Preblog: Croatia/Slovenia
Here is an old travelblog, that I wanted to repost over here. This trip happened in late August, 2005.
London - August 15th, 2005
London greeted me as it always has ... windy, cold, and rainy. Luckily, I was dead tired after the redeye flight, so I followed my mate Irish Pat's directions to his place. He had left for ireland the night before, so I had to jump through a series of hoops to get his house key. I had been somewhat worried that I wouldnt get into his place since the first step involved walking into a pub at 11am to get the front door key. Would it even be open? No problem, since the place was packed with shaved head football hooligans. I fought my way to the bar and since I stuck out like a sore thumb, I'm fairly sure the surly barman knew exactly who I was (he was reaching into his pocket for the key as I opened my mouth). He handed me the key as he said sarcastically 'are you sure you dont want a pint, laddy?'
After a quick 1.5hr nap, I left on a whirlwind tour of Londons finest sites. After about 2 hours of siteseeing, I was bored, so I headed for the closest pub to get pint. The last time I had been in an English Pub was 1994, and back then the price of a pint had been 1.35 pounds sterling. It was now 2.5 pounds! That's almost 6% inflation per year!
I then headed off to the hoity toity neighborhood of Notting Hill to meet two friends from school. They picked me up from the tube station and en route, I randomly bumped into a friend of a friend. The evening was spent in a series of pubs, catching up over some exceptional beer.
Trieste-Koper
Now this is where the nightmare began. I barely made my Ryan Air flight as the bus hit a lot of traffic on the way to Stansted (which is in the middle of nowhere). Luckily, I settled into a nice snooze on the way to Italy. In Trieste, I was given the Royal Welcome. It was pouring. The immigration fellow took his time scrutinizing my passport, muttering something about my name. Regardless, he let me through after a good ten minutes of scratching his head. Then, things got messy when I decided to use the toilet. Before I could get into the bathroom, I was grabbed roughly and pinned against the wall. A man who stank of stale coffee and fresh cigarettes whispered in my ear 'you cannot go in there, you keep your arms out' and frog marched me into a back room, locking the door behind him.
'You declare something for Italy Customs?' he asked in broken English. 'No,' I replied. 'You smoke something??' 'No,' I replied. He didn't believe me, but went on to his next question... 'You have cocaine?' 'No,' I replied. Ha! He laughed and yelled something to his friend outside. Obviously, he didn't believe me, and proceeded to empty my travel backpack out on the desk. I shrugged and let him go through my belongings. 'Where you go?' he demanded. 'Slovenia,' I said, pointing my Lonely Planet Slovenia book.
He wasn't amused when I said 'that's bad luck' as he opened my black umbrella.
But, finding nothing, he let me repack my bag, as he stormed off with my passport. 20 minutes (and four frantic calls) later, he reluctantly let me go.
Alas, it didn't get any better. It was a holiday in Italy. Now, I don't know if you have ever experienced an Italian holiday, but the bottom line is that hardly anyone works on a holiday in Italy. The money exchange booth was closed. The buses were on reduced schedule. And I couldnt even get a coffee. It was 2pm and the one woman at the tourist information booth told me, with a smirk, that the next bus into town (35km awaz) was at 6pm. Or I could take a 'taxi' with her friend for fifty euros.
Luckily, she was lying. The bus arrived at 3pm. And dropped me off at a completely deserted bus station. No one at the ticket counter. No one at the information counter. And no other buses in sight. I teamed up with another guy trying to get to Slovenia. We deciphered the bus schedule and figured that there might be a bus at 5pm. As a backup, we went to the train station to see if there were any trains. 'Mama Mia!' the fellow at the information stand exclaimed. 'You can take three days to get to Koper in Slovenia if you leave now! Their train is like, how you say, barbarian! You can take taxi.' The fat, sleeping fellow at the taxi stand wanted 100 Euros to go the 30km into Slovenia.
Well, 5pm rolled around and there was no bus. So I ventured outside and walked past the grinning taxi man to find another taxi cab. I flagged one down. He wanted 80 Euros. After a good 10 minutes of bargaining, I got him down to 50 Euros. Split two ways, it wasnt so bad. Ok, I'll take it. Finally, I was off to Slovenia.
I arrived in Koper, a small medieval town on the sea, just in time to watch the skies clear and see the sun set. Ah, things were about to improve.
London - August 15th, 2005
London greeted me as it always has ... windy, cold, and rainy. Luckily, I was dead tired after the redeye flight, so I followed my mate Irish Pat's directions to his place. He had left for ireland the night before, so I had to jump through a series of hoops to get his house key. I had been somewhat worried that I wouldnt get into his place since the first step involved walking into a pub at 11am to get the front door key. Would it even be open? No problem, since the place was packed with shaved head football hooligans. I fought my way to the bar and since I stuck out like a sore thumb, I'm fairly sure the surly barman knew exactly who I was (he was reaching into his pocket for the key as I opened my mouth). He handed me the key as he said sarcastically 'are you sure you dont want a pint, laddy?'
After a quick 1.5hr nap, I left on a whirlwind tour of Londons finest sites. After about 2 hours of siteseeing, I was bored, so I headed for the closest pub to get pint. The last time I had been in an English Pub was 1994, and back then the price of a pint had been 1.35 pounds sterling. It was now 2.5 pounds! That's almost 6% inflation per year!
I then headed off to the hoity toity neighborhood of Notting Hill to meet two friends from school. They picked me up from the tube station and en route, I randomly bumped into a friend of a friend. The evening was spent in a series of pubs, catching up over some exceptional beer.
Trieste-Koper
Now this is where the nightmare began. I barely made my Ryan Air flight as the bus hit a lot of traffic on the way to Stansted (which is in the middle of nowhere). Luckily, I settled into a nice snooze on the way to Italy. In Trieste, I was given the Royal Welcome. It was pouring. The immigration fellow took his time scrutinizing my passport, muttering something about my name. Regardless, he let me through after a good ten minutes of scratching his head. Then, things got messy when I decided to use the toilet. Before I could get into the bathroom, I was grabbed roughly and pinned against the wall. A man who stank of stale coffee and fresh cigarettes whispered in my ear 'you cannot go in there, you keep your arms out' and frog marched me into a back room, locking the door behind him.
'You declare something for Italy Customs?' he asked in broken English. 'No,' I replied. 'You smoke something??' 'No,' I replied. He didn't believe me, but went on to his next question... 'You have cocaine?' 'No,' I replied. Ha! He laughed and yelled something to his friend outside. Obviously, he didn't believe me, and proceeded to empty my travel backpack out on the desk. I shrugged and let him go through my belongings. 'Where you go?' he demanded. 'Slovenia,' I said, pointing my Lonely Planet Slovenia book.
He wasn't amused when I said 'that's bad luck' as he opened my black umbrella.
But, finding nothing, he let me repack my bag, as he stormed off with my passport. 20 minutes (and four frantic calls) later, he reluctantly let me go.
Alas, it didn't get any better. It was a holiday in Italy. Now, I don't know if you have ever experienced an Italian holiday, but the bottom line is that hardly anyone works on a holiday in Italy. The money exchange booth was closed. The buses were on reduced schedule. And I couldnt even get a coffee. It was 2pm and the one woman at the tourist information booth told me, with a smirk, that the next bus into town (35km awaz) was at 6pm. Or I could take a 'taxi' with her friend for fifty euros.
Luckily, she was lying. The bus arrived at 3pm. And dropped me off at a completely deserted bus station. No one at the ticket counter. No one at the information counter. And no other buses in sight. I teamed up with another guy trying to get to Slovenia. We deciphered the bus schedule and figured that there might be a bus at 5pm. As a backup, we went to the train station to see if there were any trains. 'Mama Mia!' the fellow at the information stand exclaimed. 'You can take three days to get to Koper in Slovenia if you leave now! Their train is like, how you say, barbarian! You can take taxi.' The fat, sleeping fellow at the taxi stand wanted 100 Euros to go the 30km into Slovenia.
Well, 5pm rolled around and there was no bus. So I ventured outside and walked past the grinning taxi man to find another taxi cab. I flagged one down. He wanted 80 Euros. After a good 10 minutes of bargaining, I got him down to 50 Euros. Split two ways, it wasnt so bad. Ok, I'll take it. Finally, I was off to Slovenia.
I arrived in Koper, a small medieval town on the sea, just in time to watch the skies clear and see the sun set. Ah, things were about to improve.
posted by Ace at 10:25 AM
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