Ben Welsher | Writings

Vicenza - 05/09/2010 We drowsily, sheepishly rose in the morning praying, in vain, that our late night revelries (we were celebrating a marriage after all) might not have disturbed our neighbours. My unfortunate spill out of the bus door the previous night had likely warned the bride's parents what was to come though. We had heard tell of a maiden by the name of Juliet in fair Verona so off we went to cop a feel. And most accommodating she was too, restoring our luck though though she could do nothing for our reputations. I strongly advise all travellers to take such fortune when offered be it by bosom or big toe. Grow grapes, pick grapes, squish grapes, ferment grapes, drink wine. With whatever is left make grappa, drink grappa, hold table. The local spirit has its home at Bassano and like true resentinieros we made our pilgrimage. Bassano's bridge rather pales next to the Stari Most but that's hardly the point. We spent the evening, in crude terms, pissing ourselves abo

Vicenza - 04/09/2010 Our road had ended in a flurry of confetti. Suddenly after two weeks it was no longer de rigueur to leave our accommodation in clothes more creased than Nelson Mandela's face. By the skillful location and application of a travel iron my shirt was made smooth (apparently I could also have straightened my hair with it, had I any). My travelling companion had turned Chief Bridesmaid© and my friends had turned wed. The ceremony was short and.........moving, an odd sensation for someone who usually experiences emotional movement of the most glacial sort. I confess that I cast my doubts on marriage; I opine on its sustainability, its compromise, its purpose. And yet, and yet, I sat and envied and awed and smiled broadly and warmly and sincerely. I saw loveliness and rightness and a warm blanket of feeling wrapped my heart. The happiness was palpable and I was grateful to be there to experience it. I have likely used my ration of gushing sentiment now so I shall ceas

Trieste/Vicenza - 03/09/2010 Monfalcano is not Trieste. But Monfalcano is Italy. Our next hire car resided in Trieste which was but a short train ride from the aforementioned location we blearily found ourselves in as the sun came up. Good news after a long night of balkanology, even greater fortune was that the train was complementary, as are all modes of transport when you choose not to buy a ticket. We sat listlessly outside Trieste Train Station watching the town and its denizens slowly come to life as light seeped over the horizon. Eventually, in a side street aromatised with the spicy tang of urine, we were given our automobile and barring police intervention we would be in Vicenza and our final destination within the two hour. The Autogrill must be an utterly, unfathomably foreign place to the tourist, they must reel at the baffle and the bustle. We citizens of the world, we single, bilingual, peripatetic beings negotiated the disorder with what 'posh twats' call aplom

Zagreb/Somewhere in Slovenia - 02/09/2010 The 5:30 bus had ceased to be an option so our only way of reaching Italy was now the late train, really late. We had purloined a map of Zagreb with walking tours but Budget Rent-a-Car were kind enough to give us a driving tour of the city during the dropping off of their car. After returning the vehicle in more or less the same condition as we received it (missed calls suggest they may have discovered the wheel), time was our most voluable friend. And so we walked. We took in scaffolded cathedrals (and came out the richer, thanks God) and colourfully tiled churches. We promenaded endless, repeating, boatless waterfront and still the hour of departure did not come. We enlarged Zagreb's 'free tram' zone to cover the greater part of the city and still our time here was not done. The theory of relativity states that a being's perception of time is relative to the list of available activities in the city in which they are stuck. Al

Plivice/Zagreb - 01/09/2010 No swimming, no fishing, no straying from trails, no wrestling the bears. Simply shuffle round in tightly packed column taking the same pictures as those that went before you, leave. The Plitvice Parks are an eden but a tightly managed one. I cannot decide if this is the only way they could remain as they are or have had their natural beauty somewhat diminished by the railings of man's modern impositions. One cannot deny the sumptuous visual banquet they present though. The lakes are aquamarine at depth to clear, crystalline purity in the shallows. If a person were permitted to plunge into the deep blue they would surely hesitate lest it all be the flat, paint-daubed canvas of a master artist. The fish, their fins tinged with cornflower blue, bathe in the sunshine in perfect awareness of their protection. The flora and fauna seem oddly monocultural, is this a place of preservation or presentation? What primordial force draws us to water, causes us to wo

Split/Plitvice 31/08/2010 We stirred from dreams surrounded by our belongings which we had neatly strewn around the camp. After collecting the chaos the road called once more. A short drive brought us to Split and the Roman Emperor Diocletian's retirement home. His palace has been built on, in and around over the centuries and makes for a curious, amalgamated piece of architecture. We ate breakfast (byrek) and stumbled upon a giant man with a well worn toe. Gregory of Nin was a man who had some affiliation with a place called Nin, er...that's all I know. I do know that his big toe is reputed to bring luck to the rubber. After the calamities of the previous day a simple stroke of a digit was a superstition worth indulging. The day had brought precisely zero auto incidents thus far. But that is not how we roll so Mike smacked the car into a kerb upon entering a tunnel and we were only saved from a head on collision by his excellent driving (note, part of this statement is b*llo

Sarajevo/Mostar/Split - 30/08/2010 In parts of Sarajevo you could be forgiven for thinking you were in some quaint Bavarian town such are the pockets of picturesque to be found there. Its sights are few and pockmarked with bullet holes and even having seen them there is a sense you are missing something of the place. The real gem lay to the south. Constructed by the Turks in the 1500s, blown up by the Serbs in the 90's, it stands over the Neretva river fully restored and fully worthy of a visit. Solid towers suspend a high, arcing bridge 21 metres up. Locals will cheerfully throw themselves off it after a whip round has produced sufficient Kuna (I think they accept euros too, no cards. Heading again for the border and the rest of our Croatia leg a couple of nice gentlemen with 'Polizi' on their uniform flagged us down, "Documents". Speeding apparently. Michael 'James Bond' Hartles was diplomatic and admonishment delivered we were let go without a fine

Dubrovnik/Sarajevo - 29/08/2010 Michelle had taken her throat singing to the patio and the cute French girl (we'll call her Laetitia) was staring at me lustily, an excellent start to the day. The old town of Dubrovnik is undeniably beautiful, a fact not lost on the world's population. It is unrealistic and unreasonable to expect such a place to remain unexploited, preserved for the select few that undertake to make the pilgrimage. Those days are gone in the shrunken world of today. I know not when they actually were but I cannot help but cast my mind back to when it was equally aesthetic but less ruthlessly commercial. It the cruellest of double-edged swords, the money that tourism brings rebuilds, renews and sustains these sights and, to cite the scientific maxim, 'whatever is observed is by definition changed'. What makes, breaks. Enough cynicism and hypocrisy though, we've places to be and one hell of a coastline to cover. We had hired a car through Croatia as

Schkodrä/Dubrovnik - 28/08/2010 Today we have some moving to do. Our exit from Albania wasn't as rapid as I had originally envisioned though I am glad of it. We have found it to be a country quite unlike that imagined. Far from the gloomy, rubbled remains of a country where there was the iron fist of socialism sans velvet glove, it comes across a poor but honest place that will hopefully see an increase in tourism and prosperity in years to come (without losing its character). A cold shower whilst balancing over a toilet (the hazards of hosteling) was a bracing start to the day and once I had got over the minor trauma of waking with a tongue as black as coal it was time to bid farewell. We zigzagged up the coast between mountain to our right and sea our left. The first bus took us over the border to Ulcinj in Montenegro, our 4th country. Swift, unremarkable connections to Budva and then Herceg Novi followed and then the final leap into Croatia. The queue at the border was a great

Tirana/Schkodra - 27/08/2010 A word of advice here, should an earplug dislodge itself during the night, do not pop it into your mouth and chew it like a tasty treat, it most certainly is not. Our bus north did not depart until the afternoon so with a few hours to waste we ate a leisurely breakfast of the local speciality byrek (a cheese filled triangular pastry) outside the mosque while the Muezzin warmed up. The Museum of National History provided a comprehensive if at times scattered record of Albania's past and its hero Skanderbeg's defiance of the Ottomans. Our green, German-engineered steed stood behind the train station in readiness for the journey to Schkodra. Whilst what sounded like one of Hitler's Nuremberg orations blared out of the buse's speakers we sped through Tirana's suburbs. One of the contrasts in these countries (imho) is that the people seem unburdened by strictured regulation. Onerous rules are not devised, unnecessary laws are not obeyed. The

Tirana - 26/08/2010 We wended, we wove, we did not wake. That is because we did not sleep. My informative partner gave up his seat for a man whose hand had been mangled in an industrial accident, possibly with a lathe (this is all conjecture on my part). We eventually reached the end of the line and the end of our plan at 6AM in downtown Tirana. Freddy took us in but the room would not be ready for a few hours thus the city's delights were ours for the observing. We found Skanderbeg atop his horse in the centre of what disappointingly is no longer the most chaotic roundabout in the world. Multitudinous Mercedes still hared around it but it no longer has the life threatening qualities that so recommended its witnessing. No-one could in conscience call Tirana a beautiful city (though its female populace is of the highest quality) but it has a certain earthy charm. The traffic of its river is chiefly comprised of the detritus of human living but it has a most aesthetic (if unused) la

Thessaloniki - 25/08/2010 Despite being roused from sleep by (what seemed like) hourly passport checks, an otherwise decent night's rest was had. We woke to golden Elysium fields of wheat blanketing the land. We passed through them knowing that the only noise left behind us would be the gentle swish and rattle as the wind passed through the swaying stalks. A sparse, sun-baked landscape provided such a stark contrast to an Istanbul so profuse with water. We have picked up some extra carriages overnight, they have slowed us and made us behind schedule. Two hours late into Thessaloniki in northern Greece meant an extra urgency in seeing the sites, thankfully as we discovered, these are few. We first happened upon some fine orthodox churches with well kept icons and impressive iconostasis, pictures were taken. We each lit a devotional candle to Hermes, the god of travel and implored him to bless our journey and keep us safe. A seafront that Milton Keynes would be proud of in its concr

Istanbul - 24/08/2010 A bazaar of another kind today, its raison d'etre being spices. Again my rather romantic visions of hessian sacks festooned with great pyramids of pungent spice were disappointed. A rainbow of scarlet saffron and sandy turmeric was replaced by well ordered plastic containers complete with handy scoops. Must stop thinking I live in the 19th century. Despite the help of an Italian from Brighton and a Turk from Turkey in double act, a sought church on the Golden Horn never materialised. But at least we were on the spot for more balik ekmete. My hat nearly became a casualty in the extensive list of things I have tried to lose this holiday (the bath plugs were the first to fall, how we miss them). The way back took in the pigeon mosque, a scene of utter terror for Mike. His protestations of the unappreciated danger of these seemingly innocuous avians bordered on the lunatic. A most seemly way to round off one's hot, dirty, perspiring day is in the muggy cloist

Istanbul - 23/08/2010 Today Topkapi (apologies to Zuhal for pronunciation), tomorrow the world! Well Greece anyway. Good progress was being made so we took the decision to leave a day early buying us a extra 24 hours along the way. Thus tickets for the Thessaloniki Express are booked for the evening of the following day. The next POI was the aforementioned palace though. Taking the circuitous route along the coastal road afforded the opportunity to scramble (with the surefootedness of a mountain goat) up onto its extensive walls. This done, a little exploration revealed bandits had already claimed this section and fearing robbery and flaying we retreated back down. The Topkapi is a sprawling palace complex with many and varied buildings and isn't without that palace essential - the circumcision room. The live demonstrations prompted a hasty exit. The Grand Bazaar is epic in extent, an industrious warren of sellers, shoppers and multitudinous wares. Each little nook that houses an

London/Istanbul - 22/08/2010 Second bus comes, we embark. Driver, who even if never uttered a singular word to you could not help but be supposed a curmudgeon, was grumpy as is his habit. Gatwick looms, we check in and wait for the plane. I note with interest that Easyjet's 'Speedy Queue' optional extra seems to have been created primarily by slowing down the normal queue. Having said that there must have been something vaguely efficient about boarding as the captain felt able to spare 10 minutes to deliver an impromptu standup routine at the front of the plane. He was, it must be said, a refreshing change from the dour sobriety that is the modus operandi of the airline community normally. Having closed my eyes (yet not slept) I somehow missed the take off and landing completely. The middle bit was as interesting as (and did include) an airsteward's safety brief, thus we find ourselves in Istanbul. A shuttle bus to the western limit of Asia Minor and ferry across the B

London - 21/08/2010 The concrete strip bisects the grand old capital and moves us closer to Turkey by the second. Suspended as we are above the minutiae of life on either side we could be 10 or 100 feet from the ground, the endless towers offer no clue. The heat of our destination is as nothing to the fug of our 6 wheeled locale, a thoughtful aid to acclimatisation by National Express. But only the metronomically audible consumption of crisps introduces a sliver of black rage into my otherwise calm disposition. Looking out of the window at the burgeoning city I can't help but slip into a London-centric mindset for a second as it seems no idea was ever had that was not conceived here first. And yet somehow I already feel in a foreign country, doubtful the people around would understand if I were to speak. Time has ceased to be a point of reference, location is my barometer. We arrive as London is closing for the night, pub after pub shuts its doors to us, this stopover will go slow

Birmingham Coach Station - 21/08/2010

Birmingham - 21/08/2010 And so we go. Destination: climes and shores foreign.

"A journey is a person in itself; no two are alike. And all plans, safeguards, policing and coercion are fruitless. We find after years of struggle that we do not take a trip; a trip takes us." -- John Steinbeck

Have adopted the chaotic approach to packing favoured by headless chickens that generally works so poorly in other aspects of my life. Time is moving far faster than I am it seems.