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Cuba Part 1: Havana & Viñales

Arriving from Panama at José Martí International Airport in Havana we were met before immigration by an official looking woman in uniform who ushered us through the Diplomatic Lane and then into a VIP lounge where we awaited the arrival of our luggage. Our bags were collected, and we were ushered through customs and surprisingly through a full security check then out into the arrivals area where we were met by a smiling representative of Cuba Travel Network, the travel company we arranged our itinerary through and who was responsible for the rather grand welcome. He heartily welcomed us to Cuba and handed over our goodie bag including 100 CUC (Cuban convertible currency), perfume for me, a map of Havana and an internet card. He then took us to the taxi and wished us well before we were whisked off towards Havana city.

 

On the way from the airport we passed horse drawn traps on the highway, lots of white Ladas and Muscovy’s and the first of many classic 1950’s American cars. We had stepped back in time.

 

As we entered the city the streets were lined with colourful multi-storey concrete buildings from a by-gone era, crumbling before our eyes. The streets were filled with people, many spilling out into the road waiting for public transport.

 

We were now in central Havana and the white granite dome of El Capitolio loomed in front of us. Almost a replica of the Capital Building in Washington DC, this majestic building was the home of Cuban congress until the revolution in 1959. The massive dome is encased in scaffolding as after being abandoned for decades restoration is underway again with the intention of once again housing congress in it.

 

As we approached, our silent taxi driver suddenly burst into an animated spiel, hands gesturing at the El Capitolio and towards the square in front of us lined with exquisite 19th century buildings. He was speaking English, but we didn’t understand a word he said. From the broad smile and excited tone we assumed he was spouting the virtues of his home city and we imagine he was wishing us a wonderful stay. He pulled up outside our destination, Hotel Inglaterra, a colonial style building sitting next to the ornate 19th century Great Theatre of Havana on the edge of the central square. It was bustling with life. A band played on the front veranda, every table was full, and the doorman was kept busy as a steady stream of people came and went. Inside we stepped back into colonial times: ornate tiled ceilings and walls, heavy wooden desks and doors and colonial cane furniture. It was beautiful. We were met by an officious woman who told us that unfortunately there had been a problem with our booking, and we would need to stay in another hotel tonight, but not to worry it was only two doors down and was much nicer. Before we had a chance to ask why, she was briskly escorting us 50 metres down the street and delivering us to the reception of the other hotel. What a difference. It was deathly quiet and had an odd faux-antiquity interior. Upstairs there was black mould on the hallway ceilings, water marks on the carpet, and our room smelt damp and musty. Oh well, it was only for one night and we were here to explore not sit in our room.

 

It was late afternoon by this stage, and we headed off down Paseo del Prado, a tree-lined mosaic-tiled promenade leading from our hotel to the sea. Shabby and colourful colonial townhouses, many housing restaurant and bars, skirted the street. Down on the water front people were fishing, playing music, and just hanging out.

 

Havana is protected from the force of tropical storms by an 8km long sea wall come esplanade called the Malecon. We were told later that the Malecon is the longest bar in the world as the people of Havana come here in droves in the evenings to dance, sing and of course drink rum. Standing at the beginning of the Malecon, at the mouth of the harbour, is a 16th century Spanish fort. In a by-gone era it guarded the entrance along with its contemporary Castillo Morra sitting on the point across the channel. Now it welcomes cruise ships to Cuba. We sat a while, enjoying the surrounds and watching classic car after classic car cruise by filled with smiling tourists taking selfies.

 

We walked back through a park where an impressive equestrian monument pays homage to General Maximo Gomez, a Cuban hero of the 19th century; past the Spanish Embassy where a party was in full swing on the rooftop; through another expansive tiled square with yet another monument and an enormous Cuban flag flying high; past the relics of the old city wall; stopping for a photo by the tank that Castro piloted to shoot at the US Houston during America’s failed Bay of Pigs invasion, now sitting in front of a former palace housing the Museum of the Revolution; and finally finding our way back to Parque Central.

 

Just across from our hotel we found a quaint restaurant with a rooftop terrace and had grilled fish skewers cooked in front of us on the outdoor grill, and a rum too. Like in every restaurant and bar in Havana, a live band played.

View from our hotel across Parque Centrale
Buildings on Paseo del Prado
Paseo del Prado
The Malecon
Fidel Castro’s Tank
Classic Cars
19th century building
El Capitolio
Great Theatre of Havana

The next morning we checked out of the mouldy hotel and walked the 50 metres back to Hotel Inglaterra where we met another representative from Cuba Travel Network who went through our itinerary with us and introduced us to our guide Anton who would take us on a 3-hour city tour, the first 2 in a classic car and the last on foot through the old town.

 

Our classic car was a 1955 Chevrolet Bel Air in tropical turquoise. It was immaculate. Andrew’s first question to our driver was; “with so many classic cars on the road how do you get the parts to keep them running?” He told us his engine had been replaced with a diesel engine otherwise he couldn’t afford to drive it.

 

Our tour took us out the central city into the suburbs. There were no new buildings and our guide told us barely any construction has happened in the last 60 years. The “new” neighbourhoods are filled with classic 1950’s bungalows and driving through in our Chevy we felt like we were on a movie set. The embassies of the world are housed in opulent early 20th century buildings along leafy boulevards. We were surprised by how many countries have a consular presence here.

 

Driving in from the airport we had noticed the absence of advertising billboards and this didn’t change driving through the streets of Havana. There were billboards, but they featured Fidel Castro or other communist imagery and statements that were obviously communist propaganda. 2019 is a big year for Cuba as it marks 60 years since the revolution and there are many signs promoting this milestone. We stopped at Revolution Square with the 109-metre white star-shaped tower; a monument to Jose Marti, the 19th century Cuban hero who became the symbol of Cuba’s bid for independence from the Spanish. The huge square is where political rallies take place and where the Pope held masses in 1998 and 2015. Located behind the memorial is the Palace of the Revolutions, the seat of the Cuban government and Communist Party. Opposite the memorial are the offices of the Ministries of the Interior and Communications, whose facades feature matching steel images of the two heroes of the Cuban Revolution: Che Guevara, with the quotation “Hasta la Victoria Siempre” (Until the Everlasting Victory, Always) and Camilo Cienfuegos, with the quotation “Vas bien, Fidel” (You’re doing fine, Fidel). The image of Cienfuegos is often mistaken for Castro, but we thought it looked more like Jesus and his hat a halo.

 

From here we drove to the National Hotel, an imposing 1930s building with plenty of Art Deco influence. It was built to cater for the surge of US tourists in that era, most of whom were escaping prohibition. It’s also where an infamous international Mafia conference was held in 1946 and where the head of the Mafia resided during that time. The grand garden and lawn overlook the Malecon and out across the Caribbean.

 

We exchanged some cash at the hotel exchange. In Cuba cash is king and credit cards are barely usable. We did our research before we left and found out that it’s better to carry Euros or Pounds to change rather than USD as there’s an extra tax that’s charged when exchanging American dollars. We had Euro. The other confusing thing in Cuba is the use of two currencies: the CUP (Cuban Peso) and the CUC (Cuban Convertible Peso).  The value of the CUC is pinned to the U.S. dollar so that 1 CUC will always equal 1 USD and is the only currency that tourists use. The CUP is primarily used by residents of Cuba. Most prices in restaurants and shops in tourist areas are quoted in CUC but outside of these areas CUP appears alongside CUC on price tags and menus. It sounds confusing, but its not really.

 

Our driving tour finished with a cruise along the Malecon past kids playing baseball in the park – the sport of choice in Cuba – and back to Old Havana. We said goodbye to our driver and continued on foot with our guide Anton.

 

Old Havana is just like Spain. A grid of narrow streets opening to expansive plazas overlooked by sumptuous palaces, elegant town houses and ornate churches in a mish-mash of architectural styles – Cuban Baroque, Neoclassical and plenty of Moorish influence too. Dark doorways hide cool mosaic-tiled atriums and arched courtyards, many acting as space for art galleries. There is a lot of art in Havana.

 

Across from the 16th century fortified Castle of the Royal Force is El Templete, a monument in the shape of a Greek temple marking the founding of Havana. The Spanish founded this city in 1519. Yes, another anniversary to mark this year – 500 years of Havana’s existence.

 

By now the sun was beating down. Anton had showed us his city, it was time for a siesta. We said goodbye and made our way back to the hotel.

 

Later in the day once we were revitalised and it was cooler, we walked back into the old town, stopping to listen to buskers, browsing galleries and admiring the street art, before deciding it was now a respectable hour for a cocktail. Every bar in Havana advertises happy hour and Mojitos are the cocktail of choice. We stopped at a bar where an all-girl band were playing. They pulled me up to dance much to Andrew’s delight. My salsa needs a lot of work.

 

The languid colonial experience of Hotel Inglaterra drew us back, so dinner that night was at the hotel. A violinist serenaded us.

Che Guevara, Revolution Square
National Hotel, Havana
1955 Chevrolet Bel Air
Old Havana
Statue of the Gentleman from Paris – a homeless man who lived in Havana
Building influenced by the architecture of Barcelona
Old Havana
Old Havana
Havana is a popular cruise port.

The next day it was an early start. We were met in the foyer at 8 by our next guide, Roman, who would be taking us to the Viñales Valley for the day.

 

The Viñales Valley is just over 180km from Havana at the western end of Cuba. The first 160km of the journey was on the A4, a huge 6-lane motorway with barely any traffic on it. Our guide told us this highway was built during the golden era of communist Cuba, when the Soviet Union and the Eastern European communist block provided invaluable financial support. It has that grand gesture feel of communist structures; too big, too monumental and totally unnecessary. Part of the motorway was even designed to take fighter jets in the advent of an invasion by the US. The jet parking areas still visible on the side of the road. Most of the traffic now is tourist vehicles heading to Viñales, and the rest, beaten up old Ladas and horse-drawn carriages.

 

The countryside was mostly waste land, not cultivated nor wildlands. Roman pointed out the sugar cane plantations and mangoes. It was the start of mango season and the trees were heavy with fruit.

 

 

Half way down we stopped at a roadside tourist stop for a break and to meet another guide who was escorting two guests, an English couple who now live in France. Roman was new to guiding and they were travelling in tandem today. Roman and Ernesto had known each other since they were teenagers in the army serving abroad in the then Soviet Union. They were both helicopter pilots, but when they returned to Cuba after the Soviet Union had crumbled there were no military helicopters to fly and the pittance they were paid to remain in the army wasn’t enough, so they left and tried a few other careers before both ending up working for the tourist board. Aside from Spanish, Ernesto was fluent in English, Russian and Portuguese. Roman was fluent in Russian and Portuguese but struggled a bit with English. He was worried he couldn’t articulate clearly enough to us and having Ernesto to help with our tour made him obviously more relaxed.

 

After meeting our fellow travellers, we were persuaded by Roman to try a Pina Colada. Apparently, they are the best in Cuba. It was made with freshly pulped pineapple and coconut milk straight from the source, and although it was only 10am a generous splash of “vitamin R” was added. We only had a couple of sips.

 

Now in convoy we headed off for the final stretch to the Viñales Valley. After some very rough and windy roads, we pulled into a lookout point for our first view of the valley. The bright green of the lush fertile valley was almost iridescent against the dark mountains that encircle it. Giant limestone mounds push up from the flat valley floor, these rocky outcrops dripping in vegetation. It’s a stunning landscape.

 

Apart from the dramatic natural limestone sculptures Viñales is also renowned for its tobacco which is grown using traditional techniques. It is both the natural landscape and the cultural traditions that got the Viñales Valley listed as a World Heritage Site in 1999 and as a result is now a popular tourist destination.

 

As we descended into the valley, we passed the first of the tobacco plantations with the distinct traditional A-frame drying houses. A visit to a plantation was on the agenda, but first we were taken to a rather intriguing site further up the valley.  The Mural de la Prehistoria is a giant mural painted in 1961 by Leovigildo Gonzalez Morillo under the guidance of Frida Kahlo’s husband Diego Rivera on a rocky side a mountain. A master of neo-caveman artistry, Morillo undertook the massive project of portraying world history up until the age of humans. Almost childlike giant images of molluscs, dinosaurs and early humans spread across the cliff face in primary colours. It’s hard to know how to react. It’s ugly, but it’s also an incredible feat to have painted this on the roughest of surfaces in such a monumental scale. Understandably it has taken a massive effort to preserve this artwork as the limestone cliffs are unforgiving.

 

It was time for lunch. We were taken to a restaurant in an open sided lean-to nestled in a tobacco plantation. Two plates piled high with beans and rice were brought out first followed by plates of beetroot, tomato, hot cassava root, and chicken which was guaranteed free-range, as at the same time a mother hen and her brood of chicks were under the table pecking between our feet. Ernesto was a great conversationalist and we were enjoying his stories over lunch. Dessert was plates of fresh fruit, mangoes, papaya and watermelon and strong Cuban coffee. Ernesto told us that mangoes are treasured in Cuba and considered a thing of great beauty, so much so that good looking women and men are referred to as mangoes. If you get call a mango in Cuba, it’s a good thing.

 

After lunch we drove through the small village of Viñales, where every house is now a B&B to cope with the growing tourism to the area, to another tobacco plantation. Macondo is a family farm where tobacco has been grown for generations using the same traditional techniques. We were shown around by a very charming member of the family – round-faced, dimple cheeked, sun-kissed complexion, fedora-wearing Nelson – who told us everyone who works on the farm smokes cigars daily, no one is addicted and it does them no harm because the nicotine levels are so low in the organically grown plants. Ok.

 

The drying house was filled to the roof with racks of leaves slowly turning a rich coffee brown. There are different leaves for specific layers in a rolled cigar and Nelson said they know exactly which is which on the racks, without any need for labelling.

 

The Cuban government takes 90% of all farmers’ produce and pay a set price for it, which is far below market value. It is the government owned cigar factories that then turn the farmers’ produce into the famous cigar brands known around the world – Cohiba, Montecristo, Romeo Y Julieta, Bolivar etc.  The 10% the farmers keep is for their own use or for sale from their farm gate. They are not allowed to sell it off the farm. Nelson assured us the quality of their farm-made cigars is much higher than those from the factories and they contain a lot less nicotine and definitely no chemicals or additives. He implied the nicotine levels in factory-made cigars is higher to guarantee repeat customers. Nelson then showed us how a cigar is rolled, and with what looked like very little effort and in a very short time a few brown leaves were turned into a perfectly packed cylindrical shaped coffee-coloured cigar. Wow, he must roll a few. He then lit one up and demonstrated the correct way to smoke one to truly appreciate the flavours before offering it around the table. I was the first to try and wearing Nelson’s fedora and with a Che Guevara flag behind me I sucked in the flavours of the Viñales Valley. Two puffs were enough. It might have been organic and hand-made, but it tasted like the smell of the 90’s. Andrew says he’s never smoked in his life and he wasn’t going to try now. Our English-French companions were regular cigar smokers, so they had the technique down pat and happily parted with $70 USD for a bunch of Nelson’s hand-rolled masterpieces to take home. We made some excuse about NZ customs being strict on that sort of thing.

 

Our last stop for the day was to visit a limestone cave. We were taken through a small entrance in the cliff face and into a beautifully cool cave filled with pearly-coloured stalactites and stalagmites. We were led along a narrow path between damp rock walls to an underground river where we joined the queue to get on a boat for the rest of the cave excursion. After a short wait we boarded the boat and were taken further through the cave with various rock formations pointed out to us before we burst from between the vegetation into a sunlit pool. It was a bit touristy and the use of motor boats didn’t allow for a peaceful cave experience but it was fun all the same, although we’ve seen a lot of caves in our time.

 

After a refreshment break it was time to head back to Havana. I wasn’t feeling great and had to ask to Roman to pull over as I thought I was going to be sick. It was a very long 2 ½ hours. Back at the hotel I felt worse and went straight to bed. I don’t get stomach upsets, so this was a new experience, and not a nice one. It was a long night. We have no idea what I ate but by morning I was well again. Thankfully, as today we were picking up our rental car and heading off for the next part of our Cuban adventure. First stop Cienfuegos.

The Vinales Valley
The Mural de la Prehistoria
Tobacco
Tobacco leaves drying
Tobacco drying house
Rolling cigars
Trying the flavours of Vinales
Macondo Tobacco Plantation, Vinales
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Stopover in Panama City

Instead of transiting in Panama City en route to Cuba we decided to spend a couple of days there: any excuse to explore a new place.

 

After the laid-back tranquillity of Costa Rica, Panama was a slap in the face. Straight up we were expected to tip the taxi stand attendant, there goes $5 USD. Then 100 metres down the road the taxi driver starts trying to renegotiate our agreed fixed price. We arrived at the hotel and paid him his $30 USD and not a cent more. There’s one thing we both struggle with and that’s the expectations of tipping. Taxi drivers almost always own their own vehicles so as business owners they should be setting fares that cover their costs and provide an income, not rely on tips. I understand in low wage economies people need tips to bolster their pay, but not business owners who have just given you the basic of service they agreed on. It seems the American influence in Panama runs deep.

 

Our hotel was in Punta Paitilla, a newer part of Panama with lots of high-rise buildings including a Trump Tower. It’s easy to see why it’s often referred to as the Dubai of Central America. Our hotel was not one of these sparkling giants, it was circa 1985 and the tropical weather had got the better of the exterior, and inside it was tired with dated décor, but comfortable all the same.

 

We were both struggling with bad colds so took the opportunity to rest for what remained of the afternoon. The next day we were feeling much better and were ready to explore.

 

Panama City sits at the Pacific entrance of the Panama Canal and is home to over 1.5 million people. 2019 is a big year with Panama marking 500 years since it was founded by the Spanish, as the base for them to explore and conquer the Inca Empire in Peru. For half a millennium this has been an important trade route. Most of the gold that the Spanish took from the Americas passed through here and today a large portion of the world’s cargo passes through the canal that links the Atlantic to the Pacific.

 

The oldest part of Panama is Panama Viejo, the original city. It was destroyed by fire in 1671 and the remains are now a World Heritage site and museum. Instead of rebuilding on the same site, the city was re-established two years later on a peninsula 8kms away. The “new” old city is Casco Antiguo and it is the perfect place to while away a few hours. It’s fascinating wandering through the narrow streets, admiring the mix of architectural styles that reflect the country’s cultural diversity: Caribbean, Republican, art deco, French, and colonial architecture all combined on a site comprising of around 800 unique buildings. Cafes, bars, galleries and souvenir shops stuffed with Panama hats and traditional crafts line the narrow streets. It was just a shame it wasn’t pedestrian only, as there was a steady stream of cars blocking the narrow lanes.

 

Plazas are dotted through Casco Antiguo, each hosting monuments and all overlooked by impressive buildings like the Metropolitan Cathedral, National Theatre, La Merced Church, San Francisco de Assisi Church, and Salon Bolivar. The churches were a welcome escape from the intense heat of the day. It was surprisingly quiet, and we were often the only people walking along a street.

 

On the point overlooking the sea is a monument dedicated to the first attempt to build a canal joining the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans. This attempt by the French failed miserably and many thousands of people lost their lives in the process.

 

In a handsome historic building on the edge of La Plaza de la Independencia is the Interoceanic Canal Museum. The museum tells the story of the Panama Canal from the first days of dreaming to what it is now, and the arduous journey between.  Work started on this 48-mile waterway in 1880 and by the time it was completed in 1914, some 25,000 people had died, mostly owing to tropical disease. Today, however, this feat of engineering is the country’s star attraction. Seeing it up close was on our agenda for the next day.

 

It was late afternoon and the clouds were rolling in, making the temperature more bearable. We could see the cluster of high-rises at the other end of the bay where our hotel was. Linking Casco Antiguo to our hotel is the Cinta Costera, a coastal greenspace and walkway running 5kms along the bay. We started off, walking past the row of flags representing every country of the world flying out along the causeway, before crossing the highway to Cintera Costera. Colourful old fishing boats lolled in the waters near the popular eateries of the Mercado de Mariscos (seafood markets). We brushed off the hawkers trying to entice us in for ceviche. On through flower trellis tunnels, past the Panama sign, an outdoor gym, tennis courts, a Yacht Club and the monument to Vasco Nuñez de Balboa, who, after trudging through the rain forests of the Darien in 1501, became the first European to set eyes on the Pacific Ocean, and then we eventually arrived back at our hotel. It had been a big day.

View from the hotel, Panama
Casco Antiguo, Panama
Casco Antiguo, Panama
Casco Antiguo, Panama
Cathedral Casco Antiguo, Panama
La Plaza de la Independencia, Panama
Panama City
Panama City
Cinta Costera, Panama City
Panama City

The next day we took an Uber out to the canal visitor centre overlooking the Miraflores Locks. Uber is very popular in Panama City and much cheaper than the taxis. As we pulled up a huge container ship was passing through the lock, towering storeys above us. We made our way to the viewing platform on the fourth floor, Andrew’s eyes grew wider. He was in heaven. He loves canals and this is the canal to beat all canals. A four-lane highway taking behemoth freighters from one ocean to another. We were watching the process intently and admiring this incredible engineering marvel when we noticed three yachts were sharing the lock with the container ship. The were tiny compared and were tied together. When the gates opened, they quickly moved on and were almost out of site by the time the container ship had moved out. When my aunt and uncle sailed the world in their yacht, they came through the Panama Canal, we wondered if they’d been in this lane with scores of tourists waving them through.

 

There’s another museum at the visitor centre.  This one is interactive and modern and tells the story of the canal since it’s opening in 1914 and how it operates today. Before going in we sat through a rather odd arty movie that looked at the life around the canal through the eyes of children living at different times in its history. In the museum itself is a simulator that had us experiencing what it would be like to pilot a super freighter through the canal.

 

Much of Panama’s economy is based around the canal and the many associated businesses. The toll to pass through the canal is anything from $2,000 USD for a small yacht to $800,000 USD for a super freighter. Originally the Panama Canal Zone was controlled by America which was the cause of tension between the two nations and 1989 after a particularly tense time George H.W Bush ordered the invasion of the country to oust the dictator General Noriega.  It was only in 1999 when the canal was finally transferred back to the control of Panama.

 

Being in existence for 500 years it’s no wonder Panama City is so diverse and colourful. On the surface, it’s a super-modern bustling city but look deeper and there’s a rich history to explore. But, for us, the canal was definitely the highlight. Time to move on to Cuba.

Miraflores Locks, Panama Canal
Panama Canal
Panama Canal
Panama Canal
Simulator at Miraflores Locks Visitor Centre
Panama Canal
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Andrew’s Views on Costa Rica

Finally, before we move on to Panama. Here are some observations from Andrew:

Andrew’s View of Costa Rica

I had no idea what to expect of Costa Rica before arriving here but leave impressed with the country, the people, the amazing wildlife and the warm climate

The People: What wonderful friendly people. They love to be of assistance, they have a good sense of humour, so helpful, love tourists and most speak English with a smile. I cannot think of a more friendly country we have visited. There are basically no beggars or hawkers and the street vendors are very polite and you never feel pushed to buy anything. Travelling here is very easy.

The Food: Its very simple food and mostly rice and bean based. Not overly flavoursome, so you add the sauces and pickles to acquire the taste. The traditional brown sauce is particularly nice. Fish and chicken are the most common meats available and fish is very cheap compared to NZ. A rice and red beans mix (Gallo Pinto) is a staple for breakfast as is fried plantains (a type of savoury banana). There is always plenty of tropical fruit available and the pineapple was incredibly sweet. They drink a lot of coffee and Louise says it’s great. They also have lots of the usual staples of pizzas and pasta on offer at every restaurant. In San Jose, I counted 10 MacDonald’s when walking through the city centre and about the same number of Subways.

Driving and Roads. Like anywhere, you will always find someone who needs to pass every car and there is no difference here. You have to force your way into traffic, they aren’t so courteous as the likes of Europe and outside of San Jose cars are a lot older. SUV’s and 4WD are very popular and you can see why when you get off the main roads. Most roads are just single lanes with very few dual carriageways. We headed inland to Monteverde, a major tourist spot in the mountains and spent 2 hours driving on dusty gravel roads. We thought these were bad but worse was to come. When we reached Monteverde we struck some of the most atrocious roads I have ever driven on. The potholes were huge and literally held together by bits of tar seal. Driving speeds here were around 5-10kph. The main roads are very busy with trucks, and I mean big trucks. We worked out the reason is, they have no rail network and you can’t transport by sea as you do not have a coastline going right around the country. They do have toll roads near San Jose. You pay in cash, but they are so cheap, at around $NZ1.

Typical rural roads, Costa Rica
Terrible roads down the mountains from Monteverde, Costa Rica
Avoiding bumps on the drive down from Monteverde, Costa Rica
Traditional Costa Rican dish – Casado
Beach-side, Manuel Antonio
Tuna, rice and beans
Plenty of tropical fruit available in Costa Rica
Drinking fresh coconut water, Tortuguero Beach

Accommodation: You have a variety to choose from. We stayed in nice resort-style accommodation which was much like you would get in Bali or Fiji. Backpackers and motels are plentiful. All hotels have WIFI for free and its strong and fast.

The Costs: It is not the cheapest country we have been too, but again it’s a lot cheaper than our home country NZ. A bottle of beer in a bar costs around NZ$4-5, in a supermarket around NZ$1.50, a reasonable bottle of wine around NZ$42 in a restaurant around NZ$25 in a supermarket (mostly South American wines). Petrol around NZ$1.30 a litre and rental car hire around $NZ70 per day. Eating out varies a lot. We had some nice meals that cost around NZ$50 for the two of us and lunches like Nachos or Paninis (and believe me they are big lunches) can cost as little as $10 each.

What to See: Whilst there are plenty of fun activities like zip-lining, para-sailing, white water rafting, tandem sky diving and surfing, it’s the nature that is the attraction for most. Where else can you see crocodiles lying on the river bank, boa constrictors enjoying the sun outside the door of your lodge, iguanas and lizards of all sizes scuttling around the hotel grounds, owls sitting in trees at nights, sloths lazing around the trees, monkeys at every corner you turn, and an amazing array of bird and insect life. National Parks are big here, but you do pay around $20 – $30 NZ to enter them.

Environment: They recycle everywhere. There is no rubbish lying around. You cannot smoke in public places, even beaches and parks – it’s a no-no!  They are trying to eliminate plastic bags totally, all shapes and sizes. All traffic lights are run by solar power and we read that last year the entire country ran for 300 days straight on 100% renewable energy. They have a very strong environmental stance which is great to see.

Final Observation: Yes, I thoroughly enjoyed Costa Rica. Would I recommend it to others? DEFINITELY YES. Would I come back? Probably no. We enjoyed it immensely but there are plenty more countries to see.

Our lodge in the rainforest
Pool in the rainforest
Recycling is everywhere in Costa Rica
Pool-side at our resort, Manuel Antonio
Surfboards, Manuel Antonio
Beach-side, Manuel Antonio
Boa Constrictor, Tortuguero
Sloth, Tortuguero
Owl, Monteverde Costa Rica
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Costa Rica: Manuel Antonio & San Jose

Manuel Antonio:

Our final three nights were spent relaxing on the popular west coast of Costa Rica, enjoying the hot tropical sunshine and abundant wildlife.

 

The 195km journey from Monteverde in the mountains to Manuel Antonio on the Pacific coast took over 5 hours. 15kms down the road and we had a half hour wait at roadworks, before continuing down the mountains on the worst roads we’ve ever driven on. We would have been lucky to average 15kph for the first 40 kilometres as we swerved around potholes and bounced over deep corrugated ruts. Finally, the gravel ended, and we were on the main road to the coast.

 

We needed a break to stretch our legs. Looking out for somewhere to stop we saw a lot of tourist buses and cars parked by the bridge crossing Rio Tarcoles and a small brown sign saying “Cocodrilos en su habitat natural”. We drove to the other side of the bridge weighing up whether to continue on or well stop for a look. We really didn’t expect to see anything, I mean really, how likely would a wild crocodile be lolling about in full view. We started off across the bridge and I could see something on the mudflats ahead of me, something crocodile-shaped. Halfway over the bridge and there they were right below us, all 27 of them relaxing the shallows. And, to top it off stalking about on the shore was a huge iguana. Unbelievable. Once again Costa Rica has delivered on the wildlife front. We were gob-smacked. We walked the rest of the way along the bridge then crossed to see if more crocs were visible on the other side. There were two more. There is no footpath along the bridge, and this is the main road. Thankfully truck drivers were used to the flocks of tourists stopping and slowed down, even courteously waving people across in front of them.

 

Not far past the crocodiles and we were driving parallel to some of the most famous surf beaches in the world including Playa Hermosa near the town of Jaco where top surf competitions are held. It also featured on the cult surfing movie Endless Summer II. We drove down to see it. It was deserted. Just a few beach shacks under the palms and signs warning of strong rips and unpredictable waves. The black iron sand was unbearably hot. Further on, we drove down another a beach access to see if there was somewhere to get lunch. More colourful beach shacks and some surfboards leaning against palm trees, but otherwise it was also deserted, apart from a couple lying under a palm tree drinking rum.

 

Driving on route 34 from Jaco and Quepos it is impossible to miss the expansive plantations of African palms. At first, it looked like a natural palm forest, but the straight lines gave away that these were planted. The palms are used for palm oil production. We passed many trucks laden with the dark brown fuzzy bunches of palm fruit. Palm oil gets bad press but unlike palm oil production in Malaysia and Indonesia, most of Costa Ricans palm oil is produced sustainably and ethically in accordance with the international standards set by the Roundtable on Sustainable Palm Oil. With Costa Rica’s strong stance on the environment, deforestation is not an option and any companies not acting ethically are called out, and there have been a few that have been criticised for encroaching on forests and on using child labour.

 

We finally reached Quepos, the town closest to Manuel Antonio. It’s a reasonably big town; an overgrown village filled with a haphazard array of basic buildings. We drove through, up a hill and over the point to Manuel Antonio, the gateway to Manuel Antonio National Park. Clustered around the entrance to the park close to the beach were a number of resort hotels, backpackers and restaurants, along with a couple of superettes and the usual souvenir stalls. Our accommodation was lovely; a poolside cabin with a spacious terrace set in tropical gardens and surrounded by rainforest.

 

Manuel Antonio National Park is the smallest of the national parks in Costa Rica and the most popular. Probably because of its location near the west coast beaches and resorts that draw tourists. It costs $16 US to enter the park without a guide and about $52 US for a guided walk. We decided not to go as we had a rainforest track behind the hotel to walk through, and we were surrounded by creatures just sitting in the pool.

 

We had jumped in the pool when we arrived and barely left it for the next two days. Using the intense tropical heat and its sloth-inducing properties as an excuse, most of our time was spent doing little else but relaxing. Better still, 95% of the time we had the pool all to ourselves and there was a continuous parade of wildlife visiting us.  Monkeys swung through the trees above us. A gorgeous yellow-throated toucan arrived and perched only a metre from me. There were butterflies, frogs, and birds who dived into the pool beside us catching insects. My favourites were the lizards of all shapes, colours and sizes. An iguana sat in the gutter above the pool all day, every day, sunning herself and watching the world go by. The only time she moved was to occasionally bob her head up and down in some sort of dance and once to protect her spot from another intruding iguana.

 

I was taken by all these reptiles and took hundreds of photos of them in various poses. I was photographing a particularly large iguana, over a metre in length and quite thick-set, when he started running straight at me. I was sure he was charging me and almost jumped out of my skin trying to get out of his path. Andrew also had to leap out of his way as he raced past the pool and across the driveway before stopping as quickly as he started, lying down on the concrete in the sun, where he stayed for the next hour.

Crocodile, Rio Tarcoles
Crocodiles, Rio Tarcoles
Iguana, Rio Tarcoles
Iguana, Manuel Antonio
Iguana, Manuel Antonio
Yellow-throated Toucan, Manuel Antonio
Lizard, Manuel Antonio
Iguana, Manuel Antono

The rainforest track at the back of the hotel ran alongside a small river. It was lizard heaven and we saw many varieties and also found some tiny brown frogs, less than a centimetre in length.

 

Panamanian White-faced monkeys are the most common in this part of Costa Rica. They are very entertaining and engage with tourists, sometimes taking things too far and stealing bags. They move so quickly, there’s no chance if they like what you’re eating or carrying. There’s also the smaller Central American Squirrel Monkey. They are much shyer, but they still let us get quite close to take photos. We’ve now seen all four breeds of monkeys in Costa Rica – the Mantled Howler Monkey, Geoffrey’s Spider Monkey, Panamanian White-Faced Capuchin Monkey and the Squirrel Monkey. Box ticked!

 

In the evenings, the bats came out, swooping past us barely making a sound. On our last evening, we were having a pre-dinner swim and two deer walked through the garden, completely oblivious to us. Apparently, they come to drink from the pond at the back of the garden.

 

Manuel Antonio beach is beautiful. It was not too crowded and there is a simple, natural feel to the place, not yet too developed. We walked along the beach to where the rainforest of the National Park meets the sand. It’s spectacular.

 

We went to the beach each evening when it was cooler. The sunsets are stunning here, with fiery skies that burn bright and fast. Almost the moment the sun dips below the surface it is pitch dark.

 

Sadly, it had to come to an end. Sun-kissed and contented we threw our case in our car one last time and hit the road to San Jose. We had a plane to catch to Panama City the following morning.

Panamanian White-Faced Capuchin Monkeys
Panamanian White-Faced Capuchin Monkeys
Central American Squirrel Monkey
Central American Squirrel Monkey
Tourists feeding the monkeys, Manuel Antonio
Heron, Manuel Antonio
Sunset, Manuel Antonio
Manuel Antonio, Costa Rica
Manuel Antonio, Costa Rica
Manuel Antonio, Costa Rica

San Jose:

Once away from the coast we drove through rugged hills, noticeably parched by the scorching sun. There were signs of fire, perhaps intentional burn-offs. There were mostly cattle farms or unused scrub-covered land, and occasionally coffee plantations. April is the end the dry season here and this year it’s been particularly dry. In May the rain will start.

 

San Jose is 1,172 metres above sea level and thankfully, after some very hot days on the coast, it was much cooler. This sprawling city surrounded by forest covered mountains is home to more than 2 million people, 40% of the country’s population.

 

Earlier in our trip we had commented on the state of the cars in Costa Rica, all aging and most with dents and dings. There were very few late model vehicles on the roads and after driving over the rural roads that we had we understood why you wouldn’t want to invest in an expensive car. However, in San Jose it’s a different story, there were many luxury cars about – Lexus, Mercedes, Range Rover, Audi. They must leave them at home when they head to the country.

 

 

Our hotel was across from the National Stadium at the end of La Sabana Park, a huge rectangular park filled with sports fields, ponds and walking paths. We walked through the park to the main street leading into the city centre. Trumpet trees covered in rose pink flowers lined the streets. Andrew noticed a large number of MacDonald’s and Subway outlets. The streets of San Jose are in a grid and most are named in numerical order: Calle 1, Calle 2, Calle 3 etc. dissect through Avenida 1, Avenida 2, 3 and so on. The layout, along with the many plazas (squares) are a reminder of the Spanish Colonial influence on this city.

Avenida Central is a long pedestrian-only street in the heart of the city that leads to Plaza de La Cultura. The Central Markets are halfway along. This maze of stalls and food outlets occupying an entire block has been open for business since 1880. For the centre of a large city, the shops are noticeably low-end, selling trashy clothes and cheap shoes. It is hard to notice much of San Jose is shabby and grubby. There are some lovely old buildings though, like the exquisite 19th-century National Theatre and the grand early 20th-century burnt-orange Post Office. We were lucky, there was an outdoor exhibition of the works of Costa Rican sculptor Jimenez Deredia underway.  27 of his sumptuously curvaceous monumental bronze sculptures were scattered around the central city area. Their presence certainly lifted the city.

 

After loving our experience in rural Costa Rica, we felt bad that we were not warming to San Jose. It’s a city trying to push ahead in a country that is eager to shake off its “developing country” label.

 

We caught a bus back to the hotel and got ready for our flight the next morning.

 

When were arrived here 11 days ago we didn’t know what to expect. This lovely little country tucked away in Central America where everyone genuinely welcomes you as their amigo and even the wildlife is friendly has surprised us more than we thought possible. It’s charming and real and we loved it.

 

In Costa Rica they have a saying: “Pura Vida”. Simply translated it means “pure life” or “simple life”. The phrase is on every t-shirt and fridge magnet that’s for sale here, but it’s more than just a saying or tourist gimmick, it’s a way of life that the Costa Ricans are proud of. Pura Vida is about being at one with nature and the environment, being true to who you are and appreciating the important things in life.  It sums up Costa Rica perfectly.

San Jose, Costa Rica
Sculpture by Jimenez Deredia, Costa Rica
National Theatre, San Jose
Old Post Office, San Jose
View from our hotel, San Jose
Sculpture by Jimenez Deredia, San Jose
San Jose, Costa Rica
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Costa Rica: Arenal and Monteverde

Arenal:

After three days in Tortuguero on the Caribbean coast, we picked up our rental car and headed towards our next destination; Arenal a volcano in the middle of Costa Rica. The roads were mostly single-laned highways with speed limits ranging from 25 kph through the blink-and-you-miss-them villages to 60 kph through the countryside and occasionally 80 kph on the small stretches of double-laned highway. Pineapple plantations were plentiful as were signs advertising an array of nature tours from sloth spotting to frog stalking. It was very lush, very green. The villages were made up of shabby but colourful box-like houses with open terraces and almost always two rocking chairs sitting beside the front door. Signs warning of fauna crossing the road were frequent and we noticed narrow wire swing bridges strung across the highway from tree to tree. These must be for monkeys or sloths to cross safely.

 

A volcano appeared in front of us, but it wasn’t ours. The road skirted around it and it disappeared behind us. Finally, there it was, the perfectly symmetrical single cone of the Arenal volcano rising up behind the small town of La Fortuna. It was dusk and we drove through the town without stopping. The place was bustling with tourists, browsing souvenir shops and taking photos of the volcano from the town square.

 

Our hotel was out of town, almost at the foot of the 1,633-metre-high volcano. It was dark when we arrived, and we were hot and tired. There was a lovely pool set in tropical gardens and a swim was exactly what we felt like. However, a swarm of insects beat us to it and the surface of the pool was thick with drowned bugs. We stood there considering whether to jump in anyway and then saw two giant toads wallowing in the shallow end. That was enough for us. We gave it a miss.

 

It was overcast the next morning and we enjoyed a slow start to the day. The hotel staff had given us a long list of activities on offer in the area: thermal pools, zip-lining, rafting, horse-riding, hiking, coffee tours, chocolate tours, and more. We booked a chocolate tour for the following morning and decided to spend the afternoon walking in the Arenal Volcano National Park. Like the Tortuguero National Park, the cost to enter this park is $15 US per person. The ranger at the gate gave us a map and pointed out the best senderos (walking paths) to follow. She was particularly enthusiastic about the nearby peninsula trail that she described as “muy bonito” (very pretty). We started by walking to the main lookout, but the volcano was hiding behind a shroud of clouds. The terrain was typical of a volcano, very rocky and covered in scrub.

 

Arenal was dormant for hundreds of years until July 1968 when it erupted violently burying three villages and killing 87 people. The eruption affected a huge area and crops were spoiled, property ruined, and a large amount of livestock was killed. The volcano hasn’t been active since 2010 and is a magnet for tourists, primarily for the picture-perfect peak itself but also for the thermal resorts that have popped up around the base of the volcano.

 

We decided to try the peninsula walk that the ranger had recommended. It was a short distance down the road and was through much lusher bush than on the mountain itself. At the end of the Peninsula there was a beautiful view over Lake Arenal and up to the volcano which had dared to reveal a bit more of itself. Colourful birds flitted through the undergrowth and a trail of ants carrying leaves crossed the path from one nest to the other. We were quite taken with these guys; they were very entertaining to watch. Not all ants seemed to be connected to the collective intelligence of the colony and were going the wrong way, bumping into their comrades. Back at the beginning of the track Andrew pointed out a sign warning of how to act if you encounter a Jaguar. I’m just glad we saw that after our walk.

 

Driving back to La Fortuna we passed lots of luxurious looking thermal resorts enveloped by greenery. In this heat we couldn’t think of anything less appealing than soaking in hot springs. We must be the minority as the volcanic mineral waters are a huge attraction in the area.

 

The aptly named La Fortuna was fortunate and escaped the 1968 eruption that affected the towns on the Western side of the volcano. The town wasn’t always called La Fortuna and legend has it that it was renamed after escaping the eruption, but the truth, we were told, is that it was renamed La Fortuna before 1968 because it sits on flat fertile land. Its fortune is now linked to the tourists who flock here. It’s a small town and we walked around it in half an hour.  In the centre of the town is a grassed square filled with colourful gardens and across the road is a large Catholic church, the spire reaching up towards the volcanic peak. We have noticed no one smokes in Costa Rica and there are No Smoking signs everywhere, including all parks and outdoor areas. They may well smoke in private, but smoking is banned in all public areas, outside and in.

 

Andrew was suffering from a head cold and we bought him some oranges before heading back to the hotel. Back at the hotel and we were desperate for a swim. There were no toads this time and we were soon relaxing in the pool. Vivid blue and green hummingbirds hovered nearby, sucking nectar from bright red flowers. Lovely velvety black birds with vivid red wings about the size of a large sparrow swooped over the pool. We’d seen them earlier on our walk. They are very striking and quite friendly. I read later that they are a Tanager bird. Andrew was feeling better, the swim had worked.

 

The next morning, we filled up on a traditional Costa Rican breakfast of Gallo Pinto (rice and beans), tropical fruit, strong black coffee for me and jugo de naranja (orange juice) for Andrew before checking out and heading into La Fortuna for our chocolate tour.

 

Costa Rica is known for its high-quality cocoa production which is made into some of the best chocolate in the world. Our chocolate tour was on a working Cacao plantation. We had never given the cacao plant much thought, which was exactly why we were there; to see how this amazing fruit gets turned into chocolate. At the start of the tour we were encouraged to wander through the Cacao trees to see the fruit at different stages of maturity. The flowers of the Cacao were surprising. They grow directly on the trunk of the tree and the fruit that forms from these flowers protrudes straight from the bark covered trunks and primary branches. It looks very odd, almost like they are stuck on.

 

Once the fruit has turned crimson-red they are picked, and the seeds are removed and fermented before being dried, roasted and husked. We tasted the dried cacao seed and it already tasted like bitter dark chocolate and even more so after being roasted. Our guide took the husked seeds, mixed them with raw sugar and put them through a hand grinder and out came a thick crumbly chocolate. We all tasted this. It was just like very dark chocolate. The guide then added hot water to this mixture and poured us each a small cup of pure hot chocolate. It was bitter and strong and gorgeous. They then whipped up a bowl of melted chocolate and we got to taste it with a variety of toppings. I chose chilli, then salt, then coffee beans. Andrew tried salt, then orange, and then candy sprinkles. It seemed such a simple and pure process. Our guide stressed to us that only chocolate made from 70% cacao or more can be considered real chocolate and anything less than 30% is not chocolate at all, merely candy. It was a very interesting hour and a half and we both have a new respect for chocolate.

 

We were full of chocolate when we left La Fortuna, heading west to our next destination. Ahead of us cars were pulled over to the side of the road and a group of people had gathered under a tree. Ahh, we knew what that meant – a sloth! We pulled over and joined the group. Yes, there she was – a mother sloth with a baby clinging to her back. She was darker than the others we’d seen. I tried to get a photo, but the leaves kept obscuring her. The Costa Rican man beside me said it was very rare to see one with a baby on her back.

 

A bit further along the road and the clouds were finally moving away from the volcano peak. We had plenty of time so pulled over and waited for a photo opportunity. Others joined us. Finally, we got an almost-full shot of that perfectly symmetrical cone and then headed off.

 

We wound our way along the shores of Lake Arenal. Above us, some very nice houses sat in large lush gardens with views of the lake. There were lots of signs advertising sections for sale, many in English. Apparently, Americans and also Europeans are choosing Costa Rica as a retirement destination.

 

The lake was behind us and the land changed to farms; first beef ranches with those floppy-eared white cattle and then to dairy farms with the more familiar Jerseys and Friesians. Every farm seemed to have a herd of horses as well. We’d been told the Costa Ricans are great horsemen.

Arenal Volcano, La Fortuna
Arenal Volcano, Costa Rica
Brahma Bull, Costa Rica
Cacao plantation in La Fortuna, Costa Rica
Cacao fruit protruding from the trunk of the tree.
Flowers and very small fruit on the trunk of a Cacao tree
Very ripe Cacao fruit
Fermenting Cacao seeds to make chocolate
Drying Cacao seeds to make chocolate
Pure hot chocolate, La Fortuna

 

Monteverde:

75kms into our 120km journey and the road turned to gravel and with it our speed reduced. Potholes, dust and very slow going: it took 3 ½ hours to cover 120kms. The terrain got hillier and we were rising quickly. Coffee plantations replaced farms. We passed through a few small villages, each with a handful of colourful houses and always with free-range dogs.

 

Then we were in Santa Elena, a bustling little tourist town with craft galleries and restaurants sitting on forested slopes. We were staying 6kms further on. Our hotel, Trapp Family Hotel is the closest to the Monteverde Cloud Forest Reserve and we had been upgraded to a mountain suite with huge windows and stunning views over the forest. It was remote and beautiful. The first thing we noticed was the significant drop temperature. Monteverde is over 1400 metres above sea level.

 

We decided to drive back into Santa Elena for dinner over the roughest roads we’ve experienced, and worse still in the dark. Dinner was a traditional Costa Rican dish, Casado. Casado means married in Spanish and this dish is literally a marriage of many foods. Our plates contained rice, beans, salad, tortillas, fresh white cheese, fried platano maduro, and a chicken wing slow roasted in “grandma’s” secret sauce.  Although it looks like a lot on the plate there’s barely any fat and the flavours are fresh.

 

Back at the hotel after bouncing over those awful roads in the dark we were walking up the path to our room – me in front, Andrew lagging behind – and there on the path was an armadillo! I shrieked with excitement; the worst thing to do. He froze and looked at me with a bugger-I’m-busted expression, turned and shuffled into the undergrowth. “Quick, Andrew, hurry…it’s an armadillo”. Too late, he’d gone. Andrew didn’t believe me. I clambered behind the hedge trying to find my armadillo. Andrew stood shaking his head muttering; “crazy woman.”

 

The wind picked up overnight and the windows shook, waking us. There was a heavy downpour too. The next morning it was still overcast, windy and cold. We waited for the weather to settle then walked up the road towards the Monteverde Cloud Forest Reserve. On the way we found a dead armadillo in the gutter.

 

In the 1950’s a group of Quakers from the United States moved to Monteverde to avoid being drafted into the Korean War. They settled here and lived a simple life centred on dairy and cheese making. The Monteverde dairy factory is well renowned. One of these original Quakers was Wilford Guindon who in the 70’s when the rain forest was threatened by the expansion of farmland teamed up with some scientists to create the reserve and forever protect this beautiful forest.

 

It costs $22 US per person to enter the forest. Knowing that all the funds go to protecting the incredible biodiversity of this region with its abundant animal and plant life makes the high price more digestible. Inside the park there is a network of well-marked trails that wind up and down the mountainside. There weren’t many people about. A few groups taking guided walks were sporadically clustered not far from the entrance, but the further you walked the fewer people there were and we were soon alone. We walked to a beautiful waterfall and then up along a ridge to a valley where a hanging bridge took us across through the forest canopy. Because of the altitude, the forest is quite different to the rainforest we had experienced on the coast. It’s a lot more like New Zealand bush. Birds were plentiful.  We found a nest in a bank with two small robin-like birds busying themselves with renovations.

 

Back at the park entrance there was a café with hummingbird feeders hanging in the veranda. The air was filled with hundreds of tiny hummingbirds stopping for a drink. Bright green, blue, violet and yellow; each bird looks different.

 

We had signed up for a night forest tour that evening, and the bus picked us up from the hotel at 5.20pm. It gets dark early here and by the time we’d picked up other tourists from various hotels and the bus had wound its way down a narrow lane to a remote rural property it was pitch black. Our guide told us the rules: watch where you put your feet and do not touch anything on the side of the path in case creepy-crawlies are lurking. For the next two hours we walked through the forest and peered into the blackness on the hunt for weird and wonderful creatures that only come out at night. We found scorpions, a bug with a light on its bum, a thin striped snake, katydids, fire-flies, crickets of varying sizes, sleeping butterflies, sleeping hummingbirds and sleeping brown jays, a very awake owl, a possum, lots of ants carrying leaves along huge ant highways (apparently they work 24/7), and to my great excitement an orange and black tarantula sitting snugly in her hole. It was great fun creeping through the dark. We felt like kids again, going spot-lighting. I think some people were disappointed we didn’t see more, but that’s wildlife. Nature doesn’t appear on demand. I’m just glad I had my armadillo encounter the night before.

 

The next morning it was time to head down the mountain to the Pacific coast for some relaxation on the beach. After breakfast, we started off on our 200km journey to Manuel Antonio.

View from our room at Trapp Family Hotel, Monteverde
Monteverde Cloud Forest Reserve, Costa Rica
Birds at Monteverde Cloud Forest Reserve
Walking through the forest canopy, Monteverde
Hummingbird, Monteverde Cloud Forest Reserve
Lots of gravel roads in Costa Rica
Owl, Monteverde Costa Rica
Female Tarantula in her nest, Monteverde Costa Rica
Traditional Costa Rican dish, Casado
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Costa Rica: Tortuguero

It’s strange arriving in a new place at night. It’s disorientating and at the same time a bit like having a present in front of you that you can’t open till morning. We were dazed when we landed in San Jose. Thirteen and a half hours to Houston followed by a three-hour connection and then another three-hours thirty to San Jose, and that wasn’t including the drive from Tauranga to Auckland.

The clinical like airport with its chill air-conditioning gave way to the embrace of a humid tropical night and the craziness of taxi drivers jostling for business. We smiled and pushed past. We were looking for our name on a board. There he was, our driver waiting for us.

We had found a local Costa Rican company online who had arranged our 12-day itinerary, providing suggestions for places to visit and booking accommodation, a rental car and transfers for us. The company, CRS tours, is part of the international Pack for a Purpose programme where tourism companies sponsor local projects and encourage clients to bring worthwhile donations with them on holiday. We were asked to bring stationery for one of the three schools that CRS sponsors in remote and impoverished areas of Costa Rica. Andrew had had some fun at Warehouse Stationery and at least a quarter of our shared suitcase was filled with writing pads, felt-tip pens, pencils, rulers, highlighters, Sellotape and the like. Our driver was impressed with the bag of goodies we entrusted him with to take to the agency.

On the drive to the hotel he told us a bit about him and his country; how he owns the transport business with his uncle and that he has never the 3 years of operating had picked up any New Zealanders; and how life in Costa Rica is pretty good and that it’s the most stable country in Central America and as a result living standards are much higher than its neighbouring countries.

We arrived at our hotel. It was 9.30. The woman who checked us in told us that there are no water bottles in the hotel rooms because Costa Rica is trying to reduce all plastic and drinking from the tap is fine. Recycling bins sat in the hallway outside our room. In the information CRS provided us on Costa Rica there were a lot of references to the country’s strong environmental stance and they even sent us a link to an App with our itinerary so we wouldn’t print anything.

We hadn’t eaten much in 24 hours and didn’t want to go to sleep too early, so put our bags in our room and walked 100 metres down the ill-lit street to a very cool corner bistro with dark walls dripping in vintage memorabilia and a pretty jazz singer crooning in the corner. The restaurant specialised in Argentinian steaks, but the menu was mostly Italian influenced. We ate bruschetta topped with some of the best prosciutto we’d had, then cannelloni for me and lasagne for Andrew washed down with a velvety Argentinian Malbec.

The alarm went at 5.30am. We were to be picked up at 6.15 to start our 3-day adventure to the Tortuguero National Park. There was time for a coffee and oh, that breakfast spread was too enticing. A true Costa Rican spread with fried plantains, rice and beans, soft tortillas, white cheese and tropical fruits. And that coffee was superb. I had made the mistake of accepting what they call coffee on Air NZ. Big mistake.

We were on the bus and off towards the Caribbean coast. The city quickly gave way to coffee plantations and market gardens and then we were driving up the mountains through the Braulio Carrillo National Park. Over 25% of Costa Rica is protected conservation land and the surge in Eco-tourism has helped turn this spectacular nature into income, no doubt keeping those keen to cash in from the exploitation of natural resources quiet. The road rose to 1000 metres through dense cloud forest. We were told it’s always wet and cloudy up here. The huge plate-like leaves of “poor man’s umbrella” or Gunnera keep the forest floor obscured from view. We saw a few monkeys high above us, dangling precariously over the road. It was Saturday but there were many trucks on the road, mostly dump-trucks carrying rocks. The roads are like the majority of New Zealand roads, not wide and with no barriers. We were taking it all in, as in 3 days’ time we would pick up our rental car and be joining the throng.

It took 2 hours to reach our breakfast stop. Yes, we’d already eaten, but this was all laid on for us so why not have some more? It was a similar traditional spread, not nearly as nice as the hotel, but the fried plantains were delicious, and I don’t eat bananas.

Outside the restaurant, we encountered our first sloth. High above us in a tree, he looked like a sodden old jumper that had been thrown over a branch. Then he moved. My only goal in Costa Rica was to see a sloth in the wild. I actually thought it would be similar to expecting to see a kiwi in the wild in NZ, so to see one outside a restaurant beside a main road was quite unreal.

Below the tree we found lots of tiny red frogs with blue legs. These are the poisonous dart-frog or blue-jeans frog and they’re only a centimetre long and have a very distinct chirp. Nature is everywhere here.

Back on the bus and another 2-hours’ drive past banana and cassava plantations and then cattle ranches with white Braham cattle – the type from India with floppy ears and accentuated withers; they’re good in the heat so are the main breed used in this part of the world.

The scale of the banana plantations is incredible. Signs outside these vast plantations are emblazoned with renowned brands; Chiquita, Dole and Del Monte. Each banana bunch is wrapped in a blue bag to protect it and when they are picked, they are hung on a moving wire that takes them through the plantation to the processing plants. Our bus had to stop while a draw-bridge-like arm came down across the road and a succession of suspended banana bunches sailed across in front of us.

Finally, we arrived at the port of Cano Blanco and we were all loaded onto a fibreglass longboat. Two seats on each side, an aisle down the middle, open sides and a canvas roof. The only way to reach Tortuguero National Park is by boat or air and the boats are strictly commercial tourist boats.

It took just over an hour to travel 40kms up the canals to our lodge. The further we went the denser the rainforest got. We saw spider monkeys swinging through the trees, great white herons stalking in the shallows and an unnerving number of vultures circling.

Banana bunches arriving on at the processing plant
Braham cattle, a popular breed in Costa Rica
Our transport to our lodge
En route to Pachira Lodge
Pachira Lodge, Tortuguero

We were welcomed to Pachira Lodge with a luscious tropical fruit cocktail and then ushered off to lunch. Pachira Lodge is an Eco lodge nestled in the forest across the canal from the village of Tortuguero. The lodge makes every effort to minimise the environmental footprint of their operation and there is no plastic to be seen. The lodge is made up of cabins set in lush tropical gardens and connected by concrete paths above which large orb spiders hang in their intricate golden-silk webs. There’s a beautiful pool area and lots of shady outdoor areas to relax and take in the remarkable environment around you. The rooms have no air-conditioning, just a roof fan, and there’s a wide gap around the top of the walls covered with mosquito nets for air flow. Monkeys frequent the lodge and a young Spider monkey played up for our cameras not long after we arrived.

There was no time to rest our jet-lagged bodies. After lunch we were off on our first excursion; a 2-hour canal tour to spot wildlife. Tortuguero National Park covers 31,174 ha with a network of canals and waterways running through it. The best way to see it is by boat. We were in a small flat-bottomed boat with an outboard motor and no sides or roof to obscure our view. It costs $15 US to enter the Tortuguero National Park and the park office was only 5 minutes boat ride from the lodge. We pulled up to the jetty at the Rangers’ office and our guide jumped off to pay the fees. It must be an honesty system as there’s no “gateway” to the park as such. We then raced up the canals, slowing when we reached the narrower areas where we were much closer to the forest. It was stunningly beautiful. Greens of all shades overlapping and stabs of colour from tropical blooms: the bright red lobster-claw plant, magenta ginger flower and soft mauve clematis clambering across the canopy. Ficus trees dipped their long shapely roots into the tannin-stained waters. We saw a Jesus Lizard. A few Howler Monkeys walked over the branches above us, black and woolly with thick set necks. Cute spider monkeys swung by, chattering away.

Tortuguero means Turtle Catcher, named because of the Sea Turtles that nest along the Caribbean coast from July to October. It wasn’t the season for the Sea Turtles, but we were lucky enough to see a good-sized river turtle sunning itself on a log.

Then we saw more sloths. The slightly smug, slightly spaced out half-smile on the face of a sloth is oddly endearing. I have a lot of affection for this funny creature. Because they move so slow when they put one arm in front of the other to climb a branch their arm hovers like they are waving at us. Our guide told us the sloth only comes down to the ground once a week to do a poo. Why they lumber down to the forest floor to defecate is not entirely known but it is a ritual they follow fastidiously.

Our attention turned to a flock of toucans, too high to see properly, and then to the macaws, herons and anhingas, or snake birds, drying their large wings. There were more vultures, twelve tiny bats under the roof of a jetty, and three very large spiny-tailed iguanas.

Spiny-tailed Iguana
Sloth, Tortuguero National Park
Anhinga or snake bird
Male Anhinga
Tiny bats
Toucan in Tortuguero National Park
Tortuguero National Park
Female Anhinga Tortuguero National Park
River Turtle, Tortuguero National Park
Ficus tree, Tortuguero National Park
Heron, Tortuguero National Park
Research centre, Tortuguero National Park

The sky was darkening, from both clouds and the early sunset of the tropics. The sun sets before six here. It was time to head back. We were feeling quite exhausted and a swim to freshen up was just the thing we needed. Then a beer while looking over the canal into the inky blackness, listening to the symphony of insects.

It rained overnight. The guttural call of the Howler Monkeys cut through the jungle. A troop of monkeys ran across our roof at 4am. Most probably they were Spider monkeys, but they could have been Howlers.

The next morning, we took a guided walk through the jungle. We were told to wear covered shoes and mosquito repellent, but it was hardly “wild”. The paths were concrete and there was a rail running alongside. It was interesting though; our guide Marco knew his stuff. We saw large blue land crabs, red-eyed tree frogs, bullet ants (named because their bite hurts more than getting shot), a very small green headed snake, spiders, lizards and lots of beautiful lush tropical plants. It rained briefly but heavily; the dense greenery protected us from getting too wet. This is the dry season in Costa Rica. Back at the lodge, we were told someone had found a Boa Constrictor, in fact two, outside a cabin. The larger of the two was relaxing in the leaves beside the path, the other was tightly curled around a tree directly above. Neither seemed too fazed by the attention they were getting. It was incredible to be so close to these genuinely wild creatures.

Blue Land Crab, Tortuguero National Park
Pachira Lodge, Tortuguero National Park
Boa Constrictor, Pachira Lodge
Toucan, Tortuguero National Park
Pachira Lodge
Spider monkey, Tortuguero National Park
Red-eyed Tree Frog, Tortuguero National Park

More swimming followed, then lunch, then more swimming. Some monkeys visited and a flock of toucans with their comical banana beaks landed in a tree only a metre from us. Then it was off on another excursion, this time to the village of Tortuguero.

Tortuguero is almost directly across from the lodge and sits on the peninsula between the canal and the Caribbean Sea. The village grew from turtle hunters and traders settling here. Before the establishment of the National Park in the mid-70’s turtle hunting was prolific, and the species was quickly becoming endangered. Our guide took us first to the Turtle Conservatory and told us about the effort that was made to educate the locals of the value of the turtles alive, rather than dead. By employing the youth in tourism and science they were able to teach the next generation that they could earn a good living by protecting the sea turtles and end the cycle of hunting. Now the economy of Tortuguero is solely based on tourism and thrives. We walked to the beach where the Green Sea Turtles will start arriving around June and nest here until October. We had to use our imagination as to how it would look with these 1.5-metre-long creatures lumbering up the beach en masse. A local was cutting coconuts and selling fresh coconut water for $2 US, or $4 US with a shot of rum. We opted for the pure version. The US dollar is widely used here.

We were starting to get to know some of the people in our excursion group. Three young women from Madrid, a French family from Lyon, a Costa Rican family with the most energetic wee boy, an American family of 5 from Seattle and two young German doctors from a town in Northern Germany near the Danish border.

Our guide was in no hurry and we all wandered slowly along the beach towards the village, chatting about our travels. Tortuguero village is small and made up of bright-coloured ramshackle buildings that seem to have given up fighting off the encroaching forest. Commerce consists mainly of souvenir and craft shops, eateries and back-packers. A lot of young people who perhaps find the lodges too pricey opt for the more authentic village experience. One of the shops was selling dog food packages wrapped in beeswax for $1. By the looks of the village dogs, this tourist gimmick is working. What a dogs’ life – no cars and everyone feeds you.

The light here is lovely. At 3pm the shadows are already long and by 4.30 it’s evening and everything is bathed in gold and pink. We admired the turtle mosaics on the school walls and the giant installations of a macaw and toucan and then sat in the village square people watching while we waited for our boat home.

That night the Howler Monkeys weren’t so loud, or perhaps we just slept more heavily.

After a leisurely start the next morning it was time to leave. Our Tortuguero experience was almost over. We were soon on the boat and racing through the canals, stopping briefly to admire another sloth waving at us, before arriving back at Cano Blanco where our bus was waiting. A repeat of that 2-hour drive over mostly gravel roads and through picturesque rural Costa Rica followed, and we were then back at the restaurant where we had eaten breakfast the first day, this time for lunch. After refuelling, it was time for us to hit the road alone. We said our good-byes to our fellow travellers and found our rental car representative who set us up in a cute Daihatsu 4×4, our transport for the rest of our Costa Rican journey, and then we were off towards our next destination, Arenal Volcano.

Drinking fresh coconut juice on Tortuguero Beach
The Caribbean Coast, Costa Rica
Tortuguero Village
Tortuguero
Bright buildings in Tortuguero
Tortuguero
Mosaic with a message, Tortuguero
Tortuguero
Tortuguero
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The Final Chapter – El Camino de Santiago

This blog has been sitting in draft form on my desktop for 3 months and it’s about time it was posted. Andrew has been very patient and only nagged me about it a few times every week since we arrived back in New Zealand.  So here it is, our long overdue blog to complete our 17-month European adventure, and as it is the last blog in this series, we have decided to write it together.

 

I’ll hand it to Andrew to set the scene.

 

Andrew: A few years back Louise’s mother and aunt spent near on 6 weeks walking the 780-kilometre Camino de Santiago pilgrims’ trail from St. Jean Pied-du-Port in France, across the Pyrenees and westward across northern Spain to Santiago de Compostela. Last year when we were driving through that part of Spain, we followed the trail for a hundred kilometres or so and saw many walkers taking on the challenge. This sparked Louise’s interest. Walking the full 780 kms would be too time-consuming and our weary legs after 16 months walking around Europe also played a part in our decision to only take on a small portion of the trail. To get your Compostela Certificate you need to walk the final 100 kms of the pilgrimage and finish at the cathedral in the centre of Santiago de Compostela, so we looked at the possibility of coming back to Spain at the end of our trip to do that. At the time we wrote about it in one of our blogs and my brother Tim mentioned that it was on their bucket list. Conveniently Tim was heading to a medical conference in Barcelona near the end of our trip, so 10 months later and with a bit of organisation we caught up with Tim and Julie and spent a week walking the final 117 kms of the Camino de Santiago from Sarria to Santiago de Compostela.

 

Initially, this was a Catholic pilgrimage walk and has been since the 9th century. According to medieval legend the remains of the apostle Saint James the Great were brought here in 813 and now lie inside the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela which is the focal point of the old city. Today it’s walked by a variety of people for many reasons: travel, sport, a challenge, and as a spiritual retreat from modern life. Back in 1985, just 690 pilgrims undertook the trek, but the popularity has now risen so much that last year 300,000 people walked the now famous El Camino de Santiago. Most travel on foot, some on a bike and a few do it on horseback or donkey. There are many paths leading to Santiago from all directions, but the French Way is the most popular. Whichever way you decide to do it – “all roads lead to Santiago” and the distinctive Camino signposts with the yellow scallop shells pop up in towns all over Spain.

 

Let the adventure begin.

 

After an hour and a half flight from Malaga to the top of Spain, we arrived at Santiago de Compostela, picked up our rental car and headed into the city to find our hotel.  Our first task was to find the Pilgrims’ Office and get our Camino Passports. To get the Compostela Certificate at the end of the walk you need to have your passport stamped each day at one of the many stamp stations along the trail and twice a day in the final 100kms. This is to prove you’ve actually covered the distance. They are also a great souvenir and cost only 1.50 Euro each.

 

Tim and Julie were arriving later that night, so after having a look around the town we headed back to the airport to collect them. After they checked into their hotel a little after 9pm we all walked a few hundred meters back into the old town to have a quick bite to eat and a drink. As usual in Spanish towns, it was a very busy place even at 10 at night. After tapas and a catch-up, we headed back to our respective hotels and agreed to meet the next morning at 10am to drive to Sarria for the start of the Camino.

 

As we all had quite a bit of luggage, we had decided that Louise, Tim and Julie would set off each day on the walk and I would drive to the next town with the luggage, park the car and walk back to meet them. You can get your luggage delivered but they charge around 7 Euros per bag, per day, which would have meant spending around 60 Euros a day ($100) and over seven days that works out to be quite expensive, so renting a car seemed like the better option. Also, I didn’t quite trust my bung knee to hold up for 117km and this way if it got too bad, I could opt out.

 

Day 1: Monday, September 10th

 

Andrew continues: We headed off to Sarria via A Coruña. My brother Tim is an orthopaedic surgeon in Palmerston North and the anaesthetist he works with is Spanish and hails from A Coruña in Galicia, so Tim wanted to see his hometown since we were so close. It was a bit over an hour’s drive north from Santiago de Compostela and Tim was expecting a small seaside village. It was not a village, more of a built-up and bustling metropolis with a population of around 250,000. We found a car park and walked through the narrow lanes of the old town to Plaza de Maria Pita whose namesake warned the town of an invasion by Sir Francis Drake back in the 16th century and is now immortalised in a statue in the centre of the square. The old town was pretty deserted, but it was only just after 11am and in Spain mornings are never a rushed affair. We walked past closed markets and shops to the beach. It was a perfectly formed horse-shoe bay and like all Spanish beaches had been immaculately groomed overnight and there was not a piece of litter in sight. It wasn’t warm, but a few brave souls were swimming and sunning themselves in bikinis. Schools of different sized fish swam in the shallows near rocks. After a walk along the beach we made our way back into the old town, found a café for lunch and then were on our way to Sarria.

 

Our drive took a little over two hours with a few stops along the way. We arrived in Sarria around 5 to find our accommodation. Louise had pre-booked all of the hotels/apartments some time ago, so we had a specific destination each day. We followed Google Maps and pulled into a bit of a rough looking area. Tim and Julie were looking at each other, wondering what sort of place Louise had booked us into. But, after a quick phone call and a slight backtrack we were ushered into our apartment – a 2-bedroom self-contained place with all the comforts of home.

 

Our first mission was to get our Camino Passports stamped with our official starting point and then find something to eat, so we all headed up to the small stone church to get a stamp.  They were busy with evening mass, and after waiting with a growing number of others we decided to try our luck somewhere else. Official stamps can only be got from churches, tourist information centres, post offices and town halls or council offices and as it was after hours, we didn’t expect anything to be open. However, one of the other would-be walkers told us of an Albergue (hostel) attached to a monastery further up the hill that gave official stamps, so we headed off to find it. With our starting point officially registered it was time to find a restaurant and then head home for a good night’s rest before starting El Camino.

Pilgrims’ Passport stamped and ready.
Plaza de Maria Pita, A Coruña
A Coruña

Day 2: Tuesday, September 11th

Sarria to Portomarin – 22kms

 

Louise: It was only just light when we started on our way despite being 8am, autumn comes quickly in Europe. We were excited to get going and started up the hill to find the path. Andrew came with us as far as the church, bade us farewell and we were off on El Camino. Striding up the narrow-cobbled streets through the old part of Sarria we saw our first yellow arrow spray painted on a stone wall, turned a sharp left and we in the countryside. Already plenty of other walkers were on the trail so there was no chance of us losing our way. A sign asked walkers to be aware of dogs following them and becoming lost. Having flocks of happy people walking past your house must be irresistible for dogs and it’s understandable why many get caught up in the excitement only to find themselves horribly lost a few hours later. Our first stamp of the day was not far along the trail where a man had a table set up and was giving out pretty butterfly stamps with Sarria on it, in return for a donation. We quickly realised you need to have plenty of coins on hand for the many donations along the way. From there it was uphill through birch forest and then across ploughed fields and past small farms. The track is well worn and easy to follow. Julie set a cracking pace and we covered the first 5km quickly. It was time for a coffee break. There are cafes at regular intervals along the way. Most are pop-up types attached to houses and only operate through the summer walking season. We got another stamp at this café and I chatted to an American lady who was walking with her adult son. There is a strong sense of camaraderie on the Camino, everyone is a friend on the trail.

 

We continued on past rustic farm buildings and fields fenced in stone walls, past a duck with a jumble of fluffy ducklings in tow, a herd of beautiful chestnut long-horned cows and lots of interested horses who leaned over gates in the hope of a pat. The pungent smell of silage and manure almost overpowered poor Julie. A quaint stone church appeared. We were keen to get our first “official” stamp of the day, but it was closed on Tuesdays. At about 11.20 we passed the 100km mark, 17km of our walk complete 100 to go. A few minutes later and we came across a dilapidated stone farm building with a food stall set up in the courtyard. The table was laden with all sorts of local delicacies and a sign welcomed pilgrims to eat what they wanted for a donation. A wizened old farming couple were manning the stand, their twinkling eyes and bright smiles reflecting the spirit of the Camino. The little old lady who barely came up to Tim’s waist stamped our passports, holding each one as though it was a treasure of great value and planting the stamp with great purpose, grinning up at us after each was complete. Not long after we came to another converted barn filled with El Camino merchandise. Tim and Julie bought scallop shells, the symbol of the Camino. I had already got mine in Santiago. Now we all looked the part with our shells swinging from our packs.

 

We came to the brow of a hill and could see a village in the distance. It was Portomarin and it was all downhill. Then out of the heat haze appeared a familiar figure – Andrew. He’d had the tough climb up to meet us. He guided us back to the village and after showers we found a place for a late lunch. Tim’s attempt at Spanish resulted in a bottle of wine being ordered instead of a glass. We didn’t have the heart to send it back and it went straight to our heads. Later that afternoon we finally got our “official” stamp at the church. Andrew and I joined other pilgrims bathing our feet in a salt water pool in a park. Conversations starting with the questions: “Where did you start? “How far have you walked?”. We slept well that night.

 

Andrew: We walked together up the steep hill to the church where I said farewell to the trio of trampers and headed back to the car for the 30-minute drive to Portomarin. This was a new adventure for me as I was not only the driver but the navigator too – would I manage? Yup. It seemed so. The drive was uneventful, through a small village and countryside which was quite green compared to southern Spain. Portomarin is a small town perched on a hill with a population of around 2,500. In the 1960s the Mino River was dammed to create a reservoir putting the old village under water. Most of the historic buildings of the town were moved brick by brick and reconstructed in the new town higher on the hill, including its castle-like central church. At this time of year, the dam level was low and the remains of ancient buildings, the old waterfront and the old bridge were visible.  I found my way to our apartment near the top of the hill overlooking the town then checked out the local restaurants before heading back to meet the others. I walked down the Roman Staircase and was greeted by many pilgrims walking towards me. Then it was over the Roman Bridge and a climb up into the hills. It didn’t take me long to realise walking the other way wasn’t that easy. The Camino signs are positioned for the walkers going in the right direction, not the wrong way like me, and when you come to a fork in the path you have to work out which way they are coming from. After about an hour’s walking and having passed many a walker I found the three of them strolling along in the warm early afternoon sunshine (already around 31 degrees) and we all walked back to town together. Day 1 complete.

About to start our walk in Sarria
Julie and Tim striding along
Local food provided for pilgrims for a donation
The well-worn path
The Roman Stairs in Portomarin
5kms complete!
Scallop shells for sale – the symbol of El Camino

Day 3: Wednesday, September 12th

Portomarin to Palas de Rei: 25km

 

Andrew: Everyone decided we needed to be on the road by 8 again to beat the mid-afternoon sun but looking down on the town from our apartment window it was hard to see anything. The Spanish fog had rolled in and coupled with the dark autumn morning meant visibility was bad. Despite this many had started the journey and we could see them through the haze trailing across the bridge and up the hill. I sent my three on their way. It was another 30km drive for me which took a little over thirty minutes. Palas de Rei is another small town with a population of around 4,000 and has a lot of history with many archaeological remnants from an ancient settlement.  Our hotel was on the main street. I was too early to check in, so I parked the car in a shady spot and started my walk back to meet the others. This was a bigger mission than the previous day. No pilgrims had started to arrive in town, so I couldn’t see where they were coming from and the town was quiet at 9 in the morning. A couple of Spanish people I asked made extravagant gestures trying to explain which direction I should go. I followed their advice, hoping I’d understood, climbed some stairs and walked through a church yard to an intersection with three different off shoots. Where to now?

 

Just as I was about to head off in what would have been the wrong direction, a lady with walking poles came up behind me and headed up a sharp hill. She looked like she knew what she was doing, and it seemed like a good option, so I followed her up. After about 30 minutes of following her I was conscious she had turned around many times to see who this strange man was behind her. She stopped to fill up her water bottle at a small village and I took the opportunity to say hallo. She was relieved that I did, as she said she had been reading how a Japanese girl had been stalked and killed in a similar spot a year ago. Cripes! I assured her I was a good upstanding individual. Like me, she was also walking in to meet friends. For the next hour we walked together and shared stories. Her name was Siobhan and she was Irish. She had done quite a bit of the walk last year and had come back with friends to do the rest this year, but had broken a bone in her foot some months prior so was doing a similar thing as me, driving the luggage and walking back in. When we finally came across her two friends, they promptly told me Louise, Tim and Julie were just a few minutes behind. How did she know who they were? She had observed the four of us eating together the day before and noticed I was missing from the group when they stopped for coffee a few hours earlier. Very observant I thought, but as we progressed over the next few days, I too started to notice who was around and who you had seen before. Faces became very familiar. So, reunited with everyone we all tramped the hour and half back to Palas de Rei.

 

Louise:  Today’s walk started down a steep hill through Portomarin, across a bridge and up a long but gentle climb to the main road. The path then followed the main road for a while before veering off into the countryside and climbing steadily over forest covered hills. The early morning crowds started to thin out as people dropped back and stopped for coffees and breakfast. Julie once again set a formidable pace and I was starting to think I wouldn’t be able to keep up, but nor did I really want too. With so many people on the track it was hard to push past, and I didn’t want to rush, but rather take time to say “Buen Camino” to fellow pilgrims, listen to the many languages being spoken around us, or just get lost in my thoughts and the steady rhythm of my footfall. The pace soon slowed, and we were back in sync.

 

There weren’t as many rest places in the first couple of hours and we had only got the one stamp from a café and were keen to get an official one. We came across a tiny stone church with a long line of people outside. We decided it was worth waiting for a stamp. Inside it was very dark but the priest giving stamps didn’t seem fazed by the lack of light. It didn’t take long for us to realise he was blind. I guided his hand to my passport and he stamped and dated the page and I pressed a euro coin into his palm and he wished me “Buen Camino”. Onward, and it was soon time for a coffee stop just at the point our climb stopped and the track levelled out before dropping towards Palas de Rei. It was not long after, past a painted rock advertising “free hugs” outside an albergue and through another tiny rural village, that Julie suggested it must nearly be time for Andrew to show his face and just at that moment around the corner he walked. It happened like that the day before too and continued to happen in coming days. Julie could conjure up Andrew just like that.

 

It was great to have Andrew join us with an hour and a half still to go and time flew past as we all chatted away. We were hot and hungry when we arrived in Palas de Rei and it was siesta time and most shops were closed. Thankfully a superette was open for another half hour and we bought bread, cheese and tomato and had a picnic in the town square. There was a massage therapist next to our hotel and I couldn’t resist – my feet and legs were very appreciative. That evening we ate at a great restaurant specialising in Galician cuisine with a very charming waiter. For entrée we had fried pimentos and Galician octopus, a delicacy of the region. The octopus arrived intact – big, fat and purple. Andrew and Julie were horrified and couldn’t bring themselves to try it and I must admit I felt a bit sorry for the poor thing, but it tasted divine. Paella followed, two big pans full – vegetarian for Julie and Andrew and Seafood for Tim and me.

 

 

 

Picnic in the square, Palas de Rei
El Camino de Santiago
A Galician delicacy – Octopus
On the path to Palas de Rei
Is that you Andrew?

Day 4: Thursday, September 13th

Palas de Rei to Melide: 14.5km.

 

Andrew: Today’s drive only took 20 minutes. The hotel in Melide was just off the main street and looked fairly new. The owners told me the rooms weren’t ready, so I parked the car, took directions from the owner and headed off on my backwards pilgrimage. Melide is a bit bigger that the other towns with a population of around 10,000.  After about 2 minutes I was passing walkers coming towards me as many use this day to do a longer walk, not stopping in Melide. It was quite a warm morning and once again after about thirty minutes I was going uphill. It seems every town is downhill for the Camino walkers arriving, but for me who was going the other way it seemed like my first hour and a half was up hill. It turned out to be true again on this day. It was a quaint walk, crossing a couple of historic stone bridges and through eucalyptus forest. A dog joined me for a while and I worried that he may be lost, he looked confused. It was just after the dog left me that I found the guys and we headed back to Melide.

 

Louise: We were woken at 5 by hordes of people walking past our hotel, already starting on their way. Many people use this day to walk the 28ks to Azura, but we had decided to break that leg in two so for us today’s walk was 10km shorter than the previous day and there was no need to rush to beat the afternoon heat. The trail took us through small villages, past corn fields, dairy farms, and through fragrant eucalyptus forests. We noticed lots of small huts on stilts outside farm houses. We were told these were for storing corn although mostly now they are ornamental. In a quaint village a woman was putting hot wax stamps in passports. They looked beautiful, so we waited in line for ours. It was a slow process as she was manning her souvenir shop at the same time and every time someone wandered into the store, she dropped the wax and ran in while sighing loudly and rolling her eyes like it was all too much of a chore. I chose a wax stamp of two footprints. It was worth the wait. I was holding my passports open waiting for the wax stamp to dry when a dog ran past looking very lost and confused. Not long after Andrew appeared, also looking a little lost but perhaps not confused. We hadn’t expected to meet him so soon and he had nearly walked right past us. Reunited, we walked together through into Melide.

 

The benefit of having a car with us was realised – Tim had left his phone charger at the hotel back in Palas de Rei. A short drive back and we collected it. With the rest of the afternoon to fill Julie did some googling and found a swimming spot in a nearby river. The water was dark and stagnant, not at all inviting. We opted to sit under the trees and eat ice-creams instead.  Dinner that evening was at a restaurant in the old quarter. We saw many familiar faces. Some looked worse for wear: limping and nursing blisters. I was lucky, I was feeling no effects from the walking and apart from a few aches and pains the others were pulling up well too.

Eucalyptus forest
Corn stores on stilts outside every house
Found this guy on the way!
Wax stamp on the trail
One of the many small villages
El Camino de Santiago

 

Day 5: Friday, September 14th

Melide to Arzua: 14kms

 

Andrew: This was one of our shortest days and the drive took just over 20 minutes. The apartment was at the far end of town and my usual routine followed: park car; walk back through town; find trail; walk to meet the others. As I mentioned previously, it was quite difficult to go in the opposite direction and this was no exception. I found myself completely confused at a spot where four roads met. The sign heading back to Arzua could have applied to any of the three roads, but just as I was pondering which way to go a lone hiker arrived down the hill, so off I went in the direction he’d come from. Yes, it was also straight up hill again. By now I was frequently passing the same people that I had seen on previous days, and the “Hi’s”, “Hello’s” and “Buen Camino’s” were like meeting old friends. I had all kind of comments, like; “the mad kiwi is lost again”, “why does he keep walking the opposite way”, “here comes the anti-pilgrim” and so on. It was very amusing. I had become quite a novelty.

 

Reunited with the other three and once back in Arzua we checked in to our very nice apartment and the three trampers headed out for a massage. I was left to do the shopping for ingredients to cook dinner in the apartment – a nice change from eating out

 

Louise: This was our shortest day and one of the more picturesque parts of the track. After starting leaving Melide we were soon out the countryside walking across rolling hills through quaint rural settlements and pretty woodland areas where we were shaded by leafy green birches or sweet-smelling eucalyptus. It is amazing how well kept the paths are and most parts are paved. There are a lot of dairy farms in this part of Spain and we passed cows in milking sheds and wobbly newborn calves. The beautiful surrounds and with good company and conversation the morning past quickly and we had soon met up with Andrew and were walking into Arzua. This wasn’t the prettiest Spanish town with few redeeming features, but my choice of accommodation was excellent. We had a spacious two-bedroom modern apartment with views across the countryside and the big kitchen meant we could cook rather than eat out. A much-needed massage followed by a home-cooked meal and a glass or two of Spanish red and the day was complete.  Time for bed.

Paella!
El Camino de Santiago
El Camino de Santiago
Milking time
El Camino de Santiago

 

 

Day 6: Saturday September 15th

Arzua to O Pedrouzo: 18km

 

Andrew: Another 20km drive. Hotel found – one street back from the main street. I parked the car and headed back through a big forest area. Part of the attraction of walking the Camino de Santiago is that it gives you time to think. Time to break old routines and enough time to bring new perspectives. It makes you receptive to new ideas and new points of view and it also gives you time to listen to your own voice, unfiltered and unfettered. Yes, this is Andrew writing this. So, as I walked along thinking about the world, saying hello to the “regulars” and taking the familiar abuse about “still going the wrong way”, I all of a sudden ran into the three of them. With all this thinking and walking time had passed quickly and I hadn’t realised I had been walking the best part of three hours. I met the trio just near where an elderly British couple in a motorhome were giving stamps with charms attached, in return for donations. They said the funds were going towards a documentary they were making on the Camino Walk. The Camino is a popular topic for would-be documentary makers. Another rendezvous completed, and it was back to the hotel before finding a great lunch place and of course getting another stamp. The restaurant was so good we went back again for dinner. It wasn’t a good night though. At around 1am the emergency light came on in our room. We had a power cut and trying to sleep with the emergency light on wasn’t easy. I rigged up an old black jersey over the light and it was back to sleep.

 

Louise: Fog sat low in the green vales and the air was crisp despite the best efforts of the newly risen sun as it pushed its golden fingers out over the hills. It was another perfect day for walking. We had definitely chosen a great time of year to walk the Camino. The scenery was similar to the previous day. Those long lanes of eucalyptus and glades of beech, birches and oaks were now familiar. We quickly fell into our regular walking rhythm and our conversation and laughter was interspersed with comfortable silence. As we breezed along it would have been easy not to notice others on the track who were not having such an easy time of it. There were those who were obviously ill or had been recently fighting cancer, disabled people in sporty wheelchairs, a blind lady was walking with her family and her guide dog, and no doubt there were many others who were facing emotional challenges that couldn’t be seen, all on their own personal pilgrimage. On a number of occasions when we were setting out in the morning, we’d we passed an elderly lady walking by herself at snail’s pace. She carefully put one foot in front of the other and kept her balance with two walking poles. She was Canadian but barely raised her head in acknowledgment when I said “Buen Camino” as I passed her each morning. Her eyes were kept firmly on the track ahead. When we’d driven back to get Tim’s charger, we’d seen her on the trail, only half way there while we were well finished for the day. I can’t imagine the will power and I wonder the reason for her perseverance.

 

The Camino has many quirky things to see along the way and today was no different. We stopped for a photo at a beer garden with the walls, trees and gateway dripping in thousands of empty beer bottles. There are the characters too. A lone traveller with his loyal dog who from what we had gathered had walked this track many times and was giving stamps – one with two footprints and two paw prints and the Spanish “Compa tida La Soledad” which I figure means something like “Loneliness Shared”.

 

We met up with Andrew as we waited in line to get a wax stamp from an older English couple who said they were making a documentary on the Camino. I think it was just a brilliant way to make money – park your motorhome and sell wax stamps with charms attached for a euro a piece. If only 5% of those 300,000 pilgrims stopped, you’d easily fund your annual holiday and more. Good on them. Their bronze wax stamp with the golden scallop shell charm was one of the nicest we collected.

 

Andrew had joined us, and we continued towards O Pedrouzo. O Pedrouzo lies about a kilometre off the trail and is surrounded by forest. It was lunchtime and we found a fresh modern café serving local produce. It was a lovely surprise, and after looking at all the other restaurants serving burgers and fries, we decided to go back to the same place for dinner that evening. Before that however, we had spent some time hunting down another stamp. The church at one end of town was closed and so was the tourist office at the other end, and after walking from one end of town to another and halfway back we saw another sign indicating another tourist information and sure enough there was an office back up on the trail that was open, and we finally got our “official” stamp after clocking up an extra 3km on the Fitbit.

 

As Andrew said, we had a rough night being woken by a blindingly bright emergency light that we couldn’t switch off. Not to worry, there was only one more day of walking ahead of us.

El Camino de Santiago
El Camino de Santiago
On the way to O Pedrouzo
English couple selling wax seals with charms.
El Camino de Santiago

 

 

 

Day 7: Sunday, September 16th.

O Pedrouza to Santiago: 22km

 

Andrew: Up and away at 8am. I had a busy day. First task was to drop the bags at the hotel in Santiago. This wasn’t an easy mission as the old town does not allow cars, except taxis, through the narrow streets. The only exception is if you are dropping bags at a hotel, which I was. Before we left Santiago a week before we worked out how to get into the town as only a few entrances were open for cars. It seemed simple when we walked it. A couple of times around the old town and I finally found that entrance again and navigated through the little old streets and past the few early morning walkers. Luckily it was Sunday. Having dropped the bags at the hotel I found my way back to the main street and headed to the airport to drop the car back to the rental car company. The Camino walk goes very near the airport, so my aim was to walk the 2 kms from the airport to the trail and meet the three of them there to walk the remaining 15kms into the city. However, the rental car return didn’t go smoothly because of a scratch to the bumper that we had no idea about but apparently put there. After a long debate and a lot of language difficulties I finally got out of there. In the meantime, Louise, Tim and Julie were waiting at a small village where the track from the airport meets the Camino. I finally joined them, and we headed off on the last leg.  I will let Louise take up the final story of our 117 km Camino walk.

 

Louise: When we arrived at the airport a week earlier, we saw that the Camino track ran right nearby. Perfect – Andrew could return the rental car and join us there, so we would walk the majority of the last leg together and he would not have to do his usual backtracking. Knowing he had a lot to do before he could meet us, we took our time and meandered along the track through the forest, but it didn’t take long, and suddenly the airport runway was running adjacent to the path. Andrew had messaged us to say he was leaving the hotel and heading for the airport and we were confident our plan to meet him would work. We stopped for photos by a sculptured marking post and I got chatting with a couple of Kiwi women who were on a Sing the Camino tour where you walk during the day and spend the evenings singing together. They told me how uplifting it was, and they’d had the time of their lives. There is something for everyone, isn’t there.

 

We arrived at the small village by the airport where we were to meet Andrew. We had time to kill and we relaxed with a coffee and tomato and olive oil on toast at the café. It was then when Andrew messaged to tell us there was a problem with the rental car and he would be a while. Half an hour later he called to say he was still embroiled in a debate and subsequent paperwork and we should go ahead without him. No way! I was not going to walk the final leg of the Camino de Santiago without Andrew, and anyway what was the hurry? We waited and waited and waited. Finally, an hour later he appeared, surprisingly calm after his frustrating rental car experience. Our final part of the trek into Santiago de Compostela could begin. This part of the walk is through the villages that make up the suburbs surrounding Santiago, although there were still plenty of trees and greenery for the first part.

 

As it started to get more built up the path took us uphill to the top of Monte do Gozo where an impressive monument commemorating Pope John Paul II’s visit to Santiago de Compostela sits. Bronze panels with different religious imagery surround the huge concrete sculpture and the tributes and prayers scattered around show the significance it has to catholic pilgrims. Just below the monument is a small stone church and we stopped for a stamp as well as photos by the monument. On our way again down the slope and ahead of us in the distance we could finally see the Cathedral spires. We may have been able to see it, but it was still a long way off and we were now walking through the city. The final 5km seemed to take forever and we were thankful that it was a cooler day. It would have been hard work walking through the concrete jungle in 30-degree heat. The new city gave way to the older part of town and we picked up our pace, the historic town was now in front of us and in the centre was the Cathedral, our final destination.

 

We had a bounce in our step as we strode through the cobbled pedestrian streets bustling with pilgrims, down the slope through the ancient stone archway and out into the expansive Plaza de la Quintana flanked by the towering Cathedral. It was an exhilarating moment and I was not the only one with a lump in my throat. We had done it. 117kms completed. We high-fived and hugged and posed for photos in front of the cathedral. Now it was time to get our Compostela Certificates.

 

The line for the Compostela certificates was 2 hours long; not what you need when you’re dusty and hot. We agreed to come back after 6 and it was back to our hotel to shower and freshen up. Andrew and I went to find something to eat and got talking to an Irish guy who had just finished the 227km Portuguese Way that runs from Porto in Portugal up the coast and across to Santiago. He’d left his wife in Ireland and done it alone. He described a beautiful trail along the Portuguese coast and then inland over a mountain range to Santiago. It sounded a lot tougher than the French Way and he had some killer blisters to prove it, poor guy. Being Irish he had the gift of the gab – spurred on by the exhilaration of his accomplishment and with a pint or two under his belt we knew his life story by the time we’d finished our patatas bravas and calamari. Andrew did make sure he knew the great Irish Rugby Coach of the moment, Joe Schmidt, spent a lot of time in our home town of Tauranga before heading overseas to ply his coaching trade. He was quite taken by the fact that Andrew knew him and said it would be a national tragedy if he leaves Ireland.

 

We were rosy cheeked and a bit tipsy from our pint when we met up with Tim and Julie at the Compostela office. Thankfully the queue was a lot shorter. We’d been told that they ask you about the purpose of your pilgrimage and also look through your pilgrim’s passport to check your stamps to ensure you actually did the walk. It sounded a bit daunting especially as none of us are religious and this is after all a Catholic pilgrimage, but it was quite the opposite. They were incredibly welcoming and friendly. I was asked if I’d enjoyed my walk and where we’d started before flicking through the passport to check the dates. The others were asked much the same. We were each issued with an ornate certificate with our names written in Latin. Mission complete.

The final stretch
Monte do Gozo
Monument to the Pope, Monte do Gozo
First view of the cathedral spires
Nearly there
“Europe was made on the pilgrim road to Compostela”
The finish line!
With our Compostela Certificates

 

 

Day 8: Monday, September 17th

Santiago de Compostela

 

A pilgrim’s church service is held in the Cathedral at midday each day and again at 7.30pm. We arrived too late for the midday service the day before and the 7.30pm one was too late for us after the excitement of the day, so we decided to go at midday on the Monday. We arrived early to secure a seat and it wasn’t long before the cavernous cathedral was packed with pilgrims. The ornate interior is magnificent, and the service was very moving – nuns with heavenly voices filling the nave with song and the chants of monks resonating around the Romanesque pillars. What makes this service so special is the giant incense burner that is swung dramatically above the congregation spilling sweet smelling smoke as it goes. This beautiful silver botafumerio (Spanish for incense burner) is the largest in the world weighing 80kgs and measuring 1.60 metres in height. However, it is not guaranteed that the botafumerio will be swung at every service. The contributions from the congregation have to be sufficient enough to cover the 400-euro cost of the 40kgs of incense. We were lucky. We had a generous congregation and the botafumerio was soon swinging high above us accompanied by that angel-voiced nun singing so exquisitely. It was an awe-inspiring experience and an apt way to finish El Camino de Santiago.

 

After the service Andrew and I went back into the square and watched other pilgrims arrive. One woman came through and shouted “yes” with a vigorous air punch. She was alone, and we congratulated her and offered to take her photo in front of the cathedral. She was German and had walked 500 km of the French Way alone and was stoked we had been there to “meet” her. The camaraderie of the Camino is ever present.

 

The rest of the day we shopped for souvenirs and enjoyed the buzzing atmosphere of this vibrant city. The day finished with an evening tour of the Cathedral roof with views across the city and then a farewell dinner. Farewell to El Camino de Santiago, farewell to Spain, and farewell to Europe after an epic 17-month adventure.

 

The next day we left Spain and Europe and flew home.

 

View from the Cathedral roof
Santiago de Compostela cathedral roof
The incense burner at the pilgrims’ service
The Cathedral, Santiago de Compostela
The famous incense burner at the pilgrims’ service
Santiago de Compostela

 

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Spain: Malaga for a Week

I haven’t written a blog for a whilst and seeing we have had a relaxing week in Malaga, Spain I thought I would tell you about it and why we are here. This will give Louise a bit of a break. Back in November last year, when we first arrived in Spain, we saw many people walking the Camino de Santiago and Louise was very keen to do part of it, so we thought we would do 100 plus kms, enough to get the certificate. My brother Tim and sister-in-law Julie were keen to do the walk as well and we had made plans to meet them in Santiago de Compostela on September 9th. That left us with a week to fill in.

 

Organisation is one thing we have been pretty good at. We had the three months in the UK planned then the four weeks in the Balkans and Romania, but we had this spare week between finishing in Bucharest and starting the Camino walk. What to do? We looked at quite a few options but decided a relaxing week in Spain sounded best. We wanted to be on the coast and initially looked at Alicante, but the flight times were all wrong. However, flights in and out of Malaga were perfect, so we decided that would suit nicely, and what better way to prepare for a 100km walk than a relaxing week in Malaga. We spent three days here pre-Christmas last year and liked the place. It does have one of the best Christmas light displays in Spain. Louise found us a one-bedroom apartment in Malaga for NZ$120 a night, we booked it, arranged the flights and there we were.

 

Malaga is the capital of the Province of Malaga, with a population of 600,000 and lies on the Costa del Sol (Coast of the sun). It’s the 6th largest city in Spain, and the history spans about 2,800 years making it one of the oldest cities in the world. It is also the birth place of the famous painter Pablo Picasso. Malaga is roughly 100km from the straits of Gibraltar on the Mediterranean. The economy is driven by tourism, construction and technology. Summer here lasts about 8 months and even in winter – December to February – it has an average daytime temperature of 17 degrees making it the warmest winter European City. We had experienced Malaga in winter late last year but this time it was the end of summer with daytime temperatures around 30 degrees dropping to early 20’s overnight.

 

We arrived in Malaga at 11am caught the airport bus into the city and proceeded to find our accommodation. We knew roughly where we were but were pleasantly surprised to find our apartment was in the heart of the old city, just 60 meters from the main town square. After enjoying a salad and paella at one of the many restaurants, we met the people with the key to our apartment. It was on the 3rd floor, had recently been renovated and had a beautiful roof deck. The Spanish sure know how to make the most of space in a house. A little circular staircase leads up to the roof deck, which had a table, chairs, a hammock and newly laid artificial grass. They use artificial grass a lot in these parts, but it does get very hot underfoot. The view to one side took in the Gothic Spires of the Sacred Heart Church and on the other another church bell tower. No chance of forgetting the time here!

 

Spending time in Malaga last year we had seen a lot of the tourist sites and this week was about relaxing. We thought we would enjoy some home cooking but after two nights we decided it was much better to join the thousands out and about and enjoy Spanish cuisine. It never fails to amaze me how many people are out and about every night strolling around, eating, shopping etc. It’s a totally different culture to what we are used to in New Zealand. Spain of course stops for an afternoon siesta, so most of the town is quiet between 2 and 5, but from 5 till 10 its awash with people of all ages. Its just nice to wander round with them enjoying the ambience of the town on very warm evenings. The old town is car-free, and all the streets are paved in creamy marble. The walkways are lined with elegant buildings from the late 19th, early 20th century. It’s a very glamorous city. It is made for eating out with so many different restaurants, and for around NZ$65 you can enjoy a good dinner, a beer and a bottle of nice Spanish wine. Back home $65 may just buy a beer and a wine at a restaurant. From the apartment we walked through the old town for about 7 minutes to the waterfront, where many cruise liners berth. Ten minutes more and were at a beautiful beach “Playa de Malaga” which stretches for many kilometres each way. The beach was busy and the water temperature around 23 degrees. Most afternoons about 3pm we wandered down and spent a couple of hours enjoying the sun and taking a refreshing swim before heading back to enjoy a nice cold beer on the roof deck. Malaga seems to have its fair share of shoe shops and the prices are so cheap. We both made a few purchases and why not when they cost about 25% of the price back home. I also needed a dentist after breaking a tooth and losing a filling. I just wandered in through the front door of a place 60 meters from our apartment. It was on three floors and had many staff going about their jobs. I asked if I could see a dentist. Within 10 minutes I was sitting in the dentist chair getting checked out and then returned the next day to have the work done. The place was pristine with all the latest equipment and my English-speaking dentist told me many others from all over Europe come here to get dentistry work. As an aside, a crown costs around NZ $750 (and that includes everything) whilst an implant and crown can be done for $NZ 2,200. Believe me that is cheap, I know.

Plaza de la Constitucion, Malaga
Waterfront, Malaga
Playa de Malaga
Malaga Cathedral
Roof deck on our apartment

On Wednesday we caught the fast train to Cordoba, inland from Malaga. Its 168km away and the fast train reached speeds of 267km per hour (maximum speed 310km). We were there in under an hour. Taking in the countryside from the train windows amazed us. Whilst Malaga had greenery the trip to Cordoba took us through vast dry countryside with little if any green areas, except for the many olive groves and lots more new ones being developed. It never fails to amaze us how huge this country is. If anyone is contemplating doing this train trip, book in advance. All seats are numbered and many of the trains sell out. As well, booking ahead saves you money as you pay a premium for last minute bookings. Cordoba was a Roman settlement then colonized by Muslim armies in the 8th century and became one the most important Islamic Centres in the middle ages. The old town is the second largest in Europe and is a UNESCO world heritage site. Its full of quaint narrow streets lined with white-washed houses trimmed in bright blue or orange. Standing proudly at the end of the old town is The Great Mosque -La Mezquita. This is immense mosque dates from 784 A.D and the huge prayer hall filled with striped columns is quite breath-taking, as are the Byzantine mosaics. After the Muslims were defeated by the Christians it became a Catholic church in 1236 and a Renaissance-style nave was added in the 17th century. It’s quite odd that a cathedral sits inside a building that is so obviously Islamic. There is a tower and as always Louise had to conquer it. Behind the mosque is the Roman Bridge built in the early first century and stretching 250 meters with 16 arches over a fast-flowing river. It was the only connecting bridge the city had until 1953. It’s a fascinating city to wander around and we were pleased we’d made the journey inland to see it.

La Mezquita, Cordoba
La Mezquita, Cordoba
La Mezquita, Cordoba
La Mezquita, Cordoba
Cordoba
Fast Train to Cordoba

Back in Malaga, we climbed to the top of the ancient fort on the hill behind the city with stunning views over the coast, visited the Alcazaba, an old Arab palace sitting above the ancient Roman amphitheatre, and Louise couldn’t resist visiting beautiful Malaga Cathedral again.

 

So that was Malaga. A wonderful relaxing week in a city that is so clean you could eat your food off the marble pavements. It is also home to many beautiful Tapas restaurants and the Spanish people are so helpful and friendly. In our opinion they are also some of the best dressed people we have seen – casual and elegant, no rough scruffy clothes here.

 

Next stop Northern Spain, Santiago and El Camino.

Calle Marques de Larios, Malaga
Malaga
Tapas, Malaga
Beautiful buildings, Malaga
Malaga
View from the fort, Malaga
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Romania

Romanticised in literature as Dracula’s homeland and then closeted away behind the iron curtain for most of the 20th century, Romania is a fascinating prospect to visit and has been on our “must-visit” list for a while. So, after booking the 14-day tour of the Balkans we opted to add on an 8-day tour of Romania using the same tour company, Penguin Travel.

 

The flight from Sofia to Bucharest was just over an hour in a small propeller plane operated by Romania’s national carrier TAROM and surprisingly included complimentary trolley service. Our driver picked us up and we whizzed along wide tree-lined streets past shopping malls filled with big European brands like Carrefour, Leroy Merlin and Decathlon. We turned into a wide boulevard and the Arc d’Triomphe loomed in front of us. Had we been transported back to Paris? Not quite. This is the Romanian Arch of Triumph and is one of the reasons this city is referred to as the Paris of the East. This Arch may not be as large as its western counterpart, but it’s large enough and sits majestically in the middle of a roundabout at the top of a long leafy boulevard, the latter part of which runs through an expansive tree-filled park. We were then driving along Victory Avenue past palatial Belle Epoque buildings from the late 19th century that survived the communist era and have now been brought back to their former glory.

 

Our accommodation was the Novotel, a modern high-rise hotel built behind the remaining stone façade of a 19th century building bombed in the second world war. The hotel was right in the centre of town and after checking in we walked the short distance to the Centru Vechi, the Old Centre. This small area is a glimpse of pre-1940’s Bucharest. What the war didn’t destroy Communism did with its “out with the old, in with the new” philosophy. There are some beautiful buildings here, like the Odeon Theatre and the majestic CEC Bank, built in 1900 with a huge glass dome roof, and the National Museum, built in the late 19th century with a row of very grandiose Doric columns. The tangle of streets in this old part of town are mostly lined with bars, restaurants and strip joints. There’s a seedy side to Bucharest and its known as a destination for stag weekends.

 

The next day we ventured back into the old town past some lovely Orthodox churches where wedding parties gathered outside, and down to Dambovita River. Across the river is where the old town most suffered under Nicolae Ceausescu’s communist leadership. In the early 1980s, after an “inspiring” visit to North Korea, Ceausescu ripped out 80 percent of the historical centre — 30,000 houses, schools, and churches — to create the Civic Centre district, with wide boulevards, stone-faced apartment blocks, gurgling fountains, and a Pyongyang aesthetic. Urban planners managed to save a few churches by secretly relocating them inside city blocks, where you can still find them today. At the end of Union Boulevard, we could see the huge Parliamentary Palace’s looming presence. This is the piece de resistance of Ceausescu’s Bucharest. We didn’t venture closer as a tour of this enormous building was planned for the last day of our tour and we didn’t want to spoil the surprise.

 

The rest of our day was filled wandering back through the old town and doing a bit of shopping, snapping up some bargains in the summer sales.

 

That night we met our tour group and our guide for dinner at the hotel. There were 10 in the English-speaking group: an extended family of seven from Canada, whose ancestors had migrated from Romania, a Norwegian man who had left his wife back home at work, and us. Then there were two Germans and their German-speaking guide who would ride with us on the bus. Our guide Alex was a 28-year-old from Bucharest who had been leading tours of his country for 10 years. He said the reason he did he job was to change the perception of Romania. He was certain that most people thought of Romania as a breeding ground for criminals and vagrants and that all Romanians were “Gypsies”. Funnily enough we’d heard this prejudice a few times during our travels where people labelled beggars as “Romanians” and talked of gangs of “Romanian” thieves that came through and stole everything in their way. From what we’d seen so far Romania was far from a crime-riddled country and we were more than happy for Alex to dispel this misconception.

 

On Tour

Day 1: Bucharest – Curtea de Arges – Sibiu – Sibiel

We set off from Bucharest in a zippy 19-seater Mercedes bus; ten English speaking tourists, the two Germans, the 2 guides – Alex for the English and Carmen for the German speakers – and our driver Danny. The landscape was flat with fields of maze and sunflowers that had finished for the summer, their heads drooping sadly.

 

We arrived at our first stop at midday: Curtea de Arges, the former capital of Wallachia. It was here that we had our first glimpse of the religious lavishness that weaves through this mostly rural country. Curtea de Arges Monastery is where the kings and queens of Romania are buried and in the centre of the complex, glowing bright white, is the pavlova-like Cathedral of Curtea de Arges, built over 500 years ago by Prince Neagoe Basarab. Although Byzantine in style it is heavily influenced by the Ottomans and has a very middle-eastern look.  We didn’t expect such opulence in Romania. The interior is dark and lined with incredible frescoes in those rich blues, reds, greens and golds that Orthodox churches are known for. After visiting the church, we wandered the monastery grounds past the tombs of Romanian kings and queens including the last King of Romania, King Michael, who was forced to abdicate in 1947 and then exiled by the newly instilled Communist regime.  His exile marked the end of the monarchy. Years later, well after communism had fallen, when King Michael died in Switzerland his body was brought home to rest.

 

It was time for lunch. All the meals apart from one dinner were included in the tour price and as this was the first after the hotel buffet breakfast we were interested to see what we’d get. It was the start of a week of what seemed like non-stop eating – three course meals for both lunch and dinner and all traditionally Romanian.

 

We continued on along the picturesque Olt Valley and through to Sibiu, one of the oldest cities in Transylvania. This lovely historic town is known for its Germanic architecture, the legacy of 12th-century Saxon settlers. Alex took us for a brief tour through the town, past pastel coloured buildings to the Evangelical Church with its geometric patterned tile roof, then over Liar’s Bridge and back to the Main Square, watched over by the impressive 13th century Council Tower of Sibiu. Quite aptly a mediaeval fair was underway, and the main square was bustling with people in costume. The group had dispersed by this stage and we wandered through the market stalls and watched knights bounce off each other in some sort of medieval wrestling match. The buildings in Sibiu have eyes. The vents in the rooves are shaped like eyes and they disconcertingly follow you when you walk by giving the town a fantastical feel.

 

We met back at the bus and drove the short distance to Sibel, a small rural village. It was pouring with rain by at this stage and we made a mad dash into the Museum of Icons, housed in a rustic country building with white-washed plaster walls and timber beams. Inside was an incredible collection of religious paintings on glass, not done by any artists of note, but rather by everyday people. This is an age-old Romanian tradition and each region uses different colour combinations and artistic styles. Some are very childish, others more sophisticated, but all fascinating. The collection was extensive and stretched over multiple floors.

 

Our accommodation for the night was a very short drive from the museum. It was a guest house in a traditional Romanian farm house where a high gate opens onto a central courtyard encircled by the farm buildings and house. We were treated to a delicious home-cooked Romanian meal, but not before downing a good-sized dram of the local Rakia, a strong grape-base spirit. If this was how the tour was going to continue we were on to a good thing.

Curtea de Arges Cathedral
Sibiu, one of the oldest cities in Transylvania
Museum of Icons, Sibel

Day 2: Sibiel – Sighisoara – Targu Mures – Bistrita

Breakfast was a hearty traditional spread of local yogurt and honey, lots of sour dough bread, white cheese, cold meats, boiled eggs, and the loveliest smoked pepper relish which is a staple in this part of the world.

 

While we waited for the bus an elderly couple walked by leading their large grey cow with a huge bell hanging around its neck. They could have been straight out of the 18th century.

 

Our first stop on Day 2 was at the fortified Church at Biertan. The road to Biertan was narrow and lined with small rustic farms. Our bus driver had his work cut out for him dodging many horse-drawn carts, still a popular mode of transport in rural Romania. The 15th century fortified church at Biertan is more of a castle perched on a hill in the middle of a village surrounded by quaint streets and vineyards. Three tiers of 35-foot-high defensive walls, connected by towers and gates, encircle the complex, making the church impossible to conquer during medieval times. It is not hard to see why this is a UNESCO listed heritage site. Unfortunately, the church was closed on Monday. No one had told our guide. He was understandably upset with this glitch in his itinerary, but we were more than happy to walk around and admire this beautiful building from the outside. Built by the descendants of the Saxons there is a very Germanic look to the church and village. We were starting to think Romania looks like the setting for a Grimm’s fairy-tale.

 

This didn’t change when we arrived at our next destination. Sighisoara, birthplace of Vlad the Impaler, the real-life man behind the character of Dracula. The bus wasn’t able to drive up to the historic town of Sighisoara and we were dropped at the bottom of a hill. We walked up and through the city gates to discover an adorable, picture-perfect medieval Citadel complete with a prominent clock tower. It is easy to see why this town is a UNESCO World Heritage site and considered one of most beautiful and best-preserved medieval towns in Europe. We climbed the wooden covered medieval stairway to the creatively named Church on the Hill, a Gothic church with a simple exterior and cavernous interior where ancient frescoes squint through the whitewash that had intended to hide them forever. We walked back down to the narrow-cobbled lanes to the “House of Dracula” restaurant for lunch. This is the actual house where Vlad Dracula, later known as Vlad the Impaler and the man behind the fictional character of Count Dracula, was born. Of course, the restaurant was cashing in on this connection and after lunch we were ushered upstairs to Dracula’s Lair where an actor lying in a coffin sprang to life on cue in dramatic fashion. A bit of a repetitive job but someone’s got to do it.

 

After lunch we had free time to explore the town further before hitting the road again towards Targu Mures. On the way we passed through a Roma community. Alex told us that the Roma people or “Gypsies” are not well-liked in Romania as their criminal activity gives the country a bad name. They are not considered Romanians as they originate from Northern India and from what Alex says it sounds like there is a lot of prejudice against them and they are a marginalised minority.

 

Targu Mures is literally “Market on the River Mures” and people have lived there for thousands of years. Roman ruins have been excavated nearby and the symbol of Roma, the statue of the Capitoline Wolf suckling the twins Romulus and Remus, stands proudly in front of the Town Hall. The Romanians are quick to remind you of their Latin heritage.  Targu Mures is unique for its combination of Romanian and Hungarian influences and after being dropped near the City Hall we took a walking tour through this elegant city. Opposite the Town Hall is the impressive Palace of Culture, ostentatiously decorated in colourful mosaic tiles. Further down the street in the centre of town is the grand Orthodox Cathedral, relatively new by comparison, having been built in the 1920’s and early 30’s, but very ornate with a richly painted interior. We continue to be amazed by the architectural opulence in Romania, and the stark contrast between the simple rural life and these beautiful religious buildings.

 

Our busy day of sightseeing continued, and we drove on to Bistrita, one of the 7 medieval cities in Transylvania. Saxon colonists, who settled here in 1206, helped develop the town into a flourishing medieval trading post and like the other towns in Transylvania it is very Germanic. When we arrived, a stage was set up in the central pedestrian area and a sound check for a rock concert was underway. Our hotel was in the nearby square and after checking in, it was time for dinner, another 3-course meal. With three meals a day, two of which are 3-course, we’re going to come away from Romania 5kg heavier.

Sighisoara
Sighisoara, birthplace of Dracula
Targu Mures

Day 3: Bistrita – Campulung Moldovenesc – Gura Himurului

The next morning, we left Transylvania behind and drove through to Bucovina, the “upper land”. We drove through more lush green countryside made up of small farms and dotted with quaint traditional haystacks. Our first stop was at the garish Dracula Hotel built during the communist era in a bid to attract tourism. Getting off the bus we were greeted by an adorable dog who immediately befriended me. Like the other countries we’d visited in South East Europe there are plenty of stray dogs in Romania. In the parking area around the hotel were stalls selling all types of Romanian cultural objects and local products. We bought a souvenir and a gift before getting on our way.

 

The drive continued through dark forested hills. This is the land of Dracula that Bram Stocker described so vividly in his novel despite having never visited Romania.

 

Campulung Moldovenesc is a non-descript, run-down communist era town that you wouldn’t normally visit if it wasn’t for the Wooden Art Museum, that looks like nothing special from the outside but inside is veritable treasure trove of wooden artefacts from centuries of Romanian peasant life. All types of farm equipment, honey extractors, musical instruments, weapons, household appliances – what they didn’t make from wood didn’t matter. It was fascinating.

 

Lunch followed at a lovely rural restaurant and consisted of delicious soup that was heavy on garlic followed by meat and potatoes, both strongly seasoned with dill. They eat a lot of soup and potatoes in Romania and use a lot of garlic and dill for flavouring. There was no chance Dracula was coming near us.

 

The Bucovina region of Romania is famous for its painted monasteries and they are touted as a highlight of the trip, so we were looking forward to seeing them. A thunderstorm burst just as we arrived at Moldovita Monastery and we had to shelter against a wall while Alex did a superb job describing the frescoes in front of us. Unlike most churches where the frescoes line the interior, both the exterior and interior of Moldovita is covered in exquisitely intricate and richly coloured images. The exterior was completed in 1537 and the vivid and violent Siege of Constantinople is the highlight. Another stunning representation depicts the Tree of Jesse, representing Christ’s genealogy, a wide-spread iconographical theme in Europe during the Middle Ages. Entwined in the religious iconology are images of everyday peasant life along with the birds and animals of Romania. You could look at these for hours and still not see all the details. It is a truly exquisite building.

 

From the monastery we drove to the small village of Vatra Moldovitei, dodging two runaway horses who must have took fright during the thunder. In an unassuming house in the village is a museum of painted eggs and the workshop of master egg-painter Lucia Condrea. The ground floor is devoted entirely to her work – thousands and thousands of hen, goose, swan and duck eggs that have been intricately painted with painstaking detail. They are amazingly beautiful, and I wanted them all. But, they are not for sale. Strangely enough, and much to Mr Love’s confusion, Lucia Condrea doesn’t sell her work, she exhibits it. Photography is also banned so you have to take our word on just how incredible her art is. We asked her son-in-law, who guided us through the museum, how she made money, but he couldn’t give us a straight answer. Perhaps it’s some type of artists grant? We have never known of an artist who doesn’t sell their work.

 

Our hotel for the night was in the town of Gura Himururlui. There wasn’t much here apart from our huge hotel in the centre and a rather lovely church. Mr Love commented that this must be at least the 2,000th church he’s visited since we arrived in Europe.

Wooden Art Museum, Campulung Moldovenesc
Moldovita Monastery
Moldovita Monastery
Painted eggs, Vatra Moldovitei

Day 4: Gura Himurului – Voronet – Lacu Rosu – Miercurea Ciuc

Our monastery visits continued the next day starting with Voronet Monastery. Another exquisitely painted monastery, this one is famous worldwide for the blue colouring used in its exterior frescoes – a colour known as “Voronet Blue”. It is incredible these intense colours have survived its 500-year history. The scenes in the frescoes depict, like a movie storyboard, the history of Christianity, presented in an original manner and very much influenced by folk beliefs and Eastern culture. Our guide Alex talked us through the most famous of the frescoes, the painting of The Last Judgement. It is this mural that gave the monastery the name of “The Sistine Chapel of the East”, following Michelangelo’s masterpiece in the Vatican. The flamboyant mural tells a dramatic and intense story, and like all the frescoes on the monastery The Last Judgement entwines religion with folklore and pagan symbols; even the signs of the Zodiac are present.

 

We continued on our way, driving through quaint Moldavian villages and passing numerous horses pulling carts laden with corn, hay and wood.  The next stop was the village of Tarpesti, home of the delightful “Neculai Popa” Museum. This is a museum of folk costumes and the walls are lined with colourful masks used in traditional festivals. Alex donned the goat costume and had us in fits of giggles as he very seriously did the “Goat Dance”, lurching around and swaying from side to side in no particular sequence and with no rhythm. He emerged covered in sweat to a well-deserved round of applause.

 

We had two more monasteries to visit so bundled back onto the bus. Varatec and Agapia monasteries don’t have painted exteriors, but instead both have a white-washed chapel in the centre of perfectly manicured rose gardens surrounded by buildings housing hundreds of nuns. There are over 400 monasteries in Romania staffed by 5,000 nuns and 3,500 monks. At Agapia a nun showed us the carpets they were weaving by hand. They are beautifully crafted out of the finest Romanian wool and come with a hefty price tag. She took us through to another room where they were knitting fine wool hats and scarves and I couldn’t resist a lovely chocolate brown wrap.

 

We’d had our fix of monasteries and it was time to see some more of Romania’s dramatic landscape. The bus dropped us in the steep Bicaz Gorge and we walked a few hundred metres along the river trying not to photo-bomb the wedding party getting their photos taken with the cliffs as a backdrop. Further into the Carpathians mountains is Lacu Rosu (the Red Lake), named for its reddish tint caused by the colour of the silt on the bottom. Surrounded by forest the lake could have been beautiful except that it was overcrowded with people in rowing boats, mostly brides and grooms with drones buzzing overhead taking their wedding photos. Food stalls and ice-cream vendors crowded onto the lake shore and there was litter piled about. It wasn’t the picturesque mountain lake we were expecting.

 

Our hotel was a lodge nestled in the forest near the lake and that night the temperature dropped. Autumn was in the air.

Voronet Monastery
The Last Judgement, Voronet Monastery
Traditional masks, Neculai Popa Museum
Agapia Monastery
Lacu Rosu

Day 5: Lacu Rosu – Bran – Brasov

The scenery on our drive through the Eastern Carpathians the next morning was beautiful with steep forested slopes as far as you could see.

 

The terrain eventually flattened out and we were soon driving across what our guide described as a “fake plane” – a plane at a very high altitude and where temperatures drop to minus 30 plus in winter. This is also Székely Land, a historic and ethnographic area in Romania, inhabited mainly by the Székelys, a subgroup of Hungarian people. I noticed light blue coloured flags flying outside most houses. Alex told us this was their “national flag” and that they don’t identify as Romanians and many don’t speak Romanian. He was scathing that they wouldn’t converse with him in Romanian and highly against their wish for independence.

 

Our first stop for the day was at Prejmer to visit to a UNESCO listed fortified church. This is the largest fortified church in south-eastern Europe and was built by Teutonic knights in 1212. It’s a closed circular, white-washed plaster and timber building surrounding a grassed area with a church in the middle. It reminded me of the Globe Theatre. The circular building is divided into apartment-like houses, schools and workshops, and in a cavity running against the exterior wall is an area for soldiers to keep watch and defend the church from as required. Oddly this fortified church is built on a plane, rather than a hill as most forts are. A modern village now surrounds the fort and tourism is an important contributor to the local economy. Across from the fort a stork’s nest balanced on top of a chimney and the resident stork had not yet departed south for winter.

 

We drove on towards the town of Bran, famous for the medieval castle that has been adopted as Dracula’s castle. During the communist era the government focussed on the story of Dracula to encourage tourists and as Dracula’s fictional castle was a figment of Bram Stoker’s imagination they decided on another unrelated castle to be called “Dracula’s Castle”.  The castle in Bran was built as a fortress for the citizens of Brasov in 1377, as a defence for the city. The only tentative link to Dracula is that Prince Vlad may have used the Castle as a base during his incursions in Transylvania, but this is hard to prove. In 1922, Queen Mary of Romania changed the castle into a Royal residence and it became the best-known castle in Romania. After the royal family were exiled the castle was taken over by the communist government. However, in the early 2000’s the descendants of the royal family put a claim on it and it was finally returned to their ownership in 2009 and opened to the public as a museum. It is very much a fairy-tale castle from the outside but inside it is a bit sparse and although there are some lovely pieces of furniture on display it is not one the better castles we have visited.

 

From Bran Castle we drove the short distance to Brasov, another lovely Saxon town.  Alex lead us on a walking tour through the charming old town centre starting at the multi-spired Ekaterina Gate of the Old Citadel, then across to the Black Church. An enormous Gothic church, the Black Church is the biggest church between Istanbul and Vienna and was built by the German community in the late 14th century. The Lutheran church was originally named Saint Mary’s Church, but in 1689 a great fire destroyed the interior and damaged the walls and the roof, and it was named the Black Church because  the exterior was blackened from the fire. A traditional music festival was being held in Brasov and the town square was closed off for the event, cutting our walking tour short. It’s a very popular festival and is a sell out every year.

 

After we’d finished the walking tour our bus took us a couple of kilometres down the road to our hotel. It was the only night where our meal wasn’t included so we needed to find somewhere for dinner. There wasn’t much around the hotel and the centre of town was too vibrant to pass up so one of the Canadian women walked back with us to the town centre. It was humming. The pedestrian streets were filled with people and bars and restaurants spilled out over the cobbles. Google produced a well-rated restaurant and we were treated to a beautiful Hungarian influenced vegetarian meal accompanied by superb Romanian wine. After being served so much meat it was nice to have a break. The owner was a hip young woman who knew her stuff and brought three different bottles of wine to the table for tastings before we decide which one we wanted a glass of. We have never really given much thought to wine from this region, but both Romanian and Hungarian wine is good quality and sophisticated.

 

Prejmer
Prejmer
Bram Castle
Ekaterina Gate, Brasov
Brasov

Day 6: Brasov – Sinaia – Bucharest

The next day was our last on the road and in the morning, we crossed the majestic Carpathian Mountains toward Sinaia. Sinaia is the home of the fabulous Peles Castle, an exquisite piece of architecture and one of the most spectacular castles in Europe. This Neo-Renaissance castle was built between 1873 and 1914 and was influenced by the romantic castles of Germany. It served as the summer residence of the Romanian Royal family and sitting on a hill surrounded by forest and with a backdrop of mountains it is very much a story-book castle. The interior is beautifully decorated with dark sculpted wood and the stained-glass windows give it an elegant and truly royal feel. Luckily the communist dictator Nicolae Ceausescu left this castle untouched because he was a germ-freak who thought the dark wooden interior hid germs and dirt. It is stunning inside and rooms that are all richly decorated and diverse, with exquisite beauty and sophistication. The opulent gold and cream movie theatre is sublime and it was here where the first movie was screened in Romania. Perhaps the most famous room is the Great Armory Room, hosting some of the finest collections of arms and armour, with over 4,000 pieces of weaponry that were collected or received as a gift, mainly from Western and Eastern Europe, but also from other regions of the world. The mirrors, the carpets, the curtains, the furniture, the artworks – all sumptuous and entirely exquisite. We were blown away and both agreed this was the most impressive castle or palace we have visited in Europe.

 

After Peles Castle we headed straight back to Bucharest and Alex took us for a tour of his city. It is certainly a city of contrasts between old and new, with large boulevards and magnificent buildings. He showed us where Nicolae Ceausescu made his last speech before being overthrown in the revolution in 1989, a significant turning point for Romania.

 

We stopped for lunch before visiting one last place. After Peles Castle we thought we’d seen the best, but we were wrong. Our tour of the Palace of Parliament blew our minds.

 

The Palace of Parliament is the second largest administrative building in the world after the Pentagon. The total number of rooms is unknown but there are around 1,100. We walked around the building for an hour and saw 4% of it. It is so massive that it is visible from the moon. Currently, this imposing building houses the Romanian Senate and the Romanian Chamber of Deputies. Also known as the “People’s House”, it was Nicolae Ceausescu’s attempt to redesign Bucharest by constructing a series of impressive buildings meant to prove to the world how wealthy and powerful the Socialist Republic of Romania was. Construction started during the communist regime in 1983 and involved 400 architects lead by a 28-year-old woman named Anca Petrescu. By the time of the Romanian Revolution in 1989 the building wasn’t yet finished. After the Revolution, no one had the desire to complete this gigantic building and many Romanians demanded the destruction of the building which was seen as a symbol of Ceausescu’s megalomania and of the extravagant lives lead by the former communist elites.

 

The Palace of the Parliament is excessive in every way. One million square metres of marble was used, 3,500 tonnes of crystal in the chandeliers, 220,000 square metres of pure wool carpets, 3,500 square metres of calf skin to cover the chairs, the list goes on and on and is mindboggling. Plus, all the materials used were of Romanian origin, with the only exceptions being the doors of Nicolae Balcescu Hall. These were received by Ceausescu as a gift from his friend, the African dictator Mobutu Sese Seko, the President of the Republic of Zaire.

 

We stood on the balcony looking down the wide boulevard filled with fountains, created to be grander than the Champs-Élysées, and reflected on what sort of ego you’d need to think it was appropriate to build such an atrociously enormous building while your countrymen struggled in the fields with barely enough food to survive. This country is still trying to shake off the legacy of the oppressive policies Ceausescu inflicted on Romania. Despite that, the buildings are now used by multiple government departments and can be hired by the public for conferences and events. I find it hard to justify its existence. He may never have seen the building completed but in its very existence Ceausescu has made sure he is never forgotten. Something he surely doesn’t deserve.

 

It was the end of our tour. We’d been to the heart of rural Romania and seen how life in the countryside and small villages is mostly unchanged – farms still using horses, hay stacked by hand – and still steeped in folklore, with traditional values and religion firmly at the core. Bucharest may be a thriving modern city but outside of it, Romania is rustic and rural. Communism may have ended nearly 30 years ago, but it cast a long shadow and Romania is still trying to catch up to the rest of Europe. And it’s catching up fast with growth nearing double digits. But, I hope it doesn’t try too hard and lose its identity on the way. This warm, charming country is just lovely as it is.

Peles Castle
Statue of King Carol on his horse
CEC Bank, Bucharest
Palace of Parliament, Bucharest

I used the itinerary that was supplied by Penguin Travel as the foundation for this blog and built on it with our own experiences and insights.

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Tour of The Balkans: Week 2

The second week of our tour introduced us to four new countries; taking us along the Adriatic coast to Montenegro across the mountains to Kosovo, through Albania to Macedonia and back to Bulgaria.

 

Day 8. Dubrovnik to Kotor, Montenegro

After two nights in Dubrovnik we headed south to Montenegro. Winding our way up the coastal road we had spectacular views back over the Old Town, brightly lit in the morning sun – a chance to say goodbye to the beautiful Pearl of the Adriatic.

 

Not too far across the border we stopped at Herzeg Novi, a coastal town near the mouth of Kotor Bay. It’s a pretty town of creamy coloured buildings with red tiled rooves. A little church sits in the centre of the charming old town and an historic fort crouches on a rocky outcrop overlooking the bay. There’s an Italian feel to the old town; a reminder that coastal Montenegro was once under the control of the Republic of Venice.

 

Back on the bus we continued along the coastal road with views down to beach resorts packed with deck chairs and colourful umbrellas, winding our way further into the Bay of Kotor. The resorts gave way to steep rocky slopes rising from the astral-blue water and extending to peaks high above. Scrubby bushes dot the arid mountainsides. The road curled around the bay on a small slither of flat land between the water and the mountains. It was a hot clear day and people were swimming or relaxing under trees along the rocky shore. We stopped for lunch in the town of Perast, built on a strip along the shore. Glowing peaches and cream in the sunlight this little town is very Italian. Even more so is the flat man-made island sitting just out in the bay with the domed cathedral perched on it. It may as well have floated here from Venice.

 

Kotor Bay looks like a Mediterranean fjord. It winds almost 30 kilometres inland and is surrounded by the imposing Dinaric Alps. At the far end of the bay, where it is particularly narrow, lies the walled town of Kotor. We rounded the bend and were met with the sight of a massive cruise ship, looking like it was wedged in the narrow inlet and dwarfing the small walled town beside it. Another was moored just offshore. They looked far too big to be in such a small space.

 

We walked a short distance from where the bus dropped us and through the stones gates and into Kotor. This enchanting medieval town sits snuggly at the base of a mountain and is overlooked by a string of crumbling towers and fortifications clinging to the steep mountainside. Like Dubrovnik there are no cars or bikes inside the walls, only people and cats. But it is much smaller than Dubrovnik and wasn’t affected by the earthquake that destroyed many of the medieval buildings in Dubrovnik, so is almost entirely made up of buildings built between the 12th and 14th centuries. This magnificent cluster of medieval churches, palaces, theatres and townhouses safely encircled by walls makes Kotor a very unique place and is why it is a UNESCO World Heritage site.

 

A local guide took us through the town. Narrow cobbled lanes opened to charming squares skirted by honey-coloured buildings. The impressive two-towered Cathedral of Saint Tryphon sits in the middle of one of these squares. There are lots of churches in this very small city:  the 13th century Church of Saint Luke, the Church of Saint Ana from the 12th century, the Church of Saint from the 13th century, the Church of the Healing Mother of God from the 15th century – the list is long. Other treasures are the Prince’s Palace from the 17th century and Napoleon’s Theatre from the 19th century; newer than many of the buildings but very much a part of the rich tapestry of Kotor. The cats of Kotor, our guide told us, are arrogant and indulged and live a pampered life on these charming streets, keeping the city rodent-free.  They’ve somehow become an icon and in recent years cat motifs have appeared in souvenir shops – the “Cats of Kotor” are becoming famous.

 

When we first arrived, I’d eyed the fort on the hill and after our walking tour ended the other Kiwi on our tour and I decided to take it on – it was only 1355 steps to the top. The sun was setting, and the fort was a throng of activity. Groups of young backpackers were draped over the walls taking selfies and drinking beer – one enthusiastically sharing the experience with his parents back in Spain. I’d lost my tour mate but briefly befriended a young Chinese tourist and we took each other’s photos – she had some serious model poses that I was far too old to replicate.

 

Back down in the town I found Andrew drinking beer and chatting away to a guy from Brisbane he’d just met. He excitably told me how the beer only cost 2 Euros a bottle and was even on TripAdvisor for its cheap brews. I deserved one after my effort.

 

Before finding a place to eat we went back to a shop we saw earlier that was selling the most beautiful handcrafted Christmas decorations. I had seen some adorable wooden Father Christmases and I wanted one. Each Father Christmas was different and each exquisitely hand-painted with the kindest of faces. They have been crafted by the same families for hundreds of years in rural Montenegro. It took us a while to decide but we finally found ‘the one’. At 220 dollars he is the most expensive Christmas decoration I’ve ever bought, and I hope the certification they gave us appeases the Bio-security officers in New Zealand.

Herzeg Novi
Perast
Man-made island off near Perast
Kotor Cathedral
Kotor

 

Day 9. Kotor to Pec, Kosovo

The road out of Kotor wound around the bay before rising steeply through the mountains before heading inland towards Kosovo. The drive through the mountains was beautiful – forested hillsides with the occasional house and peaks down into lush green valleys. It was sparsely populated and obviously poorer than the touristy coast. We stopped at the highest point of the mountain pass for lunch and then headed on; stopping for photos in a magnificent gorge and buying fresh figs from a roadside vendor, then passing ski fields and mountain villages to finally arrive at the border. It was a small border station in a remote location and after being stamped out of Montenegro we drove 10km before we reached the border control for Kosovo. This 10km stretch is no-man’s land – territory that is still disputed after the most recent war.

 

Kosovo is Europe’s youngest country, declaring independence from Serbia in 2008. Despite most the world recognising Kosovo’s independence Serbia doesn’t. This is hampering Serbia’s quest to join the EU which can’t happen until they recognise Kosovo. It’s complicated.

 

Our first impression of Kosovo was that it looks poor. Only twenty years ago a bitter war was raging here and it’s still recovering. Rundown buildings line the roads and shells of former factories lie in overgrown fields. The valley we drove down into looked fertile and green, but much was unused and the crops that were growing there were patchy and small.

 

We had been on the road all day and it was evening when we pulled into the hotel in Pec, a city not far from the border. Our hotel was rather grand, sitting proudly in the central square and looking rather out of place in its dishevelled surrounds. This was the hotel where President Tito stayed when he visited the area, back when these countries were all part of the greater Yugoslavia communist state. After checking in we walked through the town.  People looked at us suspiciously. They’re not used to tourists. Pec isn’t a destination. There aren’t any buildings of note, or historic sites. It’s shabby and messy. Power and telephone lines looped across the streets and gathered in jumbled nests on poles and sides of buildings. There were lots of small shops selling gold and silver or knock-off Nike and Tommy Hilfiger. There were lots of people about. Families were out walking, there were street vendors selling divine smelling corn on the cob and the coffee shops were full of people drinking and smoking hookah pipes.  The flag of Albania – a red flag with a symbol of a black two-headed eagle in the centre – was flying everywhere. It was hard to find the flag of Kosovo. There were a couple hanging on the sides of government buildings, but even then, they were flying next to Albanian flags. The people of Kosovo identify with Albania, not Serbia. There are rumblings that Kosovo may eventually unite with Albania, and this is probably why Serbia is so staunch in its stance on denying Kosovo’s independence.

 

Dogs are everywhere here. They seem to co-exist with the people, quite content doing their own thing. Most are friendly, but some are not. We wandered over to a group of bronze statues in the square. A gang of dogs were lying around the base and one took exception to our approach baring her teeth and growling angrily – we made a quick turn and got out of there

 

A thunderstorm rolled around the hills and that evening it rained; heavy fat drops.

 

Day 10. Pec to Prizren, Kosovo 

The next morning, we drove the short distance to Visoki Decani Monastery. NATO troops are based here to police the area around the monastery because of the political situation between Kosovo and Serbia. This Serbian Orthodox UNESCO site has been the target of unrests in the region and recently as 2007 KFOR has had to defend it from grenades being thrown by Albanian supporters. Only 20 or so monks remain in this monastery, like other Serbians, most have moved north since the war, out of Kosovo. The KFOR military presence was intimidating, and we had to show our passports to get in, but once inside it was tranquil and very beautiful. In the middle of this walled monastery sits the sturdy 14th century cathedral with a rather plain exterior. Step inside and the treasure is revealed – incredible frescoes in sumptuous reds, blues, greens and yellows and of course plenty of gold. We can only hope this incredible treasure is kept safe.

 

We continued on our way towards Prizren. The highway was lined with a single string of urbanisation and behind the vegetable shops, carwashes, houses and wedding halls was a patchwork of fields with small clusters of crops, seemingly unorganised and of no significant scale. The wedding halls were odd – lavish establishments in faux-Grecian style with garlands of garish plastic flowers, often with white Hummers parked outside and totally out of place beside dilapidated buildings in semi-rural settings. We were told they love their big blingy weddings here.

 

It was just after midday when we arrived in Prizren. It was hot and humid and rain clouds were threatening overhead. Andrew left me in the hotel room blogging and went to find water and fruit. He came back excited by the vibrant town he’d discovered; people were everywhere, and the restaurants and cafes were overflowing.

 

Our local guide met us at 5 for a walking tour of his city. He was in his 30’s and owned a backpacker hostel. He started by taking us to the Catholic Cathedral opposite a Jewish community centre, then to the heavily guarded Serbian Orthodox church and finally into his own place of worship, the beautiful historic Sinan Pasha Mosque where the very funky young Imam greeted us warmly. Our guide kept stressing that Kosovo is not overly religious, that all religions live here peacefully, and he has plenty of friends of all faiths. Being in the tourist industry he has a vested interest in ensuring the message conveyed to tourists like us is that Kosovo is a modern multi-cultural society that embraces its diversity. The heavily guarded Serbian monastery we visited earlier and the security around the mostly idle Serbian orthodox church in Prizren challenges this.

 

The politics are complicated, and who are we to comment. We were here to learn about this region’s complex history and culture and enjoy the warm and charming city of Prizren. And it really is charming; the shallow Bistrica River flows through the middle of the Old Town crossed by a beautiful historic stone bridge, a fort sits on the hill above, and the historic centre is jammed with lovely character-filled buildings dating back to the 14th century.  I had noticed a lot of Audis and BMW’s with German, Swiss and French number plates. I asked our guide about this and he told us that these will be Kosovo people who fled the war returning to visit family for summer. He laughed and cynically said they probably spent their annual salary on a flash car as it’s their status symbol to impress family in their homeland. He told us Prizren is also where the Albanian national awakening began when a political organisation defending the rights of Albanians was founded in the city back in 1878. As a result, a lot of ethnic Albanians from all over the world come to Prizren as a sort of pilgrimage. We visited the building where this awakening began, and sure enough loads of people were having their photos taken outside, many posing with the hand gesture of the two-headed eagle.

 

We finished our tour where the path up to the fort started and surprisingly Mr Love suggested we walk up. He normally leaves me to conquer forts alone. It wasn’t too much of a climb and the view across Prizren and out to the mountains was lovely. Families and friends gathered on the lookout, posing for photos and sharing jokes. The sun was starting to set, and the place was bathed in hazy pink and gold. A call to prayer wafted up from the mosques below.

 

Back in town we went souvenir shopping and found some lovely hand-painted ceramic bowls, perfect for olives and humus. It was hard to find a place to eat, not from lack of restaurants but because they were all so full. We finally found a table for two squeezed at the back of a traditional restaurant. Dinner was more grilled meat with shope salad, white cheese and pita.

NATO policing Visoki Decani Monastery
Visoki Decani Monastery
Jumble of lines in Prizren
Prizren
Prizren

 

Day 11. Prizren to Tirana, Albania

We were woken at 5am by the most beautiful call to prayer I’d ever heard, followed by the clang of church bells. No rest for the wicked.

 

There is only one checkpoint at the border between Kosovo and Albania. Normally you pass through two, one to exit the country you’re in and the other to enter the new country. This relaxed approach says a lot about the relationship between these neighbours.

 

The first thing we noticed after crossing the border were the concrete domes scattered across the countryside. These are bunkers. 750,000 were built under the direction of communist dictator Enver Hoxha, who ruled Albania as one of the most isolationist Stalinists from the end of World War II until his death in 1985. It is known as “Bunkerisation” – my new favourite word. We also noticed the state of the roads. They were big highways for very little traffic and there were many new bridges under construction. How could a poor country afford such roads? In New Zealand even one bridge would take years. Later we asked our local guide and he told us the funds come from the EU and also the Chinese who have mining interests in Albania. Perhaps NZ could apply to join the EU.

 

We arrived in Tirana, checked into our hotel and went out to find lunch. Under communism many old buildings were destroyed and replaced, so most buildings here are not older than 50 years and many have been built since Albania opened up in the early 90’s. We found a produce market that was under a spanking new glass marque in a newly paved square and surrounded by restaurants. Lunch was the most beautiful tomato salad with white cheese and a chicken shisha each. Both of us ate for $10 NZD. It is absurdly cheap in Albania.

 

Our local guide met us outside the hotel at 4 for the walking tour. Tirana is spread out and this was the longest and furthest walking tour of the trip so far. He was my age and had plenty of stories from growing up in the 80’s in the most isolated communist state in world. He didn’t own jeans until he was an adult, they had no TV, he had never seen a banana – his mother was too afraid to try one when they first arrived in 1992, but they’re now her favourite food – and there were only a handful of cars in the country and they were for the politicians and people of power. Most people had never driven when cars arrived in the early 90’s. Can you imagine the mayhem of the roads? Our guide told us Albanians are still getting the hang of driving so be careful crossing the road.

 

He took us first to Skanderbeg Square – an enormous space of gently undulating granite. It had recently been repaved at cost of 15 million Euros and the tiles are already showing signs of wear and cracking in places. Understandably this has caused some contention. This grand square is flanked by communist-style buildings: The National Library, the Palace of Culture, and the National Museum of History with the famous mosaic billboard called “Albanian” – communist propaganda depicting ancient to modern figures of Albanian history. An enormous flag flies from the Palace of Culture and another above the statue of Albania’s founding father Skanderbeg, Lord of Albania on a horse. We walked on past the 18th century Et’hem Bey Mosque which was closed for renovation and across to the art gallery where in a parking lot at the back of the building we found decaying statues of Lenin, Stalin and Hoxha – placed out of the way, but still accessible as a reminder of their past.

 

There is a lot of modern art in the city and the current Prime Minister, Edi Rama is himself and an artist, and a former basketball player. Even the traffic lights are arty. The entire pole glows green or red. A canopy of lights straight from an old-style Hollywood theatre or a casino hangs above the entrance to a government building. There’s a sense of playfulness about the place, like they’re making up for years of suppression by being as wacky as they like. Edi Rama is a colourful character. You may have seen the photos of him towering over Merkel and Macron in a suit with white trainers. It was his statement about freedom of expression after a lifetime of suppression. Our guide is optimistic about Albania’s future. He says people are returning home from abroad and young people are not leaving. The economy is picking up and they’re regaining their identity

 

We walked past the graffiti covered Pyramid of Tirana. Built as a museum to honour Hoxha and designed by his daughter and son-in-law, this huge eye-sore now lies abandoned. The people of Tirana don’t know what to do with it. However, our guide told us agreement has finally been reached to preserve it and renovate it, turning it into something positive. After all, it is part of their heritage, however dark that may be.

 

In the newer part of town, where the hip bars, restaurants and designer stores are, is Enver Hoxha’s former residence. It is a mansion built in the 60’s and would not have looked out of place on a Californian boulevard. Once again, debate on what to do with this mansion has been ongoing but it is likely to be turned into a museum of some sort. We noticed a KFC and asked our guide how long it had been here. It had recently opened but there is no MacDonald’s in Albania and apparently no plans for it and likewise there is no Starbucks. Food and coffee are so cheap here, perhaps they just can’t compete.

 

That evening we ate another beautiful local meal and even with a glass of wine each the bill only came to $18NZD.

 

Day 12. Tirana to Berat, Albania

We left Tirana and headed to Berat, an historical town and listed UNESCO World Heritage Site. Berat is famed or its handsome white Ottoman houses that tumble down the hillside to the Osum River. The town has been lovingly preserved and the funding that came from the UNESCO listing has been used to create a wide paved pedestrian boulevard lined with shops and eateries on one side and a park on the other.  Our hotel was in a traditional Ottoman style building and was one of nicest we’d stayed in.

 

Our walking tour in Berat was of the castle on the hill. This town has been inhabited for over 2,400 years and in its early history the castle was the city. Inside the castle, they built churches with valuable frescoes and icons, and uniquely today, residents still live within the castle walls. The ensemble of the Byzantine churches in the castle is extraordinary. We were shown through the Cathedral of Saint Maria, now a museum that displays the works of famous iconographers of the 16th century. There are over 100 gloriously sumptuously paintings of icons on display.

 

It was dusk when the walking tour finished, and we descended from the castle on the hill back into town. The quiet town that we had arrived in at midday was now a hive of activity and the empty restaurants and bars were overflowing. Where had all these people been hiding?

National Museum of History, Tirana
Stalin, Lenin & Louise, Tirana
The tour group, Tirana
Berat
Berat
Bunkers

 

Day 13. Berat to Ohrid, Macedonia

The next morning, we headed off towards Macedonia. The countryside we drove through was barren, dry and mostly deserted. We passed donkeys pulling carts piled with corn or watermelons and there were lots of dogs wandering along the roadside, sometimes deciding to cross causing some heavy breaking.

 

Just before the border we stopped at a service station for the driver to have a break. Across the road was a hill covered in bunkers, some quite large. A couple of us walked across and climbed the hill to see these bunkers up close. A dog came out of a small bunker wagging her tail in greeting. She was followed by her tiny puppy. We walked inside the large bunker. It was a round concrete dome semi-submerged with a slot to fire your gun out of. Hoxha had no friends and thought everyone was out to get Albania. There is no doubt that man had issues.

 

As we drove down the hills into Macedonia the landscape became greener and more fertile. It wasn’t long before we were driving beside Lake Ohrid, a beautiful lake and our destination for our last night on tour. We arrived in the pretty town of Ohrid and were greeted by a couple of friendly local dogs as we got off the bus. Our hotel was right on the lakeside and after checking in we walked along the promenade into town to change money and have lunch. Ohrid is a busy resort town and the pedestrian areas were lined with souvenir shops and bustling with tourists.

 

That afternoon our local guide took us through the quaint old quarter filled with traditional red-roofed houses and cobbled lanes, up past the ancient Greek amphitheatre that was discovered accidentally by developers in the 80’s, to the impressive Byzantine Holy Mary Perybleptos church and up to the centuries-old Samoil’s Fortress that dominates the skyline. We climbed the fortress walls and admired the expansive view across the lake before walking back down to the beautiful Church of St John at Kaneo sitting on a point overlooking the water.  This church is the iconic image of Ohrid and we’d seen it many times on tourist sites promoting Macedonia.

 

Someone in our group asked the guide if Macedonia was a potential candidate for EU membership. He laughed and said Macedonia would be lucky to be considered as a candidate for candidacy.  Macedonia, like its neighbours, is a developing country. There is over 21 percent unemployment here.

 

It was our last night on tour and a farewell dinner was arranged. Two taxi boats collected us from our hotel and took us to the old quarter to a restaurant where we had a table over the water. Our amusement for the night came from feeding the hundreds of fish who went into a frenzy when anything was dropped into the water. They liked bread and lettuce but went absolutely crazy for chicken. An old widowed swan came by for a look too, the waiter told us she’s been around for a very long time.

 

The moon was almost full and lit up the lake as we walked slowly back along the shore to our hotel.

 
Day 14. Ohrid to Sofia, Bulgaria

The next day was mostly taken up driving the long distance through Macedonia to Bulgaria. It was a pretty drive with lovely scenery of mountains and green countryside. Macedonia is very rural and sparsely populated. To break our journey, we stopped for lunch at a beautiful monastery tucked amongst the trees in the hills just before the border.

 

Going back into Bulgaria we were re-entering the EU, so Andrew missed out on another stamp in his passport. Back in Bulgaria and it was obvious this country is far more modern and developed than its neighbours. Simple things like the absence of supermarkets. Here there were large supermarkets again – the German owned Lidl is everywhere – and industry, and largescale farming with big machinery.

 

It was night by the time we arrived at our hotel in Sofia. We found a place for dinner and reflected on our trip through the Balkans. Sarajevo was a highlight for both of us – the contrasting cultures displayed so obviously in the divide between the Ottoman and Austro-Hungarian architecture of the old and new town, and the story of the Siege of Sarajevo and the hardships experienced and the resilience of the people of Sarajevo. There were many other highlights. For me, Kosovo was an eye-opener, and the beauty of the Adriatic coast cannot be overstated. In two weeks we only scratched the surface of this complex and colourful region but the insights into these countries, the culture we experienced, the history we witnessed, the scenery we soaked up, and the people we met will stay with us for a long time.

The following morning, we were off to the airport to catch our flight to Bucharest for our next adventure in Romania.

Ohrid
Church of St John at Kaneo
Samoil’s Fortress
Ohrid
Osogovo Monastery

 

We went on the Penguin Travel Balkan Kaleidoscope tour and highly recommend this tour company.  

 

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