Syria-ously...

We arrived in Damascus, the oldest continuously inhabited city in the world. Unlike Cairo, which is dirty, bland, dusty and disorganized, Damascus is alive with colour and vibrancy. It’s pretty clean too. You can’t do much about the dust in the Middle East, but there’s a lot less rubbish here. It also has one of the best marketplaces we’ve seen yet, the Souk al-Hamaidiyya, which takes up most of the old city. It’s busy with people, colour, perfumes and spices, and is a total sensory overload when you first walk around.

It’s awesome.

We also visited the Umayyad Mosque, located in the heart of the marketplace. This was the first mosque we’d been into, and they made us put on these hilarious, mushroom-brown full length cotton robes with hoods. We looked like Jawa's. Apparently our Western wear was too risque for a mosque. Inside it’s like a giant chill out room, men on one side, woman on the other, all lying around chatting, or sleeping. Some people were praying, but it seems in a mosque, you can just do what you want. Just don’t wear your shoes inside.

Women in full length, face concealing burka’s are commonplace here. In fact, we’re the ones that stick out like a sore thumb. As I wandered around Damascus, I noticed a lot of the men staring blatantly at my… knee’s.

Apparently my knee's are quite sexy. Who knew?

We heard one theory that burka’s were invented, not for religious reasons, but because the chief of one camp got so sick of the baddies from a rival camp sneaking in and stealing the most beautiful maidens from time to time, that he had all the women cover up, so the baddies couldn’t tell what the ladies looked like anymore. Imagine if bad guy got his new woman home and unveiled her, and she turned out to be a leathery 85 year old with beautiful eyes!

At first I thought quite a few of the women here had massive goiters, because under the black burka’s, they had huge bulges sticking out of their hips. It took me awhile to figure out that the goiters were actually handbags. It seems the burka is also useful for foiling pickpockets. Now I want one.

Our next stop was Palmyra. Palmyra is a tiny town in the middle of a big desert. There are a handful of shops, and run down hotels. There’s not much in Palmyra. Except maybe some of the coolest Roman ruins in the Middle East.

In its time, Palmyra was a huge city, bustling and full of people from every walk of life. They lived happily in hundreds of buildings that were first erected in the time when Alexander the Great conquered these lands. Back then, the Romans really were a force to be reckoned with. Standing in the ruins, I could almost imagine the centurions guarding the city, the gladiator battles in the coliseum and the traders bringing their wares from the East before moving on. In its time, Palmyra must have been great.

Our last stop was Aleppo where we stayed 2 nights before exiting Syria. Aleppo is famous for its olive oil soaps, and our tour leader Hala was well educated in finding the best ones. Apparently, the older, browner and more covered in dust your bar of soap is, the better.

And on that note I leave Syria behind, feeling an older, browner and dustier version myself.

Next stop? Turkey.

The Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan...

As soon as you enter Jordan you see a marked difference from Egypt. It’s wealthy here. There are real streets with sidewalks that aren’t littered with rubbish and other broken household items (like toilet bowls). And on the distant shores, on the far side of the Red Sea, you can see Israel. It’s strange be so close to the country that everyone else hates in this part of the world. We arrived in the city of Aqaba and feasted on local fare. Stuffed vine leaves, baba-ganoush, and the best hummus I’ve ever had in my life.

We travelled four hours the next morning to the desert of Wadi Rum to stay the night in a Bedouin camp. Not the dessert. We weren’t on our way to pudding camp. Sadly. There are signs of life here from 4000 years ago. Ancient caravans of pre Arabic people came through here and left drawings of camels and Aramaic writing on the very walls of the mountains.

It is quite simply, one of the most awe inspiring places on earth.

Out of the red sands rise mountain ranges, that millions of years ago used to be under the sea. The cliffs are shaped and eroded by water and wind that makes them totally unique. Almost like giant mountains of coral reefs.

This land is where Lawrence of Arabia famously settled for awhile. We saw his house. It was a cave.

We spent the night at a Bedouin camp, sleeping under the stars. Out here, with no smog, no lights of the city, no nothing, the sky is alive with stars. We could even see the Milky Way, a haze in the black night sky. In the distance, foxes bayed at the moon.

It was pretty much, one of the best nights of my life.

The next morning we got up early, and I drank coffee with the camp owner, a local Bedouin man called Zayid. He told me a man without a woman was worth “zero”. He’d already won me with the coffee, but after that I liked him even more. And they really know their coffee around here too. It’s a variation on Turkish, with Cardamom in it. You drink it black, and unsweetened, and it’s delicious. And I’m not a tea drinker, but Zayid also served what he called Bedouin whiskey, which is sweet tea with mint, and it’s got to be tried to be believed. When we first arrived the night before, he kept filling my cup with it, and I accused him of trying to get me drunk on his “whiskey”. He laughed out loud, and said “of course!”

After sadly leaving Zayid and Wadi Rum behind, we headed to Petra. Petra is an ancient city, carved literally into the hills by the ancient Nabatean people. It was ‘lost’ from the world for 900 years (though apparently still populated according to our guide) and then ‘rediscovered’ by a Swedish explorer in 1812. By then it was inhabited by the local Bedouin, who had moved into the old Nabatean caves and made Petra their home. Before it was ‘lost’ the Romans occupied it and built streets and temples and houses of their own, co-habiting with the Nabateans. But ultimately an earthquake felled all their Roman buildings whilst leaving all the Nabatean cave homes intact.

The Romans bailed after that. They were probably embarrassed an ancient culture had better methods of earthquake-proofing than they did.

Another attraction of Petra are all the camel and horse riders. They don’t look anything like most Arab men (especially the white dress, tea towel head guys like Zayid). They have long hair, and wear eyeliner and mascara. They look like Arabic Captain Jack Sparrows.

Kind of sexy actually.

But my favourite guy in Petra was not in the slightest bit sexy, although he was super cool. When the Jordanian government realised they could make some money out of Petra, they built a town nearby, and moved all the Bedouin who were living in Petra there. All except one. He refused to leave. And now if you visit Petra (and you have a guide who knows the way) you can go to his house and drink Bedouin tea with him. He also has the best date cookies I’ve ever eaten. Sure, maybe they’re the only date cookies I’ve ever eaten, but they were great nonetheless.

Really, a very cool dude.

Our last stop in Jordan was at Madaba, beside the Dead Sea. The Dead Sea was a place I had always dreamed of seeing, and it is like no place else on earth (like half the places on this trip we’re discovering). While the water may not be salty enough to actually walk on (thus throwing my ideas of Jesus impersonations out the window) it definitely makes you more buoyant. It’s also so good for your skin. If you can stand to stay in the water for very long. Because the salt stings, like when you pour lemon juice into a wound. Most people can’t manage more than 10 minutes. Others, less than 5. Me, I could have stayed in there all day. The salt didn’t sting me at all, not even a little bit. Sarah thinks it’s because I pour salt onto everything I eat, and now my body welcomes it like an old friend.

She may be right.

You can also paint yourself in the black Dead Sea mud, let it dry for 20 minutes and then wash it off in the water. Of course, I covered myself from head to toe, even smearing it through my hair. And all I can say is, it was hot. Burning hot.

Luckily there’s always the refreshing, salty, stinging Dead Sea to cool you back down.

All in all, as we head further North, this trip is showing us more & more ancient and amazing things every day. The Middle East is cool.

And still bloody hot.

Walkin Like Egyptians...

I pretty much fell in love with Cairo before we even landed. When I looked out my airplane window, I saw the Pyramids, and actually gasped. They're gasp worthy. Even from the air, when everything else looks like a postage stamp, the Pyramids are huge.

When you arrive though, the first thing you notice about Cairo is the noise. The drivers, who follow no road rules whatsoever, are constantly honking. They honk when overtaking. They honk when changing lanes. They honk if someones crossing the road ahead. Honk. Honk. Honk. They honk if they are turning left. Honk. Honk. Honk. Right. Honk. Honk. Honk. It's constant. And if you're a tourist out walking the city, they honk even more.

Our first stop was the Egyptian Museum, which was near our hotel. And it was a hot day. 39 degree's. And rising. But inside the museum was slightly cooler. A nice cool 37 degree's. Much better.

It's crazy to see artifacts so old, and so important, jumbled on top of each other like toys in a kid's room. Row after row of coffin. In row after row of cabinet, room after room. We saw the awesomeness of King Tut's tomb treasure's. He was buried in that gold headgear that everyone knows, inside a gold coffin, inside another gold coffin, inside another coffin. Wood this time. Covered in gold.

And we saw a bunch of Pharoah's like Ramses II & III, inside the Mummy's room, out of their coffin's, unadorned, stripped of their second life finery. Even their mortuary bandages are unwrapped from their heads, so you could see their taut, beef jerky faces, with drawn back lips and intact teeth. Even their hair was still on their heads. For all the honour they were bestowed with in life, all the servants and slaves, all the gold furniture and jewels, all the wealth and power they held, I bet they never once thought they'd end up in a display cabinet, that little kids smear their greasy faces up against and people file past to gawk at. They'd be turning in their graves.

If they were still in them.

That night we went to the hotels rooftop bar, that had a view overlooking Cairo. We were served by the bar manager, a guy I came to call 'Corduroy', because when we first met him, he was wearing a caramel-coloured corduroy suit. I kid you not. I can't believe they even make corduroy suits, let alone find people who'll wear them. And whilst you can't buy alcohol in a shop in Egypt, because Muslims don't drink, you can still buy it at most hotels and restaurants. The no alcohol thing seemed so weird to me, since it was the ancient Egyptians who invented beer in the first place. I really have a lot to thank those ancient Egyptians for.

Our best day in Cairo just happened to be my birthday. We left early to go see the three Pyramids of Giza, and their guardian the Sphinx. Even though you know what to expect, and we've all seen hundreds of images of them (not to mention the fact they're really only pointy sandstone edifices in a sea of sand) , there really is something awe inspiring about these magical tombs that have stood the test of time. The oldest of the three, and the largest, the Great Pyramid of Giza, is not only the tallest pyramid in the world, it is also one of the oldest, at 4500 years old. Sure, they've lost a bit of their original shine, but of the original Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, these guys are the only ones still standing. Those ancient Egyptians sure were good structural engineers.

And although we know a fair bit about the Pyramids, the Sphinx is still a mystery. No one really knows when he was built, or why. Everyone has a theory, but no one knows. Myself, I like the mystery. The Sphinx is like the Egyptian Mona Lisa. For a start, he's smaller than you think, or at least his head is, but that doesn't diminish at all the effect he has on you when you look at him. Some people believe he is even older than the pyramids, and that originally his head was a lion, recarved into the pharoah head we know today, which is why it's smaller. I believe the mystery is part of his charm.

Our final day in Cairo was spent at the pools. Our guide from the previous day very kindly let us join her and her friend at their local pool on ladies only day. Going to a swimming pool in a Muslim city is an experience all by itself. Most of the ladies still wear full bathing suits that cover their arms & legs, complete with lycra headresses. And while a lot of them are plain navy, some are patterned. We saw one woman in a full body suit that was white with bright purple stars all over. She looked kind of like an hallucinogenic giraffe.

Our Intrepid trip started the next day, and we travelled 7 hours north, to the biblical Mt Sinai, where Moses apparently was given the 10 commandments by God, so it seemed fitting that our guide was called Musa, which in Arabic, means Moses. So we were literally, lead up the mountain by Moses. You can either climb the 2285 feet the whole way, or like we did, get a camel two thirds of the way, then climb the last 750 'steps'. By 'steps', what they really mean is chunks of rock laid on top of each other, one slightly higher than the last. It really is quite beautiful when you get to the top. You're on top of a mountain in a desert, surrounded by huge mountain ranges made of red dust, as the sun sets on the horizon.

Then you climb back down again in the dark for two and a half hours, and try not to walk off a cliff.

At the base of Mt Sinai is St Catherine's Monastery. It's over 1600 years old, and apparently the oldest Christian monastery in the world. It was built on the site of the biblical Burning Bush and a descendant of the original bush still grows inside the church walls.

We left the next day and continued to an area called Nuweiba, beside the shores of the Red Sea. We stayed the night at Sawa Camp, a resort built literally on the shores of the Red Sea, with mountain ranges behind. The Sawa Camp is a simple paradise. They have amazing fresh juices and salads, which were all we felt like consuming as the temperatures had soared to 47 degree's. Our huts were very basic, but perfect. Four walls. A roof. A mattress with a mosquito net. And outside in the shade of the awning, a hammock. Me and that hammock bonded. I never wanted to get up again. But I did, because the Red Sea beckoned.

If anyone's ever been snorkling in the Red Sea, you'll know how amazing it is. I can't even describe it. Apart from the beautiful, colourful fish and coral, just leaping out of the oppressive heat and into the refreshing water is worth more than all the money in the world.

Sawa was the perfect way to say goodbye to Egypt, away from the crazy bustling & frenzied streets of Cairo to one of the quietest, prettiest places on earth. And if these first few days of our Intrepid trip are anything to go by, then there are even more amazing things to come.

Bring it on.

Transylvania, mwah ha ha...

It seems fitting that as we crossed the border into Romania, it was bang on midnight.

I know this, because although we had caught the so called 'sleeper' train from Budapest to Brasov, we were rudely awoken at 11:30, then again at midnight for passport checks. This was strange, because since we left London, we haven't had our passports stamped once, or even been asked for, any time we've entered a new country. That's an EU thing. But obviously the Romanians have their own way of doing things. In the middle of the night.

We travelled first class (of course!) but I was surprised to see the toilet shoot emptied straight onto the train tracks below. Not to mention the disconcerting breeze whipping wildly in and out when you're sitting there. I'd hate to think what the loo in second class looked like.

Like I said, Romania has its own way of doing things.

So on our first afternoon in Brasov, we wandered the streets, visited the Black Church (so called from when it once survived a town fire, but changed colour for many years due to the soot) and bought a delicious bottle of icy cold water, because it was 29 degree's and getting hotter.

While I loved the bottle of water at first (deliciously cold, didn't taste like slime) I hated it after half an hour. Because that stupid bottle of water had a teeny tiny hole in it, that slowly leaked throughout my whole bag. If it wasn't bad enough that my camera got pretty wet (although an afternoon drying out in the sun seemed to fix it) the real problem was, it totally soaked through my passport, which was still in my bag from our midnight wake up by the border controllers. Fingers crossed it gets me through the rest of the trip, I'd hate to get stranded at some border because of a leaky water bottle.

Our second day in Romania was more traumatic than the first. We'd booked the Dracula's Footsteps tour (because one of us might have a wee obsession with vampires) and we visited two castles linked to Vlad the Impaler. Vlad was Bram Stokers inspiration for Dracula, apparently, which is why it was set in Transylvania, the area he ruled in his lifetime. Word has it he was a ruthless ruler and murderer. Hence why he was known as the Impaler.

Before you ask, no, we did not meet Vlad Tepes himself as a bloodthirsty vampire, out to turn us into fledgling vamp's ourselves. No. That would have been much better. I might even have liked that.

What we got intead of a tall, dark, mysterious vampire who we were strangely drawn to, was a short, fat, sweaty so-called-guide who was really more of a kamikaze, porno, conman cum taxi driver, that repelled us.

His driving "skills" were scary, even by Romanian standards, which we heard were bad enough, but this guy was off the hook. He'd text, make phone calls and watch us in his rear vision mirror, whilst only just managing to stay on the road. And let's just say the only time he was within the speed limit, was when he started from stationary.

Suddenly my passport seemed like the least of our worries, just making it home alive was more of a concern.

But I did notice as we flew through the streets and around corners, a man cutting his lawn with a scythe. I kid you not. If we hadn't been moving at the speed of light, I'd have taken a photo.

We made it to Bran Castle, or as it is now known, Dracula's Castle. As was becoming horribly apparent, our 'guide' knew nothing about the castle or its history, and said he'd prefer to stay outside anyway, while we went in, because he'd gotten into a fight the week before with the guard at the gate and he couldn't tell us anything useful about the place. We believed him. So we went in alone, and listened to tidbits of information other 'real' tour guides were telling their groups. It seems, Vlad never lived here, and though it is beautiful, this castle has nothing to do with the Dracula myth in the slightest. They call it Dracula's Castle because they make more money that way.

Typical.

Our next stop was Poenari Castle, and this place really was Vlad's home in the 15th Century. It's in ruins now, and apparently one of the most haunted places in the world. I didn't learn this from our sweaty 'guide', cause when I told him, it was the first he'd ever heard of it. No, I found this all out online. Thanks Wiki. If you can make the climb up the 1500 steps, you do get rewarded with a spectactular view though. It's mostly just the foundations of the castle left now, and our guide started hammering into a surviving wall telling us to steal a piece, so who knows how much will be left in another year...

Then we had an almost 3 hour drive back to Brasov, and that's where he got really scary. He decided we were mates enough now to share almost everything about his life. How he stole $100,000 from his employers when he was an accountant. How he deals drugs in summer to make extra cash. How he can find anyone a hooker in Brasov, man, woman, gay, straight. How he has underground connections with all the thieves in Brasov, so to call him if our stuff got knicked and he'd get it back. And then, just to top it off, he told us all about his own sexual proclivities, and how he enjoyed cheating on his wife. Hint hint.

By the end of the trip we practically leapt out of the car, threw a wad of cash at him, and ran away like death row inmates suddenly given parole.

You don't ask questions, you just get the hell outta there.

So Romania, I think there are good things here. The landscape and scenery is beautiful. They just haven't quite figured out how to cater to the tourist quite yet though. And I think we just had the bad luck to stumble accross a grade A freak.

So will I ever come back?

No way.

Budapashed!

After 2 ho-hum cities back to back, I was starting to worry that as we headed East I wasn’t going to like the places we visited as much anymore.

But I couldn’t have been more wrong!

We arrived at night and from the very beginning I started to fall in love with Budapest. Our taxi driver didn’t rip us off. A lady on the street stopped to ask if we were okay (while we waited outside our hotel to get in) and if there was anything she could do. People here smile at you on the streets.

It was also really warm, 27-28 degree’s, although the River Danube was overflowing from the rain and floods of previous weeks. In a way, both reflect this city and its people. Warm, overflowing with kindness. Cheesy, but true.

Budapest is made up of two sides, the East of the Danube, Buda and Pest, where we stayed. They pronounce Pest like a Kiwi with a thick accent would say “pashed”. Budapashed. I love it.

We did a walking tour the first morning, and visited the Terror House in the afternoon. Its located in the building that the communist regime governed from (and meted out punishment in the basements below). We learnt the Hungarians under the communist regime were treated almost as badly as the Jews were under the Nazi’s. Concentration camps, government sanctioned murders, many thousands died. It seems the Red Army liberators quickly became power hungry subjugators.

But like Berliners, Budapestians (??!) haven’t let it get them down. They’re creative, laid back and individual. And communism only ended here in 1989.

During the 45 years the Commies were in control, they erected hundreds of statues around the city. You can tell a communist statue in the same way you can spot communist architecture. It’s huge, solid, blocky and unadorned.

Basically the statues all look like giant grey concrete Lego men.

As soon as communism ended, the first thing the people of Budapest did, was take down all the statues, and replace them with new ones. Ones that have absolutely no political message whatsoever. Just pretty statues, with no message, that make you feel good.

I like the way the Hungarians think.

What they did do however, with all the leftover communist statues, was create a gimmicky park, called Statue Park, where tourists can go to look at the once dominate symbols of the stronghold the Commies had over the city, but are now simply a tacky tourist attraction. It’s a smart way to take away the power they once represented, forever.

Touche' Budapest, nicely played.

We ventured to the local Market Hall, where our guide had assured us was the best place in town to get cheap, authentic Hungarian food. She was right. We both ordered the stuffed paprika (very popular here) which is basically a capsicum stuffed with mystery meat and rice, and served with a handful of potato cubes boiled to within an inch of their lives, and all covered in some sort of tangy tomato sauce. It was amazing. I ended up going back two more times just to eat it again. Delicious.

She also recommended we try a local ‘sweet’ called Túró Rudi, which she said was only available in Hungary (reading between the lines we gathered it wasn’t really liked anywhere else). It’s a sort of sweetened reduced cottage cheese bar covered in chocolate. You even buy it in the cheese section of the supermarket. Although we were dubious, we tried it, and again, delicious! I can’t really describe it accurately, but if you ever make it to Hungary, try it.

The last Hungarian specialty we tried was strudel. Hungarian strudel is totally different to normal strudel. Where normal strudel has lots of pastry and a small amount of fruit, Hungarian strudel has lots of fruit and a small amount of pastry. My favourite was sour cherry.

We also visited the largest synagogue in Europe, the Dohány Street Synagogue. Yawn. I've discovered synagogue’s are very boring inside. But we also visited St Stephen's Basilica, which was the exact opposite - beautiful and huge. The Catholic’s really know how to decorate. It’s a church dedicated to the first king of Hungary, St Stephen, who introduced Catholicism to Hungary in order to avoid invasion. Apparently he was canonized after his death, so they decided to dig up his body after 45 years (for some unknown reason) and discovered that though the rest of him was decomposed as you’d expect, his right hand was perfectly preserved.

So of course they cut it off and put it in a display cabinet inside the church. I saw it, and I can tell you that the thousand years since, haven’t been kind to the hand. It’s small, it’s brown and definitely not preserved anymore. More like a dried out monkey hand clutching some jewels.

The Hungarian’s are also responsible for some great inventions. The guy who invented the Rubix Cube (Erno Rubik). Hungarian. The guy who added fizz to water, creating soda water (Anyos Jedlik). Hungarian. The guy who created the simple but life changing ballpoint pen (László Bíró). Hungarian. Apparently even the word “hello” can be traced back to Hungarians. They tested the first telephone exchange system, and when they said “can you hear me?” in Hungarian, it sounded like “hello?”. Needless to say, it stuck.

And then, just when I though Budapest couldn’t get any better, I discovered something wonderful. The beer here is cheaper than water.

Europe, we have a winner.

Prague...

Walt must have been here. Must have. Because Prague is exactly like a giant version of Disneyland.

Old fashioned buildings. Castles with spires. Cobblestone streets. It's all very theatrical! Trumpeters blow their horns from every tower overlooking a square. Men and women in medieval garb hand out flyers on every corner, others stand in front of restaurants, ushering you in (or trying to). Not to mention the shops with the same mass produced crap every few metres. Marionettes of everything from Harry Potter to Obama. Postcard racks literally falling out onto the streets. Tables filled with 'Praha' stamped miniature buildings. Russian dolls of Micheal Jackson, Leonardo DiCaprio, even the All Blacks. Scarves, glasses, hats, cards, books, tee shirts everywhere, and all stamped with 'Praha'. Not to mention that the accent I heard most frequently while we were there, was American.

Praha = Disneyland.

Yup, I'm sorry to say, there was little here that was original. This town is for the tourists. And that's where it lost me.

Sure there are beautiful buildings. Row upon row of beautiful buildings, the horizon dotted with cathedral spires. Museums on every corner. A church on every other. It's beautiful... but it's boring. We had to get out of the city to see the real Czech Republic.

Which was an hour and a half's train ride out of Prague, in a small town called Kutna Hora.

The hysterically ramshackle Torture Museum in Kutna Hora told us tales of murder & espionage. Prostitutes & witches. We saw iron maidens and spikey chairs, medieval nipple clamps and wooden spikes (for interrogation) that though accompanied with some pretty funny 'Engrish' signage, did give us a taste of the macabre history of this town.

And no where was this more apparent than at the Sedlec Ossuary. I had been wanting to come here since before our trip began, because the small Church of All Saints is famous for one thing. Apparently in 14th century, when the Plague hit, the church graveyard became so full, the priests decided to start using the bones of the people to decorate the church. Yup. There's a huge bone chandelier, skull candelabra's, shields, decorations & four huge skull pyramids.

It's macabre, but beautiful. The ghoulish delight I had for the Paris Catacombs was nothing compared to this.

So of course, I took about 500 photo's.

We also visited the St Barbara's Church nearby that has some of the most beautiful spires and stained glass windows we've seen yet.

So while we might be the only 2 people in the world who didn't fall in love with Prague, we definitely fell in love with Kutna Hora.

On a side note, if you travel through a country by train, but don't stop, can you still claim to have been there? If so, we have now also been to Austria & Slovakia on our way to Hungary. We really are starting to clock up some countries now.

Roll on the East.

Poland...

Poznan.

This was our first stop in Poland because Sarah's ancestors are from here. It's the fifth largest city in Poland. Which pretty much means it's Tauranga.

We only spent one night here, because in truth, there ain't much to do in Poznan. We had a lot of trouble trying to find our hotel when we arrived. Mostly because it wasn't actually a hotel, it was an art gallery. Turns out the owner has converted a couple of rooms in the gallery, to make some extra cash. For a while I was certain we were going to be murdered in our sleep, but it was actually an okay place to stay in the end. Albeit with some bad art work on the walls.

Just like a real hotel.

The Old Town Square was the best part of Poznan. The buildings are all happily painted and bar after bar line the cobblestone streets. We got a really delicious dinner at one of the local pubs, and some slightly less delicious, but very Polish dumplings. They call them pierogi. The meat ones taste a bit like dog food. Those were my favourites.

The next day we trained to Krakow, and 8 hour train trip that saw us befriend a very cute Spanish couple, and maybe send them to the wrong destination (whoops) and almost get into a fight with a couple of train conductors.

All in all, smooth sailing, and to be honest, I was just happy to have survived the night. Farewell Poznan, I will never see you again.

Next stop Krakow. Or as I've come to know her, Crack-Whore. To be honest, she's not so dissimilar from one. She's grey. She's dirty. She's falling apart.

It's almost like WWII only just ended. Unlike Poznan, the buildings here are dirty, blackened and seem like they've just been bombed. They're decrepit with missing chunks of concrete. Grey concrete. Because the paint wore off a long time ago, and it seems no one can be bothered repainting. I think communism did little for Krakow, except maintain a level of poorness that it struggles to recover from.

We discovered, when we did the Wieliczka Salt Mine tour, that Poland was once rich, very rich. Not from gold, or diamonds, or anything pretty & beautiful like that. No, Poland was rich from salt. You heard me. And if you've ever been into an underground salt mine, you'll know it's grey. And cold. Like concrete.

Makes sense really.

We also visited the 2 closest concentration camps to Krakow, and also quite possibly, the 2 worst of the Holocaust. Auschwitz & Birkenau. The first thing that hit me, shocked me, about Auschwitz when we arrived, was that it looked more like a holiday camp than a concentration camp. The row upon row of brick & tile barracks surrounded by cobblestone streets and lush lawns and tree's, disguise the horror of what went on here. In truth, the God-awful fucked up shit that happened here, made me ashamed to be part of the human race. We can be evil creatures sometimes.

Birkenau was similar, like a huge township of Stepford barracks, yet Birkenau was worse than Auschwitz for the sheer number of people killed here. Our tour lasted 6 hours, by the end of which, I was starting to feel pretty sick. It started raining as we were leaving, which seemed apt. Like the sky was crying over the place where so many people lost their lives.

But it wasn't all doom & gloom in Krakow. One of the things that made me laugh a lot, on a daily basis, was the huge number of middle aged men who wore high waisted jeans. They yanked them up so high, with tee shirts tucked in, that it didn't leave a lot to the imagination. It was awful, like a car crash. I couldn't bare to look, but couldn't look away.

Horrible.

Also, if you ever feel like a refreshing apple juice in Poland, whatever you do, DO NOT BUY ONE. Why I hear you ask? Sure, apple juice seems innocent enough, until you take a swig and realise that it's common here to have mint in apple juice. It basically tastes like apple toothpaste in a bottle.

Horrible.

Also, they drink beer here with straws. With straws! My beer kept arriving with straws, and I kept whipping them out. I was even asked if I wanted fruit syrup added to my beer!

Horrible.

And that's not the meanest thing they do to beer here. If you want, you can get a hot beer. That's right, you heard me. Boiled beer.

No thanks Poland, that's all yours. With a straw.