tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81045848427466154222011-11-28T13:39:46.041+13:00I love travelling, a present from my father. Forty-five countries later I got bogged down a little in New Zealand. After two kids and nearly twenty years away from Europe it's time to go back.. but I can't resist adding a couple of new countries.. (Use the links on the right for chronological ease, or start at the bottom.)Gordon Bennettnoreply@blogger.comBlogger251100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8104584842746615422.post-40243706169422642072007-08-28T21:16:00.000+12:002007-08-29T00:36:17.042+12:00

I'd allowed 10 hours for the trip to Bristol - 2 from Paris to Calais, 2 to Dover, 2 to London, 2 to Bristol and 2 for odd delays. That meant that the 9am start should approximate a 7pm finish.With no alarm it was always a bit of a gamble as to whether I would wake in time, but my eyes opened at 7.30am and I grabbed my pre-packed bags and went down to sign out and grab a coffee from the vending

Gordon Bennettnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8104584842746615422.post-80981605636764513002007-08-27T10:26:00.001+12:002007-08-27T10:55:16.892+12:00

Gordon Bennettnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8104584842746615422.post-12092243682749114212007-08-27T04:52:00.000+12:002007-08-27T10:26:17.940+12:00

Gordon Bennettnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8104584842746615422.post-56280681033282061342007-08-27T04:48:00.000+12:002007-08-29T00:18:53.213+12:00

You might have wondered why there were no pictures, and why the updates were so sporadic. The truth is that internet access has its problems abroad:New Zealand. Wow! Free use of the internet and not even hidden behind check-in. Upstairs there are some consoles (two out of three were working) but you can’t install any software or plug in cameras and the like. Which is pretty sensible.Brisbane. If

Gordon Bennettnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8104584842746615422.post-35687881668891376702007-08-16T21:52:00.001+12:002007-08-26T06:50:50.677+12:00

“I’m not going gay” I was in a dormitory of four beds and was in the bathroom preparing for a shower. No locks, so the young Japanese caught an eyeful as he retrieved his towel. The sight of me naked is unlikely to turn any guy gay. Celibate, sure. Hysterically blind, maybe. What a start to the day.I was heading for Les Halles and the Pompidou Centre. Both had been substantially altered in the

Gordon Bennettnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8104584842746615422.post-22130769795597210192007-08-16T11:06:00.001+12:002007-08-26T07:07:25.751+12:00

My foot felt a lot better for having drained the blister. In the end, after fluffing about with the sharp bit on the clasp of my watchstrap I had simply jammed my fingernails into the flesh and ripped it apart. Messy but effective.I walked to the nearby market. It’s not often that I’m up before all the market stalls are, but this was one time.Two blocks and a square were given over to vegetables,

Gordon Bennettnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8104584842746615422.post-57194350207464519212007-08-16T04:12:00.000+12:002007-08-25T21:14:20.717+12:00

Limping back to the Gare de Lyon, minus my rucksack, I breakfasted and settled on a sit-down in the Tuileries, a park near the Louvre. Quite why then I rode past to the Louvre I don't know.The Metro station lets you up past shops and the inverted glass pyramid that Da Vinci Code aficionados will recognise. It is not, as I imagined, an extension of the one above, that one hovers over the huge

Gordon Bennettnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8104584842746615422.post-11705267321784393322007-08-13T07:51:00.000+12:002007-08-25T21:15:52.479+12:00

The student bus dropped us off at 7am on a nondescript street in eastern Paris. It was cool, overcast and I was wearing shorts, a T-shirt and jandals. My legs and feet were swollen and my left foot so covered in blisters that it felt like a grumpy hedgehog had been surgically implanted under the skin. I'd had two hours sleep, thanks to a passport check and two 'courtesy stops' and now I had

Gordon Bennettnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8104584842746615422.post-88120498357219040922007-08-12T09:30:00.000+12:002007-08-25T21:05:55.261+12:00

My throat was sore again, probably aided by a good snore. My room-mate was in no condition to complain, he had come in drunk sometime in the wee hours and quickly gone to bed; he emerged at 1.30pm.I wrote up notes and typed up blog entries, but I had a hangover and needed coffee.They had changed the guard at the concierge’s station, a cupboard of a room containing a small bed, mini fridge, 14” TV

Gordon Bennettnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8104584842746615422.post-73474123413171814512007-08-09T01:13:00.000+12:002007-08-25T21:02:52.284+12:00

Budapest's Keleti station is the kind of station that train-spotters love and other stations aspire to. It is huge in the way that all good termini used to be before they got all modern and clever.At one end is a giant window that would grace a cathedral. Down each side a jumble of stalls and shops sell kebabs, here called gyros, unbelievably creamy-looking ice-creams, tickets, newspapers,

Gordon Bennettnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8104584842746615422.post-27579307088919686982007-08-09T01:11:00.000+12:002007-08-25T20:59:20.545+12:00

Hungary welcomed us with immediate delays. We sat and watched goldfinches bathe in the puddle of a leaky pipe for thirty minutes.When we moved it was into a very different country. New roads were under construction, new houses, even new railway track was being laid. Pylons waited empty for cables to be slung, factories had new roofs, cars and trucks were busier, cleaner, newer. Graffiti sprung up

Gordon Bennettnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8104584842746615422.post-65843987174978922602007-08-09T01:02:00.000+12:002007-08-26T04:07:32.643+12:00

I felt a bit of a cheat leaving Romania immediately but the truth is I could never stay there long.Travelling alone is always a series of gambles with calm periods amongst the storms. Go with the wrong guy to change money, find a cheap hotel or an internet cafe and you could lose more than your shirt. The result of knowing this is that you are always on your guard – for the guy slipping up to the

Gordon Bennettnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8104584842746615422.post-53663577549948922842007-08-04T22:43:00.000+12:002007-08-25T20:51:21.079+12:00

I was pounced on almost immediately by a stocky guy with ID hung around his neck, although even a cursory examination revealed it to be nth generation photocopies. I asked where the train would go from as even the ticket lady hadn't known."Probably 10, but check later"Where could I find a phone? He pulled his cell phone out offered me its use. I had to get in touch with Jan: I needed to let him

Gordon Bennettnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8104584842746615422.post-63353284410805884352007-08-04T09:03:00.001+12:002007-08-25T20:46:11.764+12:00

Gara de Nord, the hub of the Romanian railway system and my way out. I had to stay somewhere that night; it might as well be on a train. And if it was it would have to be somewhere on the way to Hungary. Beyond those criteria I didn't much care.I asked the ticket clerk about Brasov. It was 7.30pm: I'd just missed it. She pointed at the screen. The next one got in around midnight. I made her give

Gordon Bennettnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8104584842746615422.post-54847036196438397962007-08-04T07:47:00.000+12:002007-08-25T20:42:31.802+12:00

I have to admit to being a bit apprehensive. My plans for Bucharest could be seen as either magnificently malleable or insanely non-existent depending on your point of view. My own view had hovered around before coming firmly to rest in the latter camp.As we landed at what was clearly an afterthought of an airport, I barely suppressed the murmured thought "Fuck me, I'm in a field in Romania." Now

Gordon Bennettnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8104584842746615422.post-39636060702988972472007-08-04T07:43:00.001+12:002007-08-25T20:39:51.320+12:00

With sleep snatching away the hours dawn soon came - we were over Greece. Soon the English Channel was underfoot and the patchwork of Kent gave way to the first truly indisputable landmark: the Millennium Dome. Not so useless after all.A few circuits later we touched down. Six in the morning on an overcast Heathrow day. After twenty years away I was back. After twenty years of increasingly

Gordon Bennettnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8104584842746615422.post-83088998309888335332007-08-02T19:23:00.000+12:002007-09-04T15:08:18.239+12:00

The new seat allocations meant I now had someone better for a neighbour - no-one - although I couldn't sit closer to the repaired engine if I wanted and the smell of petrol fumes as we taxied was a little disconcerting.For the third time the prayers came up and for the third time I wondered how appropriate was the line "and to our God surely we must return."In the blackness we flew to Vietnam,

Gordon Bennettnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8104584842746615422.post-60098022944217625242007-08-01T22:24:00.000+12:002007-09-04T15:02:09.825+12:00

Brunei.Somewhere deep in the recesses of 40+ year-old memories something stirs as we fly into Brunei over brown rivers and jungle.We are here to transfer planes - hopefully not to the one I saw which had its engine in bits..Oh, God! Squat toilets. Now the memories are complete.Brisbane was everything I expected it to be: hot, dry and unattractive.After the flutter with my passport I decided to

Gordon Bennettnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8104584842746615422.post-25078208856200956382007-08-01T22:10:00.000+12:002007-08-25T20:33:25.906+12:00

"Will passenger blah blah blah please report to the departure gate. Will passenger blah blah blah please report to the departure gate". At least that is how I usually hear these announcements. But this time it was my name that was being called. I'd been caught!I should have waited until the last leg to pinch the Royal Brunei spoon to add to my collection of pilfered airline cutlery. My clumsy

Gordon Bennettnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8104584842746615422.post-51000764432420598752007-08-01T08:26:00.000+12:002007-08-25T20:31:38.974+12:00

There's probably not a better way to see a city than under moonlight, twinkling in the predawn light, sea flat and milky.I felt no panic, despite the dream.. unless you count the horror I felt when I realised I hadn't got my passport. Last minute packing does that, and getting my passport is not something I do too often.Watching the passengers I saw a man with half an ear bump his head into the

Gordon Bennettnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8104584842746615422.post-19994470851867579932007-08-01T08:23:00.000+12:002007-08-25T20:30:22.032+12:00

I was in free fall, talking to a guy with a parachute, wondering why I decided to plunge to my death."Well," he said," you bought the ticket. And indeed I had, a ticket to jump out of a plane without a parachute. I flashed back two days to before the purchase. Easy, I wouldn't buy it.Then I woke up.Not a good dream to have two days before you fly.

Gordon Bennettnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8104584842746615422.post-48630400018869511832007-07-31T21:59:00.000+12:002007-08-25T20:29:29.997+12:00

Well, the idea is to land in Bucharest and head north to Brasov and then NW to Oradea - either that or W to Timisoara - whichever gets me to Budapest. Hitch, train or pray.. finding myself in Romania at night with no local currency, language skills or reservations, what could go wrong? Na, I've been in worse spots (1983, Tehran during Army Week, with no money, no language skills, no maps, no

Gordon Bennettnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8104584842746615422.post-41008856059181044942007-07-25T09:19:00.000+12:002007-08-25T20:28:09.783+12:00

Buried under a mountain of paperwork I see the deadline approaching.Jan, bless him, phoned up after my last message and earnestly advised me of the staggeringly high mortality ate amongst single foreign travellers. Romania's little secret. Well, you've got to go sometime, somewhere (isn't that a song?).I am now giving half a thought to packing. On a 2 month trip to Asia I once took just carry-on

Gordon Bennettnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8104584842746615422.post-76868846583497476232007-07-21T13:04:00.000+12:002007-08-25T20:25:04.431+12:00

Seems Jan isn't quite the action hero I thought he was..Mike. You are crazy. The moral in Romania is zero, Police is not working at all, you can be killed for 10 $. Mike you need 3 days for Prague and 3 days for Mountains. Remember they are stealing via train windows. Other system is a 3-6 gypsies make a circle and take a knife on you, sorry don’t be idiot. Muslims have better moral then

Gordon Bennettnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8104584842746615422.post-84092504308257227422007-06-25T00:40:00.000+12:002007-08-25T20:23:14.210+12:00

Europe has changed.So everyone says.I wonder whether what I want to see when I get back is more my youth than the Europe of my youth. Probably won't get either, so a diversion is called for..In New Zealand I have a good friend, Jan. He is annoying, loud, opinionated and always critical. He has an MSc from the Czech Republic (possibly the University of Weetbix) and absolutely no common sense

Gordon Bennettnoreply@blogger.com0