Budapest, Hungary

Thurs 12th – Mon 16^th June

I'm trying to promise myself that I will not remember Budapest as the city where our first theft occurred, and I think there's a pretty good chance that our stolen bikes will be out shined by this city's wow factor.

Yup, our bikes got stolen. Thieving greedy bastards! (Oops – didn't work.)

Three heavy-duty locks on the busiest street in Budapest and three hours later, all that was left was my cable lock sawn in half, lying on the pavement. Weirdly those locks had survived 2 years in London, but they didn't survive 3 hours in Budapest. Another 3 hours in a Hungarian police department and the only evidence that we ever owned 2 mountain bikes is a few pieces of paper with an alphabet of letters I barely recognise.

Despite the theft drama, Budapest is a fascinating city and one that is embracing its past and more than willing to share it with tourists. I'd been here a few years ago with a few friends for a girls' weekend so Bevan & I decided to opt for a tour that was off the beaten path and focused on life in Budapest during the Soviet occupation.

Replica of Stalin's boots - a national symbol to the Hungarians representing the 1956 Hungarian Uprising when Stalin's statue was toppled in Budapest and Hungary stood up to the Soviet Union dictatorship in a bloody street battle.

Budapest is one of the only cities that decided to hang on to all of the statues that were erected throughout the city during the Cold War. Most European countries that were behind the Iron Curtain had them destroyed or they were so heavily vandalised following the Soviet's departure that they ended up in a pile of scrap metal. However, Budapest residents decided they didn't want to destroy this important period of their history – but also didn't want to stare at them on a daily basis either. So they ripped them from their pedestals across the city and carried them off to a deserted hilltop about 30 minutes outside of Budapest.

Statue of a Soviet soldier in Memento Park. He used to stand at the foot of the freedom statue overlooking the Danube River, as a symbol of how the Hungarian people would always be grateful to the Soviets for their liberation from the Nazis.

Now known as Memento or Statue Park, visiting this bleak corner of Budapest feels cold and neglected even in mid-summer. Adam, our tour guide, explained that they didn't want the park to be beautiful. It should represent the neglect of the communist government towards its people, and the fact that several of the statues are corroding after only 30 years further emphasises the false guise that the communist workers were producing only the finest products. Adam was 41 years old and had spent most of his life under Soviet occupation, and strongly encouraged us to stomp on the grass in anger towards the lies of communism.

Republic of councils monument - A worker in flight resembling a 1919 poster proclaiming "Fegyverbe! Fegyverbe!" meaning "To Arms! To Arms!" Children were pulled aside by police and questioned for even throwing a snowball at such statues.

Adam had a story for nearly every statue in the park, which mostly revolved around the horrors the communist leaders had committed and how the Hungarian people were banned from showing any disrespect towards these dominating, larger than life iron faces which supposedly represented how the Hungarians would be forever grateful for their liberation from the Nazis by Soviet soldiers.

Soviet-Hungarian Friendship statue. The statue symbolises Hungary's gratitude for their liberation from the Nazis. Notice the Hungarian worker on the left is dressed in plain clothes and slightly smaller than the Sovient soldier on the right -- a common propoganda tool to demonstrate Soviet strength.

The statues were fascinating, but the part of the tour that I'll always remember involved a tiny room in the basement of an apartment building in the centre of Budapest. The tour company, Absolute Walking Tours, had converted a basement room into a replica of the communist block apartments that the Hungarian population called home from the 50's – 80's. Still today, over ½ of Hungary's population resides in the communist built state housing.

An old Trabant - the East German people's car on display at Memento Park. Our guide said the average waiting time for your car was 5 years and this is what nearly everyone drove in Budapest.

Walking through the strings of beads hanging over the doorway, Adam welcomed us to the 70's and it literally felt like you were stepping back into time... but a time that you'd only ever read about or heard about on the TV. He walked us around the apartment, explaining his own childhood memories with each of the items in the room. For example, the furniture in all of the apartments was exactly the same, but you were allowed to choose from 3 colours. Old vinyl records fell into three categories:

1. Songs about national pride, a.k.a. Soviet marches. These records were highly encouraged for every family to own.

2. Songs that were 'tolerated', such as the Beach Boys or other good clean music from the west.

3. Songs that were 'banned' and therefore a risk to be caught with in your home.

He showed us old magazines and the “west section” in the back which explained news around the rest of the world which mostly consisted of beauty pageants, and more frighteningly, the old passports. Each citizen was given a red passport, for travelling between other communist countries with relative ease, and a blue passport for travelling abroad. Adam explained that very few people ever got to use their blue passport, as it was nearly impossible to save enough money to travel. Families could apply for a travelling stipend of around $25USD to use on their travels, which of course is nowhere near enough money to travel to another country, much less buy a plane ticket. Since wages were relatively the same for the population it would have taken years to save up enough money to leave the USSR and the only way most people left was by visiting their family in other countries who would pay for most of the expenses. The application process was also extremely difficult with letters from family members and hotels to prove your travelling intentions.

Children's board game - pretty much the exact opposite of Monopoly. Instead of earning hotels and money, it teaches children values such as 8 hours of work, 8 hours of recreation and 8 hours of rest to succeed in life. Being a hard worker earns you furniture, bikes, etc. and it basically explains the principles of communistic life.

The stories really brought home how lucky we are today to be able to travel freely between countries that were so recently locked down by a paranoid, unwanted communist regime. And how lucky we were to be on the other side of the Iron Curtain.

View Budapest Photo Album

Vienna, Austria

Mon 9^th – Wed 11^th June

The more I travel, the more I realise how little I know. And I got pretty good grades in school, so how is it that I know so little about the world? Like the fact that Austria was actually bloody enormous before World War I and the Austrian-Hungarian empire was one of the most powerful kingdoms in all of Europe, if not the world. So visiting Vienna with this newly realised perception really put the city into context – it's pretty damn important on the history scale.

Rather than try to cypher the centuries of history ourselves, we opted for a walking tour that took us through all the major sights of the city. How did I miss the 18^th and 19^th centuries? This place was awesome! Amazing cathedrals, palaces with royal family legacies that far surpass the drama and prestige of the Windsors, ancient libraries filled to the ceiling with books that look like they'd disintegrate at the first touch and then there's the destruction during the 20^th century and Vienna's rebuilding. What an amazing city!

Vienna's Town Hall with the Euro 2008 fan zone in front

I'd be here for hours trying to describe or explain the significance of each location we visited, so here's a shout-out to the 'a picture is worth a thousand words' theory. Vienna: through my lens

The Eagle's Nest -- Berchtesgaden, Germany

Sun 8^th June

Leaving Salzburg, we decided to detour to Berchtesgaden, Germany, a beautiful mountain town in the Bavarian Alps with a terrifying past.

Berchtesgaden was the heart and soul of the Nazis – i.e. the so called Third Reich paradise and pilgrimage point where Hitler spent most of World War II and where Nazi leaders such as Himmler and Goebbelshad holiday homes. The place was heavily bombed at the end of the war and then bulldozed to the ground by the city council in hopes of reclaiming the memory of what was once beautiful countryside and home to the original residents who mostly fled during the war.

Eagle's Nest - Hitler's holiday home in the Bavarian Alps

But one treasure that remains is Hitler's infamous Eagle's Nest: a cliff top fortress meant to be the last stand for the Nazis which clings to the summit of the Bavarian Alps, complete with a brass elevator in the middle of the mountain that delivers you straight into the foyer of Hitler's chilling kingdom.

Entrance to the tunnel and Eagle's Nest perched on the summit

Eagle's Nest was built as a 50^th birthday present for Hitler and used mostly as a propaganda tool for dignitary visitors. Getting to Eagle's Nest is no easy feat and a true marvel at German engineering. You feel completely safe dangling thousands of feet atop the mountain until you venture a few steps away from the terrace and realise one misstep could easily result in a 30 second plummet to your death. And then there's the view! Mountain villages dot the green valley below with monstrous knife-like peaks on every side – a view of how Hitler envisioned his perfect Germany.

Bevan in the infamous brass lift

Visiting this place as a foreign ambassador must have truly sent chills up their spines as they travelled the narrow road carved into the side of the mountain for 45 minutes, finally reaching a tunnel entrance buried into the cliff side. Two massive doors stationed with Nazi soldiers would have guarded the entrance, then you must walk straight into the heart of the mountain down a blackened tunnel with dim yellow lanterns until you reach a rock-walled room with a large domed roof. The doors of an elevator made completely of shining brass slide open and you're whisked in shining gold reflections up a narrow shaft to the summit where you finally set foot in the very home of the most personified version of the devil yet to set foot on this planet.

Walking in the tunnel

Then you look around and notice that everyone is drinking one litre steins of beer and realise you're standing at the entrance to a Hoffbrauhaus restaurant. The tourism industry sure has a sick sense of humour sometimes.

Inside Eagle's Nest, which is now a Hofbrauhaus Restaurant

View Berchtesgaden Photo Album

Salzburg, Austria

Fri 6^th - Sat 7^th June

Doe, a deer, a female deer! Ray, a drop of golden sun! There's something about Salzburg that makes it inescapable to skip down the street humming the Sound of Music tunes.

But why is it that so many tourists know Salzburg as the home of The Sound of Music when it's real claim to fame should be it's most famous musical inhabitant? I knew Mozart was Austrian, but somewhere I missed the news that he was born in Salzburg.

Well they certainly don't waste any time making sure you're well aware of this historical fact once you get there. You'd have to be blind, deaf and lost your sense of taste to miss it upon arriving in Salzburg. Every third cafe is named after him, every tourist shop has a cardboard cut-out of him standing on the street, his operas are piped into the open air and they even sell Mozart chocolates, ice cream and liqueurs. The apartment where he was born has been turned into a museum that's impossible to get a photo of without a mob of tourists in the foreground and men dressed as Mozart walk the streets trying to sell you tickets to performances of his operas.

Despite the obvious commercialism of the place, the Mozart museum is actually really well done. Instead of a typical display of his belongings behind glass, the curator has turned each room into an artistic expression to help understand Mozart as a person. For example, his bedroom has a baby's cradle in the centre of the room, with a very eerie porcelain doll that's dressed as a baby with a 30-year old's face. The scene is lit with pale blue lighting making the figure look ghostly and dead, but it's supposed to represent Mozart as a baby and how his music is timeless and ageless – just like the doll. Eerie but memorable!

Another room was turned completely upside down, with paintings of Salzburg at the time of Mozart's life hung upside down on the walls. The ground is painted like a ceiling complete with the lighting in the floor, and the ceiling has an upside down 3-D model of the city. It represents Mozart's prankster personality and how he often wrote his music upside down and signed his name as 'Gnagflow' – Wolfgang spelled backwards.

The museum is spread over two floors with each room following similar examples of a historical building using art to reflect the lives of its famous occupants. I definitely recommend it, even if you aren't a Mozart fan.

But the Mozart mania doesn't stop there. There's also one of the world's most renowned musical colleges built in his name, a large square in town called Mozartplatz and the annual Salzburg Festival – the largest and most important opera and theatre festival in Europe – was created in his memory.

Once we'd digested the Mozart mayhem, we focused on the architectural treasures by climbing to the top of the Hohensalzburg – a fortress and network of towers overlooking the city from the surrounding steep hills.

Exhausted and looking forward to the longest cycle back to the campsite yet, we decided to call it a day and head home, where we bumped into our kiwi friends! They had jump started our van back in Innsbruck and were staying just a few pitches over, so we invited them over to share a bottle of wine. With all of us so desperate for social interaction and the excitement of swapping van tips and stories, we finally crawled into bed around 2am much to the frustration of our neighbours.

View Salzburg Photo Album

Innsbruck, Austria

Mon 2^nd - Thurs 5^th June

From the 2.5 days we spent in Innsbruck, it revealed itself to be my perfect mountain ski resort town, including a noticeable lack of SUVs. Further proof that you don't need a petrol guzzling monstrosity to survive in the mountains, much less in a metropolis at sea level. These folks even recycle without the need for it to be trendy... so maybe I wouldn't fit in here after all. I'm a closet convenience recycler and I strive to be trendy.

Innsbruck is an ideal mix of historic old town with medieval winding streets and amazing architecture combined with modern day conveniences such as a gondola that runs from the transport hub of town to the top of some of the best ski slopes in Europe. The area is so highly acclaimed that the Winter Olympics were hosted in Innsbruck twice -- not to mention the fact that the region claims to be home to the invention of skiing. It doesn't get much more ski-authentic than this.

Innsbruck is a Euro 2008 host city - the town had serious football fever!

Our campsite was located 7km from the centre of town, but a beautiful cycle path ran literally from the front gate to down town Innsbruck, right along the river. Our first day, we did all of the major sights, including climbing old towers to get a view over the city, peering inside the beautiful cathedrals and photographing the golden roofed Goldenes Dachl. But the highlight / heart-stopping moment of the day had to be the gondola.

Inside the cathedral

The gondola is actually built in two parts – a funicular train that runs beneath the town like a subway, then cruises overground and up the side of the mountain cliff to the Alpine Zoo. You jump off here, walk past numerous classy bars and restaurants perched on an overlook of the town, then hop on the gondola. The ride isn't cheap, but it does offer varying prices for the faint-hearted who prefer to go only ½ way, 2/3 up the mountain or all the way to the summit. Twenty five euros later, and we were standing on the summit.

Gondola ride to the summit

I was happy that it was covered in clouds, and therefore we had no perception of how high we were perched. At the top is a small restaurant with what would be incredible views on a clear day, ski runs back down to town, and a hike along the varying mountain summits. We barely strayed from the restaurant door since the visibility was so poor. I can now see how people accidentally walk off mountains. But even if it had been clear, I doubt I could have stomached the alpine ridge walk. The poster photos looked terrifying, complete with narrow cliff hugging pathways and wooden rope ladders stretching across thousand foot crevasses. They strongly recommend that hikers have alpine experience and a strong stomach for heights. Definitely not my cup of tea.

A few steps outside the restaurant at the summit

On our second day, we hopped on our bikes and cruised to a neighbouring village to try out a mountain bike trail that was marked “medium difficulty”. The Austrians have a very warped sense of medium. The trail led straight up a narrow winding road that looked to be at least a 18 – 20% gradient for 4km. The ride up took an excruciating 2.5 hours of cycling for 1-3 minutes intervals, stopping to catch our breath and even hopping off to push the bikes for short breaks. Spin class was cake compared to this trail. It was hell and we hated nearly every minute of it, except for the brief moments to stop and admire the scenery. At the top we had a quick packed lunch, then Bevan was off like a shot to finally enjoy the steep downhill flight back to town that we had more than earned. It took less than 30 minutes of gravity plummeting us 4km back towards the mountain base, and I reckon Bevan would have been down in less than 20 minutes if he hadn't stopped to wait for me. After showers and relaxing back at the van, we rewarded ourselves with an enormous Austrian roast at the neighbourhood pub. It was worth the pain.

View from the top of the mountain bike trail

The morning of our departure, the next round of van trouble started. Thanks to Bevan forgetting to switch the lights off after driving through tunnels, the battery was completely dead. Fortunately the campsite was packed with people and we found a kiwi couple who were more than happy to give the van a jump start. Even better, they were heading to Salzburg that day as well. Our first potential friends!

View Innsbruck Photo Album

What now?

Sat 31^st May – Sun 1^st June

Our last days in May were spent at Lake Garda doing mostly van cleaning and figuring out where the heck to travel to next. Our original plan was to avoid the Alps until the end of the trip, in case it killed the van and also because it landed nicely next to Oktoberfest in Munich. But the more we travelled, the more places we added to our list of must-sees and suddenly making it back to Munich by September 19^th to meet Michele and Kate for Oktoberfest meant cutting several countries from the Eastern Europe tour.

Michele, Kate & Brenda on the Amalfi coast of Italy, 2006

Around this time, Kate decided to move to Australia and Michele agreed with me that a girls' weekend in New York to spend our saved money on shopping instead of beer at Oktoberfest was an excellent idea. I'm crushed that I wont see Kate or Michele at the end of this trip -- something I was picturing as the culmination of the van experience in a drunken celebration with dear friends I'd been missing since they left London. (See video clip below from Oktoberfest 2007 with Michele, my sister Teresa and her husband Woody. Don't worry guys - it's nothing incriminating!)

Overlooking a beer tent at Oktoberfest 2007

Thank goodness it's true that when one door closes, another opens. No more Oktoberfest = no friends this summer but it also equals no deadline. So I pulled out the large planning map of Europe I had secretly packed against Bevan's wishes to “wing it”, and I started my project plan.

While creating what was my funnest project plan ever, I soon realised we'd be nowhere near the Alps again until late September. We'd survived the snow once before on this trip but snow, ice, and 24% gradients in the Alps can only equal disaster.

A June detour into the Alps was the only answer ... Austria here we come.

BTW, we have 2 hotel rooms reserved in Munich for Oktoberfest that I haven't cancelled yet so get in touch if you're interested in taking one or both of them, otherwise I'll cancel them in July. I've also got the secret project plan of where we'll be and when (shhhhh – don't tell Bevan!) so drop us an email if you can't think of where to spend your summer holiday and want to meet us in route!

Lake Como, Italy

Thurs 29^th - 30^th May

According to the travel brochures and holiday homes of Hollywood icons like George Clooney, Lake Como is supposed to be the epitome of mountain & lake beauty in Europe.

Varenna, Lake Como

We didn't find Clooney's villa, but we certainly found it difficult to enjoy if you earn a salary less than €500k. If you don't own a palace, a yacht or can afford to stay in a 5 star hotel, you're better off at one of Italy's other lakes.

Lake Maggiore was beautiful, very comfortable and both accommodation and meal prices seemed completely reasonable, if not cheap having just passed through the French Riviera. The water was cleaner, the towns were less discovered and the food was delicious.

Move closer to Milan via Lake Como, and suddenly the water gets smuttier, the roads get more crowded and narrow, the towns appear less picturesque and the prices swell for accommodation that resembles an evacuated trailer park following floods. The only camp site in town close to the ferry was shocking for its price and I wont bore you with the details of the roach infested showers that involved running from the boiler, to the coin operated timer and then back to the shower every 4 minutes. But I guess we can't really complain about the view, as it was physically impossible to get any closer to the lake without driving into it.

Standing outside the van at our campsite

Even the neighbouring towns were just as disappointing compared to Lake Maggiore. From Mennaggio, where we stayed, we planned a ferry trip skipping from town to town across the lake. We spent the morning in Varrena at a lovely garden, then had lunch at the yummy Milo Cafe along the waterfront. It was definitely the highlight of our trip to Lake Como but from our tour book's description, we needed to venture on to Bellagio to get a real taste of Como's offerings.

Private gardens in Varenna

If only we'd just stayed in Varenna. Bluntly put... I enjoyed the Bellagio Hotel in Las Vegas more than I enjoyed the actual Bellagio in Italy. And I can't think of a worse insult for a European town than claiming it's Disneyfied Vegas version is more cultured than its namesake. To quote the movie Clueless, the place is like a Monet - from a distance it's the most beautiful town in Italy. But set foot on its streets and you'll notice that it's really just dotted with bland over-priced tourist shops selling the same items available across Spain & France at 3 times the price, and not a single person on the street looks like a Bellagio native, much less Italian.

Looking towards Bellagio (although it's a very distant view!)

The funny thing is, we walked away with some incredible photos of this lake, making it appear all the more appealing to anyone who hasn't been there. I suppose I can see why so many of us flock here in hopes of the posh European holiday, only to book a trip to Vegas the following year. I guess I wouldn't say miss it altogether, but plan to spend a small fortune on accommodation and food or cut it down to a quick stop through on the ferries instead.

View Lake Como Photo Album

Cernobbio, Lake Maggiore, Italy

Tues 27^th May – Wed 28^th May

I awoke on Tuesday morning knowing how I'd remember the following hours: the most beautiful run of my life. Bevan had been up hours earlier, gathered together his camera gear and was walking somewhere along the lake hoping to capture sunrise.

One of Bevan's photos from his dawn walk

It was around 7:00am and despite the early hour, I voluntarily threw on my running clothes and i-Pod, locked up the van and started running south. As I exited the campsite, I turned up the volume on Eddie Vedder and stared out over the water wondering how running could ever ache or hurt when you had an amazing view like this.

Running Lake Maggiore, Cernobbio

I'd been a slug for the previous 2 months and could count the number of past runs on one hand, but running at Lake Maggiore was like stepping into week 13 of marathon training. I just didn't want to stop. The air was so clean and the high of passing such inspiring scenery erased all sense of distance or exhaustion; until I reached the edge of town and realised there was no road shoulder. Campervans, massive semi-trucks and even tiny smart cars screamed towards me as I ran along the 3-inch shoulder. I lasted 2.5 minutes before I turned around and ran back towards Cornobbio, cursing that vehicles could command such an area that could obviously only be appreciated at the slower rate of a runner or cyclist. It was still the most beautiful run of my life, even if I had to do 2 laps of town to equal 3 miles.

After showering we ventured into Cernobbio and grabbed some picnic food. At the edge of town, a tiny shop was hiring kayaks at 19 euros for 2 hours. We decided to go for it, mostly because the shop owner had a Colorado license plate as a clock and seemed really excited to have customers in May. We paddled along the coast at regular 30 second sprints / 10 minute rest intervals until we'd covered the Cernobbio coast line and felt like we'd expended enough energy to warrant a few beers and a gelato at a harbour cafe.

It was the perfect day... if only we'd spent less time at Lake Como and stayed here.

View Cernobbio photo album

The Corniches, France

Mon 26^th May

The drive from Nice to Lake Maggiore in Italy was worth a travel book in itself, but I was the passenger so Bevan may have an entirely different opinion considering the number of hair-raising turns and cliffsides he drove on Monday.

The day started off with a drive through the Corniches, which refers to the three roads – high, middle and low – between Nice and Menton. The views take in Nice and Monte-Carlo, with the many posh resorts, mansions and private beaches in between along France's Cote Azur.

The lower Corniche travels along the coastline, stopping through all of the beach resorts but is also known as a snail crawl filled with fancy cars doing the Wheat Ridge, Colorado equivalent of a high school cruise from Taco Bell to Dam Park.

We took the middle road, thanks to Tom-Tom's recommendation and the views were stunning at a price – white-knuckle, oh-shit-bar gripping terror. The roads were still fairly busy and slow but it still wasn't as high as the upper Corniche or so low that everyone stares at your purple caravan amongst the Ferraris. But if you have a Ferrari, definitely go the lower route.

The upper Corniche, otherwise known as the Grand Corniche, is what vertigo terrors are made of but the views are supposed to be incredible. This is also the infamous road that claimed the life of Hollywood legend Grace Kelly, otherwise known in these parts as Princess Grace of Monaco. Back in 1982, a car carrying Princess Grace and her daughter, Stephanie, swerved off the Grand Corniche. Stephanie survived but Princess Grace did not. In other words, take care.

We finally arrived safely at sea-level in Menton, a beautiful French seaside town but one that you can't pass through without noticing its geriatric charm or joking about the fact that the zimmerframe is its official symbol. It's also the last town before crossing the border into Italy.

FINALLY a new country! While Spain, Morrocco and France were fabulous, we'd spent 2 months speaking only broken French or Spanish and feeling like we'd barely moved on the map. A dire need for change in food, language and atmosphere was in order and Italy was just the ticket. As we passed the border, I hung my head out the window like a dog starved for the wind in its face and screamed every Italian word I knew. “Ciao bella! Grazie! Gelato! Espresso! Pizza! ” Ten minutes later we rounded a corner in the hillside and crossed back into France. Damnit.

The road continued to swerve between France & Italy for the next few hours but the views out the window made it all irrelevant. Plush green mountains spilling down into an aqua blue river filled with light grey smooth rocks chased us the entire route. With only 1 hour to go to our destination, we finally reached Lake Maggiore and Bevan begged to slam on the brakes and pick a campsite on the spot.

I insisted that the guidebook said the best spots were further north, but it was hard to believe given the incredible view of a crystal clear blue lake surrounded by steep cragged cliffs of green mountains with tiny butterscotch and raspberry sorbet coloured Italian towns nestled along the lake. Bevan gave in and an hour of winding around the lake later, we pulled into Cernobbio – a mountain girl's dream.