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.

The Devil went down to Pirano

My last day in Piran on Slovenia’s Adriatic coast and I’m listening to a performance of Guiseppe Tartini’s Devil’s Trill Sonata for violin and admiring 2 newly minted PADI qualifications - Advanced Open Water and Enriched Air Diving.

Exhaustion brought me here, after Scandinavia, the Baltics, Poland, Ukraine, the Czech Republic and Slovakia. Coughing up yellow and green sputum (bronchitis) and sneezing blood and puss (sinusitis) in Ljubljana was the last straw. Belgrade, Sarajevo, Skopje, Sofia and Bucharest were put on ice and I checked into a resort in Piran for 7 nights for sun and sea.

Visiting Prague was a longtime coming. I meant to visit last year but was Hapsburged out.

It is astounding but desecrated by tourists. A young woman was the attention of a man the age of her grandfather who grasped her behind and buried his face in her bosum, a lap dance without permission or payment. Predatory eyes followed her and I had to remind myself that it’s not my fucking job to set every arsehole to rights. 

Back to Tartini, Piran’s most successful son was born here in 1692 when it was an Italian possession called Pirano. His most famous piece is devilishly difficult and his virtuoso performances of it lead to a belief that he had sold his soul …which Tartini deliberately encouraged with the story that the music had come to him in a dream in which the Devil was playing violin.

The persistence of this motif in culture is fascinating. Paganini used it in the 1800s as did, of course, the Charley Daniels Band in the 1970’s with Devil Went Down to Georgia. A variant is an important part of the mythology of the Blues, appearing first in the story of Robert Johnson’s meeting with Lucifer at the crossroads. Then there is the movie Angel Heart with Micky Rourke, Lisa Bonnet, Robert de Niro and Charlotte Rampling.

Coincidentally, at the pick of the local restaurants is a head chef called Kristian Zule  …“There is no Dana there is only Zule!”

Where I slept: Barbara Piran Beach Hotel: Definitely has seen former glories but you can't fault the location or the service. Or the beer.

Where I ate: Stara Gostilna: Magnificent upgrade on Slovenian traditions including seafood.

Tip: Take a dive or brush up on your scuba qualifications at the PADI dive school on the beach.

Warsaw, Krakow and Auschwitz

“Warsaw has just now been destroyed. No one will ever see the Warsaw I knew. Let me just write about it. Let this Warsaw not disappear forever” - Isaac Singer.

After the Warsaw Uprising in 1944, on Hitler’s orders demolition teams, not artillery, levelled what once was a vibrant, international city of grand boulevards the equal of Paris. The camps exterminated remaining inhabitants. Now amidst hectares of graffitied Soviet concrete is every kind of architectural style, all built after 1955.

Kraków, capital of the Nazi General Government, was spared destruction. UNESCO approved the entire Old Town, and nearby Wieliczka Salt Mine, as World Heritage Sites. Ringed by gardens, Wawel Castle overlooking the Vistula, it is delightful.

Be prepared for obtuse and rude service providers in Poland. The attitude reminds me of Australian drivers when you overtake them …or Queensland cops in general. Or Parisian taxi drivers. I suspect a sheer bloody mindedness that life is meant to be hard and damned if we’ll let anyone get away with efficiency. But no country bares the scars that Poland does. It is the conscience of Europe in many ways and who would want that.

Driving from Warsaw to Krakow traverses beautiful countryside. The agricultural potential is enormous. Modern highways are under construction, albeit in a characteristically laborious Polish manner. Diversions are unnecessarily complicated, when they are necessary at all.

Apple Maps struggles to make sense. “Turn left …at the road” she offers hopefully.

Do not book Auschwitz museum tours other than through the museum. Other sites run a scam changing your timeslot after the free 24 hr cancellation. Complain and they’ll promise a refund but it never comes. Auschwitz scamming is not a good look.

In fact, if you have time on your side, just turn up as I did after the address on my online ticket was correct but opened in Apple Maps with guidance to a shabby residential block in Kraków’s suburbs.

Back to Warsaw, the dozen or so well-designed steel and glass office block towers point symbolically to where hope lies - not in inauthentic recreations of the past but in the new, the next generation unburdened by memory, in prosperity.

Where I slept: Anny 5 Apartamenty (Kraków): Basic but well positioned.

Where I ate: NUTA: Stunning food.

Lviv, Ukraine

“Did you exchange a walk on part in the War for a lead role in a cage” - Pink Floyd

First morning, first air raid. The wailing siren gave me a tingle up the spine, the one you get when fear is matched by defiance. Air defence over the city is holding up. The Patriot anti-missile batteries are doing a great job.

Charity is well and good but doing business together is better for both parties because it builds a relationship of equals. Part of the psychology of the oppressor is to take away the humanity of the oppressed. In Ukraine’s case that process is facilitated by us if we see Ukraine as poor, foreign and unlike us, its situation hopeless, the plight of its people pitiable.

None of that is true.

The truth is Ukraine is a sophisticated, cosmopolitan, democratic country and proud people. That is my witness. We need to maintain normality as far as possible.

Much can be achieved by maintaining business as usual, including tourism, so that Ukraine’s economy ticks over and is ready to flourish when the little despot over the border with notions of empire pops his clogs.

Neither should we pat ourselves on the back for gifting matériels, because it is an investment in all our futures and the other party to the bargain - the young Ukrainians using those arms - contribute something worth impossible multiples our capital outlay.

Lviv is a beautiful city. Its people are friendly and welcoming. It is brimming with culture - unfortunately, I will miss the next performance in its stunning opera house. I walked through the centre of town at midnight and felt safer than I do in Sydney. The food scene is exceptional. Guide Michelin needs to find its balls and get over here.

One day I’ll get to see Odessa and Kiev.

Slava Ukraine 🇺🇦! Pronounced: sla-va ooh-kra-ee-nee. Meaning: Glory to Ukraine.

Where I slept: LOFT7: Very nicely appointed, very friendly and great position.

Where I ate: Amadeus: Great cocktails. Traditional fare.

The Baltics - Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania and the Truth about European Architecture

I’m going to focus on the capitals - Tallinn, Riga and Vilnius - because that’s where I spent most of my time in this region.

This grouping should in no way suggest “if you’ve done one you’ve done them all” or that the 3 can be “done quickly together”. See all of them and take your time.

Each is built around medieval old towns that, while much better preserved than you could hope for, differs in critical respects. While both Riga and Tallinn have typical maritime centralised fort layouts, Vilnius’ old town, inland and with natural defences of forests, swamps and hills sprawls in a series of winding streets.

The truth about European architecture is that in most towns, because of their long history of conquest and catastrophe, one finds a hodgepodge of architectural styles on top of each other, even in the same buildings.

Riga is noted for its art nouveau style. What this means is that amidst the wreckage and rebuilding are preserved exceptional examples of art nouveau, which you can get an impression of if you’re a dilettante like me, or find, if you know what you’re doing or have a guide.

Tallinn has a spectacularly preserved medieval centre, Hanseatic League stone and wooden warehouses like Bergen, and gothic churches.

Vilnius is a place for those that love the gothic and baroque. Coincidentally, it’s the scruffiest and edgier of the three.

Each has benefited from their 20 years in the European Union. They are free, prosperous, modern economies with exceptional high tech industries, universities and infrastructure. While they are obvious next targets for Putin, like Ukraine he will find them changed and impossible to swallow. I don’t mean militarily, I mean culturally.

I wish I had visited Riga and it’s nightclubs in my heyday as a young man.

Where I slept: Kreutzwald Hotel (Tallinn): A short walk into the old city. Friendly. Wellton Riverside Spa Hotel (Riga): Lovely views over the river and right on the edge of the old town. St Palace Hotel (Vilnius): Set in a charming historic building close to everything.

Where I ate: Restoran8 (Tallinn): Fabulous Estonian food and not a touristy place. Max Cekot Kitchen (Riga): You will rave about the food, and everything about it is so cool. Dziaugsmas (Vilnius): A modern menu where the ingredients do the talking.

Helsinki, Finland

Got my Labrador fix on the deck of an overnight rust bucket across the Baltic from Stockholm to Helsinki.

Watching a game of ice hockey between Denmark and Finland on the ferry - a sport I have neither understanding of or interest in - amidst the enthusiastic alcohol fuelled cheering for Finland I shouted out “Finnish them!”

I thought it was funny! No laughs. A few strange looks.

My stop in Helsinki was somewhat curtailed due to a chest cold. Nothing could be more scandalous to Scandinavians than cold tablets of any kind. Everything is cured by walking and fresh air here. Fair enough.

Architecturally, Helsinki is a neo classical masterpiece. There are no gothic spires or rococo facades like most European towns. The preponderance of the neo classical and its trams make Helsinki similar to St Petersburg and Moscow. Hence, many a Cold War era thriller was filmed on location here when access to the USSR was out of the question. Most notably, Gorky Park and Dr Zhivago.

A very friendly international city.

Where I slept: Hotel Haven: Beautiful setting on the port.

Where I ate: Ravnintola: Classy Scandinavian and a bit easier on the pocket than in other nordic capitals.

Sweden, Stockholm and Vikings

Driving through rural Sweden, I felt I better understood the importance of romantic agrarian idealism to the Teutonic heart. It is beautiful and captivating: the low dappled light on golden crops, the rolling deep green fields cut by mountain-fed streams, the stock animals and their rich earthy smells, the hulks of farm equipment, under a bright blue sky.

At the Viking Museum in Stockholm those images returned as I learned something new - Viking helmets had neither horns nor wings.

That was an invention of Richard Wagner in his operatic portrayals of Viking sagas, a mythologising idealisation of a subject that was heavily mythologised and idealised to begin with, for a 19th century European romantic-nationalist audience.

How Wagner’s helmet imagery took root in the public mind perhaps gives us an insight into how thoroughly the vanquished of World War I were captivated by the idealisation of conquest and a pure agrarian culture.

I’m sure historians already have made these links with far greater insight. I may have even read something along those lines at some point. But here I got it, in an intellectually digestible way.

Coincidentally, it was in 1945 the first archaeological specimen of a Viking helmet was found and showed us what they really looked like.

Stockholm is more maritime than I expected. It is built on 14 islands linked by bridges. As someone who is no huge fan of the rococo, its pleasingly simplified neo-classical lines are a relief. I love the metal cage outside the National Museum. An exhortation to not be imprisoned by the past perhaps?

Stockholm brings to an end a long planned and much enjoyed tour of Scandinavian fine dining fare. It’s been epic.

Apparently, some woman who sings a bit is in town.

Which explains the hordes of underdressed giggling tottie and why hotel prices have gone from expensive to exorbitant.

Where I slept: Hotel Gamla Stan: Basic but well placed for walking around the city's many islands and taking a ferry tour.

Where I ate: Franzen: Simply one of the most spectacular meals you will ever have.