Sleep starved from Turku to Berlin!

If you ever find yourself tired, in Turku and needing to fly to Berlin from Helsinki, I would recommend paying the 7e it costs to chose ones own seat on the plane! 

After a coach ride through the night, I found myself, early morning, sat between a silent German lady and a rather rotund and amply sized Latvian gentleman, who squeezed himself into the aisle seat next to me. 

The next few hours passed as uncomfortably as one can imagine, trying to catch some sleep as the unwilling filling in a not so friendly German/Latvian human sandwich. 

I don t know what it is about German police, but they always look a little more frightening than our Bobbys on the beat in England. 

Tegel airport Germany, 9am, they were out in full force, pistols hanging nonchalantly from their side as they surveyed the incoming visitors. Clearly thinking me a upstanding citizen of the world, I waltzed on by without hurt or hindrance, into the chilly sunshine of Berlin. 

Tegel airport benefits from being close enough to the city to connect through the efficient BVG transport system, which relies on the goodwill and honesty of its passengers in collecting fares. 

The possibility to jump on free of charge is tempting to a Brit, any who have visited London would know it is nigh on impossible to get through the Berlin wall esque barriers, that prevent even the most tenacious from storming the 'barricades'.

For the bargain price of 2.70e The bus 'Number' TXL takes you straight to the centre and Alexanderplatz. It winds its way through the industrial suburbs of Berlin. Ramshackle small bungalow dwellings with adjacent garden patches line the route, a throw back to the DDR. 

A Prison which wouldn t look out of place in The Shawshank Redemption adds to the  intrigue along the journey, and perks the imagination of the inquisitive traveler. I m sure a story or two can be told behind those walls. 

A rabble of Danish school kids provided an unintelligible but pleasant background noise to the journey. Having studied Danish for two years at university in London, it was good to reacquaint myself with the soft guttural sounds of the Danes. 

Nearing the centre, U bahn and Train lines dot the route and the bus soon emptied of the Danish contingent, who hopped off to treat the unsuspecting U bahn population to a cacophony of Dane speak. It is debatable if it's a real language, or just a series of unintelligible bastardised Norwegian/Swedish words ;) I jest of course, it is a lovely language! 

The many tributaries and canals from the Rover Spree line the route into town, and as the TXL travels past the hauptbahnhof of Berlin, a glass megastructure of modern architecture, you catch a glimpse of the TV tower.  Shining circle atop, keeping watch over the slumbering city below.  Streets empty and quiet on this sunny Saturday morning. The sun dancing off the river and building windows, giving a surprisingly tranquil and warm welcome to the weary traveler. 

The bus turns and drives through the campus of Humboldt university, an impressive array of educational buildings that give a campus feel to this area of Berlin. A cafe or two stirred my caffeine senses and as my eduroam wifi kicked in, I decided to disembark and find my bearings, over a much need coffee and Berlin cheesecake...

Using a combination of sign language and a fried my smile, I acquired my liquid and food replenishments, and sank into the welcoming sofas sipping my coffee. sleep starved, but content, so began my first day in Berlin...

Suicide tours and sanitised history

"And on your left you can see the citadel, sitting atop a hill where many people have committed suicide from" was the irresistibly bizarre voice over from the riverboat cruise! 

Opting for the cheapest river cruise on offer we embarked on a boat that would have made a blow-up dingy a more preferable option. Listing heavily to the left, either on account of uneven weight distribution of passengers or as part of its unique rustic charm, we chugged off the pier and into the Danube with the pace of a geriatric snail. 

The benefit of the pedestrian pace of our incredibly river worthy vessel was the allocation of ample time to view the impressive riverside buildings, lit up across the night sky. It definitely was not a case of blink and you ll miss it! 

As the voice over kicked in through the muffled speaker - oh no this was not a boat for personal headphones - the only sentence one could make out from the female voice over seemed to be a 1/2 hour description of the various riverside spots that "people can commit suicide off". 

The employee regaling these optimum sites for the ending of ones life seemed oblivious to the meaning of the words she was saying, someone in the script department was clearly bored and having a laugh at her expense, that, or it was a less than subtle nudge to we the passengers to try to cut down on tourist numbers in the city! 

With black smoke billowing out the back and a less than healthy sound coming from the engine room we limped back to the river side, The voice over really didn t matter as the city speaks for itself, a river trip well worth the time. 

The national museum sits just back from the river in a impressive neo-classical building. It gives a brief overview of Hungarian history from the beginning of time to present day. If you fancy a whistle stop tour of centuries of history tinged with a bit of nationalism, then stop by. But I can give you a brief overview of the slightly sanitised one sided journey through the ages of glorious Hungarian history...

The Hungarians were and Budapest was at the heart of civilisation in Europe throughout the ages, resolute in their defence of their culture and language. 

The Protestant reformation attempted to foist its anti-establishment values on the Magyars, but the plucky Hungarians with the might of the Catholic Church performed a counter-reformation and order was restored. 

Then along came those pesky, interfering Habsburgs from Vienna and subjugated the honest Hungarians to a century or so of subservience, until finally they obtained their independence post WWI. 

Glorious years of independence followed. WWII left them caught between two world powers and they had 'no choice' but to allow the Germans into their country. They were instrumental in saving as many Jews as possible. Not a hint of persecution or collaboration existed. 

Then ensued 50 dark years under the Soviet sphere, which nobody in Hungary wanted. The Hungarian uprising was given prime place. 

And swiftly we move onto a newly independent t Hungary in the 90s! 

But like all national museums it sells itself in a positive light, so I m not singling out Hungary as in anyway unique. For one eith even a passing interest in history it offered a wry smile or two to the discerning visitor

After such a unbiased recounting of Hungarian history I felt the need to forge one last time on Hungarian cuisine. 

I made my way to the covered market next to the river. Tourists and locals bustle together in this mix of souvenir and food shops. Selling a unlimited supply of soviet era trinkets, t-shirts, paprika sausage, langos and anything else that could be considered 'Hungarian' it is a feast for the senses! And cannot be missed! 

So ended my brief but enjoyable foray into the Jewel by the Danube! 

Mandarin tours and langos!! The citadel draws me back

The Danube scythes through Budapest, a constant reminder of not only mans insignificance in the face of natural wonders, but also his ability to tame constrain and utilise it to further the never ending quest for the progress of humankind.

On one side the city sprawls out on a flat plain, a never ending mass of buildings, referencing the various stages of history the city has experienced. Impressive church spires dot the skyline as 18th and 19th century grandeur mixes with austere soviet era concrete functionality.  Modern late 20th and early 21st century hotels and office blocks  show a new side of Budapest emerging from post soviet times. 

On the other side of the river the citadel and castle mount impose themselves impressively on the skyline.  A skyline that I proffer has changed little in the last few centuries.     The suburbs of the city creep up the surrounding hills providing a multitude of vantage points with which to view the city below. 

I found myself meandering my way up the winding pathways of the citadel once more. Only this time the sun shone through the white clouds as blue skies created the perfect backdrop to a panoramic view it was hard to get tired of. 

The citadel park in the daytime is a much more welcoming affair, the wind whips her way off the river and up the hill, creating a welcome breeze to the weary traveler, a never ending supply of benches provide idyllic vantage points to stop, take a rest and feast on the view below. 

The clouds parted and the sunlight lit up the riverside buildings one by one.

Today was a day for tour buses of East Asian tourists atop the citadel. Now if there is one thing my travels around the world have taught me, it is that is that travelers from the land of the rising sun and its neighbours across the sea love a good group tour with accompanying guide. 

An endless stream of happy travellers marvelled at the view below, snapping pictures at a rate suggesting it was a practice that would soon be made illegal. Their personal tour guide rambled on in their native language complete with portable microphone as they listened on intently.  

I found myself gliding past them unnoticed wishing I could speak mandarin to understand the nuggets of wisdom their tour guide was confidently espousing. He bore the expression of one who considered himself the leading Chinese authority on all things Hungarian. 

Before the mount drops steeply to the riverside, the summit on the castle side slopes gently down.  The wooded grassy plain was too inviting and I found a suitable spot in and amongst the trees, and sat down as the first flowers of Spring sprouted up around me. 

Upstream, not more than half a kilometre away the castle stood soaked in sunlight. It was hard to decide whether it looked more impressive under floodlit darkness or in the daytime sunshine. My weary brain decided it was a decision that was too hard to make and I ambled my way down towards the Danube, which seemed to have a seemingly never ending allure, a forbidden mistress tempting you back time and time again. 

Langos! Under the towering walls of the castle I had my first taste of the deep fried tasty treat. A crispy circular shaped batter, the size and shape of a pizza, doused in sour cream and cheese, a unhealthy but sumptuous feast. After a day's sightseeing it had the effect of making one feel they had just gone 12 rounds with a prize fighter, that fighter being saturated fat. A double espresso was needed. 

I crossed back over the Danube, the parliament building now visible, maybe even more impressive than the castle mount, ornate and strikingly majestic, it nestled on the riverbank  bathed in the Crimson glow of the fading sun.  As the sky and clouds turned a backdrop of blue and white to a kaleidoscope of red and Crimson variations.

I sat under the arches of the impressive 19th century bridge as the ebb and flow of the Danube lapped against the riverbank rocks I was sat on. The sun setting behind the castle on the opposite bank, as tourists and locals sat relaxing and enjoying the view, a perfect ending to the day. 

The river tour boats were calling my weary legs. A tour guide with a penchant for suicide anecdotes, a national history museum selling a sanitised version of Hungarian history and a market offering up nostalgic delights. But, that triumvirate of intruding stories I save for my final Budapest blog. 

From Ruin to Redemption

So how does one get from Ruin to Redemption in a few days?....

The ruin bars of Budapest are establishments  not to be missed. Dotted around the city centre , in the run down buildings of the old Jewish quarter, they are a testament to the ingenuity and creativity of residents of this fair city.

Whilst most traces of the once thriving Jewish quarter have all but gone, in an area for so long neglected it is nice to see such alternative places for the weary and the thirsty, welcoming travellers from all over the world. 

Hashed together in derelict buildings, you will find makeshift rooms, adorned with graffiti, posters, chandeliers made from bike wheels and Christmas lights, old PC monitors play old school 90s screen savers on a constant loop as the DJs entertain the revelling crowd. 

During the day time they are a nice chilled place to relax in. Each ruined section offers up all manner of drinks, chill out areas, food grill and the aptly placed hollow of a car from a bygone era, taking centre stage as an elaborate table to in the smoking garden. Old bicycles, colourfully painted hang from the walls,

Tables and chairs salvaged from old workplaces, schools, who knows. One can t help but be taken in by the uniqueness of these places. 

The ruin bars have a slightly Jekyll and Hyde tinge to them, and by no fault of their own. Their relaxed daytime hipster bar vibe gives way to that of a mass throng of revelry, where a eclectic but strange mix hipsters, students, stag parties and weekend tourists enjoy the DJ sets. 

The sheer amount of English people is sadly mind boggling. Dom t get me wrong I love my country folk, but when travelling abroad I like to get away from that lovely British accent.

Alas in the ruin bars of Budapest the English accent creeps through the doors like a deadly virus as the day turns to night and takes over as the language/accent of choice for most. 

Your in danger of forgetting your in the beautiful city on the banks of the Danube when you hear British drunken shouts in the street: 

"Nothing like a tasty kebab on the way home" 

Although I must admit the kebabs in Budapest are infinitely nicer than ours in the UK.  If your ever in Budapest get a Gyros down you! 

Brits aside the bars of Budapest are not to be missed. 

But after a couple of days acquainting myself with the ruinous side of Budapest , I was itching for some kind of cultural activity to counterbalance the beer themed culture of the previous few days. 

Redemption called...

As the stars shone down, not a cloud in sight and after a tasty shot of absinthe for the road me and my trusty companion Ben set off over the Danube for a night time stroll, to redeem our health more than anything with a good stomp up the Citadel. 

The bronze lady, lit up, holds aloft a olive leaf, imposing her watchful eye on the city below. The citadel is a rocky outcrop on the banks of the Danube, it has for centuries been used as a fortress and vantage point. Having suffered severe damage during the war it was reopened as a park and viewpoint in the 1970s. 

At night time it has, not a sinister but a faint eerie feel to it.  As you wander up the dimly lit walkways, the shadows of tree branches and statues appears out of the gloom, the swings and slides of a kids playground groan and creak in the wind adding the the chorus of rustling tree branches. And save for the trickle of tourists making the trek up the mountain you would be forgiven for getting a little jumpy at the slightest sound. 

Before you even teach the top the pathway hugs the cliff face and the panoramic view up and down the Danube opens before you, bridges, buildings and cars light up against the night sky, relentlessly pulsing like the veins driving the heart of the city. 

It is easy to get lost in the dark due to the myriad of staircases and paths that lead up through the wooded hillside, but then very easy to find your way again.  The citadel at the summit is always visible through the trees and also the sheer cliff face on one side prevents you walking any further. 

The view from the summit is quite breathtaking. Two lesser statues flank the bronze lady, I say lesser, they re bloody huge, just that the bronze lady is suffering from a bout of gigantism so her male minions to her left and right dwarf into insignificance, save for the ridiculous poses both men have. 

One man stands bearing a torch which looks more like a matchstick when held next to the lady, and to her right the statue has a dragon in a death grip between his legs and is proceeding to beat the living daylights out of his face with his menacing fist.  All the while the dragon is looking up with an expression that says: "is that the best you got mate, I can just breath fire and end this!" 

The view below may have been spectacular but the statutes do kind of make you look at them, maybe in my case a little too much. 

We rounded the citadel and as we made it to the rear of the statutes the castle, palace and parliament light up the skyline either side of the river upstream. 

There are are benches, walls and grassy areas to sit and enjoy the panorama.  But as the cold breeze whipped up the hill, we found shelter against the ancient walls of the citadel.  A nice cool cider and a smoke seemed to have the effect of forgetting the cold, the view alone was enough to do that. 

The palace and castle rise up on a rocky outcrop much like the citadel about a kilometre or so upstream, and on the opposite side of the river, the parliament competes in a face off, as if locked in a giant game of 'who is the most audacious, ornate, majestic building of the Danube'. 

Cities at night time always look more comforting. The dirt and grime of the daytime disappear and all that is left to see are the shining lights of the impressive landmarks. The dark and silent Danube glistening and reflecting the lights of its riverbank dwellers. 

After complementing ourselves at what a great idea it was to enjoy a tasty nighttime beverage atop the citadel with the glistening panorama below we had to leave as the welcoming comfort of collapsing in bed called me. 

Daytime citadel summiting, river cruises with a voice over lady with a suicidal twist,

and national museums await my next instalment...

The hunt for the elusive Danube

Walking around a city is a perfect way to get acquainted with, explore and hopefully discover the hidden surprises that await the nosey tourist. 

Sat in the dining room under the watchful eye of Lenin, hand raised proclaiming the revolution from a poster in the wall opposite, sipping my breakfast of black coffee, I was ready to venture out on my quest to find the Danube. 

A quick glance at google maps before I left the wifi in the flat and I set off on my way from Barros Utca. Stopping off in the very Hungarian establishment of lidl to buy some supplies. 

The area around Barros Utca is lined with wide boulevards featuring imposing 19th century apartment buildings.  A testament to it's prominence as the one time capital of the Austro-Hungarian empire. 

After walking for what seemed far too long, the Danube was nowhere in sight. As it turns out, my sense of direction is not always up to scratch, and one fatal left turn too soon had found me walking parallel with the river for about 2/3km. 

I ambled my way through run down but welcoming suburbs. Soviet era apartment blocs and industrial buildings lined the streets, cracked and uneven pavements led me along my way as I walked down the empty streets. The occasional building razed to the ground reduced to rubble. 

One could not help but notice juxtaposition between the huge advertising hoardings proclaiming the wares of H&M , Rita Ora's latest line of lingerie and the U.K. Supermarket Tesco, and the buildings they were draped over. Buildings built as the engine rooms of the once communist regime.  

Ignoring the adverts to western consumerism, these streets didn t appear to have changed much since the days before the iron curtain fell. The buildings a little more run down, the trees a little taller perhaps.

To my right as I continued through this maze of grid like apartments, I passed a building to my left which would not have looked out of place in "One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest".  An imposing facade adored the building, as white washed metal bars slatted over  the Windows and a brick wall surrounded the property. Wondering to myself the stories that could be told behind those derelict walls, to my left out of nowhere appeared a welcoming cafe. 

Bodega Konhya is surrounded by the rubble and dust of its former industrial neighbours.  Demolition work continues but the walls of the cafe offer a welcoming oasis of calm. 

An array of tasty Hungarian food,

Burgers, beverages, coffee and teas are on offer. Newpaper articles and posters adorn the walls in a collage of colour that leaves the customer constantly curious and inquisitive, as you find yourself browsing now and again as if you find some bit of intrigue you may have previously missed. 

The table stands are fashioned from colourfully painted parts of motorcycle and car engines and two friendly waitresses welcomed me in. 

I sat in the garden and devoured my tasty iced tea and paprika doused fries. Instantly reminded of the Central European love affair with paprika, they just love to put a bit of paprika in everything. Luckily I m partial to the taste of the versatile pepper so it presented no problem for me. But I digress... 

I left the Cafe a satisfied customer and as I turned to my left, ahead in the distance I could make out the outline of the National Theatre and the Palace of Arts. Both impressive buildings sit on the banks of the Danube, next to the towering red pillars of the Rakoczi Had bridge. It's gleaming metal structure reaching across the waters below. 

My self imposed detour had resulted in me  hitting the Danube 3 bridges and 2/3 km downstream to where I had intended, but my adventures along the way left me in the mood for a riverside stroll, upstream  towards the centre. 

The Danube is an impressive sight. Glistening in the sunlight It rumbles through Budapest, an imposing natural wonder,  carving a relentless pathway through the Hungarian capital. The silent waters betray a current of whirlpools and undercurrents that would make even the strongest swimmer struggle. 

Cycle pathways and pavements hug the riverbanks, flanked by a ancient yellow stoned wall, giving protection from he ebb and flow of the river. 

Weighed down by my rucksack and an attire of clothing, which belonged in temperatures far colder than I was experiencing that day (not everywhere is as cold as Finland at this time of year). The breeze whipped in off the sun drenched riverbanks, delivering a welcome cooling breeze. 

Off in the distance, upstream, the citadel dominates the skyline. An imposing bronze statue sits atop a 230m hill, surrounded by an ancient fortress, looking watch over the city below. 

As I made my way closer this impressive sight, the river to my left. Cafes, and restaurants with riverside terraces line the route the closer to the centre you become.  

The boats providing river tours to the eager tourists glide effortlessly downstream, then as they turn and round on themselves to return to the centre they perform what seems like an agonising ever arching u-turn. As the ancient Diesel engines churn up the dark waters, black smoke billows from the rear of the boats. 

Struggling to fight the relentless and steady current that wills them to continue downstream, the creaking tourist boats finally win the tug of war with nature, and limp like ageing giant salmon upstream to the breeding grounds that are the abundance of tourists waiting at the piers edge.  

Whether you are the hipster enjoying your green tea in the appropriately converted riverside warehouse, the local drunk lounging on the park bench swigging a from a bottle of nondescript moonshine, the fitness fanatic jogging, the man practicing yoga under the cooling branches of the park trees, or the bearded sweaty tourist, the atmosphere along the Danube provides a welcoming calming contrast from the busy bustling streets of the capital. 

Szabadsag hid. The steel structured bridge that leads across the river to the citadel signalled the end of my 14km riverside walk. The outcrop of rock and the slight hook in the river obscured my view of the palace. But that feast for the eyes would have to wait till the next day. For I had friends to meet and a stag do to attend as the famous ruin bars of Budapest called to me...:

A day behind schedule in the writing of this blog, but a stag do will do that too you! Tales of night time citadel summits, as the city gleamed below, visits to the palace and night life in Budapest coming up...

Alcoholic antics airborne, Budapest bound

Correct me if I m wrong, but I thought it was we Brits who have a reputation for drunken airborne antics?! 

It would appear the Finns wholeheartedly share this dubious accolade with the Queens subjects, especially those advanced in years. 

As I boarded my flight and made myself as comfortable as can be on Norwegian Air bound for Budapest. One Couldn t help but notice the ageing drunken Finnish lady directly across the aisle from me.

My limited knowledge of Finnish told me she was hurling abuse in every which direction she so pleased to do, and to whomever she cared to insult. the phrase "mitä vittu" littered her profanities, as she swigged not so subtlety from her clandestine bottle of duty free whisky. 

In and amongst her abuse and resultant school-like telling off from the air crew she found time to throw a kind compliment my way. Out of nowhere, in broken English: "l like your colourful clothes, nice green trouser!"  Smiling sweetly as she spoke. 

Then as if the brief moment of calm and politeness had never happened, she switched back to Finnish and continued to hurl insults at no one in particular. 

All the while her long suffering husband looked on, quiet as a mouse. I swiftly came to the conclusion that he was a sure candidate for victim of years of sustained domestic abuse at the hands of his cantankerous other half.

Not long after the wheels touched Tarmac, I found myself navigating the rather accommodating public transport system of Budapest towards the centre.  (bus 200e and Metro 3) 

Momentarily lost as I disembarked from the metro, confused by the multitude of exits at my disposal,  I accosted the nearest friendly looking Hungarian for directions. He was more than helpful, out came his smart phone, google maps, and after a minute or two, he directed me on my way. 

I found myself entering a soviet era twilight zone. Nestled in the inner courtyard of a 19th century apartment bloc, It was as if I had entered a 1970s Soviet style Film set. 

Soviet realist posters adorned the walls, a soviet military hat took up watch over the Lounge, my mezzanine double bed welcomed me comfortably to Budapest and so my arrival in the seat of the Habsburg empire came to a satisfying end... 

...But for my drunken mid flight neighbour, this blog would have been Budapest themed. Alas you must wait till my next post. For now, the sun drenched Danube beckons me...

A little less Ottoman, a little more Habsburg

Drunken Finns, Helpful Hungarians, an Air B n B caught in a Soviet era time warp, and a suspicious 'technical' failure in the Ruin bars of Budapest. A snapshot of my first day in This fine capital. 

A comprehensive and hopefully entertaining update to come later, but for now I venture out into the streets of Buda and a stroll down the Danube, which I am yet to set my eyes upon.

A white lie, I discovered the Danube when visiting Novi Sad, Serbia, but there the river was littered with the bombed out corpses of bridges, curtesy of NATO. Today I m hoping for a slightly more regal feel to my Danube experience, hopefully with a bridge or two intact.