Skopje, Macedonia

Recovering Macedonian national identity from history - a necessary prerequisite to statehood - is like extracting a metal from ore. 

Sure, it is there, clearly visible in rich cultural veins that run through the civilisational bedrock of the Balkans, glinting in the sunshine. But it never really existed in purified, unsullied form - or hasn’t done so for millennia - and extrication necessarily destroys the structures within which it is suspended. 

Its instantiation in a modern state is beset by wickedly hard problems. These problems are common across the Balkan peninsula but, I think, nowhere more concentrated.

In the Balkans there are no friends just common interests and alliances of convenience …a complex web of limited cooperation within a general atmosphere of enmity. Groups A and B coordinate action against C on one issue, while Groups A and C work together in their conflict with B on another issue, as Groups B and C fight as one against A on yet another.

Conflicts exist over recognition of Macedonian statehood, legitimacy, ascension to NATO, the EU, and the Eurozone, even its name and the name of the capital Skopje. Macedonians have made a lot of compromises and I feel for them.

The utter levelling of old town Skopje by earthquake in 1963 hasn’t helped. Major new constructions are a sickly mix of 18th and 19th century European architecture, more like homage than expression of style. It lacks integrity and feels like it’s trying too hard to prove something.

Similarly, the grandiosity of the 22m statue of Alexander the Great astride a rearing horse, sword held aloft, leaves me cold. It imitates classical realism except for the horses genitals which, like on a Ken doll, are muted in deference to modern, puritanical sensibility.

That compromise, the castration and penectomy of the great bronze horse, says it all really.

To survive and thrive Macedonia needs to be in the EU. I hope its neighbours allow that to happen fast and it finds its self-confidence.

Sofia, Bulgaria

Sofia has very old bones. 

They are proudly (and pleasingly) exposed and incorporated within new development works throughout the city. An amphitheater not much smaller than the Coliseum forms the foundation and lower floors of a luxury hotel. It is stunning.

There are many cultural layers here. The modern - Bulgaria’s major cultural institutions, restaurants, cafes and bars - sits within and atop a mix of Roman, early Christian, Byzantine, Orthodox, and Ottoman structures, along with the usual suspects of belle-époque elegance.

At the time of the Roman and Byzantine empires, the city was called Serdica, the capital of Dacia. Constantine called it his Rome. Justinian was very fond of it too. 

There isn’t much fine dining in Bulgaria. But Sofia is one of those places where you’re rewarded by talking to your waiter to find good local dishes and wine.

Bulgaria was liberated from Ottoman rule by a Christian coalition led by Alexander II of Russia. This is commemorated in a number of stunning monuments and buildings, most notably Alexander Nevsky Cathedral.

Bulgarian people are very friendly and welcoming. Well incorporated within Europe now, but not subject to the ills of mass tourism, they like showing their country to visitors.

Chisinau, Moldova

Chisinau, pronounced kish-in-or with emphasis on the first syllable, is the least visited capital in Europe.

It should be visited a lot more.

Like Rome, Chisinau is built on 7 hills. A bronze Capitoline Wolf suckling Romulus and Remus stands before the National History Museum.

Pushkin was exiled here for his liberal views by Czar Alexander I 1820 - 1823, during which time he wrote The Prisoner of the Caucasus and The Fountain of Bakhchisaray. He is commemorated by a bust in the Central Park, a full statue having been unaffordable.

While the infographic at the airport is a little disconcerting - depicting cutthroat razors, axes and baseball bats as things that can’t be taken on a plane - the idea that Moldova is dangerous is incorrect.

It is quiet, modest and beautiful. I walked the streets and city parks in the day and night without harassment.

Lying north of the Carpathians, Moldova has no mountains but is very hilly. This, its famously rich black soil and moderate climate make it an exceptional agricultural producer.

Its wines are an absolute treat. Varietals and methods are yet to be fully homogenised and hopefully won’t be. It is home to the world’s largest cellar at Mileștii Mici, a 200km tunnel, about half of which is used. Cellar doors can be found throughout the capital. 

I had one of the best steak and bottle of red meals I’ve ever had here. 

If you love wine, bucolic settings and history Moldova is an absolute must. 

Bucharest, Romania

In Bucharest you can stand on a street corner and appreciate the utter jumbled jostling mess and glory of 500 years of European architecture.

Go to the Piata Revolutiei, for example, and turn on the spot to see an old Orthodox Church, neoclassical, art nouveau and art deco villas, brutalist socialist era boxes for workers, grand Soviet megalomania, and the sharp triangular glass edges of a modern office block.

Speaking of churches, the one pictured still does exorcisms.

Interesting time to be in Romania with the rerun of Presidential elections after the November ballot was cancelled amid evidence of Russian meddling.

Speaking French (or, I imagine, Italian) makes it easier to get around.

If you love sweets they are great bakers here. I highly recommend Casa Capsa, temptingly located opposite my hotel.

The old town is brimming with English and Irish pubs attracting bucks and hens parties on public holiday weekends. I like to think of this as an initial phase of post-Soviet socioeconomic terraforming.

A more sophisticated vibe can be found in Fabrica south of the centre, where factories have been repurposed as galleries, bars, and studios, and around the Romanian Atheneum to the north.

Bucharest was known as Little Paris between the wars. With the overthrow of Ceausescu it picked up that mantle again.

Some old fogeys reminisce about the police state. Like other former eastern bloc countries, I can’t see them subsuming their freedom and creativity under Putin’s culturally stunted, albeit economically resurgent, Russia.

The Ionian Islands

Greece is probably the most beautiful country in the world.

Its architecture, wrecked ancient and Venetian stone overgrown with vine. It’s food and drink. It’s history and philosophers. The unique turquoise of its seas over plunging white limestone. Pines that grow lusciously from dry clay soil adding their scent to the salty air. It’s rugged coastline. They reach me in a profound way.

Greece makes sense. Perfect sense in fact. The logic of an ouzo over ice and fresh grilled octopus dressed with olive oil and oregano is as compelling as the mathematics of Pythagoras and physics of Archimedes.

I love Greece. But she is a difficult lover.

Her red-blood-in-the-veins “I couldn’t give a f***” attitude is something I find very appealing despite the basket case institutions that this, along with a profound laziness and effortless corruptibility of character, gives rise to.

Levels of resentment for the brown-skinned, fleeing war and fitted out by NGOs in smart new sportswear, can be quite shocking; there is a bit of mob madness about it. As Yugoslavia was in the 90’s, Greece is the place where, I fear, the pogrom might feasibly once more get a run in Europe.

Not that these currents are sustainable. I sometimes wonder if Greece were removed from the European teat whether she would devolve into cholera and cannibalism within 6 weeks and her population halve within 12 months.

Greek national and cultural pride, the love of things Greek by Greeks, is a wonderful thing. But, as a lover who is true, who also has blood in his veins, I have to give it to her straight, lest pride tick over into chauvinism.

You were out-sailed by the Phoenicians, out-built by the Romans, out-mathed by the Arabs, out-sculpted by Renaissance Italians and, quite frankly, Albanians are better at cooking lamb. But no one is as good as all those things at the same time as you are.

Whatever. I’ll be back swooning at the feet of Dionysius, again and again.

Where I slept: Marilu's Paxos Port House: Stunning, right by the port.

Where I ate: Thalassa (Gaios, Paxos): Fresh seafood prepared very well in the Greek style, even if it is a little touristy. Fishalida (Corfu Old Town, Corfu): Right next door to the fish market so it doesn't get fresher. Immaculate grilled fish and seafood pastas.

Istanbul

I find Istanbul a bit challenging because, to be perfectly honest, I strongly dislike religion and here religion is so very present everywhere you go.

But if I can go into a church I can go into a mosque. I am yet to go into a Synagogue.

I find the aesthetics of the mosque appealing and uplifting. On the way in I’m asked to pull my shorts down over my knees - which is kind of charming because it’s been a long time since any part of me was cause for someone else’s temptation.

At night there are plenty of scantily clad women heading to nightclubs. I’m able to watch Liverpool dominate Manchester United at an Irish Pub. There’s certainly a tension here but the practicalities of making a living outweigh points of difference in lifestyles and beliefs.

There is very little of Rome remaining here in its eastern capital. The exception is the enormous cistern under the city built by Justinian around 580AD.

A great city in every sense.

Where I slept: Cronton Design Hotel: Lots of old world charm and well placed for the major sights.
Where I ate: Sankai by Nagaya: An original and pretty awesome take on fusion.

Running Blind in Iceland - Reykjavik and the Laugevegur Trail

Running Blind was a 1979 BBC miniseries based on the espionage thriller by Desmond Bagley.

It involves a double cross, a knife with a ruby pommel and handle decorated in Nordic patterns, a mystery high powered rifle, and an epic four-wheel drive chase through Iceland’s rugged volcanic landscape, geysers, hot springs, glaciers, rivers and rugged capes. Barren but beautiful. I’ve wanted to visit ever since. 

I don’t recommend Desmond Bagley’s book the way some people recommend Ludlum with a promise that the writing is superior to Clancy etc or Clancy with a promise that the writing is superior to Ludlum etc. It’s very dated and Peter Fitzsimmonsesque in the main character’s first person, overly self-reverential, narrative. The TV adaptation can be found on YouTube and is worth a look for a laugh.

First impressions entering Reykjavik’s outer suburbs from the airport were a bit challenging, then. It looked disturbingly like a small Wollongong or a big Ulladulla with what looked like Kikuyu lawns laced with dandelions and white clover, windswept shrubs and conifers not dissimilar to Norfolk pines. 

The centre of Reykjavik is a different matter. Great bars and restaurants. I must agree with the claim by a tiny weatherboard building in the port to World’s Best Lobster Soup. 

The Laugevegur Trail is a magical 4 day hiking experience. At 55km it isn’t horribly onerous. The landscapes change every day. There are about 50 words for snow in Icelandic. Apparently, there are more in the Inuit languages in Greenland and Alaska. It’s hard to take a bad photo in Iceland. Definitely one of the most astonishing places I’ve ever been.

Where I slept: Reykyavik Marina - Berjaya Iceland Hotels: Great location, neat and tidy.

Where I ate: Seabaron: A credible claim to world's best lobster soup.

Guides: Norse Adventures: We were well fed and well led by a slightly crazed, incredibly funny and knowledgeable son of vikings.

Nuuk, Greenland

Despite being a Danish possession, Greenland struck me (surprising me) as a lot more American than European.

For starters it’s population is ~90% Inuit, the Norse settlement from the 800s having died out inexplicably around 1450 and a large wave of migration of the Thule people from Alaska and Canada, efficient fishermen and hunters, occurring in the 1300s.

The Danes got here in the 1700s, claiming the territory by way of their 13th century union with Norway. A tad tenuous.

This should in no way be read as an endorsement of claims by President Trump.

 

The capital Nuuk, the Greenlandic name (formerly Godthåb in Danish, meaning “Good Cape”), has similar socioeconomic problems to other modern Inuit settlements, including alcoholism, but not to any great extent that I saw. Greenlanders are delightfully friendly and welcoming.

Maximut, where I spent a fun filled afternoon with the locals, describes itself as a “beer hall”. It reminded me of a rowdy Irish pub, with some revellers needing to be taken home prone in the back of a ute. Maybe there is more than a hint of Alice Springs here, but the Danes pump a lot of money into the place particularly in education, construction, fishing and tourism. All Greenland’s peoples are EU citizens. That has probably saved the ice-covered hinterland from being dotted with oil wells and mines.

It is high summer here at the moment. The temperature roared up to 11C one day. The rest of the time it was 4 - 7C. I braved a swim in the Labrador Sea but only made it waste deep. It is cold enough to kill you if you plunge in.

Greenland is a truly beautiful place. The kind that is dangerous because you could easily fall in love with it and then you’d be stuck living in the middle of nowhere without much to do. Still, I’ll risk it and return to explore its hiking and fishing.

Where I slept: Hotel Aurora: Cosy, basic, conveniently located on the edge of town.

Where I ate: Godthab Bryghus: Cheery vibe, good beer and food.

Three countries in one hike ...the magnificent Tour du Mont Blanc

An absolute ball-tearer of a hike but thoroughly rewarding every day.

166km long with about 10,000m of both ascent and descent, through France, Italy and Switzerland, rugged cols up to 2800m over 10 days of hiking.

A couple of the locals appear in the pics if you look closely - a marmot and an ibex sitting on their rocks and surveying their territory.

This is one you need to be well prepared for. I had spent a month exercising at altitude in Colorado and had run the Boston marathon (albeit at a very slow pace) in the months prior to the hike but a bout of bronchitis unraveled all that.

It took until day 5 to get right. And by day 10 I was fitter than I’ve been in a long while.

Another thing to keep in mind is that 10 days of slog, and a few beers at the end of the day, brings people close. I was lucky enough to have an incredibly diverse, interesting and welcoming group to hike with and we became friends.

One of those awe inspiring trips that will take a while to digest.

Where I slept: Hotel Heliopic: A great place to start and finish in Chamonix.
Where I ate: Mumma: Cool vibe. Asian fusion makes for a good change from the usual mountain food.
Guides: Cloud 9 Adventure: Consulted with the group to ensure optional routes were considered at each stage to optimise the experience. Incredibly knowledgeable of the terrain.