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Working out how long we could travel in Europe
On reflection, I feel that we could have maybe stayed in Portugal a little longer. As with all of this year of adventure, we don’t really know what our plans are one week to the next. And so it was with Portugal. We did debate starting our Portuguese trip in the Algarve, and thought better of it. Travelling up from Lisbon to Porto, I had looked at Coimbra as a place to visit. It appealed. Yet, we bypassed it.
There was one country we knew we wouldn’t bypass. A country that was up near the top of our “must visit” list when we left home in Perth back in June. And perhaps we fixated on this a little too much and overlooked other towns in Portugal that we could have visited.
That said, getting to Croatia was easier said than done. Our only route in from Porto was to have a hop in Barcelona. So, that’s what we did. Flying in to Josep Tarradellas Barcelona–El Prat Airport, we had two nights in Catalonia before heading across the Adriatic.
Barcelona bound
Barcelona is a city I’ve visited a couple of times previously. And had great memories. Who can forget THAT night in May 1999?
“Football, bloody hell.”
This time, dare I say it, it didn’t impress as much as I’d hoped. With the benefit of reflection in the intervening couple of weeks, I’m now wondering whether this is because we had already travelled through Spain, and we had seen some beautiful towns and cities? Compared with the orange tree lined streets of Seville, Las Ramblas just looked, well, decidedly shabby.
Travel choices
Either way, we played the tourist for a couple of days before our alarm clock woke us at 3.10am for our taxi to the airport. Travelling on a budget sharpens the senses and given a choice between a 6am flight out of the country that is a few hundred dollars cheaper than the one that flies at a more convenient time, the choice is simple.
And so, we found ourselves, a little bleary eyed, on the early Vueling flight from Barcelona to Split. We were finally headed to Croatia.
On departure from Barcelona, we had a plan to “get around” the 90/180 days in the Schengen region*. You see, we were leaving the EU to enter Croatia. To avoid giving away how many of our 90 days we had used up in the EU we would switch to our UK passport.
Alas, we were foiled. The immigration officer at Barcelona looked confused as he flipped through the pages of our passport. Obviously looking for the tell-tale entry stamp, which would allow him to check we hadn’t over stayed our welcome.
The thing was, there was no entry stamp. It was sitting in our Australian passports.
“You have another passport?”, he barked.
Sheepishly, we dug out our Australian passports, and he found our entry details, before heavily stamping our departure. We had used up 44 of our allocated 90 days in the 180 day period. 46 remain and thankfully Croatia is not classed in the EU, so the clock stops ticking.
For now.
*90/180 Day Rule
As a traveller, you are permitted to travel through the EU for 90 days in a continuous 180 day period. Three months from six. For every day you are in a Schengen country, you use a day of your allowance. Once up to 90 days, you then have to leave and can not return until another 90 days have elapsed.
We got up to 44 days before we “stopped the clock” heading into Croatia. When we next re-enter a country in the Schengen region, our clock starts again and we have the remaining 46 days to use before we need to leave again.
Simple, eh?
Up next
What we hope will be a lot simpler is Croatia. Our plan is to bob around, island hopping for a few weeks, soaking up the late summer/autumn sun. Keep an eye out for the next instalment.
Cruising to New York
Were the European xmas markets as good as we expected?
The last time we spoke I was extolling the virtues of Austria. Such a beautiful country, and it felt even more special having the opportunity to visit through the festive period. I have read a lot about the Xmas markets in Europe, and from Switzerland, through to Austria, they lived up to all our expectations.
It was also as cold as we expected. Knowing this, we hadn’t committed to still being in Europe over Xmas and my birthday. Packing in Australia, for an extended world trip, our options were limited. There is only so much you can fit into a 55 litre bag. This resulted in us surviving the European wintry conditions by wearing many layers, and the only footwear we had available, which were trainers.
Europe did not disappoint
Europe was excellent. Right from the get go. We landed in the UK in July and enjoyed a rather unprecedented warm summer. We caught up with family and friends. I even got a side trip to Dublin to keep the “annual lads trip” tradition going, even if it is somewhat more erratic than annual. Now, it was time to say goodbye to Europe, with a final swansong back in Lisbon. We had a boat to catch. We were headed to New York City.
Start spreading the news
You heard that right. We were going to take a 9 day cruise to NYC. Our first cruise. Ever. And something that definitely was not in plan until a week or so before we booked it. Looking at options for flights, and when we wanted to be in New York, a slow cruise across the Atlantic Ocean, with planned stops in the Azores and Bermuda sounded like a great experience. Yes, we had always said we didn’t want to do a cruise, but life throws opportunities that sometimes you just have to grab. A discounted cruise across the ocean was one such opportunity. Coupled with lower carbon emissions, had we flown, was a bonus.
An “Epic” adventure
This is how we found ourselves leaving Lisbon onboard the Norwegian Cruise Line’s “Epic”. A huge ship that was being repatriated back to the US, after cruising the Meditteranen for the summer. She sails back across the Atlantic to spend the winter sailing between New York and Puerto Rico. With a capacity of 4000 guests, there were approx 2000 other passengers that joined us for the crossing. A crossing that just got a little more monotonous even as we boarded. It turned out there was a strike in Lisbon that day which meant that we could not leave until 2am the day after. The knock on effect of this was that we would no longer have time to dock at The Azores.
Exploring the boat
One stop cancelled, with just the Bermuda one remaining. How we would relish arriving in Bermuda for an opportunity to stretch our legs on dry land. Until then, we had to settle into our cabin, and get familiar with where things were. Starting on the top deck, 15, and working our way down.
As part of our package we had food and drinks included. All inclusive. A concept that is still relatively new to me. I had done it once, on safari in Africa, and I still marvel at the fact I can just rock up to the bar and order a drink without paying. This is how we started the cruise. Finding O’Sheehans Bar and Grill, which is where we watched the World Cup unfold, and ordering a pint of beer each. We sat at the bar, trying to get our heads around how we would fill 9 days at sea.
Life at sea finds its routine
Soon, days took on a familar pattern. A great breakfast, during which I predicictably ate too much. A stroll through the casino and onto the library to pick up our daily crossword and sudoku. An Irish coffee at O’Sheehans. An hour in the gym, trying not to get thrown off the treadmill as the boat see sawed through the large waves of the Atlantic. Another walk through the boat, people watching, which, by the way, could be a full time activity on a cruise. Watching them at one of the many “exciting” offerings on the boat was hilarious. People rushed to join in line dancing lessons. Napkin folding classes. And even fruit carving demonstrations.
We bypassed the fruit carving, but definitely not lunch. There were a multitude of restauramts to choose from, all very good. Food was a highlight of the cruise. It was excellent. From the option of a buffet, offering most foods you could think of, to a la carte restaurants that were included in our ticket. I even had quite possibly the biggest lasagne in the world.
On World Cup days we had matches to watch at 3pm and 7pm. This was before we hit a run of clock changes. For the last five days we had to change our clocks back one hour each night. This was so that by the time we reached NYC we were on the same time zone. On the few days that there was no football on, we either spent time reading or went ten pin bowling. Like trying to stay on the treadmill as the boat roiled in the waves, bowling had its own challenges. You may think you have bowled a strike, until half way down, the boat rolls, and your ball ends up in the side gutter. Let me tell you, it made for a very low scoring game.
Bermuda, blocked
Each evening, when we returned to the cabin, we had a “Day at sea” itinerary. We were excitingly going to be docking in Bermuda on day 7. Except, we didn’t. The evening before, the tannoy cackled with the voice of the captain. The first time we had heard from him. This couldn’t be good.
And it wasn’t. Due to the rough crossing, and bad weather, we were unable to dock at Bermuda. Very sorry, blah, blah, blah, but we were now going to go the whole way to NYC without touching dry land. A long 9 days. This was sweetened, slightly, with every guest receiving $200 credit to use on the boat. Vik took the opportunity to get a manicure. With my nails already in excellent condition I bought a bottle of single malt whisky.
Sailing up the Hudson
Our experience of crossing the Atlantic turned out to be long, and memorable. Some days, when I couldn’t stand up straight as I was walking to dinner, I cursed the day we boarded. Other days, sipping my regular whisky nightcaps, I marvelled at the simplicity of it all. The routine. The confines of the boat. The same faces, day after day. There is comfort in routine, and for the last nine days we hadn’t had to find a hotel, book a train, or search high and low for a good evening meal.
So, as we woke on that final morning, with views of New York City, we asked each other, “would you do another cruise?”
“Absolutely not”, we both replied. But then, as the last week has shown us, life has a funny way of turning out. And, I do love an Irish coffee.
Switzerland, continued…
Between the lakes
Between the lakes. Quite literally. We were staying at the Swiss town of Interlaken, nestled between the lakes Thun and Brienz. And we could not have had a smoother travel day. Often, when we look at where to sleep we need to consider our mode of transport. Where we will arrive in a place. For much of Europe we have travelled by train, as we did today, and the Hotel Merkur was literally across the street from the station.
The hotel lottery
We spend a lot of time trying to find accommodation. It is exhausting. Looking for somewhere that is not a hovel, yet always trying to find the cheapest deal. With the Hotel Merkur I wasn’t sure what to expect. Google reviews are our first point of reference, and various travellers had given, let’s say, less than positive reviews. Resulting in an overall Google review score of 3.5, the lowest we had dared to book to date.
Would we be met by the same “surly receptionist”? Will breakfast “underwhelm us” as it had done other travellers? As we disembarked the 12.04 train from Bern, and I spotted the unassuming hotel across the street, I steeled myself.
Despite being early, before the very strict 3pm check in time that Swiss hotels adhere to, we were met with a friendly face and a kind offer to watch our bags so we could explore the town ahead of the room being ready.
Yes, the cows really do wear bells
Interlaken is a small town, very popular with what the guide books describe as “adrenalin junkies”. And immediately, looking up to the skies, you can see some of them, slowly floating back to earth in a tandem paraglide. This became a very common sight over the two days that we were there. A never ending stream of paragliders, coming down between the mountains, and landing in the field populated by cows. Cows that by now were ambivalent to the tourists landing nearby and taking selfies, to prove their achievement. The bells around the cows’ necks ringing as they nonchalantly chewed grass and no doubt wondering what all the fuss was about.
Impressive Interlaken
It is easy to see why Interlaken is such a draw for tourists. Very small, and ringed by impressive, snow capped mountains. If paragliding is not your thing, you can also go kayaking, hike the mountains, and even take a trip to the famed Jungfrau. The highest train station in Europe.
On our second morning we did something that got our own adrenaline going. We headed to the “Top of Interlaken”, via the steepest, and highest funicular we have ever been on. Harder Bahn is the funicular that takes you, almost vertically, up the mountain, to Harder Kulm, some 1323 meters above sea level.
And the views are spectacular, looking across both the lakes, with Interlaken, tiny, nestled between the two. Even more impressive were the two walkers that appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, having trekked up the mountain on foot. Thankfully, there was a warm restaurant at the summit that we could get a beer and toast their achievements.
Zurich
For our last stop in Switzerland, we were back on the train. We were to spend three nights in Zurich, a place we were both really looking forward to visiting. It was in Zurich that we really got to start experiencing the xmas markets that Europe is famous for. Scattered all over the city, we were never far from a bratwurst and a gluhwein. It turns out that we weren’t very far from a B list celebrity. Vicky Pattison, of one time Geordie Shore fame managed to photobomb a picture of Victoria as she explored the xmas markets of Zurich. She really was “balls deep in Bratwurst” as she had promised on her Instagram feed.
Zurich is a fabulous city. Sat on the Limatt river, which cuts through the old town, it also is home to the largest clock face in Europe. A fact I had learned from an American tourist. St Peter’s church has a clock face in excess of 8 metres in diameter, putting Big Ben firmly in the shade. Strolling through the old town, we headed to a cafe to stave off the cold. We had our sights set on another great Swiss hot chocolate, incomparable with many of the poor imitators you may have had elsewhere.
Xmas decorations
As the temperatures dropped, and the light started fading, we were drawn back to the gluhwein. Our new “cost of living” indicator. Immediately, the 6.90CHF (Swiss francs) became our new benchmark. I learned that gluhwein typically is 10% volume. Stronger than I thought. And this could explain that the more of it Victoria drank, the more she wanted to purchase xmas decorations. A tradition that started way back when we were in Dubrovnik, Croatia , picking up a xmas decoration for home has become a regular occurence. We are currently up to three with many more xmas markets to come. I fear we will need to buy a bigger bag..
Raclette, a game changer
Having spent money on luxury items such as hot chocolates, we had little left for dinners. This resulted in a few days of living on xmas market food. The highlight of which was my raclette burger. If you have never had raclette, which is very strong, very pungent, melted Swiss cheese, then you need to fix this. Quick. It is life changing. And scraped from the raclette tin, onto the pink pattie of a burger is one of life’s pleasures.
Time to bid farewell to Switzerland
This was our first visit to Switzerland, and we already know that one day we will return. Yes, it is blooming expensive. So expensive. Not the kind of country a traveller can spend much time in. So, in the future, we will return, with money in our pocket and have more than one of those decadent hot chocolates. For now, we have a train booked for the morning. We are leaving Switzerland and off to country number 15 since we left Perth way back in June.
Our first foray into Austria will be to Innsbruck.
Should I put the iron away and travel?
I have loved travel for most of my life. And when I say travel, I don’t mean holidays. (Although, I do bloody love holidays). I mean what I would call real travel. Not cocooned in some 5 star hotel, plumping my pillows, and bedding down in Egyptian cotton sheets of the highest quality thread count, whilst the locals can’t afford food and drink, let alone shelter. Not soothed by air conditioning when the locals live in temperatures that could cook an egg.
And not visiting a place, to stay imprisoned within the confines of a resort, owned by an overseas conglomerate, never to venture outside, to interact with the locals. No. I want to sample some amazing street food. I want to smell the spices. I want to be visually bombarded with colour, and activity. I want to contribute to the local economy, not the faceless one.
When people tell me they have been to a certain country, when in fact they never left their international hotel resort drives me mad. If you are going to visit a country, visit that country, its people, and its customs. India is not best seen through the windows of your air-conditioned tour bus. You won’t see some of Mexico’s best temples, from early civilisation, from your lounger in a US run holiday resort. And the UK is not best seen from an open top bus in London. Whilst I’m on that point, no open top bus is probably good advice, knowing the English weather.
The amount of people I talk to here who tell me they went to the UK and loved London. The end. The whole of the UK, and they loved London. If I had a Bitcoin for every time somebody here asked me “when do you fly to London” whenever I visit the UK, I still wouldn’t understand Bitcoin. But I would have a lot of them. By the way, I blatantly stole that one, so if you are reading this, over your freshly baked focaccia with smashed avo, I do heartily apologise. The blank stares I get when I ask people what they thought of the Lake District, the beautiful Cornish coastline, or the wonders of Edinburgh and Glasgow, confounds me.
One of the greatest travel writers, Paul Theroux, said “tourists don’t know where they have been, travellers don’t know where they are going.” And that encapsulates the feeling, and the joy of travel. Waking up one day, not knowing where you will be going to bed. The unbridled freedom this gives. Backpacking. Independent travel. Whatever label we want to give to it, it is about immersing yourself in a country, and a culture. Find your favourite local bakery. Your favourite spot for morning coffee. Order it in the local language. OK, I admit this could be difficult in Scotland. Laugh along when you get it completely wrong. Walk the streets, smell the smells. Listen to the cacophony of sounds. See what the locals do. Just sit and people watch. Let your mind wander. A form of meditation. Be present.
This is the travel that I have in my heart. What I yearn for most days. Trapped in an office, earning the money to be able to escape the office, and go off and do these things feels like a Faustian pact. Modern life has a way of keeping you in chains. To enjoy a lot of the things that we want to enjoy, we need money. And so we sell our services, to the highest bidder. A roaming troubadour. A means to an end.
And this is where our life conditioning comes in again. We are told that we need to work hard, save lots of money in our superannuation, or pension, and then, when we reach retirement age, which seems to keep creeping inexorably up, we can take that money and “enjoy” life. And I have seen how that works out for a lot of people. My own father amongst them. His dream was to retire and move to Spain. A very modest dream. And that man worked harder than anybody I have ever known. But he never got to live out his dream. Cancer took his dream away.
I read of people who strive every day, struggle every day, ticking off the days to retirement. Then retirement comes along, and they are suddenly struck down with a fatal heart attack.
OK, OK, I know I have being a little morbid. And a trifle dramatic. I am not naive enough to think this happens everyone. Lots of people do get to retire, and go off and do the things they have dreamt about all their hard-working life. But is it worth taking the chance? Every day I bottle up all these feelings. Keep the lid on them. Do a job that I feel trapped in. Office bound.
That I am doing this until some arbitrary date in the future seems pointless. I have money in the bank. And I have my health and fitness. For now. I have to admit, my knees give me cause for concern most mornings. So why am I not off travelling? Living the life I would prefer to live. Tipping the scales so that the balance is in favour of travel, and less so on work. There are places in the world I am desperate to see. Why am I still ironing shirts for work on Sunday afternoons, and not packing my bags?
Only I can answer that.
Hunter Valley wine tour with Kangarrific Tours