Gibby Raltar, Rock Star*

As most of my stories begin, I was looking for some place to go. January was fast ending and I hadn't left the country yet. Also, it was the height of winter, the Christmas lights were switched off, it was cold, dark, miserable and I was mostly broke.

So naturally, a holiday is the only option.

Originally Dan and I were looking at Brugge so that I could catch the Eurostar for the first time, and because I love Brugge with all my heart. In the space of a day, however, prices skyrocketed and I kicked myself for not purchasing when we first saw it. We looked elsewhere. What to do? What were the cheap flights on Ryanair or Skycanner today?

"What do you think…" Dan started, "…it's a bit out there, but what about Gibraltar?"

All I knew of Gibraltar was that Dan had mentioned it previously as a place he'd like to visit, and that I knew next to nothing about it. And by next to nothing, I of course mean: nothing.

A quick research later unearthed that flights were normally in the couple of hundred pound range, but right now they were selling for £80 return. That's a good sign. It's weather is reasonably warm, as it's situated at the tip of Spain. Ok, so it's in Spain?

Well, no. It's British. Gibraltar is British, like Scotland or Northern Ireland. It was used by the Brits as a way of controlling the entry and exit to the Mediterranean Sea.

Sold. Why not? Because accommodation was expensive and flights were going to increase, we decided to do two full days - but only one night. That meant arriving on the Saturday morning and leaving the Sunday night. It was going to be a whirlwind.

We said YOLO ironically, and then slightly less ironically, booked our tickets, booked our accommodation and that was that.

I stayed up late that night researching everything there is to do in Gibraltar, which, as it turns out, is quite a lot.

Saturday 23 January

The butt crack of dawn. Not even. 4am. Or earlier, I can't even remember now. I had only managed a couple of hours sleep before I was I groggily dressing myself and wandering with Dan to the bus stop.

It was cold and dark. Our flight was at around 8.30am but to get to the airport with plenty of time to spare, it meant catching a couple of night buses and then a train. I closed my eyes on the journeys, although didn't get any more sleep. Our check-in at the airport was uneventful: we were only flying domestically, after all. 

Once we had boarded the plane, the Captain came over the loudspeaker.

"Due to the French, we are stranded on the runway as they aren't letting anyone fly over their airspace."

Ok, that's not actually what he said word-for-word. There were so many private charter planes in the air over France going to the ski fields that they had put restrictions on flying. And so we sat on the runway for over an hour.

This was a little bit of a bugger for us as it meant losing time in Gibraltar - we only had 2 days, but there was nothing we could do about it except bemoan the French (even though really it was the trumped up skiers to blame). Eventually we were up and away, and as we began descending again, Gibraltar and The Rock were shrouded in cloud and fog out our plane window. This was a bit disappointing as we were looking forward to a spectacular view, but the hovering grey cloud created an interesting atmosphere and it was clear that the cloud only hung over The Rock and nowhere else.

We landed and taxied across the runway. This didn't mean much to me at the time, but I realised later just what an impact this little act had on the country.

I was first to go through customs. 

"Are you staying in Spain or Gibraltar?" the friendly customs official asked. I was slightly thrown, as I hadn't even considered that one could fly into Gibraltar - Britain - but in fact be visiting Spain.

"Gibraltar," I replied hesitantly, as he went to return my passport.

"Oh wait," he said, and reopened my passport. "I guess you will want a stamp!" He carefully turned to a spare page, lined up the enormous GIBRALTAR stamp, and punched it down, returning my passport with a smile.

Once through, we contemplated what to do. Do we wander across the border to Spain, or explore this country? Gibraltar is all of 5km long and 1.2km across at its widest point, and the airport cuts across the entire top of the country, right on the border of Spain. We decided to go to our hotel first and set off in the right direction.

And so we walked across the runway. You see, as the run way cuts directly across the country, it also cuts directly across the main highway from Gibraltar into Spain. Every plane that lands has to stop the traffic, just as a train at a train crossing stops the traffic. This was a hilariously novel concept and after dancing on the runway and reaching the other side (I may have pretended to be an airplane...), we were just in time to see our plane taxi along and get ready to set off back to London.

The boom gates dropped. The traffic stopped. The last of the pedestrians made it to the other side before the gate was locked behind them. A little cart wheeled back and forth and back and forth, cleaning the runway. The plane fired up its engines and trundled out of view to our left. With a massive roar, the plane started its take off, firing past us, across the highway, before it began to take flight [with what felt like metres] before the end of the runway - which falls immediately into ocean.

The boom gates opened, and the traffic recommenced. Sufficiently bemused, we resumed our search for our hotel. The air was warm - slightly too warm for my coat but I was not used to bare arms after so long in the London cold. The sky remained grey with the big looming cloud, which also helped to keep temperates a little on the cooler side. 

By now, as is usual for me, I was pretty starving, and as we continued walking we were directed to a little square by a local - or a British tourist. But he was probably a local. Here I will digress and mention the strange mix of people in Gibraltar. It is on the very tip of Spain, so there are a lot of Spanish people here, as you can imagine. The pay and the working conditions would be fairly decent. However, there are a lot of British people here, both tourists and locals alike, who are escaping for a warmer climate. Many of the Spanish people employed here actually live across the border as living conditions are far cheaper, but then commute each day into Britain to work. And by "commute", of course I mean "walk or drive across the runway."

I had been hoping for some kind of Spanish/British fusion food here, but was confronted mostly with "Real British food! Authentic British Fish and Chips". In the end, we found a seafood cafe and ordered their platter for two. This turned out to be enormous. No other way to describe it, and I don't think Dan and I made it through half of the prawns, octopus, and other miscellaneous fish - not even with the help of two healthy looking cats that hovered near us hoping for (and receiving!) the odd piscine morsel. 

Sated, and after chasing the waitresses repeatedly for our bill, we finally continued on to our hotel and checked in. I thought we still owed for the accommodation and was pleasantly surprised when we didn't have to pay anything more. Our room had a fantastic view of The Rock, and as I was peeking out the window I realised the cloud was dissipating and the sky getting lighter and brighter.

"Stuff it!" we said, and decided to race to get up The Rock before the cable car closed at 5pm. Even if the weather remained gloomy, we could always go back tomorrow if need be.

The Rock takes up almost the entirety of Gibraltar, and is mostly uninhabited. Except by one very special host.

The tip of the mountain is covered in the Gibraltar Apes, a special species of Barbary macaques which have evolved without a tail. Thus we were going to go up The Rock to see the view and meet some of these furry creatures.

As we trundled down the road, the sky continued to clear and the sun began pouring down. We overshot the beginning of the cable car, and had to back track but eventually made it to the end. We asked for a ticket to the top, but also for the national park which includes some caves and a couple of ruins. Unfortunately, the lady recommended not to do the national park as we wouldn't have enough time. No matter - I have seen ruins and caves before, so we just got our ticket for the cable car ("Only 6 minutes to the top!") and we hopped in. 

I stood at the front, holding tight and peering over the handle bar next to a 6 year old girl who was standing on the ledge doing the same. The sun had come out in all its glory and Dan and I congratulated ourselves for hop skipping it to The Rock.

6 minutes later when we reached the top, we wandered over to the lookout. The cloud that had been hovering over The Rock was slowly dissipating, and I could actually see where the cloud hit the edge of the rockface, and washed over. As we stood watching the cloud gradually dispersed.

I looked back towards to cable car and spotted a monkey casually perched on the railing.

"Eeeeeee!" I squealed and ran over. I took a lot of photos, happy that I managed to see one of the famous Gibraltar Apes, before realising that they were everywhere. On the spiral staircase we had ascended from not 15 minutes prior was a mummy and two baby monkeys, hoeing into a crisp packet. Over there a large daddy monkey wandered away from the crowd, swinging himself up to sit on the edge.

These monkeys are the city keepers, they watch over the people below. I was astounded at how they roamed free. They were wild creatures, but very tame while interacting with the human apes. I squeed at many a baby monkey, fleas being picked off by their mothers, and walked directly into the fart stench of another pink-butted monkey as he traipsed ahead of us.

All too soon it was time to descend, and we caught the second-to-last cable car back down to the city below. The weather had played out beautifully for us, the monkeys had been in full form, and I was very happy.

As the sun was setting, we had a peek in the Botanic Gardens that were at the base of the The Rock. This gave me a chance to sit down and relax, and also revel in the fact that I was wearing a sleeveless top for the first time in months and could feel the vitamin D warming my skin. It made me happy.

As it grew dark, we walked back to our hotel the long way along the water front. Unfortunately dinner that night was a little bit uncomfortable for me: due to sleeping poorly for the previous 4 nights, and having been on the move since 4am that morning, I was feeling sick and exhausted. We found a place serving pizza (there aren't a huge number of restaurants here and many of them are $$$$). I struggled to eat, and after that we called it a night.

It had been a long, exhausting day but it was incredible meeting the furry locals.

Sunday 24 January

While Australia Day celebrations were happening back in London (yes, I know wasn't the actual day but London can't really celebrate on a Tuesday) I was going to spending the day simply walking into Spain.

We packed up our things and checked out of our hotel early. Wandering along the streets, I looked for a coffee house that had good reviews but as we approached we discovered it was shut. Continuing on, I spotted a sign for the oldest tavern in Gibraltar and seeing as we couldn't find it the previous night, decided to have a peek. Turns out, it was more like a lovely little cafe restaurant than a bar - and they served breakfast. 

A great coffee and simple breakfast later, we were on our way...to Spain. We walked across the runway again - this time no planes were getting ready to fly - and approached the border.

The border consisted of a small room - Leaving Gibraltar, an outside area - No-Man's-Land, another room - Entering Spain and hey presto, you're in another country. The bored officials in both countries didn't care to look at our passports, and so we shuffled straight across without a second thought.

We stood on the other side a moment, basking in the idea that, 100 metres ago, we were in Britain, and now we were standing in Spain. 5 minutes ago, we were on England's soil, and through a couple of turnstiles, we were standing underneath the Spanish sun instead.

We wanted to catch a bus to a nearby town called Algeciras, but the internet was not cooperating and we couldn't find the bus terminal. Eventually it played the game, and when we made it there we discovered a bus had just left. No matter - it wasn't long to wait until the next one. A crowd began for form and, even though all the ticketing turnstiles were closed, we knew were in the right place. 

Once the bus had arrived, Dan purchased our tickets with ease and we settled in for the ride. A man in the seat across from us stared at me for much of the journey, but aside from that it was uneventful. The scenery out the window was beautiful as we mostly skirted the sea border and could see The Rock growing smaller in the distance.

We alighted at Algeciras and made our way to the water front. After a wander to see what was available for food, we ended up right back at the first place we saw.

Sitting at a table outside in the beaming sunshine, an elderly waiter (or possibly the owner) approached us, asking "English?"
Yes, we replied, and he ran off. A short while later, a young waiter brought us English menus and I realised that he had been sent to wait on us as he could speak our language. We perused the menu for a short while, ordering a range of tapas and some red wine.

Ok, let me rave about the wine for a second. It was an incredible Spanish red, and each glass was equivalent to €2. Yaha. Pretty amazing. The tapas was extremely tasty and, while we were enjoying the sunshine, we grabbed ourselves a second glass of delicious, gloriously inexpensive red wine.

After food, we wandered along the waterfront for a while, enjoying the red wine glow and the sun in the sky - sun we hadn't felt in London for months, and peering at The Rock of Gibraltar looming in the distance, a constant reminder of Britain's rule at the tip of their country. As usual, Gibraltar had its own personal cloud hanging over it - it must catch the clouds in a drift!

Soon enough, it was time to make our way back to the border. The bus ride back was just as uneventful (although we did have to rush to make sure we caught it!) and returned to the bus station in the late afternoon. There was still a few hours until we had to be at the airport - which was literally just across the border - so we walked down to the beach to stick our finger in Spanish seas.

It was bizarre for me to be looking at The Rock of Gibraltar, which is British, while standing in Spain. I find the concept of borders fascinating. There is no difference in the land, the temperature, the terrain - yet within the space of a few metres you face different languages, currencies, religions, belief systems.

We walked right up to the fenced border which extended out into the ocean and considered how easy it would be to just swim around it. We peered into the space between which was No Country. Just space.

After ogling The Rock aplenty, I was desperate to try some Spanish sangria and see if we could find some paella and churros - it really is all about the food with me!

We returned to a large restaurant we had seen close to the border, and realised that time was ticking and we didn't have as much as we thought. I approached the bar, and asked the waiter if he had a menu. He looked at me. I realised that we were going to have a language problem.

Together, we found some menus in English and I asked him if they served churros. Churros? He looked at me, completely lost. "Dessert, chocolate?" I tried desperately to mime the act of eating churros and dipping them in the chocolate sauce.

"Ah, tia maria!" he replied. No no...I changed tact.

"Sangria?" 

"Ah! Sangria!"

"And 1," raising one finger, "1 paella."

I returned to the table, looked at Dan, and said, "Well, I think I ordered something."

Dan had never tasted sangria before. Sangria is a deadly combination, but oh so delicious. When this one arrived, it tasted quite innocent to begin with - but that's because the red wine had fallen to the bottom of the carafe. Then the paella arrived. I had never had paella before, and it was delivered to our table in an enormous, shallow vat. My eyes boggled. There was no way we were going to get through that!

It was, of course, delicious. Dan and I gave it an excellent go, getting through perhaps 2/3rds of the vat (and it truly was a vat!) before it was time to waddle to the airport.

The moon shone over the rock, which again was cloaked in its personal grey cloud. Customs was non-descript and easy - we were only flying nationally, remember - and we spent some time on the observation deck watching cars, pedestrians and planes all fight for the same space on the run way.

Gibraltar, you were indeed a very pretty, if slightly confusing, place. I may not see you again, so thank you for the sunshine, the chance to discover your history and meeting your locals - the Barnaby macaques, that is!

******

On my return, I posted a picture I had taken of The Rock from the Spanish side of the border onto Twitter. A large Gibraltan group discovered my photo, and not only retweeted, but posted to Facebook (and credited me after a bit of prompting), but also retweeted me in Spanish - how many people can say they have been translated to Spanish?

Til next time,

x

*Credit goes to Dan for dubbing it Gibby Raltar. I added "Rock Star" considering Gibraltar is almost entirely composed of an enormous rock…I reckon that's an excellent name for a band!

RT @flossycomet En España, mirando el peñón británico de #Gibraltar. Imponente y algo confuso para una australiana pic.twitter.com/C5YcrAm6Ih

— InfoGibraltar (@InfoGibraltar) January 29, 2016

Snowdonia, Wales

Note: I am desperately far behind on my blog posts at the moment! This harks back to 2015 (a whole year ago? Not quite...). I promise I'll try to keep up my blogs a little better in future.

***
After Budapest, there remained days free between Christmas and the New Year.
Days which could be used to go someplace, somewhere. But where? York? Manchester?
What about Snowdonia, Wales?

Months previously, months and months ago when I hiked Cheddar Gorge, the original intention had been to hike Mount Snowdon in Snowdonia (it sounds like the name of a place in a fantasy novel, doesn't it?), but it fell through. Snowdonia, however, remained in my mind.

In the few weeks leading up to the trip, Britain was plagued by terrible flooding, and the day before we left the trains to Wales were not running. Our whole trip was blessed with excellent weather at exactly the right moments…but let me start at the beginning.

27 December (being holidays, I still have no idea what actual day this was…a Sunday?)
The journey to Snowdonia in Wales was over 6 hours long. It included a couple of different train transfers (and I spent most of it travelling backwards). By the time we arrived into Porthmadog, I was ravenous.

We wandered down the street and passed a hotel restaurant which was still serving until 9pm.

It was currently 8.50pm.

Running inside, we were greeted by a very friendly gentleman behind the counter, who showed us to the restaurant, handing us to the waitress. She handed us the menus saying, "please order quickly!" and within 30 seconds we knew what we wanted. We both went with a local beer and cider and the lamb pie. it was delicious, but oh so very heavy.

Rolling out of the restaurant we waddled our way to the hotel which was a short walk from the town centre. I wasn't feeling good - and had intended to ring my mum for her birthday in Australia but as I was feeling very bad I curled up into a ball and fell asleep.

28 December
It was a fitful nights sleep thanks to my silly belly being silly, but thankfully not food poisoning. Today we were going to catch the Ffestiniog Railway up to the little down of Ffestiniog and back again, and then if there was time, to catch the West Highland Railway to Caernarfon.

The first train was leaving quite early, just after 10am, so we started towards the town centre and the station, picking up an iced coffee and some random assortment of snacks for breakfast. Dan scoped the train for the best carriage so that we would have the nicest view - and where he could stick his head out the window and take excellent shots of the train.

The round trip took about 2 hours and wound us through spectacular rolling hills and leafy scenery. As it was winter, many of the trees were spindly and bare - affording us a better view of the valleys and hills beyond. In summer time, they would be lush and full and the scenery behind obscured. Each season would have its own distinct beauty.

Returning to Porthmadog (pronounced Porth - ma- dog, although we though it might have been pronounced more like Port Maddock), it was time for lunch. We chose a little diner called Jenny's and stuffed ourselves full with local beer and cider (again!) and some lovely hearty food. There was time to catch the other steam train, and we raced back to the station again, this time to buy a ticket for exactly the opposite direction.

This view was no less spectacular, but a little more subdued than that of the Ffestiniog Railway; it was a distant beauty rather than the winding through of close-knit trees or over thin stone bridges. I took a few photos, while Dan darted from side to side to capture the best pictures. I was never game to stick my camera (or head, for that matter!) out the window for fear of collecting myself on a low hanging branch or a somehow-unnoticed tunnel (which would be just my luck).

By the time we reached Caernafon it was becoming dusky dark. We figured we were here now, why don't we explore a little? We saw a big fort and made our way around it, and slowly through the town centre. When we had enough, we attempted to find the bus stop to take us home. I say attempted because at this juncture I decided to help out with directions, and basically had us walking every which way (resulting in missing a bus). The next one wasn't going to be for some time, and so we popped into a nearby "this-looks-like-a-spoons, oh-it-is-a-Wetherspoons!" pub for a local cider, before jumping on the night bus back to Porthmadog.

The bus ride took about an hour, and once we were back in the town centre we went looking for dinner. A Thai place had been recommended to us, and so we headed in that direction. It was blowing a gale, and the wind roaring through the yachts in the marina was an eerie cacophony of shrill squeals and clanging of metal. We found the Thai place. Very. Darkly. Closed.

Bugger. By now, we also had a mild bladder problem and time was of the essence. The Australia pub it was. It had come recommended from a number of courses, and so we powered inside, made use of the facilities and went to grab a menu.

"I'm sorry, we don't really serve dinner here," I was told from behind the bar. "We do have soup, though."

Soup? A pub by the name of The Australia and it only serves soup? What is this outrage? Thanking them politely, we left and, after trying another local pub - finally found one that was serving food.

I'm not blaming them, I understand - it was the strange time between Christmas and New Year, it was a small town and many people were on holiday. We settled down for some pub fare at the bar near the train station and compared our lovely pictures from the day.

Today had been my mum's birthday but, because of how poorly I had been feeling the night before, I didn't get a chance to give her a call. I spent a few minutes outside once we returned to our hotel (the only place that had any decent internet reception), being buffeted by the gale force winds and wishing her a happy birthday (where she was sitting in her bathers as it was a lovely day!)

29 December
While at the pub the previous night, Dan received a call from a friend back home who had spent their overseas adventure living in Porthmadog working in the train workshop. He arranged for Dan to have an extremely exclusive look inside, and so this morning we walked across the Cob to the yard at the other end. It was a beautiful walk - the Cob is a seawall connects one side to the other with the road, walking path and train tracks. The scenery is spectacular, and we were treated to bright blue skies and a glorious rainbow on the backdrop of the beautiful Snowdonia mountain range.

It was quite a hike and the other side seemed to be getting no closer, but we finally did arrive, saw the steam train we had caught yesterday go past and made our way inside the train yard. Here, I will freely admit that I had little idea what was going on, being said or shown, but enjoyed the happiness on Dan's face.

After our visit, we continued on to the seaside town of Portmerion. The sign said it was 0.5 miles away, which I worked out to be about a 10 minute walk. Over half an hour later, after passing multiple "Portmerion this way" signs, we arrived. I was, naturally, grumpy, hangry and sore by the time we arrived (are you surprised?). I was also grumbling over the fact that entry was £8 per person which seemed awfully steep. We approached the desk to pay for entry and, after a number of failed attempts at using the credit card facilities, the lady said "Head on in - you can pay on your way out."

Put bluntly, this was a strange place. It was specifically built from 1925 in the style of an Italian village and designed to be the perfect "pretty" town. The buildings were painted bright colours with ornate metal workings and all the structures were set into the cliff face. Most of the buildings could not be entered as they were holiday residences and there was another hotel off to the right hand side.

We grabbed some food and thawed a little, before spending a couple of hours exploring what we could. It was oddly disappointing - worth a little visit but not worth £8.

Back in town we decided to try the Thai place that had been closed the night before. Had we spent an additional 35 seconds there the previous night (if our bladders weren't dictating our actions), then we may have spotted the "Not open until February" sign. We saw it the second time, and so we about turned, tried another two pubs before finding one that did serve food.

A few strong Welsh ciders later, we called it a night as we were leaving reasonably early the next morning.

30 December
I had been desperate to try a coffee shop that had also received good reviews and was reasonably close to our hotel. It was raining cats and dogs today and we considered ourselves very lucky that the weather had held out so well previously. The day before we were due to arrive in Wales, many roads and train tracks had been closed due to flooding. We apparently brought the sunshine - the only 2 days they had had without rain for 2 months.

That all ended this morning, and as we approached the coffee shop, we discovered it was closed. Blast! Why was so much shut? We returned to Jenny's diner to dry off and load up on an enormous breakfast - we had quite a drive ahead of us.

The 6 hour train journey home was mildly eventful as our first train was broken - everyone had to pile off, and then the train we were meant to get on was cancelled, so we ended up piling back onto the first train. This, while annoying, wasn't altogether unwanted as we had grabbed some snacks on the way - camembert, to be precise - and it turned out to be off. In the previous carriage, the smell of odd cheese left an unpleasant feeling in the nostrils and so by getting off and on again, we joined a new carriage, free of cheese scent.

***

And so concluded Snowdonia, Wales! The people we met were all very lovely and the landscape beautiful - a hiking trek in the warmer months would not go astray. And so we returned to London, still with 4 days of holiday remaining, and wait for the New Year to begin.

Til next time,
x

Budapest: Mark 2

The original plan was to travel abroad between Christmas and New Years, but when my work said that basically no one would be coming in after the 17 December Christmas party, I leapt at the chance to take a few days off before Christmas instead. Dan and I threw around a few ideas, including Lapland, when I came up with the idea to perhaps return to Budapest.

I had been there once before, albeit spending a large portion of it hungover, but still thought it was one of the most beautiful cities I had seen. And at the time, I promised Budapest that I would return to her, and return I did.

18 December

For once, the journey was relatively uneventful. I had to race out of work, but had left plenty of time to get to the train station and then to the airport (for once). We decided to get an airport transfer from the airport to our hotel which, for some reason, did not allow us to be dropped at our particular hotel due to some agreement by which we would have needed to buy a return ticket also, and so we were dropped on the corner near our hotel.

I was hungry (IN HUNGARY, BadaBOOM! I'll show myself out...), as I always am, and we were surrounded by a multitude of fast food offerings and nothing open that looked local. Maccas it was, then. To be honest, I quite enjoy trying Maccas just the once in a different country; many around the world have different menus (such as the Maharaja Mac in India, and a rice-bun burger in Japan). Hungary however did not have a different menu, but what it did have was a cheap menu! We got 2 Big Macs, two cheeseburgers, two cokes and two fries for the equivalent of £5.

I'm mentioning this for a couple of reasons: a) My Macca's intrigue and b) to highlight how cheap Hungary is as a city.

After checking into our hotel - which, by the way, we got for a steal, £220 down to £67 for the 5 nights - and settled into our extremely orange room. The next few days were going to be very big days as there was much to explore in this amazing city.

19 December

This morning we did one of the free walking tours of Budapest, and it was the same one that I had done the previous year - even one of the guides was the same! On our way we picked up breakfast: a cinnamon chimney cake costing approximately 50p each. While perhaps not the healthiest option, it was by far one of the tastiest and inexpensive options! We continued on until we found the central square for the walking tour.

It was almost identical to last year, except this year it was during the day and the day was particularly foggy. This cast quite an eerie sombre feeling over the city and lent itself towards some interesting photographs. We visited most of the same places, and I was interested to learn new things that I didn't the previous time.

This time, I was privy to the changing of the guard at the top of the hill, which was an incredibly convoluted process than involved exchanging guns, flipping them about their bodies and then returning them to their rightful owner again, before marching off.

At another point we stopped by a statue of a rather rotund man. "This is the ideal Hungarian form," our guide Ursula said, patting his big belly, "do we have any vegetarians in the group?"

She looked around, tsk tsking. "You see, you can't be vegetarian in Hungary. Fish, chicken...we do not consider these meat," she laughed.

At the conclusion of the tour, Dan and I stayed on the hill on the Buda side to take some photos and then slowly wandered our way back to the Pest side to get ready for our Danube Cruise that evening. First, though, we needed a snack. Something to tie us over until our dinner date.

The tour had taken us past many Christmas markets and the one that stuck with me was near St Stephen's Cathedral. Then we saw it. Goulash in a bread bowl. Precisely what we wanted. And exactly as amazing as it sounds. As the sun set and it became night, we tucked into our goulash bread bowl, singing praises to the food of this city, 

Our next stop was completely thanks to Dan, and it revolutionised our travel experience: we bought a 7-day unlimited public transport pass. Yes, we weren't there for 7 days but the only other option was 3 days, and the price difference was minimal. There was no question, the 7 day pass would pay for itself, (roughly £10), after about 11 trips. We managed those 11 trips within the first two days, therefore if you do nothing else I suggest in Budapest (although I hope you do!), I highly, highly recommend getting yourself one of these! You can get the pass from the purple machines in most metro (underground) stations.

Returning to our hotel, we made ourselves pretty and, catching the metro right back from where we had come from, we waited to begin our Danube Cruise.

The starting point for the cruise was a random hotel not far from the waterfront. At least a hundred people were waiting, and trying to get us all down to the water was like herding cats. Dan and I tried to push our way to the front as it became apparent the seating arrangements were first come first serve. 

Boarding the boat, we were passed a [very nice!] glass of champagne and allowed to choose our table. Each table sat 4 people, meaning two couples would sit together; one on the window, the other not. We wandered upstairs and managed to get the last table with a window seat (which I was rather desperate to have).

The package included two drinks and a traditional Hungarian buffet dinner, all while cruising up and down and up and down the Danube, passing the beautifully lit buildings on both sides. We drank our complimentary drinks and ordered ourselves another bottle of the Hungaria bubbly (we ended up trying quite a few in the Hungaria range during our stay!). At last, the food dishes were uncovered and we could tuck in. 

Goulash, stuffed cabbage, different varieties of spaetzle dumplings and much much more, followed by amazing miniature desserts - a couple of rounds of each and I was full to bursting. The only negative aspect of the cruise - it wasn't quite long enough! By the time the food was served and finished, there wasn't a lot of time left to enjoy the view. Dan and I made our way outside, deciding to be brave and not don our coats. It was cold. But beautiful. Besides, we had our bubbly blanket on. 

All too soon the cruise was over and it was time to disembark. I had been most excited to show Dan the city by night and it did not disappoint. The fog that still hung in the air created a mesmerising glow around each of the buildings, sometimes forcing beams of light skyward. We spent some time taking night photos from the Pest side, before re-crossing the Chain Bridge to take photos at the top of the Buda side. 

Breathtaking. Again and again, it hadn't grown old - it was still as beautiful as before, if not more so now that I was sharing the amazing sight with a loved one, and a loved one who appreciated it as much as I did. By now it was late and we had another big day on the morrow, so we caught the public transport (with our nifty transport passes!) right back to our hotel.

20 December

"What are you doing in Austria? thought you were in Budapest? x"

This was the message I received from my mum, and multiple other friends when I was tagged in a photo on Facebook. Yes, I had been in Budapest, but today I was, in fact, in Vienna. We arose early on this morning for our day trip to another country. Using our transport passes flashing the date at bored security personnel, we got off a stop too early and had to walk a wee way. Getting our tickets turned out to be no-hassle, and significantly cheaper than we thought, and after attempting to board the wrong train we settled down (without a window) on the right train, headed for Vienna.

By the time we got to the city centre, I was particularly hangry. On my previous visit, I had dined at a particular restaurant and was rather keen to return if only to devour the Kaiserscharrn, or Emporer's pancake. We found the we were even served by the same gentleman. We wolfed down a delicious Weiner schnitzel, Vienna hot chocolate and the delicious dessert, while I posted a picture of our feast to Facebook. 

"This was lunch!" I wrote. "Hot chocolate, schnitzel and Kaiserschmarrn. Delicious! Same place I went to last time I was in Vienna :)". Instantly, I realised what a wanker I sounded. 

"Oh yes dear, yes, just my favourite restaurant in Vienna. My my."

No matter! The Cafe itself is inside the castle square, and this afforded us a walk past and through the major sites of the Museum area. There were multiple Christmas markets and we stopped for a peek. Due to the time restrictions and the sheer cost of entering the museums in Vienna, we opted not to, but instead spent a few hours taking lovely twilight photos, drinking mulled wine (far more expensive than Budapest!) and nomming on pretzels.

We wandered our way back towards the train station, deciding that we would attempt to catch the hour earlier train. The metro popped us out where we least expected it: a couple of blocks away with the main train station in the distance. 

"We can do this" we said, knowing the train was leaving in 15 minutes. And so we ran. Ran with our backpacks, crossed the multilane road and just kept running until we reached the final escalator, 5 minutes remaining, and collapsed onto the train to catch our breath.

Far too eventful! What followed was a gentle 2.5 hour train journey back to Budapest. But our day was far from over yet! Tonight: we were to go to Szimpla Kert, one of the most famous ruin pubs in Europe. I could tell Dan was hesitant.

On arrival, however, his opinion changed. We walked through the door and yes, it wasn't heaving as it was a Sunday night, but it had a decent number of people - enough to still be able to hear yourself talk and think. We grabbed a mulled wine (in a teacup no less!) and I gave a tour of the venue. Downstairs, through each of the separate rooms; first the shisha room, then through another bar with an entirely different atmosphere and music, through to the outside section: again with a different vibe. We walked up the rickety spiral staircase at the back, yet more different vibes and bars and through the other rooms, spying the bathtub and other strange seating arrangements, before ending up back at the front door. 

We hadn't seen any free seats on our wander, but as we returned to the front door there were two right there, waiting for us. One sat underneath a ladies hairdryer, and it was perfect.

The next couple of hours were passed sampling the local liquors. First off the ranks was apricot flavoured palinka. "I went with the 45," Dan said, delivering me my shot as I stayed put with the hairdryer, "instead of the 55." I looked at him blankly. "Percent," he finished.

Ah. I had both been looking forward to and dreading this moment. Head back, cheers, and down went the palinka. And almost back up again. My eyes instantly started watering, I shuddered involuntarily for the next 10 minutes, and I was inebriated. Dan, meanwhile, sat there looking thoughtful, and said "That wasn't too bad." I couldn't believe it. It tasted like apricot flavoured tequila to me.

Next up: unicum. My turn to go to the bar, and asking the barman how it was best to be had, he replied "Straight." This time, roles were reversed. I sat there thinking it was quite alright, tasting a bit like jagermeister, while Dan rued the moment he agreed to all of this.

All the while, Dan sat beneath the hairdressing unit, being photographed and giggled at by strangers as they entered and left the pub. Sufficiently inebriated, we farewelled our little spot by the door, made one last lap of the pub, and returned on our merry way to our hotel.

21 December

You know those little cards you often see in hostels and hotels advertising activities and places to eat? Dan had spotted one for a cat cafe with 10% off the total bill. Why not? I seem to have discovered a new-found fondness for the feline creatures and so we made our way there for brunch. There were 10 cats of varying fluffinesses and I chased any that would let me pat them.

Behind my table sat a large, fluffy black lady-cat, who was subjected to the most of my patting. A large lion (it was probably only a cat, but he was huge!) frightened me, so I struggled to pat him but another sleepy cat didn't run away from me and was forced to endure a pattenating. 

The bit that intrigued me the most? Entry (free), 2 panini's and 2 coffees came to a total of the equivalent of £8 or less. 

Dan and I had been talking about Statue Park and Hero Square, not realising they were different things until the night before. It was quite a mission to get to Statue/Memento Park, which lies on the outskirts of the city (or beyond) and houses many of the monumental statues and sculpted plaques from Hungary's Communist period.

Today was very, very foggy and it added to the atmosphere. Hungary, during the Communest era, was known as the "Happiest Barrack", as they had the best conditions under the regime of all. Not everyone was happy to see the Soviets go. At the fall of The Iron Curtain, the statues were taken from the city and are now displayed in Memento Park (sometimes called Statue Park - even their own advertising isn't quite sure), out of sight and out of mind, but remaining a reminder of times past.

Admittedly, I knew nothing of the statues and extremely little of the regime, and as we circumnavigated the park (in the fog), Dan read the descriptions of each of the statues from the guidebook. Some were particularly ironic; martyring fellow comrades and heralding the companionship of Communism.

Before we left, we found a trabant car into which Dan folded himself up. I joked about whether the door would open again and, lo and behold, Dan was trapped inside (I let him out eventually).

"I would never have ventured out this far," I said to Dan, as we sat in the bus stop, "your interests allow you to see much more of a place than I ever do!". A couple of bus rides and train rides and tram rides later (all thanks to our handy all-transport pass!), we arrived back into the city centre. Rather starving, I must say.

We found a wine bar and had an early dinner/late lunch. An amazingly perfectly cooked steak and a risotto with a matched bottle of red wine. It was amazing (and cheap!). And it filled our bellies perfectly for what we were going to that evening.

What we were going to do was...relax. Bath. Float. Splash. In perfect hot water in the freezing cold air. Yes, we went to the Széchenyi Thermal Baths.

Dan and I paid for our tickets and went our separate ways, promising to meet "at the pool on the right hand side." Once inside, I panicked as I realised I had circumnavigated the pool, and what was my right was now my left. I stripped down to my bikini, grabbed my towel and headed outside towards the hottest pool. My feet began to ache from the cold ground. I stood on the edge, jumping from foot to foot, peering through the haze to see if I could make out Dan already in the pool. I looked towards the door and recognised the white towel and board shorts.

Waving frantically, Dan spotted me - glasses-less, and we threw our towels down before rushing towards the hot water. It burned my freezing feet as I lowered myself into the pool.

This is the life, I thought to myself, and probably said it out loud, too. Hot, hot water began to relax sore muscles and sore feet from days of walking. We splished our way to the other side of the pool to have a look, taking hundreds of photos on our respective underwater cameras. After a while, we decided to look at the pool on the other side.

"It's not as warm as this one," I warned. One, two, three and we were out of the water, walking as briskly as we could across the partially frozen pavement towards the other pool, and plopping down with relief once we reached it. This pool was cooler, but not cold and had some cool coloured lights. In the middle was a circular tiled section that created a current - you could float or swim your way around in circles really fast - occasionally taking out an old lady as the current raced you past! (Oops).

We spent many an hour here, moving between the warm and the hot pool, taking hundreds of photos (mainly selfies...) and just enjoying....being. It was almost closing when we were sufficiently wrinkly and ready to leave - a quick metro ride and we were back at our hotel.

22 December

This morning we were going to go ice skating on the biggest outdoor iceskating rink in Europe, so we jumped on the metro and stopped off at Hero Square, right next to the rink. 

The first - and only - day of blue sky that we had in Budapest! And it was beautiful. 

As we approached the iceskating, I started having second thoughts. I was quite tired, and I could see there was a long line. From the bridge, there was a perfect view of the enormous rink and I said to Dan, "I'm not fussed if we don't iceskate..." I had lost a bit of confidence - there was no railing, everyone looked at home on the ice (except for the poor 5 year old thrashing his feet about in front of us) and I was feeling a bit sore from all the walking we had done. Dan agreed, and so we took some fairytale photos and  continued walking.

We wandered through the castle and across the bridge to an outdoor pond that was clearly filled with thermal water - the ducks were swimming in gloriously steamy water. I took my glove off and stuck a finger in - a nice warm bath! I couldn't believe the warm water brewing in the middle of the city like that. 

Our next stop: The Hungarian Railway museum. It was quite a way out of town, so we walked a way, jumped on a bus and then alighted, to find we weren't quite where we expected to be. No matter, Google maps told us there was a pathway up to our left. After some walking, we found a very small, muddy pathway and figured it must be that - definitions of pathways are different from country to country. Next thing we knew, we were standing on the tracks.

Hmm. This doesn't look right. In the distance we could see the museum, and so we stayed on the "pathway", to the very side and continued along. There was normally a train stop right here, but at this time of year it was not running. When we reached the back entrance of the museum, it was closed. Bugger. We again took to the tracks until we had found our way to the front entrance, and walked inside.

Dan approached the window and after a few moments, a man emerged. "Two adult tickets please."
The man looked at us quizzically, and said "We are closed, closed until March," and then led us over to a sign that stated (in Hungarian) "Closed from November until March."

It didn't say anything of the sort on the website, it was disappointing but I had to laugh at the mission it was to get there. In my usual way, it was round about this time I became desperately hungry, so we caught the tram back to the city centre and found ourselves some food at the central Christmas market and began to plan the rest of the afternoon.

There was also a Children's Railway on the Buda side of the river that Dan was interested in, and I scoured the website as best I could to see if there was any mention to it being closed. To get there, anyway, one could take a train that uses cog-wheels to get up the mountain, and so we decided, since our metro passes were all encompassing, to do that.

The scenery was very beautiful and the Cog-wheel carriages noisy and bumpy, but I still managed to doze off for a couple of minutes despite the jostling. The angle of the track was so steep that alternate seats in the carriages were made leaning backwards to accommodate the angle. When we reached the top, we wandered to the start of the Children's railway to discover it too was closed (and didn't say on their website).

Oh well! We could see the sun was setting and wondered where there would be a nice view. We walked towards the sun and ended up in a bit of a forest pathway, with a spectacular sunset beginning on the horizon. We stayed and took countless photos of the pretty sunset before catching the cog-wheel back down the mountain again.

It was only 4pm, although it felt like midnight. We figured we would make our way back to the hotel to get ready for our night time activities and a bit of a rest.

This night, we were going to the opera. We were going to be adults doing grown up things. I had heard the Hungarian Opera House was beautiful and it turned out tickets were rather on the inexpensive side. I chose Handel's Messiah as it was just in time for Christmas, and should be in English. If I were to have chosen the cheapest of cheap seats with a restricted view, a seat would have been a total of equivalent 70p. 70 pence. I decided to splash out a bit and bought £12 tickets. Oh my!

First off, dinner. Our hotel recommended a place, but stated it may be very busy. We arrived, and the lady in front of us was told that there was only one table remaining and she would have to leave by 7.30 to make way for another reservation. We waited with bated breath to see if she would accept it as that would have been perfect for us...and for some reason she declined! The table was ours.

Delicious champagne and hungarian meat and mushrooms later (all extremely cheap, of course), we were wined, dined and ready for the opera. Inside the gorgeous building, we were instructed to leave our coats at the cloak room before being shown to our seats.

Now, as some of you may know, I am a classically trained musician but even I find classical music can help me get the best sleep of my life...and so I play little games (and so did Dan). Over to our right, there was clearly a date underway, and over the progression of the evening the boy went from trying to impress his lady, to falling asleep, to sitting behind her playing on his phone while she looked unimpressed. It was all going downhill for him (although he kindly took a picture of Dan and myself on the beautiful spiral staircase!)

On the stage, a large Christmas tree, fronted by a choir, orchestra (with an unusual placement of string instruments; the cellos weren't where I expected them) and our 4 singing stars. The tenor was a rather rotund man, the bass thought he was Hot Stuff, and sang with a strong Hungarian accent, our alto was a strange witchy looking woman with a nice, if not powerful voice who clearly had a rivalry with the soprano, who was an extremely impressive belter. There was so much tension on the stage, but it added an extra element to the evening.

I hadn't heard the whole Messiah before - everyone knows the showstopper Hallelujah Chorus, but it was nice and easy to follow with repeated (and repeated and repeated and repeated) verses and English subtitles above (which for us served the purpose of translating the sometimes thick Hungarian accents).

In front of us sat a young couple who, to put it simply, fell asleep. They both did the uncomfortable nod and jerk. I willed them to just let it happen...it's quite normal...and it was very warm in there. Just let yourself close your eyes for a moment...you'll feel much better, I thought to myself, but they continued to fight sleep.

At the conclusion, an elderly lady behind thumped her walking stick against the rows of chairs by way of clapping, and thus the night came to an end.

Dan and I left the Opera House and bid Budapest-by-night farewell.

23 December

Our final morning in Budapest, with our flight in the early afternoon. We grabbed one final chimney cake (always cinnamon for me!) and returned to the square. I had perviously found a brooch I was interested in but the stalls weren't open this early, and I decided I didn't want to wait. We had a few hours to kill before our flight so we returned to the waterfront.

When we arrived, "waterfront" turned out to be a bit of a stretch of the imagination. What waterfront? Today was so foggy, that nothing beyond the edge could be seen. Nothing. Not even by peering hard. There was no other side to the river. There was no river. I laughed at the people who were taking the walking tour that day, imaging what the guide was saying.

"And on the other side of the river is the castle..well...you'll just have to imagine it is there...trust me, there's a castle..."

We were just killing time, so we decided we could kill time at the airport. The journey there was effortless and uneventful, and we managed to skip most of the queue for checking in. On the other side, we had a good hour to wait and so we began using up the rest of our Hungarian Florins on, you guessed it, bubbly wine.

Two bottles, in fact, as our flight was delayed and delayed, over 2 and a half hours in the end. I was quite tiddly. Next minute, last call - and we ran to the queue. Round about here, my pressing need for the bubbly to evacuate became overbearing, and we stood in the queue for approximately 45 minutes. I officially began to hate Ryanair. We finally boarded and the attendant said I could use the toilet once everyone had boarded. Everyone boarded, and I made my way to the toilet, just for her to shake her head at me and say no.

I looked her dead in the eye, said "I CAN'T" and she relented.

Another uneventful, if late, flight home and we landed on British soil, rejoicing in the fact that we still had another 11 days off and that our holidays were continuing.

***

I sailed through customs. I am now a Registered Traveller so gone are the days where I get interrogated and put into the little holding pen. I put my passport up to the little scanny thing, the little scanny thing scanned my little face and I breezed my way into Britain, almost giggling with glee.

***

And thus my Budapest tome is concluded. So very much was packed in - four extremely jam packed days - and my love for the city continued to swell. Especially at night. It is so very beautiful at night. Thermal baths, goulash, Christmas markets, the Danube, castles, day trips to neighbouring countries - you name it, Budapest has it. 

Budapest, you remain in my heart.

Til next time,

x

Why Latvians are coconuts

The Expats rule of thumb: One country per month while living in London. 

I realised since my Summer of Fun, I had skipped a couple of months. This was almost entirely due to my lack of funds but since receiving a rather tidy tax return and finally having a steady job, it was time to be spontaneous.

Dan and I jumped on Skyscanner and searched "By Cheapest" to destination "Flexible".

And this is how we ended up in Riga, the capital of Latvia two weeks later.

Friday 27 November

"Run!" my workmate Gavin exclaimed to me as I hurriedly gathered my belongings and raced out the door. I had both misjudged and forgotten when the train was leaving from Kings Cross St Pancras and now was convinced I would miss the train to Luton Airport. I ran from work to the tube station, sweating and puffing upon arrival. The tube became packed. So packed, that I was squished face-first into the glass panel, trickle of sweat inching down my back, unable to even get my hand in my pocket to retrieve my phone. I was on the verge of a panic attack - the running, the lateness, the proximity of people, and I watched my breath fogging up the glass as I took deep breath after deep breath.

Finally, we reached Kings Cross, and I had a little bit of time to spare. I walked quickly but not frantically, and found Dan near the ticket machines, where he gave me a big hug. We had some time to spare now, and we mosey-d our way to the train. We had reserved seats but no one could tell us which carriage was which, so we told someone to get out of our seats (which may not have been our seats!) and I collapsed, slowly becoming more human and ready for the whirlwind adventure ahead.

Our flight was a little delayed but all in all uneventful. We landed in Riga at about 1.30am local time (two hours time difference) and our transfer driver was waiting for us. He couldn't figure out how to get to our hotel - it was in the middle of the market, he said, and after giving the hotel a quick call pointed out where we should go. We thanked him, and cautiously made our way forward.

Turns out, the location was rather excellent, although at 2am in the morning it all looked really dodgy. We checked in and found our way to our already warm and cozy room. Admittedly at first I thought the hotel was shabby and unfinished, but then realised the exposed brick was by design.

Saturday 28 November

I didn't sleep very well. I peeked out the window a few times and as the morning encroached I could see people arriving at the markets beneath to set up. Soon enough it was time to get up and ready for the day ahead. I piled on my clothes, and almost passed out from heat exhaustion. When we made it outside into the chill day air, I was mildly relieved…for about a minute. Then the cold set in. We had decided to join the Riga Free Walking tour as it was the only free one in Riga and it was starting at midday. We had plenty of time, so we wandered through the outdoor market for a while, grabbed a burger to fill our bellies and meandered our way to the starting point of the tour.

A crowd was already forming around a yellow suitcase, and a young, beanie-d bearded man was speaking in English. We gathered closer.

"Please ask me any questions you like," he was saying, "I can't guarantee I'll know the answers, but I can always lie to you."

I laughed, and decided that this tour would be good. The man, Kris, explained that this would not be a tour of Old Town but a tour of the rest of Riga, and I was a bit unsure if this is what I wanted to do. Dan and I decided that if we didn't like it, we could just leave part way through. Never-the-less, the tour was entertaining thanks to Kris' dry sense of humour and incredibly educational as it turns out I knew absolutely diddely-squat about Latvia or Riga.

Our guide took us through the central market, designed out of reconstructed zeppelin hangers after the first world war. "We didn't have any money, so we had to be inventive!" Latvia experienced its first known period of freedom after the war, and this freedom lasted exactly 13 years before they were then taken over by the Soviets during WWII. The tour continued to the memorial for the Jewish people who lost their lives in Latvia (100,000 in total), before moving to the suburb with the wooden houses.

The wooden houses were designed to be able to be burnt down in an instant if the village was under attack. The last time it was under attack was apparently Napoleon's time; however it was a case of mistaken identity as Napoleon never came near Riga. Bugger. By now the people were too poor to try to build houses out of any other materials, and so a whole section of Riga is still wooden today.

The tour ended at the Freedom Monument, which was erected in 1935 entirely on donations (again, the country was too poor and had to use other imaginative means!) It distinctly states "For the Fatherland and For Freedom". Wisely, because the amount of times poor Latvia has been taken over, "For the Fatherland" is far more innocuous than "For Latvia!" and, sure enough, during the Soviet era the monument was left untouched because the fatherland could really be anywhere.

"When you type 'why are latvians…' into Google, the top three choices are:

-never smiling

-so rude

-coconuts," he began, "and they are all related. We come across as rude and unsmiling because we don't have a summer, and it's dark and cold a lot of the year. But once you get to know us, you'll realise we are just like a coconut: a hard exterior filled with a sweet, soft centre!"

And on this note, the tour ended. Our guide gave a few recommendations for places to eat and drink local Latvian beer. One received a nod of agreement from others in the group, and I wrote down "Falk" and "ala" because that was all I could remember of the name. At this point, our feet were getting sore so Dan and I wandered the streets until we found a tiny little cafe.

We ordered a couple of coffees and some cake; chocolate and cowberry. What's cowberry? (Cowberry is actually linden berry, I discovered!) It was delicious. It was now 4pm and almost pitch black.

We wandered to the castle, which was a surprising shade of yellow and not grandiose like the castles in the rest of Europe. From here we stumbled into a little Christmas market, and I was overjoyed. 

"2 gluhwein, please" Dan said, pointing to a jug in one of the stalls. What we actually got was mulled cider, and boy was it strong. Exactly what we needed in the freezing temperature. So warming, in fact, that I had to take off my hood that had been protecting my face, and I unzipped my jacket. Mmm. Gluhwein. I dragged Dan from stall to stall to stall, and we popped out the other side where there was a lovely wreathed entrance, a donkey and a shetland pony. We grabbed out our cameras when a baby donkey suddenly ran past, much to my delight! We continued wandering the streets and found another few little Christmas markets, each with a different themed tree. One was wooden, another with pretzels on.

Complete with our mulled cider gluhwein

All the time we kept an eye out for this "Falk" and "Ala" place. Our chances of finding it, although Riga was small, was slim to none. Outside the town hall, I randomly decided to see if there was free wifi and what were the chances? There was. As we still didn't know the name of the place, I googled "Best pubs in Riga" and low and behold, the Folkklub Ala was one of them. Not only that, it was 2 blocks away.

We approached an odd looking place, to realise the bar was actually underground and so we defended the steps into a very large and wooden open space. All the tables were either packed or reserved. We made a number of rounds around until we decided to sit at the bar. This turned out to be just fine, and gave us a great view of the pub and do a bit of people watching.

One thing we had learnt from our guide is that Latvians love mushrooms. "It's like a mental disease," he had said, "If we know there are mushrooms that can be picked, we can't sleep at night. No, really,  we have to go pick the mushrooms." This made me really want mushrooms for dinner! First off though: Latvian beer. I chose a high percentage cranberry fruit beer, and it was delicious. For dinner, I chose the stroganoff as it was ladened with mushrooms, and yet another fruit beer to go along with my meal.

We were full, warm, content and getting a bit tired. Before we left, we had to try the local liquor shot: Riga Black Balsam. It arrived in a very large shot glass with a slice of orange, and I looked at it apprehensively. I can't quite describe the taste; it wasn't altogether unpleasant but wasn't exactly like drinking a yummy lemonade. It had a bit of a jager feel to it, and once I finally got it down (in two goes), I counted back from 10….9….8….7….6….5…4…3…2…1…and I was drunk.

We stumbled the long way back to our hotel, taking a few photos along the way, and crashed after a long and exhausting day.

Sunday 29 November

I slept much better that night. We packed our things as today we were already checking out, and we jumped into the market just outside our door. I hadn't realised just how close we were staying to the main [Led] Zeppelin hanger markets - in fact, we were right in them! Looking to the sky, we realised there wasn't much to see. All of the taller buildings were lost up above the foggy haze. No finding somewhere high for a view then, apparently. We walked through the market a bit, grabbed some very cheap and delicious pastry breakfast and a coffee and generally wandered through the markets. I wanted to buy some of the Latvian sprodits (sprats) which our guide had recommended the day before. "They taste..specific", he had said. I purchased a tin and then we made our way to the train station.

If we couldn't go up high, we would go to the beach. Even if it was foggy there, it would afford some interesting photographs and Dan had spent some time that morning working out how to get us to the Baltic Sea. 

After standing in the cold (1C) for a short while, a train approached. We climbed the extremely steep ladder and was presented with an interior reminiscent of the Soviet Era; bright orange 3 seater leather seats. Vintage train was vintage. It was comfortable and very warm (I think I dozed!) and in roughly half an hour we made it to Majori, where we were going to the beach.

Along the way, the ground was noticeably white in places. There wouldn't be any snow near the beach though because of all the salt content. And it will be cold, won't it? After getting off the train we were hit with a gust of icy wind. I braced myself, as I thought the next little while would be cold and slightly unbearable.

We walked towards the water and could see the ocean over a slight rise. Wait, what's that to our left? And our right? Why is that sand white? Could it be snow? Yes, ladies and gentlemen, there was snow on the beach. 

The water was deathly calm, the air temperature considerably warmer and the peaceful peace was filled with people on a gentle Sunday stroll. It was amazing. We marvelled for a long time at the snow intermingling with the sand, and walked along the frozen snow trodden path that had been formed from so many people walking the same way. It was divine. Peaceful, gentle, and exactly not what we had expected.

We spent a solid hour strolling along the beach. Back in the little town, we found a cafe for lunch (I had dumplings this time!) and we hopped back on a train - a much newer one this time - to return to Riga.

By now, it was practically dark. We thawed in the markets again, and decided to give our tinned sprodits a go. How specific were they going to taste? We opened the can, and were presented with sardines. Equal parts mildly disappointing and miraculous, we hoed into the fishy fish (glad it didn't taste "specific" - just yummy). Our hands proceeded to smell like fish for the rest of the evening.

Time to go. We wandered to the bus depot to get the bus to the airport. While we were waiting, it snowed briefly It was rather amazing to watch as it fell in wet clumps, and could be seen clearly in the bus lights and the street lamps. We were quite pleased that it was snowing now and not while we had been out and about, in the end.

And thus we said farewell to Riga. It was an interesting feeling farewelling a city that was extremely enjoyable, and knowing that the likelihood of returning was extremely slim. I will probably not see Latvia again, but I hope you all go and see it for yourselves.

***

Returning to London was completely uneventful. I even got through customs without the slightest bit of a drama, and now am a "registered traveller" and so shouldn't have any of my visa issues for the rest of my time in London!

Til next time,

xx