, with no dual carriageway, while in the opposite direction Romanian drivers with a death wish were occupying our side of the road as they fought to overtake the massive container lorries on the other side. It was boring, hot and unpleasant with nowhere to turn off except the dusty forecourts of fuel stations, already crowded with juggernaut lorries. We stopped for some soup at one of these. The waitress was friendly and helpful but the motley collection of mongrels that linger around the restaurant tables made it all a rather unpleasant experience. We then discovered we'd missed the turning we needed and had to return several kilometres the way we'd come. This was a quieter road but bumpy, hilly and winding with many road works. Entire stretches of the route had been scrobbled and left. There was heavy road equipment, men with red and green flags and very long delays. With police carrying out speed checks in many of the villages we passed through so we dare not go faster than 50 km.

Shepherd with his free roaming flock beside the main route leading to Timişoara, Banat
We were driving west, The sun was low in the sky and it was altogether horrid. Just outside Timişoara we were held up for half an hour because of road works on the bridge. We were greatly relieved to arrive safely at this site but shocked at the high price to camp – 80 lei or around £16. We've found cheaper places in Italy! On average we've been paying around 50 lei in Romania but what we have got for it far exceeds this dilapidated, smelly place which has quite literally been left over from Ceauşescu's time. On an autumn evening when we are almost the only people here it is very dismal indeed. There are no washing up facilities, no washing machines, nowhere has been cleaned for ages, the restaurant is closed, there is very little lighting around the site, we cannot find anywhere for fresh water and it's the only campsite we have used in Romania where there is no free wifi. The man on reception sold Ian a map of the town. Most places will just give us one as part of the service. It had the price, 4 lei, marked on it. It was only later, back in Modestine that we discovered it was dated 1983, long before the Timişoara uprisings that led to the fall of the Ceauşescu regime! There are street names glorifying Lenin, stirring monuments that we bet no longer exist, a People's Park and lots more. The campsite man must be making a nice little income selling off communist maps! Ian is tickled pink with it but it's hardly likely to help us much around town tomorrow!

The staff are also left over from pre 1989 and are generally surly and unfriendly. The site is supposed to be open all year but on the restaurant terrace the only activity was three rotund east European ladies pickling huge jars of cauliflowers and red peppers! This evening when I tested out the terrace for possible wifi they promptly turned off all the lights and went inside. So all round, this site is amongst the most unpleasant and poorest value for money we've found anywhere. It's our only really dud one in Romania, but then most of the others we've used have been Dutch managed.

During the day we have visited the town of Hunedoara. Generally it is a sprawling, unattractive town of high rise communist style flats though with a few tree-lined streets of pleasant houses. Iron ore is to be found in the surrounding hills and in the 1980s a massive, hideously ugly steel works was set up on the edge of the town, bang in front of the castle – the only place of real merit to be found in Hunedoara. Now the steel works, like so many other heavy, Soviet-style industries, has been abandoned. All that remains is the chaos of dilapidated buildings, crumbling, towering chimneys and the skeletal framework of factory workshops surrounded by broken glass, twisted, rusting ironwork and ugly, obsolete machinery.

15th century castle walls with abandoned Communist era steel works, Hunedoara, Transylvania
Not far away we discovered another group of Gypsy palaces. These were only half constructed but they all had their roofs completed, using bright and gaudy tiles and a great deal of silvery metal ornamentation. Generally however, gypsies have been less in evidence since we left the Hungarian homeland area of Transylvania. There has been a great Hungarian influence on this area but here in Timişoara only 7% of the population is Hungarian speaking. Indeed, we are very near to the border with Serbia here and there are probably more Serbs than Hungarians on the streets of the city.

Gypsy Palace, Hunedoara, Transylvania
Corvin Castle is the greatest fortress in Romania. Founded in the 13th century it was extensively rebuilt in the 14th century by Iancu de Hunedoara (Janos Hunyadi) and his son Matyas Corvinus, the great king of Hungary, who added Renaissance embellishments. The Bethlen family, owners in the 17th century added Baroque touches. However, little of this ornamentation remains. Gaunt and formidable with a warren of staircases and passages linking the unplastered shells of rooms, it has an echoing empty feel. As we moved around from room to gloomy room we stumbled across little booths with bored vendors hoping to sell souvenirs or hunting trophies to passing visitors. In the Knights' Hall with its impressive gothic vaulting a cimbalom player was tapping out medieval music as we stopped to read the pompous inscription on one of the columns: "This work has been performed by the great and handsome Iancu de Hunedoara in the year of our Lord 1452". The towers, machicolations, grim vaulted rooms, winding stairs and narrow passageways made it much more a candidate for Dracula's castle than the cosy lived-in atmosphere of Bran Castle.

Corvin Castle, Hunedoara, Transylvania
Corvin Castle, Hunedoara, Transylvania
Janos Hunyadi or Iancu de Hunedoara, Hunedoara, Transylvania
Corvin Castle, Hunedoara, Transylvania
Corvin Castle, Hunedoara, Transylvania
Interior furnishing, Corvin Castle, Hunedoara, Transylvania
Thursday 23rd September 2010, Timişoara, Banat
Still irritated this morning at the way we are being exploited at the campsite I was further angered by the cold water in the showers which trickles red with rust from the corroded shower head onto the broken concrete floor.

Inviting cold shower anyone? Timişoara, Banat
Then I got stuck in the loo! The handle came off in my hand and the rod through to the far side fell out! Yelling, kicking, swearing and screaming had no effect whatsoever as nobody was around and Ian was too busy gloating over his communist map with his breakfast coffee to even notice my long absence. Grovelling on the dirty floor I managed to reach under and pull the metal shaft towards me and eventually escaped. Reception here simply shrugged when I thumped the bits down on the desk and gave them an earful. This is the only campsite for the city and we've travelled a long way to investigate Timişoara's role in the downfall of Ceauşescu and the end of Communism in Romania. Driving around searching for an hotel with safe parking would eat into our only day here. At least Modestine is safe on the campsite with so many staff around busy pickling their vegetables. How on earth did this site ever get rated as good by both Alan Rogers and the Rough Guide? They cannot possibly have actually visited the place.

Reception helpfully told us we could buy a ticket for the trolley bus into town at the tobacco kiosk 1,800 metres down the road! The actual bus stop was outside the campsite! The idea of selling tickets to campers does not seem to have dawned on them. Everything, including the staff, is just as it would have been when they were busy producing their communist maps back in 1983!

So we walked into town, along beside the arterial road with broken, frequently non-existent pavements. Litter, broken glass, graffiti and protruding spikes of rusty iron added to the city's charms. On either side of the highway were grey concrete block of hideous flats where people are still living in conditions that cannot have improved over the past twenty years.

Pavement leading to one of Romania's major cities, Timişoara, Banat
Jill negotiates the pavement beside a major road leading in to the city, Timişoara, Banat
Homes of the residents of Timişoara, Banat
Tram depot, Timişoara, Banat
Once in the centre, where tourists are likely to visit, things were much better. There are numerous attractive public parks and gardens and several large squares. The first, Unification Square, was lined with attractive baroque buildings. Most had seen better days and could do with restoration. On one side stands the Roman Catholic Cathedral while on the other is the Serbian Orthodox Cathedral.

Park in Liberty Square, Timişoara, Banat
Unsympathetic communist town planning. Flats overlooking the baroque buildings of Unification Square, Timişoara, Banat
Unification Square with the Serbian Cathedral and Serbian Episcopal Palace, Timişoara, Banat
Plague column in Unification Square, Timişoara, Banat
Dismal street leading off from Unification Square, Timişoara, Banat
We later discovered the impressive Romanian Orthodox Cathedral at the far end of Victory Square, the scene of the unarmed protests by the residents of Timişoara between the 16th and 22nd December 1989.

Romanian Orthodox Cathedral, Victory Square, Timişoara, Banat
In Britain back in the 1980s we sat glued to the television watching the events in Eastern Europe unroll - the protests at the Gdansk shipyard; the break-up of Yugoslavia; political changes in the Soviet Union; Hungary's steps to freedom; the fall of the Berlin Wall in East Germany; and finally the protests in Timişoara against the oppressive regime of Ceauşescu which had kept Romanian citizens living an almost mediaeval existence at near starvation level. Almost everything the country produced was exported in order to pay off accumulated debts. Today we have learned much more about this.

In December 1989, a Hungarian Romanian priest Lázlo Tökes dared to speak out in support of minority groups from the pulpit of his church in Timişoara. For this he was ordered to leave the city and take up a small rural parish where he could cause no further problems. The priest refused to leave and read the letters ordering him to do so from his pulpit. Strangely, it took some time for the authorities to take action against him and during this time popular support was raised with the people of Timişoara gathering each evening on the main square, daring to shout out "Down with Ceauşescu". The anger of the people grew rapidly and the government sent in the troops to quell the uprising. The people refused to disperse and the army was ordered to open fire on the unarmed protesters. Hundreds, including many children, were killed and wounded over the next two or three days but each evening the square was packed with ever more residents calling for the overthrow of Ceauşescu. The dead and injured filled the city's hospitals. How many died is unknown because their bodies disappeared, though it ran to at least 100. Distraught families were told their missing relatives had escaped over the border into Hungary or Serbia. In reality, the army had been ordered to remove the dead from the hospitals and incinerate them at night. Cremation is a practice alien to Orthodox Romanians and Serbs as well as to Hungarian Catholics. When it became known what was happening it united all factions of the community against Ceauşescu and his tyranny. Even the army defected to the side of the protestors on 22nd December.

Incredibly, although we were able to watch all this on British television at the time, word of the troubles in Timişoara was kept secret from the people of Bucharest. Over the following few days however, neighbouring cities started to protest as well and a groundswell of anger spread across the country. On 22nd December Ceauşescu addressed crowds from his palace balcony in Bucharest. The crowd, timidly at first, then louder, began to chant "Down with Ceauşescu " and the President stumbled with his words, looking frightened. Realising he had lost control and the army had started to side with the people, Ceauşescu and his influential wife Elena tried to escape from their palace by helicopter. They were later captured and brought to trial. They were both executed on Christmas Day, so great was the hatred of the oppressed people throughout Romania.

There was rejoicing throughout the country but uncertainty about the future. With a power vacuum to fill and many communists anxious to take over from Ceauşescu under a different guise, the events in Timişoara turned out to be the start of a long and bitter struggle. Terrorists ranged the streets, shooting and killing. Nobody seemed to know who they were or what political faction they represented. Twenty years on it is questionable just what was actually achieved. Many of those same Communists have found their way back into power having founded parties under a different name. As somebody told us today, St. George is the patron saint of Romania. He fights dragons. Communists are Romania's dragons. You cut off a dragon's head and he grows another one. The same applies to communists – they return under a different name and the people believe there has been a change and re-elect them.

We have spent an extremely interesting morning with Dr Traian Orban, the President of the Memorial of the Museum of the Revolution of 16th-22nd December 1989, which is the only documentation centre in the country for the events of that fateful week that finally released the Romanians from the tyranny of a police state. Seeing us looking at the chapel in the courtyard where the martyrs of the revolution are honoured, he came to explain to us the events recounted above. He took us around the centre, showed us archive film of the events in Victory Square and the trial of the Ceaucescus, and a display of photos. There were paintings done by local children immediately after witnessing the shootings and the tanks sent in amidst the crowd. Families have given mementos – the blood stained, bullet ridden shirt of a victim for example.

Memorial chapel to the Martyrs of the 1989 Revolution, Timişoara, Banat
Paintings done by schoolchildren from memory shortly after the protests, Timişoara, Banat
Museum exhibits showing the Romanian flag with the communist symbol cut out and the Soviet flag hung upside down, Timişoara, Banat
When the director realised we were retired librarians he immediately took us to the archive room to show us the original newspapers - now faded and crumbling, as well as boxes of cuttings recording the events. He explained they are scanning all the newspapers to preserve them We were then invited into his office to look at some of his computer files of scanned documents, photos and films. Somehow Ian ended up being filmed for the archives, talking about his memories of the reports reaching England at the time and British reaction to what was happening in Timişoara and Romania as a whole. We have also been asked to seek out material about Romania in the late 1980s in British newspapers once we get home as they are trying to build up a wider view of the events that took place here.

The flag of the museum shown to Jill by the museum director, Timişoara, Banat
Our guide, Dr Orban, was a delightful gentleman. He had formerly been a vet in a rural village and had come into Timişoara to join the protests in the square on 17th December 1989. The tanks and the army had entered the square but nobody knew of Ceauşescu's order to open fire. He stood there watching the events, near a group of children gathered on the church steps. Suddenly bullets were fired into the crowd and even at the children. He himself was shot twice in the leg! That explained why he had been hobbling with a stick as he showed us around.

He said that night changed his life. He was born again and now he is just 21! Since that time he has devoted himself to gathering and organising material about the fall of Communism here. He says he had no choice. He kept asking himself, again and again, why did the military open fire on unarmed citizens? Why was he shot? He was simply standing with thousands of others in the square taking part in a peaceful protest. He has struggled ever since to understand and that is why he has gathered so much evidence together.

It has been a great privilege to have met such a friendly, sincere person, determined to explain it to us as it really happened. I hope I have done justice to his explanation. He spoke a charming but sometimes hesitant English. If anything here is inaccurate it is the fault of my misunderstanding rather than his recounting.

If anyone reading this has any information, slides, films, newspaper reports etc. about Romania around that time or the events that happened that week, please let us know and we will ensure they reach the Timişoara archives. They have good coverage from the Guardian but little from other British sources. They are also interested in reports from other countries around the world.

After such a morning the rest of the day seemed a little strange. We explored the city centre, found the street market and bought vegetables, discovered that Timişoara was the first city in Romania to have gas lighting and the first place in Europe to use electric street lighting, installed on 12th November 1884. We found the theatre where they are currently showing "Who's afraid of Virginia Wolfe?" in three languages simultaneously - Romanian, Hungarian and German!

The first city in Europe to have electric street lighting, Timişoara, Banat
National Theatre on Victory Square, Timişoara, Banat
Around the city too, we discovered several monuments to the victims of the revolution.

St. George. Memorial commemorating December 1989, Timişoara, Banat
Memorial commemorating December 1989, Timişoara, Banat
Memorial in Victory Square commemorating December 1989, Timişoara, Banat
Memorial near the market commemorating December 1989, Timişoara, Banat
Memorial at the entrance to the Romanian Orthodox Cathedral on Victory Square, Timişoara, Banat
There are some spectacularly lovely buildings in the centre so the lives of the people have not always been so sad and grey as they have obviously been over the past fifty years or so.

We found the tourist office and showed them the map Ian had been sold at the campsite. On the back is a statement that the tourist office may be able to arrange for a visa extension to stay in the country a little longer. Ian asked them if they could arrange this for us! There was much hilarity and they were astonished that such maps were still in existence. The price of 4 lei we had been charged was actually far higher than the original price of 4 lei as the currency has been devalued 1,000 fold since then! They agreed the campsite is dreadful and charges almost the same as a hotel but says the management refuses to have anything to do with the tourist office and has refused their offer of free maps to give out to campers. No wonder if they still have boxes of soviet era ones to sell off! We felt better for a moan and some sympathy and went off to cheer ourselves up with an ice cream in the Unification Square before facing the long hike back to the campsite.

Friday 24th September 2010, Szeged, Hungary
We left Romania this morning with no great regrets but with a lot to think about. We have greatly appreciated the opportunity to visit the country but have been disappointed to see how little the lives of many of the Romanian people seem to have improved over the last two decades. Most of the people we have met have been helpful and friendly. Certainly in the Hungarian speaking area of Transylvania we have had some fascinating encounters and thanks to Peter and Kati have experienced far more than visitors might normally expect. Since they left and we have travelled alone, we have mixed more with Romanian speaking people and have experienced a different point of view. The Hungarian regions are more colourful, the villages more attractive and the way of life generally more traditional, and we have also realised that the gypsy population seems to be concentrated almost entirely in the Hungarian region of Transylvania.

Romania is a country that seems very much divided between those who have and those who have not. There are those who drive around in huge new 4x4 Dacias, or have extravagant weddings attended by well groomed guests wearing expensive clothes. There are those who build themselves extravagant, ornate gypsy palaces. Then there are those who drive around in a rickety cart filled with grass, pulled by a small pony. They may live in a little house with a well in the garden in some remote village facing onto an unmade road. Then there are those who queue for an overcrowded, dirty bus, squashed in with their vegetables and huge bundles. There are also those who carry their goods in sacks on bicycles and those who never go further than their front gate, trying to make a living selling the produce from their garden. Then there are those who live in the suburbs of dirty, dusty, decaying cities in soulless blocks of flats that should have been condemned many years ago. Finally there are those who seem to have nothing at all and no home to go to. They live by whatever means they can, cleaning windscreens at traffic lights or begging at church doors.

This morning we eventually found our way out of Timisoara after a couple of wrong turns, and drove across the flat plain near where Serbia, Romania and Hungary come together. Just before the border with Hungary we stopped in the pleasant little town of Sannicolar Mare to use up our remaining Romanian lei. Most of it went on Diesel for Modestine. It is cheaper in Romania than Hungary. The bustling market was enjoyable to browse but had nothing we needed. An early lunch on the sunny terrace of the main cafe sorted out most of what we had left. Finally Ian went into a general grocer's shop, put everything down on the counter and pointed up the road saying "Hungaria". He came out clutching four little packets of horrible biscuits. I'd have preferred to give the money away. Why can you never find a gypsy when you want one?

Transylvania 4

2010-09-25T09:18:00.011+01:00

Monday 20th September 2010, Aurel Vlaicu, Transylvania
This village is named after a pioneering Romanian aviator who came from here. We saw a monument to him recently in Braşov. He also appears on the 50 lei banknote and the central airport in Bucharest is named after him. He died in 1913 crossing the Carpathian Mountains in the aged plane he developed, Vlaicu II.

Aurel Vlaicu, Braşov, Transylvania
Examples of Romanian currency. Note Aurel Vlaicu on the 50 lei note
Monument to Aurel Vlaicu outside the house where he was born in the village renamed in his honour, Transylvania
Plaque on the house of Aurel Vlaicu in the village of the same name, Transylvania
We are camping in the large back garden of one of the houses in the village. The village is similar to so many others we have seen in Transylvania – a rough cart track winding for a couple of kilometres between the houses which line it on either side. It lies somewhere off the the A7, one of the few arterial roads that hold Romania together. Away from it one takes a leap back in time. Elderly people sitting together at an open door wave as we pass. We weave a way between potholes, chickens, geese, dogs and tethered horses, passing a little shack along the way that is the village general store. On top of the poles carrying the electricity cables to the village are large, untidy, abandoned storks' nests.

Nearly all the campsites we have used here are Dutch owned. Of course it's impossible for them to provide clean drinking water if it has not been laid on in the villages but so far all the sites have all been clean and we have yet to discover any of the camping horrors about which we'd been warned before we came. It has all been far better than many of the French sites we've used in the past. At this site the owner assured us the water came from his own well and it was tested regularly. So we've poured away all our water, rinsed everything thoroughly and restocked. Hopefully that will now be the end of our troubles.

Last night we had the mother and father of storms with thunder, lightning and torrential rain. It was still raining as we left the campsite this morning. By the time we'd travelled westwards for seventy miles or so to the German town of Hermannstadt, or Sibiu as it is now more commonly called in Romanian, it was considerably brighter and the rest of the day has been cold and damp, but not actually raining.

All Romanian towns are rather horrid around the outskirts. Sibiu is no exception. Having crossed the centre we parked Modestine in the lower town, not far from the lively, thriving vegetable market. This was a fascinating place to explore, crowded with people doing their daily shopping. Romania has no right to be in the EU when it produces aubergines, water melons, tomatoes, onions and peppers at least three times larger than is legislated for in the directives emanating from Brussels and Strasbourg! Everything was jaw-droppingly huge and looked so inviting I wanted to buy it all. In a corner of the market we found stalls selling brooms and baskets made from natural materials, They were all so much more attractive than the plastic ones we buy in England. Again, it was only Modestine's size that prevented me buying everyone a huge wicker log basket for Christmas! The hardware stalls were selling exciting buckets made from enamelled tin, just like my Gran used to have with a clanky handle and a lid. History stands still here in some ways.

Vegetable market, Sibiu, Transylvania
Baskets and brooms, made in the country villages, on sale in the market, Sibiu, Transylvania
Ian eventually dragged me away and we started the cultural bits. First though we bought a take-away fast-food snack from a kiosk (or as they say in Romania, chiosc) on the corner. Long strips of dough are twisted into a spiral and then formed into a loop, rolled in sesame seeds and baked. Ours were served still hot from the oven. We were too greedy though and ate them before thinking to take a photo. Some people bought them by the half dozen and took them home threaded onto a loop of string - so much more interesting than in a bag.

Sibiu is one of Romania's larger cities with a population of around 160,000. It was the European capital of culture in 2007 and has several important museums and art galleries. All were shut on Mondays however.

The town has a very German feel to it and there seemed to be as much German spoken on the streets as Romanian. Probably many were tourists visiting what may have been their German homeland. Much of the signage was in both languages so there are probably still many German speakers living in the town.

The Romanians had a raw deal in the past. It's obvious from historic monuments around the town and from documents and paintings in the churches, that the city was dominated by the educated German and Hungarian speaking populations while the Romanians were generally from the peasant classes.

Although almost all the city's manhole covers had been replaced with shiny, 2007 Capital of Culture ones with Sibiu/Hermannstadt written on them, we discovered an older one inscribed only in German and Hungarian. This would be prior to 1920 when Romania took over the city and imposed the Romanian language.

Historical manhole cover, Sibiu, Transylvania
The city has three adjoining squares. The main square is huge with a modern central fountain expressly placed there by the city council to ensure the city has the cleanest pigeons in the country. They love it!

Cleanest pigeons in Transylvania, Sibiu
The square is edged by very nice baroque buildings and everywhere is smart and clean, as befits a cultural city that has attracted the personal attention of the Prince of Wales. (Perhaps he should also go exploring down some of the broken back roads of the country to discover how the majority of the Romanian people are living, rather than simply expressing his delight in the architecture of what is essentially a German city that has been returned to its former beauty.)

Main Square, Sibiu, Transylvania
Main Square, Sibiu, Transylvania
Councillors' Tower, Main Square, Sibiu, Transylvania
In the centre of the square is a plaque marking the spot where the first victims of the 1989 uprising in Sibiu were killed.
Plaque to the first victims of the 1989 uprising, Sibiu, Transylvania
The second square is far smaller with an attractive ramp leading up into the centre from the lower town. It passed beneath an iron footbridge known as the Bridge of Lies, so named because it was said that if anyone uttered something untrue from it, it would collapse. However, Ceauşecu once made a speech from the bridge and it is still standing. He apparently disliked Sibiu and never returned. No doubt he objected to the German feel to the city.

Second Square, Sibiu, Transylvania
Ramp leading up to the Second Square, Sibiu, Transylvania
Bridge of Lies, Sibiu, Transylvania
The smallest square houses the German evangelical church, a large gothic building, very pleasing inside and very Germanic. German tombstones line the crypt. The son of Vlad the Impaler is said to be buried there but we couldn't find his tomb.

German evangelical church, Sibiu, Transylvania
The city still has sections of its fortifications intact including several of the towers which were maintained by the various city guilds.

Remains of the fortifications, Sibiu, Transylvania
We've spent a really happy day in Sibiu. Not being Prince Charles, we dined rather simply in a self-service place with a choice of fixed price menus costing all of £2.50 for pea soup, chicken and roast potatoes, gherkin and red pepper salad and bread. It turned out the delightful young staff had all studied English, one to degree level, but rarely had the chance to use it. They were a bit nervous at first but, seeing us read the menu pasted up, they started to giggle at our attempts to order in Romanian. Soon they were wiping the tears away as they choked with laughter as we struggled to pronounce words we understood but had no idea how they sounded. We got brownie points for trying though and, once they started to speak English and realised how much better it was than our Romanian, their confidence grew. They found it odd that we obviously understood much of what we were reading but couldn't ask for it. They agreed that it was very like French. They were envious that we could come to Romania and visit lots of places while they couldn't afford to visit even one place in England.

After more exploring during the afternoon we discovered a Viennese coffee shop. Inside everyone spoke in German. We were served very nice coffee and a chocolate cake smothered in whipped cream for Ian. Although reasonably priced compared with Vienna, our bill was more than for both our lunches together.

We still had a long drive to make this campsite before dusk so returned to Modestine, stopping on the way to buy some Romanian wine. The lady in the wine shop told us she'd been learning how to address customers correctly in English. She was helpful and charming explaining that she had to wish us a nice day and we were supposed to say we hoped she had a nice day too, to which she had to reply that we were most welcome. So, it looks as if sales staff are being groomed to cope with increased numbers of visitors from Britain and the US.

The next couple of hours were spent driving one of the only decently surfaced roads across the country – and even that only has a single carriageway. There seem to be three lorries for every car and it's not very pleasant. Turning off for the road down into this village with a lorry close behind, we were immediately jolted onto an unsurfaced road where we had to cross the ungated and unmanned railway line with no lights to warn of approaching trains.

Waiting for the train to pass at the unguarded crossing in Aurel Vlaicu, Transylvania
Tuesday 21st September 2010, Aurel Vlaicu, Transylvania
We have returned to the same campsite this evening after a very pleasant, warm and sunny day exploring the city of Alba Iulia, briefly the capital of a unified Romania during the 16th Century.

The campsite owner told us of a cross country route, passing through several interesting villages, assuring us the road was not too bad. We found local drivers on these roads are very reckless and the carnage of dead dogs and cats along the roadside around the villages is appalling! Their bodies can sometimes be as difficult to avoid as the potholes! I'd never drive in Romania after dark.

Initially, parking in the city was a nightmare. Once we finally found somewhere we felt was safe to leave Modestine we discovered we were between the marketplace and the old city, located inside the walls of a Vauban style fortification.

The residential part of the town has suffered from attempts by Ceauşescu to forcefully transfer people from the villages to the towns and house them in poor quality blocks of flats. There are large swathes of unattractive accommodation and much of the older population still looks out of place outside of the rural villages from which they came. In the market almost all the stall holders were elderly ladies in headscarves, cardigans, flowery skirts, aprons and socks. They had their vegetables and perhaps a few chickens laid out on the pavement hoping for a sale. Meanwhile the menfolk, all wearing hats, carried on their rural crafts as they waited for a sale. Coopers were busy making wine barrels while others shaped the shafts for scythes, rakes and shovels or busied themselves weaving log baskets.

Cosy chat in the market, Alba Iulia, Transylvania
Waiting for custom, Alba Iulia, Transylvania
Waiting for the bus home from the market, Alba Iulia, Transylvania
Enamel saucepans for sale in the market, Alba Iulia, Transylvania
The fortress had been constructed for the Habsburgs using many thousands of Romanian serfs between 1715 and 1738. The main gateways were very pompous, awash with trophies and statues and looking rather like fibreglass stage sets after their recent cleaning. There was a mass of workmen busy laying cobbled walkways around the ramparts and no expense was spared as this is a Very Important Site to the Romanian state, and a chance to rub the noses of the Hungarians in the mud. They had even laid on a changing of the guard for tourists.

Gateway to the citadel, Alba Iulia, Transylvania
Laying walkways in the moat of the fortress, Alba Iulia, Transylvania
Ceremony of the Changing of the Guard in the citadel, Alba Iulia, Transylvania
It was here on 1 December 1918 that the Act of Unification was signed which united Transylvania, once part of the heartland of Hungary, with the provinces of Wallachia and Moldavia. It is presented in the Museum of Unification, which is housed in the citadel, as a natural conclusion of the centuries long yearning of all three provinces to become a united Romania. In reality it was due to Austria-Hungary being on the losing side in the Great War and the chance, eagerly seized, to pay the Hungarians back for the rather high-handed way with which they had treated the Romanian (Vlach) inhabitants. So a massive Orthodox Cathedral was hastily erected during 1921 next to the existing Catholic one, using Romanian architects and artists, and King Ferdinand and Queen Marie were crowned there in 1922. It was a highly symbolic act to perform the ceremony in Alba Iulia, as it was here that Michael the Brave had set up his capital in 1599 when he managed to unite the three provinces for a brief couple of years.

Catholic Cathedral seen from within the precinct of the Orthodox Cathedral, Alba Iulia, Transylvania
Orthodox Cathedral, Alba Iulia, Transylvania
King Ferdinand and Queen Marie, crowned in the Orthodox Cathedral in 1922, Alba Iulia, Transylvania
Precinct of the Orthodox Cathedral, Alba Iulia, Transylvania
Pretty corridor in the grounds of the Orthodox Cathedral, Alba Iulia, Transylvania
Bells of the Orthodox Cathedral, Alba Iulia, Transylvania
Despite the haste with which it was constructed we found the Orthodox Cathedral with its colonnaded enclosure a very satisfying architectural ensemble, well maintained with its flowering gardens, but the interior was dark and its historicizing murals and mosaics less appealing than the decorations of the same period in the Cathedral at Sighişoara.

To rub salt further into Hungarian wounds the University rejoices in the name of the 1st December 1918 University. It is housed in the citadel. We enjoyed a much-needed cup of coffee from the student canteen as we sat outside in the main quadrangle watching an Orthodox nun whirling her rosary as she spoke on her mobile phone.

Hotline to Heaven, Alba Iulia, Transylvania
The Catholic Cathedral is one of the oldest religious buildings in Romania. The foundations of the original structure, dating from the eleventh century have been incorporated in the present church, which mainly dates from the mid thirteenth century in a simple late Romanesque style with Gothic and Renaissance additions. In the church is the tomb of Janos Hunyadi, the great Hungarian warlord of the fifteenth century, who was born in Transylvania.

Tomb of Janos Hunyadi in the Catholic Cathedral, Alba Iulia, Transylvania
There are various other monuments scattered around the spacious precincts: a roman sarcophagus found in the nearby necropolis, a dashing equestrian statue of Michael the Brave, assorted busts of the Great and the Good, mostly Romanian judging by the plethora of names ending in -escu, which were aligned outside the Museum of Unification and the Unification Hall, where the treaty was signed.

Mihai Vithazul or Michael the Brave, responsible for briefly uniting the three provinces of Romania in 1599, Alba Iulia, Transylvania
Busts of Romanian worthies lined up outside the Hall of Reunification, Alba Iulia, Transylvania
Outside the main gate, a massive obelisk commemorates Horea and his companions, who led the revolt of the Romanian peasants in 1784 against their mainly Hungarian landlords. Captured after the revolt failed Horea was kept in a cell by the main gate and tortured to death. The place of his death outside the walls is also a site of pilgrimage for Romanians. Add to this the fact that Alba Iulia was an important Roman fort - a clumsily reconstructed gateway can be seen within the citadel - and the heart of the province where the Romans taught the native Dacian tribes the tongue that was to become the Romanian language, long before the Magyar intruders, and the whole place is heavy with national significance.

Obelisk commemorating the martyrdom of Horea in the Romanian uprising against the Hungarians in 1784, Alba Iulia, Transylvania
Nevertheless on a sunny day it was an agreeable place to stroll, spaciously laid out with handsome buildings, much better cared for than in many places, and a complete contrast to the other towns we had visited.

We had difficulty finding anywhere for lunch that was not simply selling pizza but eventually found a restaurant serving Romanian food. It wasn't wonderful but anything is better than Italian international cuisine. We had pork soup with cream and hunks of heavy white bread followed by fried fish with boiled potatoes and a wedge of lemon. This evening we were still so full it saved us needing to cook.

Back here at the campsite we have been talking with the only other campers – a couple from Italy who set off on 1st September and have already been up through Germany and Denmark to Sweden and Finland, crossed to Estonia, been through Latvia and Lithuania and are now working their way down and over to Hungary, Austria and home! It took us nearly five months just to do the countries surrounding the Baltic. They can hardly have seen a thing!

Transylvania 3

2010-09-22T08:30:00.016+01:00

Friday 17th September 2010, Bran, Transylvania
Tonight we are at Vampire Camping in the village of Bran, just below the castle popularly considered to be the stronghold of the vampire Count Dracula as depicted in the novel by Bram Stoker. Visible from our door, towering against the darkening sky, stands the mysterious silhouette of the Carpathian mountains, a place where wolves and bears still roam through the isolated woodlands. Bram Stoker mixed fact with fiction, so that it is difficult to disentangle it all. The Count Dracula of his novel was inspired by the bloodthirsty warlord, Vlad the Impaler, Prince of Wallachia. He was a violent enemy of the Turks who during the middle ages constantly invaded this area of Romania. Transylvania also has a very rich heritage of folk law in which vampires figure prominently. Although Stoker had never visited Transylvania, and knew little about its history, somehow Bran castle has become accepted as the location for Dracula's fiendish activities. In fact it is probable that Vlad never came here but, set high on a rock with the mountains as a backdrop, it makes a romantic setting for the gothic horror tale. As we sat outside eating supper this evening we even had a tiny bat fluttering around our heads! The campsite is remarkably restrained though a bit tacky, with drops of "blood" on the gates and in the showers, but hey, it's all a bit of fun!

Sunset over the Carpathian mountains seen from the campsite in Bran, Transylvania
As we turned in to the site this evening we found another Romahome! Of course its owners came across immediately to chat. It's very rare that we ever see another one as we travel and we were amazed to find one here. It is owned by a young couple who are spending a year exploring Europe and they have been on the road since June.

Romahomania! Chance encounter at Vampire Camping, Transylvania
Modestine parted company with Huba this morning. We've had a brilliant time travelling together and we have learned so much more than if we had been travelling without Hungarian speakers. The days have passed all too quickly and today Peter and Kati set off to make their way back to Budapest. We will see them next back in Exeter when we return home in November.

We are not far to the north of Bucharest but most people tell us it is not a pleasant place to visit. A few hours driving would have us on the coast of the Black Sea at the Danube delta. Again people say it's not worth the journey involved at this time of year. We considered driving north, to see the painted monasteries and wooden churches of Moldavia, up near the border with Ukraine. However, it involves a lot of extra driving and there is still much to see here. So today we drove up into the Carpathian mountains, winding around countless hairpin bends as we travelled through the forested mountains to reach the popular tourist resort of Sinaia.

First view of the Carpathian Mountains, Transylvania
It is a fashionable place with a casino and well maintained parkland where people stroll beneath the shady trees. There are many hotels and the place has the air of a spa town. Before exploring we stopped for bowls of soup with meat balls and sour cream on a terrace in the town centre.

Public gardens, Sinaia, Wallachia
Casino, Sinaia, Wallachia
Above the park lies a cemetery to those of the town killed in the First World War. Most of the fallen are unknown and unnamed.

Military cemetery, Sinaia, Wallachia
Above the cemetery is an orthodox monastery founded in 1690 following a visit to Mount Sinai by Prince Mihai Catacuzino. The town's name presumably stems from then. We did not venture inside but continued via a wooded path to Peleş, the castle of the Romanian Royal Family built between 1875 and 1883 for King Carol I and decorated by his eccentric wife Elisabeta. The Romanians had difficulties when advertising for the post of King for their newly formed state. The crown was first offered to the French imperial family, then to the British, but no interest was expressed. Eventually the Hohenzollerns allocated Prince Karl to take on this role.

Orthodox Monastery, Sinaia, Wallachia
Peles Castle, present home of Romania's ex-King Mihai I, Sinaia, Wallachia
Queen Elizabeta, wife of Carol I from Germany, Sinaia, Wallachia
Sinaia reminded us rather of Sintra near Lisbon. As there, the castle was built by a German living far from his homeland on a hilltop surrounded by woodland. As there too, the decoration was heavy and totally unlike the local style. Here at Sinaia there are heavy, carved screens and ceilings in walnut wood with massive plate glass mirrors. There are Venetian glass chandeliers, Turkish rugs, wall paintings by Klimt and reproductions of works of art in the National Art Museum in Bucharest. The castle is richly decorated in ebony, leather and mother of pearl. Of the 160 rooms, only 18 are open to the public, all on the ground floor. The castle is currently owned by 89 year old ex-King Mihai I. It was returned to him by the State in 2006.

Nearby stand the smaller Pelişor palace, half-timbered with a mass of pointed turrets, built between 1899 and 1903 for Ferdinand and Marie (one of the many granddaughters of Queen Victoria), the heirs of Carol I.

Pelisor palace, Sinaia, Wallachia
Saturday 18th September 2010, Bran, Transylvania
Today we went into Braşov on the bus. We could have taken Modestine but it's always more interesting using local transport and today was no exception. Waiting for the bus in the village a van drew up and several people clambered in. The driver signalled to us to climb in as well. So we made the forty minute journey to Braşov squashed into the back of an overfilled minibus without seat belts, with no idea as to where we may end up in the city or how to get back, or indeed how much the fare might be. The windscreen was partially obliterated by a couple of icons of the Virgin Mary, a crucifix and several air fresheners. These last were of definite benefit! Periodically we'd stop for someone to climb in or out. By the time we were dropped off just outside the bus station in Braşov we were the only passengers remaining. The fare was no more than we would have paid on the bus and we arrived considerably sooner. We have concluded the driver is enterprising enough to simply drive along a few minutes before the bus is due and pinch all the passengers!

Unfortunately the bus station was four kilometres from the town centre with no connecting bus route! Would you believe that!! We had to take a taxi to the main square! Fortunately the fares are cheap in Romania and we had an honest driver. We are completely in their hands.

We liked Braşov from the start. The old town is clean and open, centred around the Piaţa Sfatului or Council Square with streets leading off from it, some of which are pedestrianised, with pleasant cafes and restaurants down the centre. On all sides are well restored buildings from the 17th to the 20th century. These include the main Council Offices and the Orthodox Cathedral.

Piaţa Sfatului, Braşov, Transylvania
Historic Council House, now used as a museum, Braşov, Transylvania
Pedestrianised area, Braşov, Transylvania
Nearby stands the huge gothic church known as the Black Church, built, destroyed and restored several times during its history. Inside there is an excellent exhibition of Turkish prayer rugs and another on the life of Johannes Honterus. A disciple of Martin Luther, Honterus lived and worked in Braşov and led the Protestant Reformation in the area. In 1535 he established the first printing press in Transylvania.

Black Church, Braşov, Transylvania
Johannes Honterus (1498–1549), Braşov, Transylvania
Visible too from the square are the two defensive towers known as the black and white towers, intended to protect the city from the constant attacks of the Turks.

White tower seen from Piaţa Sfatului, Braşov, Transylvania
Black tower, Braşov, Transylvania
Braşov has a population of around 350,000 and today is one of the largest Romanian cities. The historic centre though is mainly Baroque and has a German feel to it. We have heard more German spoken here than anywhere in Romania. The town is surrounded by towering hillsides, one with a cable car to carry visitors to the forest walks above the town.

Cable car to the hills above the city, Braşov, Transylvania
Schei Gate – When the city was first established by the Saxons, the German population lived within the walls while the Romanians had to live beyond this gate and pay a toll to enter the city, Braşov, Transylvania
Prefecture, seat of county government, Braşov, Transylvania
Synagogue, Braşov, Transylvania
Theatre, in typical Ceauşescu architectural style, Braşov, Transylvania
Braşov was one of a number of cities across the country that was heavily involved in the revolution of 1989, resulting in the overthrow of the Ceauşescu dictatorship. There are several monuments around the city to those who died. They are regarded as martyrs of the revolution. In a pleasant public garden beneath shady trees we found the graves of some of those who had been gunned down on 23rd December 1989, amongst them that of a little girl of six caught in the cross fire. As we watched, a gentleman, holding the hand of his granddaughter, pointed out the graves and recounted to her what happened here twenty years ago. He may well have been there on that night. There are still bullet marks on the walls of a nearby bank while in the Black Church, shrapnel has damaged one of the pillars where a gun was fired through the door at those seeking shelter from the fighting.

A young resident receives a recent history lesson, Braşov, Transylvania
It's Saturday and every church had brides queuing up at the doors. We paused to watch a wedding in the Orthodox Cathedral. Just a small family group clustered together around the bride and groom. At the door we were accosted for money. It's the only time it has happened today. Generally the people look well dressed and fashionable. Everyone is Romanian. Hungarians and Gypsies seem to have completely disappeared.

We have been walking around the town all day, apart from a brief stop for lunch and later, at the nicest cake shop in town, for Ian to indulge in a chocolate, cherry and whipped cream concoction that really was as good as it looked - with a price tag to match.

Eventually we decided to head for home. Finding a taxi is no problem, they are the chief form of transport around the city. Telling the Romanian driver where we wanted to go was less easy! Only when we requested to be taken to the bus station did we discover there are three! "The one for buses to Bran Castle", we managed to say. The driver then wanted to take us to the castle! "No, just the bus station". "But it will take you over two hours to get there and back. I will take you, wait for you and bring you back for 60 lei", insisted our driver. All this we managed to understand but without any vocabulary to explain we only wanted to go to the nearby campsite, all we could do was repeat that we only wanted the bus station. He was friendly and chatty and eventually dropped us exactly where we wanted to be, pointing out which stand the bus would leave from. He shook our hands and drove off waving, no doubt thinking we were silly not to take up his offer.

When the bus arrived we were inclined to agree. Almost certainly in use since the era of Ceauşescu, it was suffocatingly hot, filthy dirty, the seats and curtains in shreds, holes through the side where the rust had eaten it away, and an engine that was so clapped out we crawled the 30 kilometres back to Bran. At every slope we expected to get out and push. The rear door remained open while the bus was moving, only to jam shut when it reached a drop-off point. It was packed with passengers and stopped at every village we passed through. It only cost us about a euro each though and we think we were actually entitled to half price as pensioners but couldn't face the linguistic effort involved in explaining it to the driver.

Back on the campsite we cooked supper while a party of eight Romanians enjoyed a noisy barbeque a couple of pitches away. During the evening they have been drinking steadily and have been getting ever more noisy. Romanians are like Italians for the noisy way they enjoy life, oblivious to those around them. I feel very sorry for other campers in tents. At least we can mute the sound of shouting, singing and classical opera by shutting the doors and windows. This is their country though so I'll leave it to the Germans here to complain. As a nation German campers are rarely backward at coming forward when it comes to objecting to noise.

Romanian style hay ricks, Bran, Transylvania
Sunday 19th September 2010, Cartâ, Transylvania
This morning we left Modestine in the company of the largest green cricket we have ever seen and walked up to the village of Bran, dominated by the castle.

Since Bram Stoker wrote his gothic horror novel Dracula, Bran Castle has come to be linked with it. There is though, no evidence either that Stoker had this castle in mind, or that there were any serious links with Vlad the Impaler, son of Vlad Dracul. Its location does however provide a fitting setting for such a tale of blood, vampires and spine chilling horrors. Set above the village, with a backdrop of pine forests, overshadowed by the Carpathian Mountains, it easily stirs the imagination.

Dracula's Castle, Bran, Transylvania
The village centre was already busy with coach parties arriving. This is the only place in Romania we have set eyes on Japanese tourists. There were stalls crowded around the base of the castle selling everything from traditional Transylvanian ceramics and embroidered table linen to vampire masks and even black Dracula ice-cream.

Blood money! Bran, Transylvania
The castle turned out to be very tastefully arranged and an extremely pleasant experience. It was formerly a royal residence and the home of Queen Marie of Romania, a granddaughter of Queen Victoria and wife of King Ferdinand. She used the castle as a retreat from the formality of Bucharest. Later the castle was occupied by her daughter Princess Iliena and other members of the royal family. Following the Second World War they were ordered by the Communists to leave Romania immediately. The castle today is furnished much as it would have been, with heavy Victorian sideboards, tables and dressers and Biedemeier armchairs. Access to the rooms was at times difficult, achieved by narrow passages within the walls linking the different floors. There are family photos throughout the castle and we were left with the feeling that both the Queen and her daughter were exceptional women, artistically gifted, writers and thinkers who did much to bring Romania to the attention of the world, working as nurses to help the victims of the Balkan wars and setting up cholera camps there.

Castle interior, Bran, Transylvania
Castle interior, Bran, Transylvania
Castle interior, Bran, Transylvania
Castle interior, Bran, Transylvania
Castle courtyard, Bran, Transylvania
A gallery covered the life of Bram Stoker and the background to how he came to write his best-selling novel, set in the remote, distant land of forests and mountains. (Actually much of Transylvania is flat and there is remarkably little woodland.)

Another gallery explained the historical significance of Vlad Dracul, The name was applied to him because of his bloodthirsty nature. The word means Devil. His son, Vlad the Impaler became known as the son of the devil or Dracula. Like his father, he was merciless with his foes, taking delight in cruelty.

Of course the castle also had a section on vampires and Romanian folk legends, fascinating reading at the time but nothing to do with the Stoker's fantasy novel. The nearest we got to seeing a vampire was the lady serving in the souvenir shop! She must surely have been selected for the job for her black hair and gothic charms.

During the afternoon we drove beneath the mountain range towards Sibiu. At first we followed a route marked in yellow on our map. This should have been a reasonable road taking us through some of the interesting little villages. It had been surfaced once upon a time but is now deeply pitted with ruts and potholes and made for rather scary driving. However carefully and slowly we crawled along, we'd drop a wheel into a deep round hole from time to time. As soon as we could we returned to the main road – the only road – leading across Romania! It has a perfectly good surface but no effort has been made to improve elsewhere, money being spent purely on the development of a motorway and the very few major roads carrying international traffic.

Once we turned off again, to find this picturesque village with the remains of a Cistercian monastery and a Dutch run campsite, we were back in almost mediaeval Romania. The roads were unmade, dust-baths when it's dry, quagmires when it's wet. Dogs, chickens and geese variously slept, scrabbled and waddled around the streets and almost the only form of transport was the horse and cart. A pony passed us making its own way home unattended. It had obviously been a German village with inscriptions in gothic script on many of the older buildings.

We found that the monastery church was open, now used as the Luthern place of worship, so we were able to see the simple wooden decorations inside the vaulted interior. Most of the monastic precincts had disappeared but there was an enclosure in front of the church with rows of graves of the German inhabitants, laid to rest there generations ago.

Remains of the Cistercian monastery, Cartâ, Transylvania
Painted pew with German gothic text within the Cistercian monastery, Cartâ, Transylvania
Ian asked the young woman who was the keyholder whether there were any German residents left. Only a few, she replied, in a fluent but strangely pronounced German, perhaps seventy in this and adjoining communities who might attend services. With the change of regime in 1989 all those who could, left for Germany. There were no opportunities for work and the villages were dying. Young people were leaving for the towns and the German way of life would not survive. She was despondent about the future of Romania. There had been little progress over the past twenty years. Money for investment had disappeared into people's pockets and there was no confidence among outside investors. There could be no development in the villages unless the transport infrastructure was improved. At least in Ceauşescu's time there was work for all who wanted it – and "arrangements" for those who didn't. Now goods were in the shops but many people had no money to buy them. We tried to sound supportive but left her, worried that so many people in Romania seem to have such sad, negative lives.

A large panel in the village announced joint European and state funding to supply the village with a water purification plant and improved water mains to provide good drinking water. We asked the campsite owner whether the water was drinkable and she advised against it unless it was boiled. So, that explains some of the problems we have been having over the past few days! And we had been blaming it on the Remoska and my cooking.