2017 Bucharest

24.6.17 Bucharest

Well, it has been a long time since I last scribbled here, but I'm determined to travel more now.  I chose Bucharest partly because I'd never been here, and partly to give Wizz Air a whirl – it had a crazy good offer: I paid £100 return including exit seat, priority boarding etc.  Turns out pretty good.  From Luton, but the Overground route via West Hampstead was easy, and I'm flying back to Gatwick.  Main reason I knew about Wizz Air is that they fly to Kutaisi (and also to Astana via Budapest), so I wanted to see how they were.  Flight was good, check-in not picky like Ryanair.

At Bucharest airport, had fun with the taxi – you have to get a ticket with taxi number to be safe – drivers here famous for ripping you off.  Paid 30 euros to the hotel, which is the going rate.  Staying in three-star Hotel Tempo, east of the university.  Pretty cheap, room small but decent – aircon works, wifi quite fast, even with VPN.

Got up at 7am – 5am body time – today for rather exiguous breakfast.  Then off around the old town.  Which is pretty nice.  Reminds me of Tbilisi, Fethiye, Crete etc. - something exotic and slightly forlorn.  Bought ten metro tickets for £4 – metro system not hugely useful, but good to eat up the big distances, which are Bucharest's main problem: everything very spread out, built on an insane Ceaușescu scale.

End up in Pukka Tukka for food – good, if rather too healthy – big salad.  Nice salmon.  [Local folk band just started here – very out of tune.]   After lunch, I went to the main National Art Museum, which is huge and the main cultural attraction here.  Only saw two bits – ancient Romanian art and modern pix.  Really exhausting, but some interesting stuff – for example, early Romanian religious books in Cyrillic.  Some nice pix, but I was really tired and flagging so took metro back to National Theatre, University stop, and 40 minutes sleep in my room.

One big change travelling in places like this is that mobile calls and data are cheap, often free.  Currently in Caru' cu bere, which is very full, especially of tourists, but nicely atmospheric (pity about the folk band…).  With its stained glass ceiling, it reminds me of the fancy tea room in Rio de Janeiro.  Interestingly, Romanian is easier than it looks.  Listening to the TV last night, I could understand big chunks – sounds like Italian/French, with a few odd words thrown in.  The conjugation of nouns plus definite article, also verbs, a bit of a bore.  Certainly, I want to come back here to see the mountains etc.  At least seems easy to get here quite cheaply.  

One problem is that practically everything closes on Monday, so I need to see stuff today and tomorrow.  Luckily,  Bucharest is not over-endowed with must-sees… will leave Ceaușescu's monster palace for Monday.

25.6.17 Bucharest

What a morning.  Got up later, went for a walk through the centre to the Palace of Parliament.  Will leave that to tomorrow.  Wanted to go to the Modern Art Gallery it also houses.  Walked and walked around the grounds, looking for the entrance to the gallery – for about an hour.  Uphill, hot, not sign of an end.  I recognised this kind of desperation as a quintessential part of travel – as its name indicates.  When I finally found the entrance – almost back to where I started, the guard told me it open at 12noon – even though outside it said 10am. Sigh.

Still, on the way, saw an amazing construction – the new cathedral, which is enormous.  Reminded me of Tbilisi's Holy Trinity Cathedral, but far less inspired.  Back to the Modern Art Gallery… which is bizarre.  Huge rooms with classical elements stacked with canvases, sculpture...all looking rather forlorn.  Certainly not great art, but atmospheric.  Up to the fourth floor, where there's a small bar and a terrace with views over the cathedral and the huge garden.  Reminds me of the Pompidou Centre, but again, rather random and sad.  

Along to Hanu' Berarilor Casa Oprea Soare – very busy, but plenty of room.  Inside in the cool, eating vine leaves stuffed with minced goose.  Finished off with Romanian doughnuts, with syrup and jam.  Freshly-cooked, heavy but very nice…

26.6.17  Bucharest

Got up early – in fact, woke up at 6am local – to go to the Parliamentary Palace.  Rush-hour metro pretty busy, but efficient.  Also there is 3G for much of the metro network.  Got to the Palace, was told first ticket 11.30am – damn tourists.  Now sitting in the main boulevard, Bulevardul Unirii, waiting for a while.  Striking: there are few dogs here.  Lots of people with moles.  Everyone has a mobile.  Back in  Hanu' Berarilor...it was close, and good.

The Big Building was amazing, sad of course.  You can't make a cathedral by blowing up the scale of a church, and you can't make a great palace just by making a small one bigger.  Inside, everything looked rather dismal, whereas outside it has a certain grandeur.  For the first time that I've seen, there was a big group of Indian tourists – men only.  I suppose greater disposable income, but not sure why here.

27.6.17 Bucharest

Last day here – about right.  Main National Museum still closed… Metro up to Victory Place – those huge pseudo-classical buildings.  Walked down Calea Victoriei – long, long, way.  Back in French café of first day here.  Need decent coffee.  Then back to the hotel, need to leave at 12noon.  Alas, couldn't pay for half day…

So the heavens have now opened… Took refuge in the nearest restaurant, Izvorul Rece – one I saw last night, but didn't feel like trying.  Reviews online quite good, quite traditional.  Seems nice...

More destinations:

1990 Munich

2022 Bratislava

Moody's Black Notebook Travels

1996 Torino

23.2.96 Torino

Waiting outside the hall where the rehearsal for Monteverdi's "Orfeo" is taking place.  Surrounded by singers – half-loving, half-hating each other.  Bitching, gossiping, trying to gain the advantage.  Torino, a city I've been to once – a press trip for 36 hours, staying up to 2am, and rising at 5am to walk through the silent city.  Typically, I can't remember the company that took me, but I presume it was Olivetti. Torino, the rectilinear city (I have memories of a de Chirico vista of facades).  To Gozzano's Café - Caffè Baratti & Milano for obscene cakes (and fine pizzette).  

To the La Capannina – excellent food, atrocious people – well, not really.  Very atmospheric – saxophones on the wall, clocks in the cabinets, walkie-talkies.  What looks like a group with three Indonesians to our left.

24.2.96 Torino

Museo Egizio.  Like an abandoned film set the entrance – parts closed off, drapes – leading to an apology of a museum.  For the first time, I feel the injustice of exposing mummies to the gawping eyes of the world.  Typically Italian, alas, the neglect of these resonant objects.  Most worryingly, the collections from the intact tombs – perfectly preserved objects – are surely rotting even as we speak.  So little explanation, so little grandeur coming through.  A parody of a dusty dull museum.  

Scappiamo, and walk through the freezing backstreets, under the galleries (like Bologna), to the Mole Antonelliana – what is perhaps the most ridiculous building I know.  It looks simply as if five or six constructions have been piled on top of each other, with no thought to harmony (including two Greek temples).  But I like it, for some reason.

More destinations:

1993 Urbino

Moody's Black Notebook Travels

1990 Egypt III: Asyut, Kharga, El Amarna

28.2.90  Aswan

Up to the high dam.  Looking south, water is impressive – they must have been pleased when it filled up.  Even the Soviet-Egyptian monument is simple and effective.  Lake Nasser looks like the sea – huge, dark-blue expanse.  Again, I find it hard to remember I am deep into Africa.  To the Unfinished Obelisk.  A madness of groups (the collective noun).  Even the ancient Egyptians screwed up – but what an impressive attempt.  People seem obsessed with walking on the obelisk – defying gravity and the usual rules, too.  I do not know how they got 1000 tonnes onto a boat…

At the Cataract Hotel, E£10 for the swimming pool – seems reasonable enough – great view of the Nile, Elephantine, the hotel, the sun…. Came here by horse carriage – never again: the poor thin horse with open sores, beaten again and again.  But who am I to criticise?  The driver probably led a miserable existence.  But I still felt my double complicity in all this.  

Well, there are worse ways of spending the mid-point of my trip.  Can that really be?  As much to come again?  Hardly: there can be no other Karnak, Giza, Valley of the Kings…  I sit now under the awning next to the clay oven, waiting for a pizza Vesuvio (well, I had spaghetti bolognese last night…).  Again, I have the Nile before me, felucca sails passing occasionally, the Aga Khan's Mausoleum visible high on the hill.  I am increasingly tempted to visit El Kharga – the secular equivalent of Wadi El Natrun; we shall see.  I have fairly basted myself today – sensibly, I hope.  It really is just rather pleasant – and given that I won't be doing any more pure, animal sunbathing, it seems allowed.

It occurs to me that, as I half expected, part of the problem with the ancient Egyptian stuff I've seen is that there is so – almost too – much of it.  We expect exiguous remains: from the Alfred Jewel we reconstruct a civilisation.  Compare, too, Winckelmann's imperialising appropriation of Laocoön.  We need fragments just as we need "inferior" races to colonise.  If the civilisation is too complete – or the race too superior – we are in trouble.  This over-generosity applies in particular to the religious inscriptions: we have zillions of Amun being worshipped by this or that one.  We know pretty much exactly what is going on.  There is no mystery.

Lots of feluccas zooming around the south of Elephantine.  Tomorrow for me, I hope.  I sit on the Cataract's end terrace.  Below me the "gaily painted" feluccas: white with touches of orange, green and blue.  The Nile is full of them.  Watching, I am amazed by the adeptness of the sailors, the ease with which they push and pull them when holding on to land.  So little friction.  In front of me, the sun shatters on the water, the old shook foil routine.  The dunes beyond have turned into huge velvety humps.  There is a blessed breeze blowing.  Selig.

1.3.90 Aswan

On Kitchener's Isle as was – though there is no reference to him.  Out the hard way – by felucca, but me rowing all the way.  Now I know how galley slaves feel.  Conned by choosing a boat of an old man – asthmatic too, keeps sucking on his inhaler, and coughing his guts up on his arm.  All this because I can't do much now: I have to be back at the hotel at around 10am to see if there are any vacancies.

The garden very lush, very attractive.  Up by the tombs, in the bare sloping face of the sand, one of Those Messages, this time picked out in stones, letters ten feet high: "Oh aged Jamaica" it seems to say; and that says it all.  To the new Philae – having obtained a (slightly mankier) room at Ramsis.  Hiring motorised felucca – expensive for just one person – arrive out here.  Sun scorching.  

Hathor-headed columns in the Kiosk of Nectanebo – again.  Nice to see a colonnade for a change – it shows how conditioned I have become to "classical" ruins.  Also I feel strangely distanced from hieroglyphs – as if I had passed beyond this stage.  Good job there are few more to come.  Good also to see Imhotep – of Saqqarah – deified.

At the north end of the eastern colonnade – amazing capitals – really wacky variety.  Lots of Greek graffiti everywhere.  From the north end of the colonnade, nice rearing up of grey rocks – variety you don't get on west bank at Luxor – all too flat.  Also attractive glimpse of Trajan's Kiosk.  Great first courtyard – the asymmetry really appealing.  All the hieroglyphs here remind me of the eighteenth-century craze for Pompeian designs – that false, rather twee appearance, the superficiality.  Nice hypostyle hall – apart from the black and white bird droppings everywhere – it looks like a scagliola effect.  I scoot through the interiors – all such inferior, repetitious work.  The situation is the only thing that counts.

The ruins to the north of the island form a nice ensemble with the water and surrounding islands/land.  Trajan's Kiosk is definitely the best thing here.  Surprisingly graceful yet powerful, compact yet impressive, it opens out well to the sky and water.  In the small temple of Hathor, pix of musicians – flute player, harpist – larger than previously, also another double-flute.  One on each side.  I suppose Trajan appeals in part because he is manifestly part of my Western tradition.  Round to old Philae – but no romantic columns in the water – just a few pillars on land, a few houses, plus the tin dam that had been built up around the threatened buildings.  No cathédrale engloutie, but romantic enough to think of the submerged land.

And no bloody taxi when I got back.  Kicking my heels for 15 minutes.  Then to the Cataract where I sit waiting another pizza.  The day spent in luxurious, blissful torpor.  The heat unbelievable – as is the efficacy of the old No.4 suntan lotion.  Long slow walk back to my hotel, having consumed some fresh-pressed orange juice and turkish coffee – made in a small pot, boiled on a stove.  At the hotel, commenced my orange orgy with some bought at the local souk; disappointing – not navel oranges, and stuffed with pips.

Shower – how one appreciates water amidst the desert and in the heat – then out for a final stroll along the corniche.  The horizon to the west a sublime peach colour.  Moon high overhead, its crescent horizontal – as in the Red Crescent.  I spent some time last night trying to work out the relation of this angle to latitude – and failed.

After dinner, back to my room – to bed early since I must rise at 3.40am for my 5am train.  The band is playing again.  A local group, apparently for a wedding.  I notice that even here, the men and women are not only separated but cordoned off.  I hope I sleep through it as I did last night.  It occurs to me that the end of empires – all empires – is tourism.  History – and empires – become simply a reason to gawp, to find the world special.  Tourism is the final empire, and will inherit the world. A propos of the music: several times people have clapped in a curious (to me) flat-handed way, producing far more high frequencies.  Even clapping seems culturally determined.  

The cost for four nights here was £30.  

2.3.90 Asyut

Up very early – 3.40am.  No brekkie, but given a take-away.  To the station, conveniently near.  Practically no one on the train; it will be interesting to see if it really fills up at Luxor.  Restaurant car, needless to say, well-nigh non-existent.  I ask for coffee, but when I notice the attendant is looking for a vaguely clean glass amongst those already used, I make my apologies then flee.  Toilet pretty disgusting (and just what is that metal spout-thing sticking up?).

Glorious scenery outside, the Nile to my left.  Essentially we keep pace with the cruise boats – which fairly move it.  I notice that there are few villages: where does everyone live?  At Edfu, all the names in Arabic – only one, whitewashed, showed English.  

An old man by the tracks, as poor as anything, reading a thumbed paperback on cheap paper.  I wonder what the literacy rate here is.  The High Dam has meant an end of 10,000 years of history of living with and working with the annual inundations.  In our lifetimes.  Because of the Nile, it is noticeable how prodigal the Egyptians are with water.  For example, at Luxor station, where I am now, a man is hosing down the dust on one of the side platforms.  It looks good: "Luxor" on the sign… Pity I am only passing through – but it was definitely the right way to visit here and beyond.

Ancient Egyptian religion has no known initial foundation; it is apparently an outgrowth of a natural polytheism, especially based on nature.   The whole business of proselytism – extending the empire of religion – is to do with bolstering your own faith, as empire is to do with self-confidence.

There is something delicious in the traveller's roulette: going into a hotel and asking for accommodation – some frisson – that is quite lost by pre-booking, however convenient. 

What a game.  The train is two hours late – another apricot sunset.  Very unsure which station I am at – I ask several people, finally arrive in Asyut.  Outside, pandemonium; this is real Egypt.  Nobody speaks English.  My muttered "Hotel Badr" produces only the response "Cleopatra?".  Eventually I make it.  Only one night currently free, but I'm too tired to argue.  A group of 25 Swedes is bunging the place up.  I am currently in the restaurant, trying to negotiate the implausible menu.

I must confess it is at moments like that that I wonder what the hell I am doing; however, a part of me – a distant, rational part – knows that places and experiences like this lie at the heart of foreign places – not the Cairos and Aswans…  After the exhaustion has passed away, I think that the abiding impression of my travel down the Nile will be of its amazing, unexpected and unreasonable fecundity: it was as green as England or Ireland – proverbially verdant places.  This generosity must have amazed the ancient Egyptians – and partly explains their precocity.  

One of the nicest things about Egyptian TV is the real 1001 Nights-type music – all augmented seconds.

3.3.90 Asyut

A tiring day already.  At least I am staying here one more night – I think.  Out to try to find a bank and book my train ticket – both difficult.  After finding a bank, only Bank of Alexandria seems able to cope with travellers' cheques.  Amazing place: looked more like Bank of Beirut – plaster torn off every wall.  Ticket to Alexandria non c'è – Cairo instead.  After people pushing in, finally booked 6.30am train – rather more civilised.  Then back to hotel to find I can't pay with a credit card.  So back to the bleedin' bank again, hotter and dustier.

Now I'm in my cab for Kharga – I think I'm insane; the hotel certainly does.  Rip-off price of E£200 – what the hell, half price of Covent Garden seat – how my values are twisted.  Note: both here and in previous hotel, there a very interesting type of bath tile – it looks like water has dropped on it – effective – and apparently unique to each one – I can find no repetition.  Nice idea.

Asyut is certainly real Egypt: the horns are noisier, the dust worse, the crowds crazier.  Apparently, it is now the largest city of Upper Egypt.  O Thebes…

A Peugeot 504 – a traditional African car – I hope: the thought of being stuck in the desert is not the most appealing.  On the road to Kharga.  The greenery dies out – then nothing but desert.  I have been idly calculating the number of particles of sand in Egypt: ~10^21, which doesn't sound that big, but only goes to show how little I understand exponents.  Even in the world, there is probably only 10^24 grains...Only.  Aren't there 10^80 atoms in the universe?  That is, each grain of sand on our planet would have 10^24 grains of sand, each with 10^24 grains, each with a hundred million grains...

The road is straight – the telephone lines are hypnotic.  We pass barely anything.  An army squad out training, camped in the desert.  Yellow lines on the road: no waiting??  The occasional ridge – but basically flat.  At 160km, the sand has turned muddy.  Road generally good – we are passing a road building team.  

Halfway, a rest house.  Not an animal sighted for the last hour or so.  About 90 minutes to here.  Road now broken but not too bad.  Surprisingly, perhaps, there is a nice breeze in the shade.  But the sun is savage.  This was part of the 40-day camel route.  What 40 days they must have been. Interesting landscape: some rocks, then flat, then up over a hill, down – with huge plain before us, two big step-ups miles away.  Pylons have appeared from the south.  All looks like something out of Lawrence of Arabia.  Amazing: every so often there seem to be houses out here – about four or five so far, in the middle of nowhere.  First, a few tufts of grass, then suddenly greenery…

What a game. I am now at the Kharga Hotel – the only person there, apparently, waiting for an omelette and whatever.  Fun before: at one of the many police checkpoints, they wanted my passport.  I didn't have it, of course. So we had a little discussion – and then the head of local security came out, sized me up, and finally decided I probably wasn't a spy.  Further in, the greenery gave out again.  The sand a glorious colour – like Cornish ice cream (ah, what wouldn't I give for a Kelly's…), so neat and clean and tidy.  There seems to be a piano trio playing in the background.  This place feels like a school refectory.  On the whole, the drive was not too bad – the view down on to the plain made it particularly worthwhile.  It will be interesting to see how it holds up on the way back.  Down to the souk – Kharga is very spread out, dusty and undistinguished.  Souk rather quiet.  [Meal E£4, rooms about $20 a night.]

Temple of Amun, Hibis.  Persian – unusual.  Still a fair amount of painting in the inner gateway.  The main building is in a gloriously stippled sandstone, used for restoration – great whorls of the stuff – held up by wooden scaffolding.  Cartouches of Nectanebo II in first hypostyle; rest closed off.  Basically late – nothing special.

To El Bagawat – looks like a museum of mud churches – all arches and pillars, set on a horseshoe of hills on the edge of oasis, brilliant view of the rocky outcrops.  2nd to 7th century AD, there are 263 chapels.  Coptic church architecture and early painting.  Looks very Roman.  Deep black shadows.  Tomb of seven martyrs – 30 foot deep tomb, two chapels, one man, one woman.  Adam and Eve and snake.  Abraham, Isaac, Sarah, Gabriel, the ankh symbol.  Thousands of Greek graffiti.  Chapel of peace.  A basilica, all in mud bricks.  Exodus: first half of 4th century – one of the earliest.  There are more ankh symbols.  The pharaoh, soldiers, the Israelites in the sea – crudely painted – like kids' paintings.  

Stunning views of the escarpment down which I came – a huge slab of striated rock.  Amazing to see these small-scale churches/chapels, all in mud – even the columns – rounded arches – small semi-cupolas, painted, with geometric patterns.  And a hole in the roof – a great patch of blue.  And then, the final show – the mummies.  I crawl down into the ossuaries: two men, one woman and child; the guide prods them.  The man still has black hair.  Mummy wrappings lie everywhere – outside too.

Back across the desert, the sun boiling.  Fantastic view again of the depression.  Now (5.15pm) the rays are low, casting long shadows across the ribbed and ridged sand.  The light seems almost benevolent.  

Back to the madness of Asyut, horns honking, cyclists riding on the wrong side of the road, everyone walking everywhere regardless.  Good to be back – bath et al.  I tried to find out what the taxi driver was being paid – to establish the extent of my being rooked – to no avail.  Still, rooking or no, it was worth it.  [They say pecunia non olet: not Egyptian money, it really stinks of use.]

Once again, I'm not certain whether I'll be here tomorrow.  The hotel is overpriced, but has a faded charm – apart from the bathroom tiles, the smoked mirrors everywhere – half of them cracked; and I have just noticed a wonderful padded "leather" door leading to the kitchens – it looks as if it has melted, or is something out of "Alien": bizarre, sad and squelched.

4.2.90 Asyut

Down to the Nile – larger than it looks on the the old Lonely Planet map – as ever.  Cool breeze at 7am.  At least they have a room for me: this "don't know" business is getting ridiculous. [Some little solider boy has just shooed me off a pier I was admiring the river from.  Well, he did have a gun…]  Opposite is an island, looking very romantic in the early morning mist.  Pity about the car horns though: they seem tuned treble loud – they really hurt my ears.  Occasionally you get a symphony of them: sounds like Janáček's Sinfonietta gone mad.

I can't get "Peter Grimes" out of my head – the "Sea in the Morning" interlude.  That old nostalgia…

The willingness of the population to adopt an invader's tongue is paralleled in the inroads of English as the tongue of tourism.  One of the interesting things about the Coptic necropolis yesterday was that this (in part) was how the ancient Egyptian cities would have looked: that is, built out of mud, not stone.  

Getting to El Amarna's proving fun.  So far I am on the west bank, hoping for a ferry…  Waiting on the ferry – in the taxi – the driver has decided to come with me.  OK – but our language problems get worse.  The Nile flows by swiftly, the odd branch/frond of lilies being carried past, the odd leap of fins.  

A long wait – eventually there – mayhem on the other side – everyone jumping on before we landed.  Then a water-tanker blocked the way – finally out into the open – and lost.  We find the village policeman,who for some baksheesh shows us to the northern tombs – locked.  Across a huge plain – barren, beaten by the heat, the middle of nowhere.  High cirrus clouds, a haze to the north.  The ferry goes about once an hour – if you're lucky.  No other tourists, just the three of us.  Utterly empty and god/Aten-forsaken.

In to tomb 25 – that famous image of Aten worshipped by Akhnaten.  The hymn on both sides – beautiful limestone.  Inside left – dancers.  Down to the tomb – helped like an old woman, held by my elbows down each step.  

Finally to Akhetaten itself.  A pile of mud bricks, a heap of stones and sand – nothing.  That this 3000 years ago was the centre of heresy – no trace remains.  On three sides, the distant mountains, striated.  These are the ruins we expect, that we can extrapolate from.  This is what 3000 years ago should look like.  But it was a city.  In fact, the only one left from this time (?) – and now its inhabitants are hardly aware of it.  Palms to the west, facing the river, desert to the east.  One huge archaeological dig.  What a failure.  But his name lives on, as few others do… And the heterodoxy strikes again: the small explanatory plaques – at the gate – in the main courtyard – have both been smashed beyond usefulness – just a few words – "Akhet-aten…"  His power to provoke lives on.  

There are worse things to be than stuck outside Akhetaten, waiting for the ferry, watching the Nile stream by, the sun hot at 1pm, the wispy clouds overhead.  A tough life.  Money talks, they say: when even Glanglish fails, money always works.  It is the link between language and imperialism.  By the quayside, great fat fish.  Two men sit by the Nile, fishing like any other Sunday angler.  The Nile really is roaring past, with it, even more lilies than ever.

The quay is at the end of a large mud-brick wall, connected by a road.  Behind, a large lake; greenery everywhere.  In the palace, I saw wood planks set in the mud courses; I wonder if they too are 3000 years old – not impossible in this amazing climate.  A curious fact: Egyptians love to put a German (D) sticker on their cars; an old sign of cachet?  Below me, women beat clothes against the stones in timeless fashion.

The ferry arrives; amongst the crowd, three boys carrying fern-like plants in plastic pots.  Amazing the ubiquity of tape players in cars – no matter how beat up, or how old the car.  Mostly Japanese, like the trucks too.  Only the Peugeot 504s reign supreme still.  Back on the bank of the dead.  Stuck at a level crossing – which all pedestrians ignore.  This always worries me at Asyut too: walking across even when the bells ring.  It's interesting how Western/"civilised" societies are more authoritarian in this respect.  A product of our schools, perhaps?

To Hermopolis – not exactly easy to find – 30 minutes from Mallawi through back roads, poorly signposted.  My poor driver thinks I'm nuts.  I asked him if he enjoyed Amarna – nope.  Thoth's baboons are huge 15 feet high.  But rather sad to behold.  Enormous testicles.  On to the "basilica" – just Corinthian columns.  Surrounded by fallen columns, mud bricks – not much, but all quite romantic amidst the scrubby heath – again, looking like "classical" ruins.  Lovely afternoon heat; it feels like autumn.  Moon half out.  Palm trees very affecting in their occasional clumps.  To the catacombs – Ibis, baboons, both mummified and statues, with blue eyes.  Trapezoidal coffin for the ibis. 

To the tomb of Petosiris – a kind of mini Dendera, with a pointy-topped altar out front.  All Ptolemaic stuff.  Can see Greek clothing.  Amazingly deep tomb shaft – good colouring on the walls.  Finally, to the stela – that image again, so haunting in its aspiration and the inscription – saying all this land is Aten's – some boast.  Now just barren desert (blowing in my eyes with the evening wind).  Distant, the Nile.  Beyond the irrigation, desert.

For some civilisations – Roman, Greek – it is mainly texts that we have, rather than buildings, say.  Ancient Egyptian is unusual: we have the texts because we have the buildings.  Back to the hotel, - a proper orange orgy.  A binful of Swedes – more/different – and pandemonium: not enough rooms.  I have visions of being turfed out, and prepared to defend myself; no need.  But a knock-on consequence: the restaurant is full of the buggers.  I'm hungry and must be at the station at 4.30am tomorrow…

5.2.90 Asyut

Which I am – but not thanks to my watch, which I manage to unset.  Wake-up call OK.  To breakfast, where I notice Queen "Ty" tea.  Last night at 8pm on Channel 2, I came across the Televised News – the English equivalent of the Journal Télévisé.  One female presenter had excellent English and accent.  Noteworthy the final, almost unintelligible piece at the end about Mrs Thatcher (another "Ty"), even more unpopular.  Otherwise TV seems to be football, learned disquisitions on the Quran, chemistry/maths lessons and televised proceedings from parliament.  It is worth noting that once again it is tourism that has saved many of the ancient Egyptian ruins – Egyptians more concerned with using them for fertiliser – and why not?  

To the station – cold, as I expected.  Mackerel clouds, tinged by red.  They said the weather was turning.  The sky now amazing – huge rucks of cloud fired with pinks and orange.  Meanwhile, the muezzin continues his melancholy chanting, and the three neon signs of Badr Hotel (plus one in Arabic) flicker in the most wonderfully random way.  Is there a little man whose job it is to carry out this art all day?

Train one hour late.  Freezing wind.

It is interesting how much in Egypt comes from what was the Eastern bloc: for example, this carriage comes from GDR; the telephone from Hungary; a light bulb in Badr's bathroom, Poland.  All cheap, I suppose.  The difference between then and now: the past's rubbish – stone, wood, mud, metal – ages gracefully; ours does not: the paper, plastic, rusting scrap.  This is a fact that is most clearly exposed in Egypt: its past is perfectly aged, its present prodigiously ugly and sordid.  It is also why the passeggiata is unsatisfactory in so many Egyptian cities: you never know what you will tread in…

On the train to Alexandria – or Al Iskandariyah as it has been depersonalised.  Only 15 minutes late so far.  Nice train – a big red one.  

On the platform in Cairo, waiting for my connection to Alexandria: I sit next to two ladies – one rather large.  I get up to ask the station guards if this train at the platform is for Alexandria.  He says no, and so do the ladies - who then proceed to mother me in the most charming fashion.  Both are fluent in English, the younger – the daughter of the other whose hair is dyed deceptively well - with an excellent accent and command of idioms, and it turns out she is an English teacher.  We talk about nothing in particular – though I am recommended to see "Fifi" – a famous belly dancer at the Ramses Hilton – and to eat the green soup.  Both of which I shall try.  Pleasant people.

Very civilised this train – they are offering lunch – with airline-type trays.  Alas, I am not eating – but the very attractive lady stewardess – the first female maître d' I've seen in Western dress here – almost made me change my mind.  The delta looked rather dull – less lush and green, no enlivening hills in the distance.  Also no sun: it has been overcast since Asyut this morning.  In a way, this fits my mood perfectly.  Ever one for neatness, this distinguishes things well from Upper Egypt, from all the wonders I've seen there.  From my reading it is clear that Alexandria has little to do with Egypt.

It is also apt because I have been re-reading the "Alexandria Quartet".  I am amazed at how much is familiar – people, situations, phrases, words even – "banausic" – though I am ashamed to admit I've forgotten what it means.  Such typically young writing – bursting with words and ideas – which is why I must write as much as I can now, even if it is no good – I will be grateful in years to come.  His style dated too; its flowery language, its infinitely-detailed descriptions of love and relationships.  And a different Alexandria, I'm sure, perhaps one that never really existed except for Durrell.  And who needs more?

And so to the hotel.  Quite a way (again, again) from the station to the sea front.  The first taxi tries to rook me mercilessly, the second is only half as bad.  To the Cecil (as the Egyptian ladies suggested), looking like something from Brighton.  Full, inevitably.  It is now the Pullman Cecil – they of the Cataract.  Next stop, the Metropole (Brighton again).  Much seedier – a cross between a youth hostel and the hotel in Bellagio I stayed in many years ago.  At once, for all its crumbling plaster and faltering waterworks, I knew this was the place.  Immensely high rooms, aspidistras (dusty), on each floor, an open cage lift moving ponderously and uncertainly – its lights going out when you exit – the hopeless air of the staff – perfect after Durrell's "Justine".  Old Pullman Cecil (I console myself) would doubtless have been too smart, too new.  This – at £20 a night, too – is not.  I feel in some obscure way this is bound up with my novel…

My first room was on the east, with a balcony from which the sea was visible – stormy and rucked.  The hot water failed to function, so I moved to the west – better view of the sea, better room (just) – 482 (Mozart's E flat piano concerto, since you asked).  They say they will move me to a sea-facing room tomorrow; we shall see…

Alexandria is freezing.  I hope it doesn't bucket, or I am stuffed…

In the bar, downstairs, drinking turkish coffee (what else?).  A fine view of the people along one of the main thoroughfares.  The whole hotel is delicately sprung: my room shakes in the most delightful way if anyone walks past. [NB: what happened to Rimbaud?  He went to Luxor...where else?  Where did he die? In Egypt, what lies after words?]  I sit here, looking at an old man in a cap tottering across the road, hand held out apotropaically lest the traffic move.  The high room is lit by an absurdly rococo chandelier, its gilt turned treacle colour.  A sense of all that I have seen, a sense of all the culture and heritage I bear, a sense of all that might do, meets at this point.  And foolishly, childishly, gratefully, I feel pure happiness well up within me, a kind of internal bubbling.  I know this feeling so well, I am so privileged.  I have to sigh with absurd happiness. [6.47pm.]

To hear Egyptians speaking English/French/German etc., you get the impression that for them it is all one language, different dialects; which it is.  Perhaps Arabic seems the same after Coptic…

To the restaurant for dinner, past the TV room – full of Egyptians.  A beautiful room – bright white, very high ceiling, wonderful pea-green frieze around the top – with classical (NB) Greek figures in relief.  The same chandeliers as downstairs.  Only one other table occupied – Germans.  My first Egyptian wine – Gianaclis Village from the Egyptian Wine Company: ultra-dry white – almost sherry.  In an unwanted access of bravery/courtesy, I offer some to the Germans.  A meal without distinction – except that of its circumstances.  Ridiculously cheap – E£12 for four courses – a magic ambience, a world that barely exists in England or Europe.

Before dinner, a brief walk along the corniche – dodging the spray of the rampant waves.  The wind strong and northerly.  Back along the main street – very bustling – to the Metropole.  Outside, the Egyptian crowd periodically goes bananas in response to the TV – football, or a game show?  Strange how I am unmoved by such things – in which I find the triumph of banality. 

In the middle of the dining room, a wonderful piece of furniture: a large pillbox in dark wood; circumscribed by metal bands – for cutlery, tableware, perhaps.  Marble-topped and rather fine.  I donate the remainder of my wine to a young(ish) lady on her own reading Woolf's "To the Lighthouse" – which, by one of those drole coincidences, is the only other Brit book apart from the "Alexandria Quartet" that I have brought.  

1990 Egypt I: Cairo, Saqqarah, Giza
1990 Egypt II: Luxor, Aswan, Abu Simbel
1990 Egypt IV: Alexandria, Wadi El Natrun, Suez

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1993 Morocco

Moody's Black Notebook Travels

2017 Georgia

9.10.17 Tbilisi

Well, here I am again in Prospero's Books Café.  Two years ago I was here.  Now it seems so familiar, as does Tbilisi – apart from all the building works.  Glorious sunny day, but alas it won't last when I drive up to the Caucasus tomorrow (I love being able to write that…)  Leaving yesterday, with a long, long journey ahead of me, I felt as I did when starting off on my Interrail travels – a sense of how far I had to go.  Yesterday, it was to Luton, then a direct flight to Kutaisi, Georgia's second city.  That was all easy.  The four-hour coach drive here was not.

We left at 3.30am, with about 60 of us crammed into a coach.  Fine, except the seats were so close together – good job I'm not claustrophobic.  I did manage to sleep for an hour or two.  Fortunately, I slept about five hours on the Wizzair flight – I was in row 12, the emergency exit row, and was left along there, so I lay down across three seats.  Plane about 90% full, mostly Georgians.  Great deal – I paid £160 return with all the benefits… Kutaisi airport small, but functional.  Coach service efficient.  So when I got to my hotel at 7.30am, I showered, then had breakfast.  I chose Marlyn Hotel since it is very close to the coach drop-off point.  Aptly enough, by Pushkin Park.  

Eating lunch in the place overlooking bridge and statue.  Busy – I'm in the basement, where even the waiters are smoking…  But cheap and good.  I've been busy too.  Went to Geocell, bought 30 minutes international calls, plus 2Gbytes of Internet for £6.  Took out money, bought maps from Geomaps – hidden away, a rather bare room.  But the best maps.  Then to the central Carrefour to buy water and walnut things - churchkhela.  Since I was carrying a small bag, the security man wanted me to seal it.  He called out loudly "katso" – sounded like "cazzo".  Lots of wine here – Georgian – so I'll come back here on Saturday to buy that, and more churchkhela…

Internet connection in the hotel fast, if a bit intermittent.  VPN working well.  I think I've worked out how to get the car out of the city tomorrow.  Various closed roads to navigate, plus the need to make a U-turn…

Tbilisi still beautiful and charming, but I wonder how long it will last.  Lots of building – big shops – and there's a lot of old, rambling houses that are surely going to go.  Sad, but I'm lucky to have seen it before they do.  I imagine outside Tbilisi, things will last longer.  Although the weather is glorious here, sadly seems dismal up in the mountains.  Ah well…

10.10.17 Stepantsminda

Sitting in Restaurant Khada, as I begin the long ascent to Stepantsminda.  Not a good start: Hotel Kazbegi cancelled my reservation – no electricity, they say.  Luckily, I had time to find another – Green Sheep...we'll see if it has the mountain views they promise.  Then to pick up the car at Citadines hotel.  Typical old Georgian crate – 120,000 km on the clock, bits pretty rough.  Hope it gets me there OK…

Then over an hour to get out of Tbilisi – terrible signposting – I ended up on the main road going back into Tbilisi… Luckily, U-turns are allowed, even on a dual carriageway.  Finally got out, in the pouring rain.  Found road to  Stepantsminda.  OK now, moving slowly up and up.  Presumably Jvari pass will be misty, but all part of the fun.  I stopped at this restaurant because it's getting late.  But another reason was the flock of sheep blocking the road ahead of me…

Sitting in Restaurant  Stepantsminda.  Has the virtue of being central, though not very Georgian in its ambience.  Limited menu, but hey… What a journey.  The rain never stopped, but the landscape became more and more majestic beyond Khada restaurant.  The road followed the river, which was low, but wide.  The valley went on and on, deeper and deeper, higher and higher.  However, I soon caught up with lorries – lots of them.  Many from Russia and Armenia, belching appalling fumes, making me feel sick.  I had to have the air conditioning on drawing air from outside, otherwise the glass misted over – adding to rain, constant bends, and people overtaking all the time (even I did a few times).  The real problem was after Zemo Mleta – constant, tight turns – then Gudauri.  Alas, not much to see in the rain at Jvari – just swirling clouds.  But mercifully, once past Jvari, the air cleared and I could make out walls of stone plus brown colouring lower down (ferms?).  In the distance, I could see some of the snow-capped peaks.

Amazing that I am here in the Caucasus.  Even with the awful weather now, definitely worth coming.  My "new" hotel – Green Sheep – is basic but cheap – and warm.  Also has amazingly good Internet – managed to hold Google Hangout with video – impressive considering where I am.

Walked around town briefly – very weird.  Lots of half-hearted building, even more half-ruined buildings – looks like some Tarkovsky set.  Couldn't see Gergeti church, but caught a glimpse when I arrived. Still a few lorries thundering through.  I admire their drivers – bad enough during the day, but at night must be frightening negotiating the unlit roads… Underlines how this is one of the most important road links across the mountains.  In town there's a sign: "Vladikavkazi", reminds me how close Russia is.  Also striking how many Russians here in Stepantsminda – obviously they pop across the border for a few days.  Also in Tbilisi: my hotel was full of them.  Huge lorries still heading for Jvari pass…  The marshrutkas from here are very cheap – only 10GEL for Tbilisi.  Probably a bit of a squeeze for three hours, but cheap...

11.10.17 Stepantsminda

Back in the restaurant for lunch.  Great morning despite the pouring rain when I woke up.  A slightly restless night – woke up so thirsty several times – thanks to too much salt in my meal last night.  No breakfast at Green Sheep, but a kettle and coffee powder.  I bought Danish pastries and croissant (but with chocolate – yuk).  Then out to the Russian border.

Wonderful drive – downhill, which surprised me – I expect borders to be at the highest point.  Little traffic.  Road good but a few rock falls.  Amazing rock walls around valley – nearing Darial.  Road turns to rocks near border – rough for my hired Megane.  Then I hit the queuing lorries.  But I overtook them, and pulled in to the parking by the Mtavarangelazi monastery.  Walked to the border – the alleged shopping centre closed, desolate.  Gravel extraction, whole place grim – but worth seeing…

Now the Gergeti church peeking out through the clouds.  The sun has come out at times - so, lucky really.  Managed to spot the road up – looks very slow and steep.  Not sure my old banger can cope.  May go for taxi…

Walked around the town – everywhere being built, everywhere in ruins, everywhere roads dug up.  Took lots of pix, since I reckon this old town will be gone soon as more people come here.  Have to capture the place.  I'll probably go down the Sno valley this afternoon – reasonable road for most of it, even it rains.  Yesterday, I realised what this journey reminded me of: driving up (in a coach) to Kashmir Valley from the railhead at Jammu.  That constant sense of up, then the tunnel, the bursting out into light… This was shorter, less dangerous, but more personal – I drove.  

To my left, viewed from the restaurant, there are six eagles swooping around the mountain.  I saw one earlier – took some poor pix of it.  Beautiful.  Looks like I misjudged the Khevi Restaurant.  Although dingy from the outside, food is much better than the other place.  

I was lucky today.  As I left after lunch, the sun began to break through.  I drove to Sno valley, and the sun and blue skies became more evident.  Sno valley stunning.  Stopped at the Sno fortress, took pix – so dramatic.  Then drove on, down the increasingly dodgy track.  Ahead of me the snow-capped peaks dazzled and tantalised.  The true scale of the Caucasus became apparent.  One or two taxis with other tourists, but otherwise I had this place to myself – with the pigs, horses and cows.

Thing is, the Georgian telco Geocell has done a fab job.  Everywhere I've been, not matter how remote, signal has been strong and Internet speeds good.  Certainly makes here even more attractive.  As I drove back to Stepantsminda, the upper regions of the mountains to the east appeared – wow, they are tall.  Hope I get to see them better…

12.10.17 Stepantsminda

Awoke to sunshine, amazingly.  Went out and saw the great glistening peak of Mount Kazbegi behind the lower hills.  Today was my chance.  I went down to the Moedani at 9am, hoping to find a taxi.  For once, somebody leapt at me.  So I had to ask: "how much to the church?".  "60GEL" – I said 40, he said 50 – deal done.  It was perhaps over-priced, but I couldn't risk losing this opportunity while the weather was good.  It proved a wise move.

We set off along the road to the border, then turned left up a track.  But this was nothing – at least it was level.  We entered the village.  Tiny streets, full of puddles.  Ahead of us five 4x4s also making the trek.  We rose higher, and the road became worse – muddy, huge puddles.  Then we halted.  A police car blocked the road, stopping anyone going further.  This seemed ironic: was I to get so far, only to be thwarted at the last moment?

But my driver was a typical dammit-all Georgian.  He managed to find a way round the police car – and the other waiting cars – and we continued.  Now the road became seriously bad: it would have destroyed my rental car.  Good call.  Then we found what the problem was – a rock fall, half blocking the road, and a great JCB dealing with it.

To get around the rock fall, my driver went to the edge of the road – with me hanging over the steep drop.  Then he sneaked behind the working JCB, honking furiously.  "Shtraf" – he said, meaning he risked a fine for this; "70GEL". Given his quick action, and the terrifying state of the road, it seemed fair, not least because no one else was doing it.  So when we arrived, we had the place to ourselves.  The odyssey was not finished.  Now he drove across the great churned mud fields – I was sure we'd get stuck, but we didn't.  He was insane, but good at his job.  Finally, we arrived by the church.

What a place. Looking back at Mount Kazbegi, its white snow stood out above all else.  The huge mountains covered in golden foliage/grass, with amazing folds in their surfaces.  Up at the church, a wonderful view of Stepantsminda, the houses looking tiny.  Opposite, the great wall of rock truly grandiose.  Eagles wheeled overhead – a dozen of them.  The wind was forceful, and my hands became numb as I took pic after pic.  But they could never capture the sheer grandeur of the place.  So like the Lake District, but so much bigger.

I stayed up there over an hour, reluctant to leave this place, but my driver was making subtle hints, like following me with his Mitsubishi minivan as I explored the place.  Have to say, this was a doughty little vehicle – truly, this was the worst road I've ever been along – no idea how the  Mitsubishi's tyres and suspension held up.  We were jerked from side to side violently as the wheels went into deep puddles and ruts, or over big, sharp rocks.  We made it down, we shook hands, and I paid the 70GEL – well worth it for (a) making possible a long-desired experience and (b) not getting me killed…

After lunch in the restaurant of yesterday, back, to the room to work.  One of the amazing things here in Georgia is how good mobile Internet coverage is.  So just as I was able to make calls from beside the church, so I have been able to do work here.  Today, I sent off questions to the Polish MEP Michał Boni about copyright…

Then, out for drive.  It was raining again, but it didn't matter – rain and sun both belong here.  I went all the way back to Kobi, near the ascent to the Jvari pass.  I wanted to see what the track into Truso valley was like.  I quickly found it was bad, and gave up any thought of proceeding.  I would love to come back here with a 4x4…

Truso valley looked really enticing.  But I was happy to drive back along the main valley, recapitulating Tuesday's route.  Today I had sunshine and a clearer view of the walls.  I stopped and took pix – of the amazing black, volcanic stream-bed past Kanobi, and the villages perched on the high foothills, all with their tin (?) roofs, a kind of prism shape – very striking.  I started up into Sion to see the church, but a car blocked the way, so I reversed back.  Luckily very little traffic today.  I hope it's like this tomorrow as I begin my long journey back to Tbilisi… But all-in-all, really something I'll remember…

13.10.17 Tbilisi

At Mtskheta's Check-in Garden restaurant, as planned.  Sitting at the back, under an awning, the sun pouring down, the wind rippling the river in front of me.  The nearby cathedral full of promise.

Back in Tbilisi now.  What a ride.  So, when I rose, plenty of clouds, but blue sky over the pass, and the forecasts were good for both the valley and the pass, and so it proved.  Amazingly little traffic on the road when I left at 9am.  It was as if I had a perfect landscape all to myself.  The hills a glorious golden brown, the snowy peaks blinding white.  Everywhere that was safe and there was something to see, I took pix – about 150 during the day.

Up to the pass, stopped at the cross – nothing special.  Then on to the kitsch monument to "Russo-Georgian friendship" – yuk.  But the view from its platform was spellbinding.  In fact, I stayed there about 30 minutes, unable to tear myself away.  Then through the twists of Gudauri – looking really ugly in the sun, where it looked more grim in the rain – then on to the great zigzag descent.  A few lorries, but again remarkably sparse.  Then into the endless, wonderful Aragvi valley – a visual paradise, especially in autumn, with such soft colours everywhere, and the streams gradually gaining force.

Since I was taking much longer than expected – lingering to look – I stopped for a (turkish) coffee about 15 minutes from Ananuri (at Meneso?).  Then went around the monastery there – relatively busy with tourists, but only relatively – a few dozen, nothing terrible.

Then on to Mtskheta, to the Check-in Garden restaurant, found by recommendation of some online comments.  Food good – chicken cooked in milk – location even better – on the banks of the Mtkvani river, glittering in the sun.  Afterwards to the cathedral.  Beautiful and intense, with narrow nave, and lovely stone.  Svetitskhoveli Cathedral a true medieval masterpiece. 

[Eating now in "Tifliso restaurant – not bad.  Nice red wine and veal hot dish.]

After the cathedral, I had to negotiate the road to Jvari Monastery, high on the mountain nearby.  Happily, for once, the roads were well signposted.  The road up very long, the views worth it, though, over the city and the two rivers.  Sun really hot – getting burned.  Then the fun bit: Friday evening rush hour in Tbilisi.  Amazingly, I managed to find the way, avoided hitting anyone, despite their aggressive pushing in.  Had to wait in Citadines forecourt – which is very small, which meant moving the car to make room for others.  Eventually Hertz bloke came and I went back to Marlyn hotel.  A room at the back, but rather nice view of the ramshackle old buildings.  Then along Kote Afhazi Street, after a shower and downloading the pix, to here.  Lovely atmosphere at night – very relaxed and cosmopolitan.

14.10.17 Tbilisi

Sitting in Aripana restaurant on Davit Aghmashenebeli Avenue – which is very lively.  Gorgeous Saturday in Tbilisi.  Ordered kubdari, a speciality from Svaneti.  I earlier went to Prospero's Books for coffee and cheesecake, and only bought one of the three Georgian language course volumes – the others were sold out.  Seems hard to find the others.  Walked across the river to part of the city I don't know – found this great food street.  Went to Santa Esperanza bookshop – which had nothing, but bought Harry Potter 2 in Georgian, only to realise that I already have it, so have to go back and exchange it.  Also topped up the old metro card. Marjanishvili nearby.  The cheese soup tepid, but the cheese balls were nice – a bit like mozzarella.

15.10.17

On the bus, waiting to leave for Kutaisi...

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Moody's Black Notebook Travels

1997 Seattle

25.1.97 Seattle

In the Art Gallery, drinking poor coffee, about 10.15am.  Not the most exciting of cities, but a lovely situation.  Up at 4.30am this morning, trying to keep some semblance of UK time (which I rejoin tomorrow).  Took the bus to here – very cheap, $1.10 – arrived just after 8am.  Walked and walked.

Pikes Place setting up – stunning fish – few people elsewhere.  Seattle very spacious, with large gaps between the great lumps of skyscrapers.  Everything is on an incline, like San Francisco (a far more characterful city).  The cries of the seagulls echo round the marble. But I remain amazed at how cheap everything is – CDs all £10 or less, food very cheap.  I don't quite understand the economics.

Very interesting going around the Microsoft campus yesterday – utter absence of buzz – confirms my suspicions about the company.  

Hearing classical music and buying the CDs I feel grateful to be a European…  Back in the museum café for lunch.  As you might expect, the collection is interesting for its Native American stuff, and also Asian (though both are limited), and a waste of space for European art (which is fair enough).

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Moody's Black Notebook Travels