Bookpacking’s Blog

 Romania; Brasov; Bran Castle

It seems that if the vampires don’t get you, the bears will. Romania is bear country, and as the snow falls we can only hope they’re all hibernating. We would be, if we had the choice. If you were watching A Place in the Sun the other week, you might have seen Brasov featured. A cottage in newly-developing Transylvania could be had for a paltry £12,000 and a couple of wannabe expats were checking it out.

The scene of a 1987 would-be revolution – prefiguring the later internal coup (and it was) that led to Caecescu’s execution in ‘89 – Brasov is only a couple of hours from Bucharest. It also has a ski field which recently topped a Post Office poll for value-for-money, and if Dracula Land ever takes off it’ll be number one on the global vampire tourist trail.

But before any property sharks relocate their real estate operation east – with a view to sucking the locals dry – they might want to think about the recession. Krakow is already experiencing a surplus of supply and a lack of demand in the tourist sector and one budget airline to cancel flights. When you have no money at all, even cheap is dear.

 England; Luton Airport

Budget airlines are steadily opening up the previously ignored east. Bad news for environmentalists, but good news for people in places like Sofia who want to pop down to the beach for the weekend. And who are we to deny people further east the pleasures we have so long taken for granted? Plus, sitting on the latest generation of Airbus, you can console yourself that flights are becoming ever more efficient.

And as these airlines run out of ‘new Barcelonas’ they’re carrying more and more business people and opening up trade links. After all, if we want people to come and fill the jobs we can’t/won’t take ourselves, then they’ve got to get here somehow?

Wizz Air has started a number of services from the UK to places like Timisoara in Romania, or Kiev in Ukraine. Ridiculously cheap seat sales – even artificially lower (how long can that last?) during the ‘downturn/recession/depression/crisis’ – have facilitated Bookpacking’s 2009 eastern odyssey.

Following in the footsteps of the ‘89 revolutions, we’re doing a tour to find out the state of the post-communist nation. We’ve been to the Czech and Slovak Republics; hung out in Hungary; snowboarded in Poland and stood at the famous Lenin shipyard gate; now Romania is calling. Sofia and Belgrade are on the itinerary too as we broaden our horizons.

Like most things in life, travel has its pros and cons. Yes, there’s an environmental price to pay. But maybe if we can find out a little more about ‘them’, and they can find out a little more ‘us’ – there’ll be a little more understanding in the world and that will pay a dividend?

There have been some posts added retrospectively, so have a flick back through and you might find some new posts that have only just been added, like sunset on the Vistula. We hope you enjoy it!

Here’s the rules of the road when we’re lighting out and exploring that big old world of ours…

1.    Stay in a hostel, or couchsurf. Locals are there to provide you with information and give you the inside track.

2.    Check the listings guides and scan the papers. Want to be in Krakow and then miss the annual (free) charity fireworks/concert because you didn’t know it was happening?

3.    Travel with the locals. Get buses and trams, see how people are living. What are they reading? What are their ringtones? How sophisticated is the transport system? Is it vandalised?

4.    Eat with the locals. Skip the fancy restaurant and eat cheap with residents. From Sunday snacks with Madrileno’s in the rastro, to the students and old people in Gdansk’s milk bars; it’s an anthropological adventure.

5.    Keep your eyes open. Posters and graffiti help you appreciate the mood of the nation, region or even the city. From anti-tourist slogans in the Basque country to the parental status of Putin or the ownership of Kosovo; what are people talking about?

6.    Initiate conversations. No use being a wall-flower here; start a chat, ask questions. People respond to genuine interest. And after all, everyone’s favourite subject is themselves.

7.    Get lost. Guide books are great, but take some time to wander off the beaten track and you never know what you’ll find. There are atmospheric empty alleys only minutes from Las Rambla, or serene spots for contemplation round SF’s Telegraph Hill.

8.    Go to something different. Like a political meeting, or an alternative art show. In Dresden’s Neustadt you might catch the German Bob Dylan imitator for only a few Euros, or meet interesting progressive political types at a Move On film screening in a US city.

9.    Look up! Especially if you’re a photographer; there’s a whole different world up there that so many miss. You might find 100 year-old advertisements, or eclectically elaborate rooftop decorations signifying a building’s provenance.

10.    Be open and be flexible. People make suggestions for reasons, so follow the tips. Change your schedule to take advantage of opportunities, and cut your losses when a location disappoints.

11.    We said 10 rules, eh? Rule 11 is know when to throw the rules out of the window!

© Bookpacking

 Bulgaria; Sofia; The Apartment

It’s Valentines Day in Sofia. But for the lone traveller like Bookpacking, they can console themselves that 14th February is also the feast day of St Trifon – crying into your glass is just fine today, as long as it’s wine at the bottom of it.

It’s an interesting day, hooking up with a couple of locals who work in travel & tourism for an informal tour of the town. Today the washed out colours of a European winter jarr with the E-number red of Valentines Day balloons from sellers  – like here in front of the Popa statue. A local landmark, it’s the place to meet if you’ve got a rendezvous.

The stone figure of a 14th Century religious leader made contrasts sharply with the vivid man-made material of 21tst Century tat. In front of the National Palace of Culture there is another one of those juxtapositions that seem to leap out at you in this region. A group of old people stand in front of a memorial, drinking wine and eating small pieces of some kind of sweetbread. With their heavy coats and a drooping flag, they are commemorating the death of General Hristo Lukov who was killed by communists. We shouldn’t get too sad though, because he was apparently pro-Nazi; history never seems to be neutral in this part of the world.

Meanwhile, in another part of the park, a PA system is pounding. Girls in modern dress are dancing on a stage in front of the dilapidated national monument while a young guy dressed as a giant condom hands out free prophylactics for what looks to be the Red Cross. The OAPs come from an era where the lucky few survived, the young people from an era where the unlucky few die. Will they come to monuments like this when they are that age, and reflect on past injustices while the younger generation parties on in ignorant bliss? One hopes they won’t have to.

Later, on the edge of town – past even the Panelka – we find ourselves at an obscure concrete monument full of bells. Some sort of UNICEF project to symbolise solidarity between the world’s children, it speaks of another century. With bells donated from countries which no longer exist or have been renamed, like the DDR or Kampuchea, it feels like time has stopped. Even the huge double-stacked tv’s in the security guard’s shack (to stop “gypsies” stealing the metal) look like they came from another era with their wood-effect sides.

There is no-one else here, and in the late afternoon gloom, the sentinel-like main tower cuts a dark angular silhouette against a uniformly grey sky. Dogs prowl and on the main road prostitutes stamp their feet as cars fly past on the dual carriageway. Horns sound as excited men impulsively leer, but no-one stops.

Walking through a field strewn with rubbish, to the start of the housing estate where the bus waits and a lone dog stands territorially on the potted tarmac, this feels like a frontier. Not so much the edge of town, as the edge of civilisation. An old game, with old risks, for those girls.

So when we get to back to town, and the safe warm confines of one of Sofia’s coolest ‘bars’ Apartment – “It’s not a bar, it’s the Apartment” – the soothing sea sounds in the aquatic-themed room we’re led to are all the more appreciated. Sinking into the sofa with a Leffe and some organic chocolate cake, we can reflect that the world changes. But not that much.

One of the delights of the Berlin is just wandering the streets. Today it’s Friedrichshain, which is quashed between Karl Marx Allee and the Spree river and one of many sub-centres of this diffuse city. Berlin feels like an ever-shifting urban canvas, and leaving the new style bars behind in the avenues, we find esoteric treasure in the side streets and alleyways.

Like a plane crash survivor, Berlin is city embraces the now and all the possibilities of existence that brings, yet can never escape the memory of its trauma. Pasted on a garage wall, a riot of CMYK announces another rendezvous of the colourful-but-cool in a venue which will enjoy its moment in the sun, before returning to the tumbledown obscurity from whence it came. This is the city of the Geheimtip, the nod and the wink about a bar, cellar or even someone’s front room which is temporarily the focus of the fickle and fashionable.

But underneath the posters, where yet another team of spray painters have left their mark, a mural depicts a Zeppelin. Immediately recognisable, its shape speaks of a dark past but is somehow softened by a loss of edge that the passage of time gives to memories that cut less deeply the further back they are. From the pre-Hitler era, before Friedrichshain was renamed Horst Wessel Stadt in honour of the Nazi anthem writer, it belongs to a conflict that is less offensive than its successor.

Across the street is a yard full of Volkswagen T25 camper vans. Appropriately VW’s spiritual home Wolfsburg is a short drive to the west. Two African men load a lorry with parts, before approaching us to see what we’re staring at. The vans are not for sale but only for export they tell us. Import/export: the people involved in this business never seem to welcome scrutiny. Presumably, given Berlin’s low costs and the popularity of these vans abroad, they’re being sold overseas. “Das ist Kultauto” we manage to say – a cult car. Unimpressed but satisified we pose no threat, they amble away. Berlin is one of those places where you can sense things happening underground, in hidden places. For good and bad.

Turning another corner onto Modersohnstrasse, one of the many open spaces you find in Berlin (bomb damage or communist lack of care?) is gated with a sign which appears to announce something defiantly to the world. Inside, it is packed with a collection of those distinctive two-axle  trailers that you only see in this part of the world. Like the T25, they have a certain boxiness; but unlike the camper vans in the yard, there are heat shimmers denoting working stoves – they are occupied. A gypsy encampment? A travelling circus? An artistic paradise? We’re seized with a need to know.Then a paramilitary figure, clad all in black, emerges on one of those sit-up-and-beg bikes that are fantastic for stately patrols of the flat Berlin cyclepaths, but would be useless in London. He stops to adjust his phone; such an opportunity is not to be wasted.

His clothes are actually Carhartt rather than military fatigues, the only war he is fighting is the annual one against the bitter Berlin cold. This, he tells us, is a community of squatters. Rather than travellers, they are stay-putters who spied an opportunity in this empty patch of land and took it. Our pragmatic new friend tells us how it is: “This land was empty so we decided to squat. The government said ‘Ok, no problem, we don’t need this right now so you can have it. But when we are ready to build our sports development, you will have to move on.’ But, this is Berlin, so they have no money, so they cannot build it and we are still here.” Ah this city, such a cheap date for the decadent but destitute. “If you look carefully,” a friend once said, “you’ll notice people nursing the same beer for a long time.”

But being Berlin, this cosmopolitan community of squatters are very much in touch with the modern world.  “She works in IT,” he says as woman in a hooded top and baggy jeans slouches past, “So we have very fast internet. Another guy is a businessman and he owns several companies.” Anarchists, alternatives, entrepreneurs and IT specialists – all living cheek by jowl in this soon-to-be-gentrified quarter. But how long can this coexistence last, as capitalism spreads its polarising wealth and business also spies an opportunity. Are the anti-yuppy car burners of Friedrichshain fighting a losing battle?

The Fernsehturm looks pretty now, this 1,200ft long futuristic rocket to the stars. It welcomes you to an ultra-modern city where individuality is welcomed and self-expression encouraged. But spend a few days in Berlin, and read your Stasi history, and you start to see it in a different light.

There it is again, as you cross a street. And over your shoulder as you drink a coffee outside. It’s never out of your view for more than a few minutes. It’s like being shadowed by an impassive silvery spy. Outwardly symbolic of communist construction skills –  and a giant “Up yours” to West Berlin – it would also have jammed TV pictures and Radio Free Europe, just like its Prague counterpart.

And that mirrored glass; maybe a too little like the windows in an interrogation room or the shades on the guy who always happens to turn up when you do in the cafe. The tower once served – like all communist architecture – to dwarf those below it; to remind you that you were nothing compared to the collective, namely the state and its many tentacles. There is a reason why dictators build big, just like they did at the imposing Tempelhof under a different – but equally totalitarian – regime. Always there. Always watching. Always bigger.

Little could they know they would be building one of the city’s top tourist attractions, bringing the enemy from all over the globe to spend their ill-gotten capitalist gains. It is now the drab socialist showpiece of Karl-Marx-Allee that shrinks beneath the tower. And at night, looking up from Rosa-Luxemburg-Platz, this trophy of the former anti-fun state resembles a glitter ball in a decadent disco. The Spartacists must be turning in their spartan coffins.

It’s perhaps crass of the artist to make comparisons with the Stasi, but the stencil makes its point.

Sometimes puerile though often political, the simple medium of stencil art is enabling a new generation to make their point all over Europe – using striking images instead of cliched sentences.

This follows in the tradition of such groundbreaking agitprop as the Berkeley 4973 posters of the 60s. A picture tells a thousand words. And it’s difficult to shout down a drawing…

Germany; Weimar; ACC gallery/cafe; “Kangaroos Run Wild in Weimar” exhibition

Another little Weimar bonus tonight. Stopping off at the gallery/café ACC we saw a sign for an event that evening discussing Australia’s image, as portrayed to Germans in mainstream film. Dipping into overdubbed films ranging from Walkabout to Priscilla to Rabbit Proof Fence, local academic/artist Olaf Nenninger presented a compilation of clips to show how manufactured and manipulated this portrayal is.

All countries self-mythologise. America focuses on the Wild West and the Revolution; in Britain we have WW2 when ‘we were all in it together’. But living in Europe and having worked in Australia, Bookpacking is aware that it exists today as a brand; something for foreign tourists like ourselves to buy into.

Thus the recent film with Nicole Kidman can be seen (and visiting Aussie artist and war correspondent George Gittoes confirmed it was) as a huge advertising vehicle, leading a tourist board charge. Fellow Aussie and artist/activist Deborah Kelly pointed out that it is one of the most urbanised countries in the world, yet the images associated with it are of landscapes not cities.

The celebrated Gittoes – who has worked with Michael Moore and has his own Iraq-related release “Soundtrack to War” – has some experience of working with Aborigines in the Northern Territory, and so was qualified to give us a list of what we ought to see to get a more realistic picture of the country and its Aboriginal people.

Gittoes’ list:
They’re a Weird Mob
The Last Wave
Romper Stomper
10 Canoes (highly recommended)

Deborah Kelly also recommends:
The Boys
Head On

An aside from Bookpacking:

One of the curators asked George and Deborah if they could relate to these desert/outback landscapes. A valid question, and they answered in the affirmative.

But if you are a European who has never been to either Australia or America, it can be difficult to fully grasp the scale of the individual countries. An office worker may live in the suburbs of Melbourne, taking a tram to his office job in the cold rain, suited and booted. In the centre, another guy in jeans and bush hat might be working on a cattle station the size of Belgium which is running out of water. Even further north, a Park Ranger in stereotypical Blundstone boots and short-shorts might be dodging crocodiles on the rounds of his tropical reserve.

Of course there’s a certain homogeneity to the culture, but the environments are very different. Cultural/language differences aside, it’d be like asking someone who farms in Morocco if they can relate their surroundings to an office worker in Switzerland. Some things really do have to be seen to be appreciated.

Germany; Weimar; concert hall

Happenstance is one of Bookpacking’s favourite phenomena. Within 20 minutes of arriving at Weimar’s quirky student-run Hababusch hostel, we found ourselves in a Klezmer concert. Receptionist Kai checks me in and mentions there’s a Klezmer workshop happening in town; do I fancy coming to a concert? In no time at all we’re walking through the quaint snow-filled streets of Weimar, past statues of Goethe and Schiller. We’re only at  a concert given by the cream of the world’s Klezmer and Romany musicians. I hadn’t even heard of Klezmer until a few weeks ago in Krakow’s Kazimierz, and now I’m listening to feted musicians from Bulgaria, Romania, Hungary, the US, UK, Ukraine and Germany. Kai chats to musos who’ve returned to the former DDR town for this winter spin-off from the larger Yiddish Summer festival.

Some of the music is terribly plaintive. The imagination wanders: how many places must this song have been played in? From happy family gatherings to remote farms under threat of Pogrom or even in the nearby Buchenwald death camp. I think about my own recently departed grandmother again. And again I think about the mother given an overdose in the Krakow ghetto flat; administered by her son to avoid an even worse death at the hands of the Nazis. A familiar feeling comes; a sense of loss, of something ripped from the world. The religious or the poetic might describe it as the sound of thousands (millions?) of voices screaming out from a hellish past.

But the coin has two sides, and we finish with a grand finale and uplifting danceable numbers. 10 or so get up from the mostly muso audience and, linking hands, dance around the room in a Hora. I think back to the wild dancing I saw once at an orthodox Jewish wedding in London, an impressive sight indeed. Then girls present flowers to the band and a standing ovation ensues. The whole event is being filmed, and I feel privileged to be here. Timing, eh?