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.