Tag: Europe

Tres, dos, uno…ya!

by Gary Patrick Brown, posted in Ecuador, Quito, South America

The day has finally arrived! My South American adventure starts here, although it very nearly didn’t thanks to Amsterdam’s public transport, but that’s a story for another day.  I waved goodbye to my teary partner at Schiphol – who got even more teary once he’d returned home to discover that I’d left him a box containing a note for every day I’m away – and boarded my KLM flight to Quito, where I’d spend the next 11 hours feeling queasy from the boozy fumes emanating from the Russian man I was seated next to who was quaffing multiple cans of Heineken like it was Sprite.  I guess this isn’t surprising given that beer was classified as a soft drink in Russia until 2013. No really, look it up.

I usually sleep on planes but I found myself enthralled by a Dutch movie called Brasserie Valentijn. The whole movie takes place in a restaurant on Valentine’s Day and is a very clever observation on relationships. It’s styling and quirkiness reminded me of the French film Huit Femmes (Eight Women). I highly recommend both. I struck out early on the Dutch movie front however as the next two I viewed weren’t quite so good: Mannen Harten (Manly Hearts) is a watchable comedy with a Love Actually-esque feel about it; Broers (Brothers) was not so watchable and I switched off at halfway. I also watched Snatched, a comedy starring Amy Schumer and Goldie Hawn in which they get kidnapped. In Ecuador. Good choice Gary.

Towards the end of the flight, we were rewarded with stunning views of the Andes. I was somewhat surprised when we touched down as I hadn’t anticipated landing on top of a mountain! From disembarking the plane to getting in a taxi took all of 15 minutes. The immigration staff were welcoming and friendly with big smiles – take note United States – and I exited the airport sporting a similarly wide grin. The drive to Quito was spectacular, although I was somewhat perturbed when we turned off the smooth highway to continue on a broken, narrow road up the mountainside. After a suspension-testing five minutes, I was thinking that it’s a good job buses don’t use this route given the limited width of the road, when I looked up to see that hurtling towards us was in fact a big green bus. My taxi driver coped admirably and was also very friendly, pointing things out to me in Spanish to which I dutifully nodded while confidently saying ‘vale, vale‘.

Given that over the next few months I will be mainly camping in the wild, camping in campsites or staying in hostels, I decided to treat myself to a nice apartment for the first few days while I acclimatise. I arrived at my AirBnB digs and upon entering I vowed never to leave.  To be greeted with a jacuzzi bath and an incredible view of Quito after the long journey from Amsterdam nearly made me cry. The owner actually lives in Brussels but the security guard, Segundo – which I subsequently learned means ‘second’ in Spanish  – showed me around and was obviously used to dealing with overly emotional gringos, handling my wonderment with barely concealed bemusement. Segundo doesn’t speak English, but with a combination of hand gestures, my French language ability and the smattering of Spanish I know from warbling along to Josh Groban and J-Lo songs, we managed to communicate adequately. 

Having settled in I walked to the local supermercado to stock the kitchen for the next few days, but I hadn’t quite bargained for how steep the streets are in the Old Town. It made sense given the view I’d been afforded, but my brain wasn’t working too well at this point.  Quito is 9,350 feet above sea level, while Amsterdam is 6 feet below sea level, and the difference it makes is astonishing. After just two hours, I developed a headache and was struggling to take in enough oxygen, so I decided to drink in the view rather than another cerveza and get an early night.

My plan was, however, scuppered by the neighbourhood perros who are not only numerous, but very vocal. I love dogs and have managed to persuade my partner to allow us to have one upon my return from this trip (no takesies-backsies Ken!) but this cacophonous canine choir was not conducive to sleep. Thus, I sought out the amazing earplugs I recently bought in Amsterdam having discovered them when I needed something to combat the noise from my new upstairs neighbours who, shortly after moving in, were enthusiastically christening every room at very frequent intervals. Anyway, after ten minutes of searching, the sad realisation dawned on me that I had left the silicon silencers in my bathroom at home. Thankfully, jetlag welcomed me into her embrace and I fell into a much needed nine-hour slumber, feeling excited and nervous about what the next 102 days have in store for me.

Giethoorn – the ‘Venice of the North’…

by Gary Patrick Brown, posted in Europe, Netherlands

I moved to the Netherlands in June 2014 and vowed that I would do my utmost to visit as much of the country as possible if I was going to call it home. I soon learned of a village called Giethoorn in the Overijssel province. It is inaccessible by car and has plenty of walking and cycling trails, but more excitingly, canals for boating. Now, you may be struggling to see the appeal for an Amsterdammer to go somewhere like Giethoorn considering that my home city is not exactly lacking in canal action itself and which also bears the moniker of ‘Venice of the North’ – why come up with a new name when this one can, quite frankly, be applied to almost every Dutch city? Anyway, I digress.

My boyfriend’s birthday was fast approaching and we had discussed going away somewhere for a few days. Respite was much needed having just spent four days in my one-bedroom apartment in the company of my mum, sister and nephew, so the pictures of Giethoorn conjured up what I thought would be the perfect tonic.

I approached a couple of Dutch friends and colleagues asking for recommendations and they were nothing if not consistent in their advice: “don’t bother going, it’s full of Chinese tourists”. Unbeknownst to the Dutchies, however, this was actually a draw for me having spent the last three years feeling like a midget in this land of blonde giants. It’s also why Japan remains my favourite holiday destination, that and, well, everything else. Although if I never saw another squat toilet it’d be too soon. I thought I had the requisite thigh strength, but the splash back confirmed otherwise. No wonder the Japanese live so long though; they’re super supple.

I booked a room at Chateauhotel de Havixhorst which turned out to be nothing like a chateau. Or a hotel for that matter if it’s lack of toiletries, mini bar and room service were anything to go by. It was however conveniently located near Giethoorn and we set off in our rented wheels.

The following day we drove the 20 minutes to the outskirts of Giethoorn, admiring the many storks in the neighbouring fields which were protected in the area. We found this out thanks to a kindly old woman who humoured our basic Dutch having struck up a conversation in the hotel bar one night. Unlike her husband, who was rather rude when I got stumped on a word and switched to English. Thankfully I’m fluent in eye-rolling.

We picked up our handmade, wooden ‘fluisterboot’ which glided silently through the calm waters and after a simple demonstration we set sail. Without a sail, natch. After a couple of hours we still hadn’t seen a Chinese tourist (as you can see from the below video), but we did see what all the fuss about; Giethoorn is simply stunning. Each dwelling on it’s own little island with well kept gardens (you’d have to really with all the gawpers) overflowing with rhodedendrons.

It was also really cool teaching our dog, Max, to swim.

We were allowed to keep the boat for nine hours and took full advantage, exploring all three of the recognised routes. We decided to navigate the main canal line one more time as sunset was approaching and I thought we’d get some Instagram-worthy pictures. But what is that I see over the bow? Why, it’s a million Chinese tourists, 999,999 of whom had never driven a boat if the carnage below was anything to go by.

It was time to return the boat and drive back to the hotel and avoid the mean old man. Unfortunately the lack of a mini-bar in our room (I promise I’m over it now) meant that we had to chance the communal bar but thankfully he was nowhere in sight. In fact, no one was, so we clinked our glasses in peace and toasted an awesome day in a beautiful part of this awesome country. I think I did pretty well for a first birthday present all in all.

Sailing the Dalmatian Coast…

by Gary Patrick Brown, posted in Croatia, Europe

My trip to South America in 2017 a.k.a. the reason this blog exists in the first place, was that year’s birthday present to myself, a tradition I started a few years previously having grown up in a family environment which didn’t really go in for an annual celebration of ageing. Over the past twenty years or so, I’ve treated myself to a foreign escapade around my birthday in October, one of which was a week sailing along the Dalmatian Coast in Croatia.

My friend Neil had mentioned in passing that he was thinking of booking such a trip, so I naturally invited myself along. I had never been on a sailboat, nor to the Balkans, nor on a holiday where the vast majority of my fellow travellers would be strangers. We booked our trip with G Adventures; mainly because it was reasonably priced, they had availability on our desired dates and, probably, most importantly if I’m being brutally honest, they mentioned that one could do ‘as little or as much’ sailing as one liked which immediately led to me envisioning a reenactment of the ‘Rio’ video by Duran Duran (yes, I’m quite old). This ‘no mandatory sailing assistance’ didn’t entirely eventuate however as we were all given a task to perform when it came to docking or setting sail, although in fairness, when we were on open water, it appeared a similarly lazy disposition afflicted most of my crewmates as the skipper – a delectable Scot called, um, Scott – pretty much did everything.

Our trip began in Split, although it wasn’t the best of starts when the bus driver looked at me rather strangely when I insisted on paying the fare with Czech Koruna, before it dawned on me that, indeed, I had exchanged £300 worth of useless currency at Gatwick. Having gotten over that hump thanks to a stray five euro note I found lurking in my wallet, which was accepted with less chagrin, we spent a couple of relaxing days in Split, drinking cheap beer on the beach while watching the native men playing ‘picigin’ in the tiniest of speedos and wondering how this sport was not yet part of the Olympic programme. I soon realised I would love Croatia.

We made our way to the harbour to step aboard our home for the next week and meet the rest of our crew; everyone – well, nearly everyone – was lovely and bonding didn’t take very long.  The first day we were taught how to tie the “relatively simple” knots which were necessary to secure the boat when docked in the harbour each evening. I subsequently spent the next hour getting entangled in what I can only describe as a supersized game of cats cradle (if you don’t know what that is, you probably spent your formative years in the 90s or later). I’d like to think I’m a relatively intelligent person, and I was surprised to discover that knots are my achilles heal, along with saying no when my boyfriend suggests we have our ‘pizza Sunday’ tradition on Tuesday. And Wednesday.

We sailed along the coast, pausing for breaks in glorious bays where we would sunbathe and eat lunch, before heading to an island to drop anchor for the night. For the first couple of days, neither Neil nor I partook in a spot of swimming, mainly because we were both embarrassed to mince around in our rather skimpy swimwear having spied board shorts on our fellow male traveller, a strapping, married Australian called Zak. However, in Hvar, there were some nice shops so I wandered around looking for a pair of swimmers which covered rather more of my nether regions than those I had packed. I soon happened upon an amazing topaz pair, festooned with pink octopi (octopodes? I always get it wrong!). The price tag, however, was not quite so amazing at EUR 400! FOR A PAIR OF SHORTS!!! Resigning myself to not swimming for the entire week – although I’m more of a frolicker than a swimmer anyway – I headed back to the boat to get changed for our first big night out to celebrate the 60th birthday of another shipmate, Christine from Australia. This trip was her birthday treat to herself which made me feel warm inside; a kindred spirit.

Trying to get from dinghy to shore proved to be rather tricky
following a few celebratory pre-dinner proseccos

We all shared an amazing dinner before heading to a bar for more drinks and dancing. The dancing, at least on my part, didn’t last too long as I sprained my ankle doing the running man on the cobbled floor. What kind of bar has a cobbled dancefloor?! The kind of bar located in a country where there obviously isn’t a claim where there’s blame! I headed back to the boat alone and left the others to party. I had not long hunkered down in the tiny cabin I shared with Neil when the door opened and I felt someone get in the bed and put their arms around me. Turning around to remind Neil that we didn’t have ‘that kind of a friendship’, I was confronted with the drunkenly grinning face of Zak who had wandered into the wrong cabin, followed in the morning by the sight of him wearing the teeniest pair of black swimming trunks I’d ever seen. Praise be! I could now frolic to my heart’s content.

Over the course of the week, we sailed to Hvar, Korčula, Mljet, Ploče, Brač, Lastovo, Solta and Dubrovnik. We all contributed to a kitty to buy ingredients for meals onboard the yacht, with each person taking turns to cook for the others. I celebrated my birthday in Mljet, wearing a sailor’s outfit which my crewmates had presented me with earlier that day.

My new friends presented me with an amazing chocolate cake after dinner, one that a nearby Australian took a fancy to and – having drunk our fair share of vino – to whom we said could have the rest if he showed us his willy. Without hesitation he started unbuttoning while both dining parties and the waiting staff guffawed. A deal is a deal so after the dining room gave him a round of applause, we proffered the rest of the gargantuan gateau. His girlfriend returned from the bathroom and, having learned where the cake came from, turned to congratulate me. We heard her ask her fellow diners ‘so what? He just gave us his cake?’ to which her boyfriend responded with details of the bet. She went mental and we soon scarpered, which is hard to do with any grace on a swollen ankle.

There are many things I’ll remember from that trip: sleeping under the brightest stars I’d ever seen, on an island called Lastovo which, thanks to its location, has the darkest night sky in all of Europe; being awoken on my birthday ridiculously early, only for my morning grump to immediately dissipate when Michelle pointed out the group of handsome Croats dive-bombing off their boat wearing nothing but their birthday suits; spending ten minutes convincing a Croat that I was indeed competent enough to rent a moped despite having nearly stacked it when turning the key in the ignition for the first time, before whisking my fellow crewmate, the lovely Peta (another Australian), up the local mountain for some breathtaking views; and being persuaded by Skipper Scot to be hoisted up the mast while the boat is moving in order to take a group photo because ‘each trip someone does it’, only to later find out that nobody does it because they’re not stupid!. But most of all I’ll remember the never-ending giggles that accompanied every moment of every day. A few years later I stayed with Peta for a few days when I visited Sydney and we picked up right where we left off. I think that’s the thing I love most about travelling; the people you meet along the way who, in turn, open up a whole new world of travel possibilities.