After a couple of days extra in St Petersburg, I was really looking forward to Prague, which I'd heard so many great things about. Prague airport turned out to be a great improvement on the previous one. I got instructions in English about getting to my hostel, and also bought a metro/tram pass that I could use for the three days I was there.
They were easy to figure out (because I did, so they must have been easy). After a bus ride, two train rides and a tram ride, (only once in the wrong direction) I made it to the "Sir Toby's hostel", which I had booked before I left Toyko. It turned out to be a great find - elevator, friendly staff, and best of all, clean and modern with nice beds. Two Japanese girls and two Canadian girls in my dorm room. The first day I decided to get to know Prague with a walking tour that lasted six hours and included lunch. It was a bit of a splurge but it was a good way for me to meet some people and as I only had three days I figured it would be worth it. Our guide was a lovely girl who spoke excellent English and had a very good knowledge of the city and it's architecture as she had studied architecture in Italy. We had a boat cruise as well, and at night, they threw in a (rather stupid) ghost tour, (which we only all stayed on for 'cause of the 'free' beer at end).
The first thing that stikes you about Prague is it's architecture, dating from medievil times. It's awfully pretty. I wish I knew the first thing about architecture as I'm sure I would have appreciated it even more, although I really enjoyed the tour. It was scorching hot though, but typical czechs - they get you sorted with lots of beer. A beer on the boat before lunch, a beer at lunch, beer after the tour and a beer at the pub in the evening. Great!
One of the highlights for me was meeting an Aussie couple who were moterbiking across the world back to Oz. Can you believe that? They'd shipped the bike to Amsterdam and it even had it's own visas. The Iran visa was a bit of a problem apparantly, but sounds like they've done their homework in getting it all organised. He is a Melbourne homicide detective with a staff of 60 taking extended long service leave for a year (a few more years at Morgan Stanley and maybe I should have done this??!) and she is a freelance journalist, commissed to write a book about their adventures - keep a look out for it!
Next day, I had been advised to go on a day trip out to Kuna Hotra, a village about two hours away that was first built in the 13th century with the gothic castle still standing, and also apparantly filled with skeleton bones which was supposed to be a really creepy experience. I made it out to the village ok, (a few wrong stops on the metro, but that was the fault of the guide book, not me). The bus ride was cheap (48 crowns about $2), as we passed huge fields of sunflowers. Again it was about 30 degrees so really hot. I trudged around the town and amused myself for a while. Made myself a picnic lunch, (cut myself on my swiss army knife for only the fourth time). Visited the cathedral. Decided it was time to go back. Went back to the bus stop I had alighted on. Waited. Waited. No bus. The locals came and went, studying the time table and shaking their heads. Something was definately wrong. Oh God! I'm stranded! Just then, three lovely looking young guys (turned out to be German-speaking swiss students of bussiness) came by also looking lost. Putting on my best 'help me please' smile, I asked them if they were going to Prague. Yes - but they think this is the wrong bus stop. They planned to get the bus to the train and would I like to come with them? Yes please! Good - four heads are better than one. And lucky because I'd probably still be sitting at that bus stop by now. The trains turned out to be a ridiculous hassle of changing and running for the platforms and then waiting because of delays. They bought me a beer in a nice outdoor bar in the middle of nowhere while we waited though, which was nice. Got back to Prague ok. Remembered on the train back that I was supposed to go and see the skeletons which I completely forgot to do. Idiot.
Now, the third day, I have to basically eat my words about the tram system being easy to understand. I just kept seeming to screw it up. Not quite sure if all that sunshine had addled my brain (or maybe all that Czech beer?), but this is how it went:
At the park, having a nice drink and thinking, 'I've got loads of time until my flight to London at 11pm'. As it starts to thunderstorm, decide it's time to get going. Get on tram 12 going West and get off too early. Cross over the tracks and get on tram 25 heading Southeast but not the Southeast I thought it was heading...the other Southeast. Should have got off one stop back but didn't make a decision fast enough and ended up back on the wrong side of the river heading for dodgy looking suburb. Hmmmm.
Get off and wait for another tram; not sure if it's going anywhere near your hostel, Jane, but lets try it and see because by now you're completely lost and can't even identify your location on the map anymore. Go a few stops desperately trying to match up the stop names with the street names, and getting into more of a flap. Get off on the last stop. Consult platform map and timetable once more and decide that tram 14 is the one I want. When it arrives it goes 20 meters around the corner and stops for good. Get a lot of odd looks as to why I waited for a tram to take me 20 meters around the corner. It's still raining and now I'm getting annoyed at myself. Get on tram 24 this time and again it stops around the corner!! I've done it again! What is wrong with me!!! I am a tram lunatic. I am like one of those wind-up tram bunnies that keeps on going and going and going..... OK Jane. This time's for real. You have a plane to catch so sort it out already. Concede that asking directions is my best course of action.
Find out that I should have been standing on the other side of the road. Tram 14 again. Turns out that I was just around the corner from my hostel the whole time! I recognised the road and congratulated myself enormously on being such an amazingly good trammie. Now for the killer. Check my ticket and my plane is at 9.00 not 11.00 and I have one hour till check in! Shit!!! I didn't screw it up this time (enormous concentration). The double whammie - the plane was delayed by two hours (sod's law). Got to Charles' flat in Hampstead at 2am and we've stayed up yacking half the night. Going sailing at his yacht club tonight so no more news except to say it's great to be back in London!
Saturday, July 19, 2003
Poem about Russian Airports
At a Russian Airport
There're no signs to tell you what to do
You have to run around and ask people
"In which line do I queue?"
This goes just not for foreigners
but for the Russians too
And if you stand in line too early
It's back to the end of the line for you
Then when you get to boarding
You must guess the number of your gate
For they do not think it necessary
to tell you 'till it is too late
Eventually you might make it
On board the correct plane
So as for the lack of instructions
Try not to let them drive you insane!
There're no signs to tell you what to do
You have to run around and ask people
"In which line do I queue?"
This goes just not for foreigners
but for the Russians too
And if you stand in line too early
It's back to the end of the line for you
Then when you get to boarding
You must guess the number of your gate
For they do not think it necessary
to tell you 'till it is too late
Eventually you might make it
On board the correct plane
So as for the lack of instructions
Try not to let them drive you insane!
Thursday, July 17, 2003
A Lovely Day Out with the Russian Postal System
I had booked into a hostel for the weekend, while I waited for my flight to Prague on the Monday. No hot water so I snuck a shower in on the second day at the original hotel, where Jolene was still staying.
We had bought so much stuff in Russia (Russian dolls especially) that we needed to post it all home. We found the post office ok, and it looked quite promising to begin with - very modern, huge, many numbered booths and even an information counter. Well. Nothing in Russia is as expected. We managed to convey that we needed to post some items by boat and were told to wait at counter number 24 (the only counter of 50 other counters with anyone apparantly doing anything). Several minutes later I had posted two parcels. She kept weighing the contents and then removing items at random - I couldn't post this doll? Too heavy? Going to cost me more to add a 3 ounce doll and to do it seperately? Something like that. Jolene was majorly grumpy and complained the whole time about her lack of faith in anything arriving. Then all of a sudden, all three assistants mysterioulsy dissappeared. We waited about 5 minutes. Eventually I asked - "are they coming back?". A lady in the queue mimed us 45 minutes lunch break. "45 minutes! All three of them at the same time? You're kidding right?" No, they weren't. Resigning ourselves to a long and pointless wait, we joined the queue of matronly women with parcels to post.
It was almost as maddening as Japanese government offices who, despite their entire customer base most likely having had to take a half day off work in order to be served by them, shut down shop for an hour in the middle of the working day even though there are 50 staff behind the counter. By all accounts an inexplicably frustrating experience, but nevertheless considered a perfectly reasonable way to behave in the 21st century.
An hour later they all came dawdling back. "Next!". Sullen looks all round. The Russian ladies were used to this - Jolene and I, both with major cases of PMT, hungry without lunch and gagging for a drink however, were not impressed. We waited again in line. Jolene decided to post her things and after much miming, had the girl somewhat roughly wrap her dolls in brown paper (no bubble wrap). When it was my turn, she told me - "Nope - wrong queue". "What?! Then I lost it. I'd been waiting three hours! I'm not queueing up again! And anyway, how come she served Jolene and not me?". She had no argument to this, and conceded to wrap the last of my things.
We finally made it out of that madhouse four hours later, having wasted the whole day and in no mood for anything other than a stiff drink. We headed straight for the nearest bar, the aptly named "Idiot Cafe". Not sure who was more of the idiots though, us or them.
We had bought so much stuff in Russia (Russian dolls especially) that we needed to post it all home. We found the post office ok, and it looked quite promising to begin with - very modern, huge, many numbered booths and even an information counter. Well. Nothing in Russia is as expected. We managed to convey that we needed to post some items by boat and were told to wait at counter number 24 (the only counter of 50 other counters with anyone apparantly doing anything). Several minutes later I had posted two parcels. She kept weighing the contents and then removing items at random - I couldn't post this doll? Too heavy? Going to cost me more to add a 3 ounce doll and to do it seperately? Something like that. Jolene was majorly grumpy and complained the whole time about her lack of faith in anything arriving. Then all of a sudden, all three assistants mysterioulsy dissappeared. We waited about 5 minutes. Eventually I asked - "are they coming back?". A lady in the queue mimed us 45 minutes lunch break. "45 minutes! All three of them at the same time? You're kidding right?" No, they weren't. Resigning ourselves to a long and pointless wait, we joined the queue of matronly women with parcels to post.
It was almost as maddening as Japanese government offices who, despite their entire customer base most likely having had to take a half day off work in order to be served by them, shut down shop for an hour in the middle of the working day even though there are 50 staff behind the counter. By all accounts an inexplicably frustrating experience, but nevertheless considered a perfectly reasonable way to behave in the 21st century.
An hour later they all came dawdling back. "Next!". Sullen looks all round. The Russian ladies were used to this - Jolene and I, both with major cases of PMT, hungry without lunch and gagging for a drink however, were not impressed. We waited again in line. Jolene decided to post her things and after much miming, had the girl somewhat roughly wrap her dolls in brown paper (no bubble wrap). When it was my turn, she told me - "Nope - wrong queue". "What?! Then I lost it. I'd been waiting three hours! I'm not queueing up again! And anyway, how come she served Jolene and not me?". She had no argument to this, and conceded to wrap the last of my things.
We finally made it out of that madhouse four hours later, having wasted the whole day and in no mood for anything other than a stiff drink. We headed straight for the nearest bar, the aptly named "Idiot Cafe". Not sure who was more of the idiots though, us or them.
St Petersurg - State Hermitage
arrrrgh - this is the third time I've updated this and it keeps crashing so it better work this time or no more blogs~!
After a pretty good overnight train to St Petersburg, we arrived at Moscow Station and headed for our hotel which was just over the road and very central. After a quick shower, we walked all the way down Nevsky Prospekt which is the main street through the city and full of crowds pushing their way through on their way to work. (Also full of gypsie-pickpockets which we quickly learnt to recognise after several incidents which I'll save for later). The State Hermitage was about half way down (3 km) and near the beautiful Church of the Spilled Blood (http://www.cityvision2000.com/city_tour/spas.htm).
At the State Hermigate, the queue was several hundred's long. Luckily, Christina struck up a polite converstation with a lady who turned out to be a tour guide for the museum and was scouting for a group to take through. She got us to the front of the queue within 5 minutes - it was the best feeling! (Christina tried to explain her luck by translating a French saying about having noodles on her arse - which just does not translate does it?)
Inside the Hermitage, it was a complete feast for the eyes. We didn't know where to begin. Apart from it's enourmous size, the museum was really a museum in itself, being the former Winter Palace of Peter the Great and several other Russian Tsars. Room upon room of exquisite architecture in different styles, each seemingly trying to outdo each other in granduar. After a while, our eyes cannot take it all in. We would be going past Renoirs and Van Goghs and saying - 'do you wanna skip the da Vinci's and grab a drink?'....but with over three million exhibits you can hardly blame us - this place warrants four days, not four hours.
My favourite pieces though, were the incredibly detailed ceramic inlaid tables which were so finely done they looked like precise paintings, not tiny pieces of coloured tiles. I can't even begin to imagine the number of hours it would have taken to complete just one table, let alone a room full of them. Also, the huge tapestries that hung on some of the walls - from a distance looked like paintings, and up close the stiches were so tiny you had to squint to make them out. Incredible. I can't describe the rest - here is the home page to get a better idea - click in the 'virtual visit' link on the right.
http://www.hermitagemuseum.org/html_En/index.html
In the afternoon, Christina kindly helped me get a plane ticket to Prague. Originally I had the idea that I would get a train there, but then I discovered that I would need transit visas for Belarus and Poland, possibly a trip back to Moscow and several days out of my trip to do all this, cutting into my Prague time, in addition to spending another 48 hours on the train, so forking over the $180 for the plane was a no brainer - I'm not a masochist!
After a pretty good overnight train to St Petersburg, we arrived at Moscow Station and headed for our hotel which was just over the road and very central. After a quick shower, we walked all the way down Nevsky Prospekt which is the main street through the city and full of crowds pushing their way through on their way to work. (Also full of gypsie-pickpockets which we quickly learnt to recognise after several incidents which I'll save for later). The State Hermitage was about half way down (3 km) and near the beautiful Church of the Spilled Blood (http://www.cityvision2000.com/city_tour/spas.htm).
At the State Hermigate, the queue was several hundred's long. Luckily, Christina struck up a polite converstation with a lady who turned out to be a tour guide for the museum and was scouting for a group to take through. She got us to the front of the queue within 5 minutes - it was the best feeling! (Christina tried to explain her luck by translating a French saying about having noodles on her arse - which just does not translate does it?)
Inside the Hermitage, it was a complete feast for the eyes. We didn't know where to begin. Apart from it's enourmous size, the museum was really a museum in itself, being the former Winter Palace of Peter the Great and several other Russian Tsars. Room upon room of exquisite architecture in different styles, each seemingly trying to outdo each other in granduar. After a while, our eyes cannot take it all in. We would be going past Renoirs and Van Goghs and saying - 'do you wanna skip the da Vinci's and grab a drink?'....but with over three million exhibits you can hardly blame us - this place warrants four days, not four hours.
My favourite pieces though, were the incredibly detailed ceramic inlaid tables which were so finely done they looked like precise paintings, not tiny pieces of coloured tiles. I can't even begin to imagine the number of hours it would have taken to complete just one table, let alone a room full of them. Also, the huge tapestries that hung on some of the walls - from a distance looked like paintings, and up close the stiches were so tiny you had to squint to make them out. Incredible. I can't describe the rest - here is the home page to get a better idea - click in the 'virtual visit' link on the right.
http://www.hermitagemuseum.org/html_En/index.html
In the afternoon, Christina kindly helped me get a plane ticket to Prague. Originally I had the idea that I would get a train there, but then I discovered that I would need transit visas for Belarus and Poland, possibly a trip back to Moscow and several days out of my trip to do all this, cutting into my Prague time, in addition to spending another 48 hours on the train, so forking over the $180 for the plane was a no brainer - I'm not a masochist!
Monday, July 14, 2003
Saturday 8th July - Moscow Markets,Changing Stupid Citibank Travellers Cheques
Would you believe - after all the hassle of getting American Express Travellers cheques in Citibank Tokyo, turns out I can't even use them. My Travellers Cheques are so safe, even if a look-a-alike of me stole them together with my passport, they STILL couldn't use them. At least not anywhere in Russia. I think the problem is that they are not recognised anywhere, because Stupid Citibank has put their name all over them, and American Express is in tiny size 4 font on the back.
So anyway, after trudging for three hours all over Moscow with Jolene, using a 5-year old Lonely Planet, in a fruitless search for American Express Office which no longer exists, we finally luck upon Beaureu de Change that tells us that across the street and around the corner and down the alley way and next to the park, is a bank that might change them... so off we trudge again. Hot and sweaty and no money.
Well. She looks at them and examines them under UV lighting and makes some phone calls and looks at them again and hands them back to me (I ain't moving!) and consults every other staff member at the bank and they make some more phone calls. The line behind me builds to four or five but this is the land of the eternal queue-er and they are all rooting for me. Eventually, (90 minutes later), they condede that yes, they are ok to cash. But it still takes them another hour of signing and dissappearring (coffee break?) and cash-counting and typing in my passport details three times into an computer (looks like it's still got DOS!) before I finally get cashed up. All that for a measly $300.
Jolene and I went for a celebratory vodka and to calm down our jarred nerves.
That was how I spent my Saturday. Overnight train to St Petersburg. Paul still snores.
So anyway, after trudging for three hours all over Moscow with Jolene, using a 5-year old Lonely Planet, in a fruitless search for American Express Office which no longer exists, we finally luck upon Beaureu de Change that tells us that across the street and around the corner and down the alley way and next to the park, is a bank that might change them... so off we trudge again. Hot and sweaty and no money.
Well. She looks at them and examines them under UV lighting and makes some phone calls and looks at them again and hands them back to me (I ain't moving!) and consults every other staff member at the bank and they make some more phone calls. The line behind me builds to four or five but this is the land of the eternal queue-er and they are all rooting for me. Eventually, (90 minutes later), they condede that yes, they are ok to cash. But it still takes them another hour of signing and dissappearring (coffee break?) and cash-counting and typing in my passport details three times into an computer (looks like it's still got DOS!) before I finally get cashed up. All that for a measly $300.
Jolene and I went for a celebratory vodka and to calm down our jarred nerves.
That was how I spent my Saturday. Overnight train to St Petersburg. Paul still snores.