A self-confessed plonker

The local pub

There are many words that have drifted through my mind this week to describe my behaviour. Being on one leg brings many frustrations, especially as I am beginning to feel more energetic as I recover from my operation. My mind believes that I can do so much, yet even small things wear me out. Added to this, I can't carry anything while I am on crutches. My hands are already full! I thought that I could wear dresses and skirts to cover my cast and then realised crawling around with a long skirt on is really hampering. Each time I kneel on the hem, I stop dead. Errr.

My first idiotic escapade was to The Barley Mow  - the pub next door.  The village held a party to say goodbye to Paul, the publican, as he retired last Saturday. Obviously, I wanted to raise a glass and say goodbye so I pulled the zimmerframe downstairs, bumping my head repeatedly on the way down and lurched to the garden gate. I was well on my way to the pub. Probably 30 meters more and I'd be at the bar. The trouble was that just climbing out of the front door and making my way through my courtyard had already exhausted me. By the time I got to the top of my road, I had gathered a group of concerned supporters who walked slowly with me. The barman brought a drink to me and I settled in a seat and stayed there. 

When it came to going home, I managed to lurch to the carpark where two young boys offered to help me. I am not sure what they had in mind but I appreciated their concern. I gave up and asked for a lift from a car that had just pulled in. I was driven home and my zimmerframe was delivered to my gate by the son of the driver. How lovely everyone had been. Yet, I felt I was a complete bozo for even thinking I was capable of popping to the pub. 

Other descriptors for my idiocy spring to mind - twat, dork, jerk, twerp - we English have so many colourful words for stupidity. Later on in the week, I chose similar words for a judge who had hit the headlines for passing judgement on a zoom call conducted from his bed. What an idiot, I thought. Judicial standards are slipping. Then the reporter said he had had an operation on his Achilles tendon the previous day. Immediately my sympathy was for this poor man who had struggled to do his job just one day after an operation. How dare he be criticised for going to the lengths he did just one day after being under the knife. 

Since my disastrous trip to the pub, Danielle took me shopping to Tesco. She borrowed a wheelchair and parked in the disabled parking lot. It was good to get out of the house but it was so frustrating being pushed around. Supermarkets are not designed for wheelchair users. Everything I needed was just out of reach. I can see myself being consumed by sheer rage in my old age when I can't do simple things.

Mattaya in her new jumper

At least, from the comfort of my sofa, I have been productive. With my leg up, I've done a bit of writing here and there and some crocheting too. I have already made a jumper for Mattaya and she loves it. I am on my second book too. No point twiddling my thumbs. There is lots to do. 

Next step. My new boot

Loose Ends

My leg!

 I am on my sofa just as I imagined I would be. The operation to repair my Achilles tendon went well and now I am on the mend. For the time being I hop round the house on one good leg - but not for long. The upside of this arrangement means that by lying down with my leg up, I have time to reminisce my holiday. I have lots of photos and having only shown them to two people so far, I have looked through them a few times by myself to recount the pleasures and there are so many pictures of Mosques with beautiful blue tiles. I like to think I spent my time soaking up memories rather than photographing everything I saw. 

I am turning into Mrs Misery over some behaviours I really don't understand. Top of the list is people taking selfies in front of anything and everything so that the actual building or object is obscured. On my trip to Prague, two girls were in a queue pouting and taking selfies while waiting for a rather grotty toilet. Why oh why? Then when I was in Prague, mostly women posed in front of statues, towers and churches for someone else to take multiple photos of them. I am not against personal photos per se, it is the quantity and repetition that irks. People on the bus took selfies too. Do they look at ALL of them?

While I am on my soap box, I have to mention bags. Suitcases, wheelies, rucksacks - all the types of bags we use for our holidays. Bigger bags mean you can take the kitchen sink along with you which might come in handy, but these bags need to be lifted onto trains, into buses and dragged onto the Metro. One lady dropped hers down an escalator  in Istanbul and the handle bent until it was all but useless. I try not to take more than I need on holiday and then not buy too much while away. However, there were a few things I regret not buying this time. I promised my son a camel but the humps would not have folded into my little soft-top wheelie. He got socks and my daughter got a silk scarf. I, too, have a few treasures to remember my trip by. I bought a picture of the Silk Road and a silk scarf for me. All this was quite manageable. I started with less than 14kg and I wasn't much heavier when I got home. 

I was much taken by some of the names I came across on my journey. In Istanbul there was Hotel Magnificent. That is a name to live up to and from the outside of the building, I feel it had a long way to go. In Athens there was Hando Massage - what else would you use? Also the VIP Cafe had seen far better days so I don't think many VIPs would venture there - it was all but derelict. I stayed in Ideal Hotel in Tashkent - again this had a few things that needed sorting to be truly Ideal - even though it wasn't bad. 

There are a few things that have made me chuckle. In Kyrgystan, the guards did a wonderful rendition for the Ministry of Silly Walks and then in Athens, the guards outside the presidential palace, wearing curly slippers with bobbles and retro uniforms outperformed the men from Kyrgystan with their high kicks. It made me consider what foreigners might think of our changing of the guard with their big bearskins. I think the slippers with the bobbles on takes the biscuit.

Kyrgystan guards on the move

Having suffered from diarrhoea and sickness for much of my trip, I am an expert on toilets. I got used to paying for the pleasure. The further west I travelled, the more expensive my visits became. In Brussels it cost 1.20 Euro to go to the toilet at the railway station. Having paid, I discovered it was disgusting. Yucky disgusting. Then even further west at St Pancras the toilets were spotless and free. I knew I was in the UK as it took three "sorry"s to negotiate my way out of the ladies'. 

And so, back on English soil, I walked to Euston, got on a train and was home in no time at all. Suddenly my holiday was over. Until the next adventure....

A big welcome home

And then it Rained

My penultimate destination was Prague. I needed to get from Athens to Prague fairly quickly as time for my travels was running out. I have a surgery planned for 16th September so I need to be home for that. 

Flixbus company changed my ticket and asked if I wanted a refund. Of course I didn't. I needed to get to Prague. My new route took a few hours longer and went via Sofia - another country accidentally bagged thanks to Flixbus. My passport is filling up with stamps. Having huffed a little, I sucked it up and got on with the trip.

I chatted to a professional violinist on the bus from Sofia. What an amazing opportunity and what a lovely person too. This made that leg of the trip fly by. Then spending half a night at Zagreb bus station slipped by chatting to another lovely lady from Bulgaria; mostly about the failings of men. Everyone speaks English beautifully while I struggle with other languages so having people to speak to who have such a good command of my language never fails to impress.

I had three days of planned sightseeing before moving onto Brussels so I could return on the Eurostar. I have been away for just over a month, travelling through ten countries and absorbing so many different things, my mind goes giddy just trying to work out what day it is.

I do get a few clues from my phone. I always know it is Tuesday as someone from the orchard where I volunteer sends far too many whatsapp messages to let everyone know which bus she is on. I get to see these even though I am away. Because I am on limited data, I don't open my messages up if I can help it but when I see ten or more, I wonder if there is a problem. 

I have recently realised that I had not been rained on until Wednesday. It was such a lovely sensation, I was happy to get wet. I walked through the streets of old Prague stepping in puddles and getting a buzz out of feeling cooler. Give me a couple of wet days back in Blighty and I'll probably feel depressed like everyone else.

I love Prague. I get the feeling it is a city that doesn't take itself too seriously. Clock bells ring out on every hour and the historic towers that got knocked down during conflicts were rebuilt in the original style. The buildings are decorated with baroque plaster work across the whole city, I wanted to take pictures of everything. How do you chose the nicest? Impossible. I just gawped and absorbed the delights.

I did the Big Bus tour and the river tour to get my bearings. I found my way through the narrow streets from the area near the castle across the river to the streets of the old quarter. My hotel was really close to the Powder Tower so that is a good landmark that helped me locate myself.

I climbed up the Powder Tower, so called as it might have stored gunpowder. I also climbed up the astronomical clock tower and then visited the dungeons below. However, my trip to the cathedral of St. Cyril and St. Methodius made the biggest impact. It was there that seven freedom fighters fought to their death against 700 Nazis. The reprisals for their resistance resulted in hundreds of people being executed and two villages destroyed. A film was made of the story. 

The crypt

It left me thinking. These people fought and died to make their world a better place. Today we are in an even bigger mess. The crypt is a memorial to these men who died to save their country. We certainly don't learn from history. That's for sure. 

On my last day I did the museum. Once again I was impressed. It was interactive and engaging. The Twentieth Century rooms covered the wars and communism. The natural history section was laid out in an informative way; linking the rooms with evolution theories.

Exhibit A. A giant garoupa

The history of the region was more difficult for me to grasp. Being land-locked, the shape and size of the country changed and shifted over the centuries. It fought the thirty years war against Sweden, through a few religious renegades out of windows, struggled with the ethnic makeup of its population. It also spent some time subsumed into the Austro-Hungarian Empire, then soon after independence was then rocked by the rise of Nazism. Now it is two separate countries and thriving. A success story on so many levels.

My planned overnight sleeper to Brussels did not work out. A moment of panic passed and then I booked another long bus trip. So without a bed for the night, I set out to explore Brussels before my Eurostar departed for London.

I'm home, I've had guests for the weekend and my son has come up from Brighton to visit too. I gave him socks made from camel hair. I said I couldn't fit a whole camel into my small suitcase so it cold only be a pair of socks. So... I'm home.

Dam wesring his camel-hair socks

Crossing Continents

The Acropolis from the Agora

Turkey straddles two continents and this is my excuse for a longer rambling discourse than is usual to share my adventures. Istanbul has all the hustle and bustle of Asia as well as the behaviour of people not respecting your space. I attempted to walk down the main thoroughfare from Taksim Square but was buffeted by so many people who walked straight through me. Even children walked into me along the way. Why? I ask myself. Am I so diminutive that nobody notices me? Whatever the reason, it is both frustrating and tiring. 

A selfie

It was lovely to be able to spend time with an old friend, Maram, in Istanbul. She showed me the other side of Istanbul with its modern elegance and quiet charm. That was such a delight. At one hotel in Tersane the pool had been designed so that it looked as if a Persian carpet was soaking in it. I was blown away. No photo could replicate how amazing this looked. 

Magic carpet

And so it was that my journey had to continue. I went back into Asia, across the narrow strait and spent a goodly time in a Hammam - escaping with most of my skin intact after a very harsh rub down. After this I set off for the bus in Dudullu to the south of Istanbul. I had to remember names spelt in a different alphabet, and ask for directions when I wasn't sure. The further away from the centre of tourist Itanbul you go, the less people can communicate.  Throughout my trip, I have once again been dogged by wifi issues which means that getting around is not quite so easy. My Ryoko overheated and died on the Silk Road then I got an e-sim which would not link up with Turkish telecoms. Now I am in Greece, life is a bit easier and for now, I am connected. 

The bus trip did not pass without difficulties. It arrived late, left the station even later and then on the road somewhere near Bodrum it stopped so a man with a van could  take loads of stuff out of the bus storage compartment. Surely for Flixbus this must be a dodgy practice? My mind raced - a drugs drop? Black market trading? Intrigue! Worse, it took longer than I expected.

Added to my woes, I went to the wrong ferry port in Bodrum and then had to race to the correct one. I was the last on. On the upside, at least I got to see bits of Bodrum I would have otherwise missed. Herodotos was commemorated there and as they say, the rest is history!

Kos at sunset

Kos was packed to the rafters with tourists supping cocktails and soaking up the sun. Surprisingly, the unofficial uniform for women of all shapes was cheap batik and crinkly cotton outfits. It was worth going to Kos just so that I don't have to go again. It is beautiful but the mass tourist industry has made it just another hot place to have a holiday - even though you do have a range of options as to which Pirate ship you might want to escape the island for a day on. It must have been quieter when Hippocrates and Alexander the Great were there even with the intermittent wars.

I set sail for Piraeus at sunset and got to Athens the following lunch time. That sunset really was a wow moment. I stayed on deck until we were well on our way. Those moments are what holidays are made of. Athens is full of Americans. I know because I can hear them! Even in the museum they share their chat with everyone in earshot. Definitely annoying.

I just loved the museum - absolutely everything about it. The archtecture, the exhibits, the stories  - all so well done. I now know I should have burnt my toys in homage to Artemis so that I could grow up. Big Ted is still in Danielle's garage so no hope of my becoming grown up for a while yet. I listen to Natalie Haynes which has given me a bit of a heads up on all the goings on with the Greek Gods. Athena is practically the Godess of almost everything. Zeus ate her Mum, Metis, before she was born. Probably not the best start to a promising future and now she has a city named after her even so. 

I was tempted to buy a Gorgon's head just to keep the grandchildren in check. People frequently did that back then to scare of unwanted guests - probably not just for their grandkids.

There were a couple of exhibits I would have renamed. One said; "Horse without a rider." The horse only had two front legs so it was a horse without a backside - much more accurate. There is thirteen centuries of development and the buildings of the Acropolis are just two and a half thousand years old. It has served many functions - temple, home, church, mosque, fortress. The question is, did Elgin steal the marbles through subterfuge? He certainly  wasn't careful in taken the treasures and managed to destroy some on the way. However, the Ottomans used the building as a fortress and much of it was blown up through their doing. Things stolen are now exhibited in the museum as plaster cast models with the small bits remaining slotted into the casts. I think maybe it is time to hand the disputed marbles back. Greece is looking after its history extremely well. Brits should bury the hatchet as to whether it was legit or not how we came by them and be magnanimous.

My trip has a recurring theme. Police presence. Even in Athens on a Friday night there were vans and police with riot shields, padded jackets all ready for action. I found that 30th August in Turkey was a celebration -Victory Day and that explains the police. At least I missed Putin's recent visit to Bishkek.