Report Card

Having conducted a detailed review of four nations - two newly part of the EU and two would-be entrants, we stand ready to share our conclusion with you, the ignorant reader to whom we just had to explain which countries were in the EU and which weren't (hint: not Turkey, yet). Sit back and enjoy the informative hilarity...

1. Bulgaria

Wants to be the new: Greece. Effortlessly styleless, not really persuaded by this whole "capitalism" thing. Naptime protected by law.


Main exports as determined peering out bus/train window: Sunflowers, Corn



Food products of note: Pizza, with ketchup and mayonnaise



Phone: Boxy, out of date, proudly Russian-influenced


The Verdict: They're here now, and they seem so excited about this whole "Europe" thing that asking them to leave would be like kicking a (mildly retarded) puppy. Bulgaria stays.

2. Romania

Wants to be the new: France. Really, really wants to be the new France. At some point they'll simply change the whole country's name to Flance and try to convince Japanese tourists that they've simply taken a wrong turn somewhere around Budapest. Have got the architecture and bucolic scenery more or less down, need some work on the cuisine, and need to find someone other than Bulgaria to look down on.


Main exports as determined peering out bus/train window: Sunflowers, Corn



Food products of note: Re-badged Hungarian, imitation French. Sausages. Avoid the octopus, it's supposed to be art.


Phone: Much flasher and more "european" than the Bulgarian version, but, ultimately, it's a lot pricier and less fun without being any more functional.

The verdict: It's probably too late to kick out the French, so while this is much less satisfying, we're going to say that Romania doesn't really bring anything new, and should make way for somewhere a little "edgier". I hope you guys didn't forget all of your high-school Russian in the last seven months...

3. Serbia

Wants to be the new: England. Not too sure how it feels about "Europe", "Customs Unions" or "Foreigners" generally. A faded imperial power, with an internal narrative of lost grandeur and dirty tricks played by outsiders. Enjoys eating sausages and potatoes.

[Geographic centre of (historic, greater) Serbia, as marked in central Belgrade]

Main exports as determined peering out bus/train window: Sunflowers, Corn.


Food products of note: Sausages, produced without inconvenient (and technologically demanding) skin.

Phone: Does what it wants, thinks it's more or less replicating the Western version, but missing some key features. Don't call it, it'll call you.

The verdict: Serbia plays hard-to-get, and we're a sucker for that kind of thing (also, ethnic cleansing has a sort of perverse charm). These guys are a lot of fun, so they're in.

4. Turkey

Wants to be the new: Poland. Huge, and more religious than they generally let on. Sees the EU more as a source of rivers of cash than of ideological mentoring. Secretly thinks Europe could stand to learn a lot from it. Architecturally, they may be right.


Main exports as determined peering out bus/train window: Sunflowers, Corn.

Food products of note: Melon and cheese, washed down the large quantities of anise spirit. Kebabs.


Phone: Prettier than the Bulgarian, less pretentious than the Romanian, more welcoming than the Serbian. But, when you get right down to it, kind of depressingly third world...

The verdict: Tough call here. Turkey is beautiful, fun and surprisingly well-run. But there's a lot of it, and Europe really needs something to define itself in opposition to, and once you start including big chunks of Asia that kind of falls apart. We'll take Western Turkey, right up to the Bosphorous, and, as long as we're being picky, that nice little fish restaurant on the Asian side. We'll hand the rest over to Ufuk Uras. We like his style.

Turkish Election Snapshot

With election day fast approaching, the eyes of the West turn to Turkey, a nation poised at a delicate fulcrum between East and West, between religion and secularism, between Bulgaria and Thailand. Today, your correspondents take a closer look at the issues which they believe will shape this historic campaign...

1. The Tünel
Questions have been raised as to the continued viability of a "railway" which runs for only 500 meters and which closes at 9 o'clock, right when your correspondents would like to catch it. In addition, suspicion surrounds its claim to being the world's first funicular, and indeed whether there is really any such thing as a "funicular" in the first place... Also, what's with those dots over the "u"?



2. Fraud in the Basilica Cistern
The basilica cistern - Timeless treasure, or governmental greed? What lies beneath the ancient columns and worryingly large-mouthed fish of this world-famous Istanbul site is a story as old as time itself. Hopeful tourists throw their coins into the pool, only to have them later fished out by faceless Cistern employees, and thrown into the government's net - of corruption... Our shocking pictures reveal all...



3. Rampant inflation in strategic cocktail/pony ride sectors
Steep rises in the prices of basic goods such as riding in a horse and carriage and drinking a cocktail made from Turkish sparkling "wine" have lead to fears that Turkey's economy may be overheating. As the prices of mixed drinks in some venues suggested by your correspondents' ridiculously pretentious travel guide reach $25, calls have been made for government action to end rampant profiteering in this sector. Similarly, pony rides, long a key part of Turkish and 9-year-old girl culture, have become so inflated that only the most profligate of correspondents would consider dropping $35 on one, leaving other correspondents without enough money for a decent sized beer, let alone an overpriced cocktail...



4. Key seat - Buyukada
With election-eve upon us, all eyes turn to traditional bellwether Buyukada island, located one hour by ferry from Istanbul, though subjectively much further, particularly when one becomes sea-sick during the short voyage and collapses in front of the ferry toilets. In any case, as goes Buyukada, so goes Turkey as a whole, and the closely fought battle being waged here reflects the struggle faced by the entire nation. In one corner representing one, or perhaps more, of the relevant parties, probably AK (of which we have heard) is Ufuk Uras, a man whose posters proclaim a strong commitment to independent action, and whose reputation as a parliamentary bomb thrower stems from the profane and anatomically impossible tirades he directs at the opposition. Buyukadans, swayed by a man whose very name is also his campaign slogan, appear to be leaning towards his re-election, in a move that will continue your correspondents' amusement deep into the next term.

So as night closes in over a nervous, and increasingly hungry Istanbul, our thoughts turn to the future, and, in particular, to Pide, which we believe is pronounced "pied".

[Update Updated: We were privileged enough to witness the rival campaign rallies featuring the two leading parties and, in a nod to Turkey's fragile relationship with democracy, the police. Based on these observations and the startling volume at which the parties' theme songs were blasted form truck-top speakers, we have concluded that the key political sentiment espoused in Turkey is "I have an earsplittingly loud dream"...]

taking the 'bul by the (golden) horns

So we're back in Istanbul, or as I like to think of it, "not in Sofia" so things are looking up.

Needless to say we did further battle with the Orient Express, or as we discovered it was called when we went to buy our tickets to leave Sofia early, the Balkan Express (which certainly explains a lot about its previously mentioned lack of expressness). Specifically, and I know that this is the sort of detail that will bore you all but I feel that I need to share the pain, the train was THREE AND A HALF HOURS LATE arriving in Sofia. That's right. And to make it worse, because of the delay, we crossed the border at about 3.30am and at the Turkish border they hauled us all out of the train to get our passports stamped in the freezing cold. So basically, we, like Jesus, have suffered so that none of you have to. DON'T TAKE THE ORIENT EXPRESS.

Onto better things. Mr Segway [Serbia] struck again with his awesomeness by recommending a discount European booking site so we are now shacked up at a 4 star hotel in the heart of non-backpacker Istanbul. So we have spent the last two days trawling through the garment district, the grand bazaar, made it back to the spice bazaar and generally been touristing Istanbul.

We have also noticed a pronounced anti-american sentiment, which was surprisingly lacking last time we were here. Specifically, a salesperson from whom we were purchasing a -shock horror- bag accurately recognised our accents and went on tell us proudly that he could also pick English (held his throat and indicated that they speak from the back of their throat) and American, "because they give you headache". Who were we to disagree? Later, at the spice bazaar, we encountered another salesperson who was wearing an earring with a not entirely polite instruction on it. When I suggested it may be a little rude for someone in the sales business he explained it was for "bad people", then, after diplomatically but somewhat unsubtley asking where we were from, he elaborated that it "is for Bush".

Murder(ous) on the Orient Express

With a tear in our eye and a bottle of the local spirit in hand we set off sadly for Sofia (That's alliteration, and while uncommon in booker prize winners, it always goes over a treat with high school English teachers. Some of you may want to give it a try.) aboard the alleged Orient Express, which, as it emerged was neither the luxurious icon we had imagined nor, technically an "express". Christina, whose patience with transportation is not legendary, took this news particularly badly, and unceremoniously evicted everyone from our (8 person) cabin with an angry glare and some broken German (long the language of forced dispossession). The upper class English gentlemen (attired in suit pants and a dinner jacket, the bill for the drycleaning of which Orient Express Co will certainly soon be receiving) who appeared to have been sold a bill of goods spoke for both of us when he turned away from the guard who was explaining what our tickets meant and said, loudly "there is no fucking first class is there?".

In the end the trip wasn't too awful, and we were amused by the spectacular quantities of cigaraettes the (six, chain-smoking) Turkish Bulgarians who (eventually, and only for the last hour thank god) shared our cabin smuggled into Bulgaria, and the hilariously lax efforts of the Bulgarian customs office to catch them at it (but not so lax efforts to reject bribes from said Turkish Bulgarians - the euros were first passed to Customs "discreetly" folded into passports and then, ultminately, more directly, straight into the inspectors' hands - that's the beauty of a common currency: bribes are much easier to give border police). Given the cigarettes cost about $1 a pack here in Bulgaria it's hard to imagine that it was worth the effort.

We write now from Sofia, which, unlike other allegedly dull capitals, more or less lives up to it's billing. Still, Christina has found handbags, and we have more or less recovered from our battle with the Orient Express. Expect more posts with less content in the immediate future, or at least until Tuesday night, when our second round with the "Express" kicks off...

[Suggested caption: "the left leg merely does a forward aerial half turn every alternate step"]

c'MON!

"I've made a huge mistake..." Careful readers will note that I am riding a Segway Human Transporter (pronounced "segue human transporter") in this photo. This is because, while in Belgrade, Chris and I rode on Segway Human Transporters, and it was, not to put too fine a point on it, AWESOME!! Mine was red, Chris' was yellow, and beyond that words fail me in describing just how awesome it was. Use of the verb "Bolton" would not be inappropriate here...

In addition to RIDING AROUND BELGRADE ON SEGWAYS (!!!) we were taken out for drinks by the head of the Serbian National Segway dealership, a man who can and will be fairly described as Mr Segway [Serbia]. A Segway Human Trnasporter can spin around while standing still, using the magic of gyroscopes. Mr Segway [Serbia] possesses a Mark II Segway Human Transporter, which exceeds the awesomeness of the (red) Mark I Segway Human Tranposrter I rode. I am saving up for a Mark II Segway Human Transporter. Mr Segway [Serbia] had not heard of Arrested Development, or Gob Bluth, but by the end of our tour we were able to teach him how to yell "c'MON" like Jamie after a couple of drinks while I am trying to sleep. He has promised to look for the DVDs... At one point Mr Segway [Serbia] took photos of Christina and me in front of naked men "wrestling" with horses outside Serbian parliament while Chris and I were on our (red and yellow) Segway Human Transporters.

[Mr Segway [Serbia] and his delightful girlfriend Jelena, who had just sat her FINAL university exam ever, and who both chauffered us around Belgrade until 2 am on our last night - Thank you!]

There were also periods during our time in Belgrade where we did not have Segway human transporters and were not being chauffered around by Mr Segway [Serbia] and his girlfriend. While these times were occasionally fun they pale into insignificance in comparison to you-know-what (RIDING AROUND BELGRADE ON SEGWAYS!!). Still, Belgrade is a surprisingly pretty and laid back city, following the Eastern European pattern of a heavily meat-intensive cuisine and plenty of attractive old buildings scattered seemingly at random around the city-centre.

We can particularly recommend the Nicola Tesla museum, which satisfied the necessary and sufficient conditions for retaining Chris's interest - namely the presence giant purple lightning. According to the (fiercly nationalistic) biography, Nicola Tesla created the 21st century (which makes Al Gore look comparatively restrained) and was strongly opposed to the (then hypothetical) independence of Kosovo. But mainly, it was about the purple lightning.

Second on our list of surprisingly enjoyable musea was the Serbian National Bank Exhibition, which was at the opposite end of the boredom scale from where its name suggests. It featured what I imagine was a significant portion of Serbia's gold reserves, and currency dating from each of Serbia's bouts with hyperinflation, together with a fairly brutal assessment of the various governments' responsibility (I'm not sure if Nicola Tesla would have agreed). Each of the nations we've visited so far has recently chopped three or more zeroes off its currency, the sole exception being Bulgaria, and when Bulgaria is at the head of any group to which you belong you know that all is not well (unless that group is number of crimpers per capita).



[The guard at the Serbian Bank exhibition was particularly keen that we take this photograph with the gold - perhaps to prove the existence of Serbia's gold reserves which you would do well to doubt given that Serbia's hyperinflation during 1992-1993 comes in second only to Hungary after WWII]

I may not know art....

[Suggested caption: Culture, distilled to its purest, hedge-clipped-in-the-shape-of-a-bear form]

We'll we've made it to Belgrade (which for those of you who are unsure, like our putative Romanian travel agent, is the capital of Serbia, which also happens to be the COUNTRY right next to Romania - colour me concerned about Romania's focus on western/EU Europe) armed only with Pete J's favourite Serbian phrase (which Christina informs me I am not to reproduce in polite or possible Serbian speaking company) and are having no luck at all finding the Chinese embassy. Perhaps we should ask the US military, who seem to be able to do so quite by accident.

Before Belgrade though, there was Sibiu, [one of the] Cultural Capital[s] of Europe [for 2007]. Let's just say that culture, like nostalgia, ain't what it used to be, and now comes primarily in giant yellow octopus sculpture form - and while I don't really like opera, at least I feel like a philisitne for failing to do so, which doesn't really apply to the octopus. It's hard not to suspect that the whole "installation art" thing, which was Sibiu's primary contribution to European Culture [2007] is a subtle ex-communist dig at the corrosive effect of capitalism on art - "sure, we persecuted, and often murdered our artists, but at least there were significantly less octopii".
Otherwise, nice city. Plenty of churches, etc, etc.

There was also, briefly, Timisoara, lying just beyond the small town of Faget, which I found myself celebrating rather too enthusiastically in the presence of our flagrantly gay Danish cabin mates... Timisoara is an heroic city in the Timmy O'Tool sense of having been in the wrong place at the right time and ending up starting a revolution. We got in at 10pm and left again at 5am, so we were unable to determine whether the spirit of revolution was something in the water - though I did experience some cramps on the train the next morning.

Belgrade is deeply cool, quite a change of pace from the new EU entrants (so far we rate it's putative membership application a qualified yes) and with plenty going on. Check back tomorrow to see the world's most awesome tourist experience recapped...

Just the bear necessities

For all of you who were holding your breath to find out whether we lived or died last night on our midnight bear hunt (or indeed whether we saw any bears in downtown Brasov) I can confirm that we are both alive with all our limbs in tact. But don't let this detract from the weirdness that was our bear hunt. Let me explain...

At Paul's suggestion we signed up for the bear hunt - pay if you see any bears, be ready around 10pm were our instructions. Just after 10pm (literally minutes after sunset in this crazy hemisphere) we piled into the back of a very old stationwagon with out hostel owner and two other aussies (one of whom was a Victorian policeman - this is slightly amusing because "bear hunting" is now illegal in Brasov due to the treatment of people by bears and visa versa and the police patrol for people leading tourists or bringing food for the bears and we were forced to doge the police at various times during the night...) and headed out to surburban Brasov. As we approached a built up area with rows and rows of apartment blocks we started trolling slowly past the industrial bins. That's right. The bears are being forced out of the forest and into the residents' kitchen waste bins. in search of food. So a quiet cruise through the neighbourhood yields not only loads of tourists doing the same thing but also up close bear action. Gives an entirely new meaning to the "crusin' the 'hood".

[For the slow of wit among our (vast) readership, this is a photo of a bear. engaging in the acts described above.]