I stand in another queue. Alone, in silence. Paperwork in one hand, a heap of clothing in the other, limp yet heavy like the body of a sleeping child. It’s cold outside.

I wait.

I queue.

I hand over my camera.

Number 60 Andrássy Street, The House of Terror

Number 60 Andrássy Street has credentials that would wither estate agents into anthrax-laden dust. And they’re enough to make the rest of us weep and drop to our knees, wondering whether to just give up on this whole thing called the human race.

Number 60 Andrássy Street was once the Hungarian Headquarters for the Nazis. After their defeat at the end of WWII, it became the headquarters for the secret police of the totalitarian communist state. Now, finally, this former mansion on the Champs-Élysées-like boulevard functions as a museum, albeit one that draws criticism for its biased interpretation of crimes on Hungarian soil.

I wait in the queue and hear an old man sobbing, sobbing and sobbing, again and again on a video loop while receptionists chat to each other and horror sound effects filter down from another floor.

It’s a queasy, conflicted feeling I first experienced on a muddy hilltop on the outskirts of Krakow, shoes soaked in melting snow. The site of a former concentration camp (the one shown in Schindler’s List,) this hill was also the viewpoint for a bland international shopping centre, a splodge of simplistic yellows and reds amidst grey and grit-lined car parks.

A few teens used it as a shortcut and an older woman strode past, walking her dog. My presence there seemed absurd and I shivered back to my hotel, numbed in more ways than one.

The following day, I visited Auschwitz, where history hadn’t been cleared away; it hadn’t been reconstructed. It just stood. As it was. As it had been.

Here at 60 Andrássy Street, things are different. A lot of effort has been expended creating a multimedia experience that tries to fill in the gaps: the aching, inexplicable voids that history has left.

And it’s not interested in nuance. Nor self-reflection.

Hungary’s history during the 20^th century does not make for pleasant reading. Part of the Habsburg’s Austro-Hungarian empire at the start of the century, its defeat in World War One stripped it of territory and, by the look of things in this museum, an enormous amount of pride.

When World War Two broke out, a democratic Hungary sided with Hitler and the Axis powers before entering into years of complex diplomacy within the maelstrom of the world’s deadliest conflict. Siding with Hitler yet trying to negotiate peace with the UK and US. Passing anti-semitic laws yet keeping Jews from the concentration camps. Aggression against Yugoslavia, Czechoslovakia and the Soviet Union, yet trying to keep the war from its doors.

It’s a fascinating, terrifying, deadly memoir of conflict and survival amid the howling storm of contrasting – and ultimately catastrophic – ideologies on both sides.

It was doomed to fail.

And it was doomed to fail. On learning of Hungary’s negotiations with the West in 1944, Hitler sent in his own troops, transported over 600 000 to the concentration camps and fought to the end against the Soviets in the siege of Budapest.

The whole period raises questions about the fight for freedom, appeasement, coercion, diplomacy, national pride, borders, identity and more…yet the museum itself addresses none of these. In fact, it barely mentions Hungary’s role throughout those years, only its losses.

But those losses, Hungary’s losses, were staggering. Ten percent of the population dead – and occupation by the Soviet Red Army.

Within two years, democracy had gone. So had the leaders of the opposition.

The House of Terror launches a scathing account of the Stalinist years. Reconstructed interrogation rooms. Twisted agricultural policy. Deportation accounts. Old uniforms. The gulag. Bread shortages. Old photographs. Paranoia. Betrayal. The disruption of religious life.

It’s a stifling amount of information that’s difficult to sift through in one go. And it’s certainly the most damning view of life behind the iron curtain I’ve seen so far during my #ironroute journey.

A guard directs me to a lift.

The doors slam, the lights go out, and the machine screeches slowly towards the basement. In the shadows, a prisoner is led along an underground corridor, his final footsteps before his state execution.

The doors open into clawing darkness and a stench of urine. It’s the same corridor, the same cells, the same short walk to the scaffold.

I begin to feel sick.

Later, back in daylight and pacing along the frosted pavement, surrounded by leafy beauty and resplendent buildings, my mind feels uneasy again.

It hovers on the power of place and reality in trying to come to terms with the crimes of the past. It hovers on freedom of speech, capital punishment, genocide and fear. It realises for the first time that a part of me is grateful for our current Prime Minister. And even the tabloid press. And even the ill-informed criticisms about my own work.

Disturbing thoughts indeed.

I’m out of breath by the time I reach the Hungarian Parliament Building.

I stand in the queue, a man turns me back.

I stand in another queue. Alone, in silence. Paperwork in one hand, a heap of clothing in the other, limp yet heavy like the body of a sleeping child. It’s cold outside.

I wait.

I queue.

I hand over my camera.

I get to keep it. They hand it back.

Photos of the Parliament Building to follow.

This post forms part of the #ironroute journey from Istanbul to Berlin by train with InterRail.

The House of Terror in Budapest first appeared on Inside the Travel Lab. Head over there for more juicy fresh travel goodness. Or, you know, something you might like to read...

Four words, two phrases, several meanings.

When I went to school, a third of the world lived under “communist” rule. Travel was restricted and Europe was divided. By the time I left, everything had changed. Why? How? And what were those places like today?

That was the premise behind my Iron Route project, which I’ve been chronicling here on Inside the Travel Lab. Sponsored by InterRail, it allowed me to travel from Istanbul to Berlin, criss-crossing across the former Iron curtain.

It’s time to talk about those two words at the heart of the journey: the Iron Curtain.

The Iron Curtain Memorial in Budapest

What was the Iron Curtain?

Despite its jagged-sounding name, I’d always thought the Iron Curtain a rather woolly, nebulous, politician’s term, thrown around with carelessness like so many other words and phrases in the press. Costs soaring, shares plummeting, debt spiralling, being rushed into hospital. Just another one of those hyped up phrases that loses its meaning over time.

I’d assumed that “Iron Curtain” was a headline-craving, melodramatic way of describing that there were some countries in the world that didn’t follow the US quite as much as Britain did. I’d heard that they followed this thing called “communism,” whereby instead of only a few people in society having all the money and power but doing virtually none of the work, both work and resources were shared out equally. It sounded like a good idea, to be honest, though even as a child I soon learned not to say that out loud when we went to the US.

Time passed, the curtain fell, I grew up, studied and started travelling.

The Iron Curtain, as it turns out, may as well have been a full, physical barrier – and in many places it was. The Berlin Wall remains the most famous example – but barbed wire and watchtowers, policed by soldiers ready to kill, stretched along most of the borders between the Soviet Union and the rest of Western Europe. Attempting to flee the Soviet Union was an offence punishable by imprisonment or even death.

The House of Terror in Budapest recreates the interrogation rooms and actual execution dungeon in a chillingly effective manner. Thousands, if not millions, died under Stalin’s watch in the forced labour camps, or gulags, but I’m getting ahead of myself in terms of the #ironroute journey, not to mention travelling far too far east.

I was in Ljubljana, in Slovenia, and I was trying to find out more about that period of time.

Evidently, I wasn’t very good at explaining myself.

“We were never behind the iron curtain,” said a woman named Petra, in a manner designed to close all further communication.

“I never thought you were,” I replied, hesitant, apologetic and a tiny bit confused.

Slovenia, at that time formed a part of Yugoslavia, a country under what “the West” would probably call communist control, but what everyone I met within Slovenia firmly described as socialism.

Yugoslavia was not, emphatically not, part of the USSR. (In fact, their leader, General Tito, fell out with Stalin soon after the end of the Second World War and their countries never quite forgave each other.)

“Sure, OK, there were differences,” said Martin Šušteršič, a stunningly well-informed man with a habit of speaking at the rate of rapid machine gun fire. “And Tito was a dictator, yes, but a fairly gentle one. Better than Mussolini (who ruled nearby Italy) and certainly gentler than Gorbachev, whom the West applauded in later years.”

Martin is tall, slim and about my age. A trained scientist who also gives tours around his native Slovenia, albeit not usually about this.

“Socialism was very different to being behind the Iron Curtain. There was freedom of speech, to an extent, freedom of religion, to an extent and freedom of travel, totally.

“Most Slovenians would holiday in Western Europe because the borders to the east were sealed with barbed wire and the guards always looked… Unpleasant. It was not a nice experience to cross those borders.

“We in Yugoslavia, we had… not free trade…but free-er (than in the USSR.)

“Tito was also a proponent of different solutions for different countries. He said that what happened in the Soviet Union would not work in Yugoslavia.

“You need to remember that Tito had grown up in a time when the kingdom was very corrupt, and people were poor. He – and we, Slovenia – saw fascism in Italy on one side and events in Germany on the other and knew we didn’t want that.

“Now, there was a recent poll and the majority of Slovenians feel that Tito was a good leader, given the times in which he lived, and the problems that he inherited at the end of the Second World War.”

We walked past some of the buildings constructed during Tito’s time before I had to race to catch my next train.

In-Between the Iron Curtain

I got in touch with Petra again, to try to clear up the misunderstanding.

“It is a bit touchy with the ex-Yugoslavia thing since there is a lot of misunderstanding from (mostly western) foreigners.”

Ah, yes. The ex-Yugoslavia thing. An even rawer, more recent event, one that deserves another look at another time.

Petra continues. “How could they understand if they haven’t lived it?”

“May I quote you on that?”

“Of course, but please with an addition. There are however more and more conscious and informed journalists such as yourself.”

I’m sure she’s trying to be kind but the more I read and the more I travel, the less that description sounds like me.

But I am trying.

Enormous thanks to the staff at the Ljubljana Tourist Board for their help at such short notice. And huge thanks once again to my sponsors, InterRail, who made this train journey possible.

What do you know or did you know about the Iron Curtain? Has it changed over time?

The Cold War, the Iron Curtain & Somewhere In Between first appeared on Inside the Travel Lab. Head over there for more juicy fresh travel goodness. Or, you know, something you might like to read...

I hope to bring Ljubljana to life for you here on Inside the Travel Lab, piece by piece, over the course of 2012 as part of my #IronRoute Project. Yet to spare you the overload experienced by my hard drive, oh long-suffering reader, I’ll start with this bite-sized list and fill in the gaps later.

Seatbelt fastened, tray tables stowed and seats in the upright position? All right, then. Let’s go.

1 Ljubljana: What it is and where it is.

Perhaps you know this, perhaps you don’t. To spare your blushes, I’ll tell you myself.

Ljubljana is the capital of Slovenia, which was part of Yugoslavia when people my age were growing up. Before that it was part of the Habsburg Empire but before we disappear down the rabbit hole of history for this part of the world, let’s stop and make sure we’ve got our bearings.

This is where Slovenia lives, landlocked between Italy, Croatia, Austria and Hungary.

2 Its nickname: White Ljubljana

Apparently, Ljubljana earned this nickname thanks to the pale churches & mansions that appeared during the Habsburg era – but I have another theory.

Wander along Ljubljana’s riverside Christmas Markets and you’ll find that the mulled wine scorns the traditional reds found across the rest of Europe – for an unmistakeable Ljubljana white.

3 Ljubljana’s Art Nouveau

4 Ljubljana’s Chic Boutiques

5 Ljubljana’s Fine Food:

Ljubljana’s gourmet restaurants offered up some of the best meals I found along the #IronRoute. Alas, there were too many to taste them all! Here’s Restaurant Spajza, which I’d highly recommend if you ever find yourself in Ljubljana…

6 Ljubljana’s Hearty Food…

Though simple jota warmed me up a treat as well.

7 Ljubljana’s “Traditional” Street Art

Wander around the streets near Hostel Celica (which itself used to be a prison) to catch up with plenty of street art and edgy living.

8 Ljubljana’s “Unusual” Street Art

Yet you can find sweet street art like this as well…

9 Ljubljana and the Dragon

Ljubljana has not one but four dragons guarding the, er “Dragon Bridge” (one of the earliest asphalt bridges in Slovenia, if you’re into that kind of thing.) From paper dragons in China to scarlet flag-emblazoning ones in Wales, to patriotic dragon slayers called George in England and Jordi in Catalunya, I’ve never quite worked out why so many different cultures have such similar takes on this mythical, fire-breathing creature.

10 Ljubljana and the Iron Curtain

OK, here’s where we get serious again. For all the above-mentioned frivolity, the iron curtain is the real reason why I came to Ljubljana on this particular trip. Apologies if you know this already, but I’d started in Istanbul and travelled by InterRail up to Berlin in order to zigzag across the former iron curtain, the barrier that carved up Europe while I was at school.

Slovenia, and hence Ljubljana, and to an extent all of the former countries of Yugoslavia, formed a vital part of this route. But not, perhaps, for the reason you might imagine.

To be continued…The story continues over here with The Cold War, the Iron Curtain & Somewhere In Between
. To put the iron route into context, visit the #ironroute page or watch the video.

Disclosure: #IronRoute was sponsored by InterRail at www.interrailnet.com. As usual, I had complete editorial control.

Ten Things You Never Knew About Ljubljana, Slovenia first appeared on Inside the Travel Lab. Head over there for more juicy fresh travel goodness. Or, you know, something you might like to read...

A Flaming Cosmopolitan at the Egerton Hotel.

There are hotels. And then there are hotels. Places so imaginative, so extraordinary and so unusual that they stand out as experiences in their own right. The Egerton Hotel in Knightsbridge, London, is one of those hotels.

The Egerton: A Boutique & Luxury Hotel in London

First things first: the reception staff are knowledgeable, friendly and seem pleased to see you. This may seem a strange place to start. After all, I could have mentioned the original art from Picasso and Toulouse-Lautrec, the Egyptian cotton sheets, the personal bartender service, the close proximity to Harrods or any one of the many features of this five star luxury hotel that make staying here a pleasure.

No, I mention the service because:

a) it baffles me why so many in the hospitality industry don’t seem to think that it’s important and

b) the Egerton excelled at it.

By the end of a brief chat with the staff at the desk, I had personal recommendations for my next destination (Istanbul, no less) plus an airport-security-approved bottle of water to take with me onto the flight.

In my room, in addition to the usual luxurious touches, I found a pillow for the bath and multivitamins for the frazzled traveller. And by the time I reached the Egerton, after delayed flights, reroutes and sprinting around London with a suitcase, I was a frazzled traveller.

The More Traditional Egerton Hotel Review

Twenty-eight rooms and top floor suites manage to fit into this charming townhouse, with each room wearing a different version of fine fabrics and Italian antiques. Rooms are cosy rather than spacious but come with all the mod-cons: wifi, widescreen TV and air conditioning (should you ever need it in the UK.)

Breakfast is also an intimate affair, served in the basement and combining a freshly-prepared à la carte menu with a cold platter buffet.

The bar at the Egerton Hotel is one of its star attractions because it houses its star attractions: its bartenders. Antonio is the name on everyone’s lips but he was away on the day I was in town. Instead, I had the great pleasure of meeting Esley Gunaratne, character and bartender extraordinaire. It is no mean feat to eke both a conversation and a smile out of me after a day spent schlepping around London and failing to win an industry award ;)

So, to you, Esley – and to all the staff I met at the Egerton – thank you for a wonderful stay and I wish you all the best for the New Year ahead.

The Egerton Hotel, London

Who it’s for: able-bodied adults in search of luxury in the centre of London.

Who it’s not for: large families with young children or anyone searching for a faceless international chain.

Disclosure: I received a night’s accommodation at the Egerton Hotel on a complimentary basis but was free to write whatever I truly thought about the place. Otherwise reviews are rather pointless. And for any cynics out there who may think I always write glowing reviews, check out the review section and disabuse yourself of that notion!

The Egerton Hotel is a Red Carnation Hotel, read more about them on the Red Carnation Blog.

On Fire at the Egerton Hotel: An Independent Luxury Hotel Review first appeared on Inside the Travel Lab. Head over there for more juicy fresh travel goodness. Or, you know, something you might like to read...

Italian Food

Italian food. There was a time when I couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about, but I can barely remember that now. The moment my train slowed to a stop in Trieste (and, if I’m honest, quite a while before that) my daydreams wandered through memories, conjuring up a fresh ravioli here, a rich ragu there.

Pizza, pasta, lashings of homemade ice-cream…None of which particularly belong to Trieste.

When I sat down in the Buffet da Pepi, I stood out because I wasn’t standing. In Trieste, it’s customary to stand at the bar for lunch, as you wolf down platefuls of pork and mountains of mustard. You’re supposed to know which cut you want and how you want it served, leaving me feeling sheepish under the gaze of the busy waiter.

It’s wet and cold outside, and steamy, warm and loud in here. Groups of friends and colleagues lounge at the bar, while staff in white shirts race, dart and dive to haul hunks of meat from hot water ready to slice and serve with sauerkraut.

Buffet da Pepi, Trieste

The waiter is still waiting…

“Er…”

“The mixed platone is good,” he says and I acquiesce. Half an hour later, I want to applaud.

The pork is sweet, salty and succulent, the sort to give rise to the phrase melt-in-your-mouth. The sauerkraut brings a refreshing sour balance and, after scraping off most of the mustard, I find the perfect balance.

Yet the pork at Buffet da Pepi comes with more than just great garnish. It comes with a personal history that dates back to 1897 and a regional history that stretches for  centuries. Trieste lived under the Habsburg rule of Austro-Hungary until the end of the First World War – and much of the city reflects that.

Outside and around the corner lives a cafe that many describe as a vestige of a Viennese coffeehouse. Having since been to Vienna, Caffe Tommaseo in Trieste seems to me to be a more decadent, enjoyable version (but if anyone disagrees with my assessment I’m more than happy to return to both cities to conduct a more thorough investigation…)

It’s said that James Joyce conceived his masterpiece Ulysees while sipping cappuccino around Trieste and so in the spirit of literary improvement I drank coffee and ate chocolate cake on his behalf. Art is a sacrifice, as they say, and I was ready to surrender to my craft…

Caffe Tommaseo, although recently renovated, seduces through its history, its atmosphere and, yes, through its chocolate cake.

In addition to the gilt-edged antique till, the polished wooden floor, the whipped cream and the white walls, this legendary cafe also provides free, fast wifi. Heaven.

But in case I leave you with the false impression that Trieste is simply a patchwork of complicated history, great pork and good chocolate, it’s only fair that I point out the third and final dining establishment.

Pizza and pasta at the Fratelli la Bufala. Trieste is still modern Italy, when all’s said and done.

This post does form part of #ironroute, a journey from Istanbul to Berlin by train with InterRail.

Sweet Treats & Sauerkraut: Three Flavours of Trieste, Italy first appeared on Inside the Travel Lab. Head over there for more juicy fresh travel goodness. Or, you know, something you might like to read...

Ell-jubble-jana.

Leu-yoop-leeyana.

Lovely-jubbly. Longing. Lingering. Ljubljana.

Ljubljana

Along with Timbuktu, this place stole my heart because of its name, its mystery, and its canny knack for camouflage in the face of the world wide press. Something the likes of Brad Pitt and Angelilna Jolie never managed even in the midst of the Namib Desert.

Ljubljana, the capital of Slovenia, is a city that belongs to the EU. It uses euros (unlike, say, Prague, Budapest, Stockholm and London) and it sits within a stone’s throw of household names like Italy, Austria and Switzerland. It was never behind the iron curtain; it’s a fully paid-up member of NATO and it’s a shorter drive from Venice to Ljubljana than it is from Paris to Bordeaux.

Yet Ljubljana, and its country Slovenia, might as well be Atlantis as far as many are concerned. A point picked up first by Paulo Coelho, rather than my humble self, in his staggeringly powerful book Veronika Decides to Die.

This uplifting novel, despite its unpromising title, contains this passage early on:

No-one, anywhere in the world, would begin an article asking where Mount Everest was, even if they had never been there. Yet in the middle of Europe, a journalist on an important magazine felt no shame at asking such a question, because he knew that most of his readers would not know where Slovenia was, still less its capital, Ljubljana…

The final act of her life would be to write a letter to the magazine, explaining that Slovenia was one of the five republics into which the former Yugoslavia had been divided

The letter would be her suicide note. She would give no explanation of the real reasons for her death.

It was a passage – and a book – that left a lasting impression.

After all these years of wonder, my arrival in Slovenia was about as unremarkable as they come.

From Trieste to Ljubljana

The original plan involved heading north from Bulgaria, through Serbia and then on to Croatia before sidestepping west into Slovenia. Bulgarian rail strikes, however, introduced a swift redirect via Venice to Trieste in northern Italy, where I picked up the trail again.

Trieste Railway Station

From Trieste to Ljubljana

From the outside, the Trieste Railway Station resembles a stately home, dressed in columns, arches and a top tier balcony, guarded by leafy trees and lanterns. Inside seems even grander, with ornamental statues and a profusion of pink panels and even more columns.

Although it’s peace time, the Italian and Slovenian rail companies are having something of a squabble right now. Direct trains between Trieste and Slovenia have been cancelled, prompting many customers to note that “TrenItalia and the European Union have achieved what the Cold War failed to do for more than 40 years: block transport across the border.”

Luckily, the alternatives aren’t too tricky, particularly when armed with knowledge gleaned from the Lonely Planet forums. I hand over the princely sum of about two euros for a twenty minute bus journey to the small border town called Sezana.

It’s one of the most anti-climactic border crossings I’ve ever known. In that there wasn’t one.

Sezana, A Border Town

The bus pulled up on an unremarkable stretch of tarmac and the driver gestured that I, rather than the others, should get out.
I did – and waited on the side of the road, not entirely sure whether we’d reached Sezana, and hence Slovenia, or whether I was still in Italy somewhere and needed to be walking to somewhere else.

My mangled Italian decodes a direction or two and I plod towards Sezana’s station.

If I didn’t know better, I could be in England. So could the roads, the low grey sky, the muted winter sound of birds chirping in the fields.

It’s exciting how familiar it is. Except, it’s not.

The differences are subtle but they’re certainly there, particularly when I reach the station.

I don’t know whether it’s the wild punk graffiti that laces over the carriage of each train. Or the pleasure of a lilting, rapping rhythm of a language that I can’t begin to decipher. Or the fact that at first glance this station looks so much like home and yet tastes so much of adventure.

I’m probably too old to think things like this, but perhaps it’s because it’s my first time in Slovenia.

I’m on a train towards a place called Ljubljana. And I’m a child in search of Atlantis.

To be continued…

This article forms part of the #IronRoute series, a journey from Istanbul to Berlin by train, sponsored by InterRail. Find out more about the whole project here and read the last post about Trieste and the Iron Curtain here.

Longing for Ljubljana – Travel From Trieste first appeared on Inside the Travel Lab. Head over there for more juicy fresh travel goodness. Or, you know, something you might like to read...

Behind me, I know that sapphire lights stud their way across the stone. Right now, though, I’m watching darkness.

Behind me, flames from an occasional car streak across the empty velvet sky, backlit by the brilliance of a long forgotten empire.

Ahead I see nothing. Black, dark, empty, silent. Just the sound of water touching the stone that leads from the Piazza d’Unita d’Italia to the edge of the Adriatic.

I am standing in Trieste, in Italy, and I am thinking about the Iron Curtain, the driving force for my current #ironroute trip.

In 1946, Winston Churchill made this landmark speech:

“From Stettin in the Baltic to Trieste in the Adriatic, an iron curtain has descended across the Continent. Behind that line lie all the capitals of the ancient states of Central and Eastern Europe. Warsaw, Berlin, Prague, Vienna, Budapest, Belgrade, Bucharest and Sofia, all these famous cities and the populations around them lie in what I must call the Soviet sphere…”

He was talking about the political divisions that had appeared in the immediate aftermath of World War Two. At the time, much of Europe lay in ruins, and the rest of the world hardly looked much better. Sixty million people had lost their lives, and two thirds of those lost had been civilians. The defeated “Axis” powers of Germany, Italy and Japan lost 3 million civilians; the “victorious” Allies lost over 35. Ninety percent of Cologne’s buildings were gone. Eighty percent of those in Manila. Widows and orphans grieved in Berlin. In London, Sydney, Namibia, Hiroshima, Nepal, Texas and Arkansas.

The world had changed. The powers of Western Europe, who had set the rules for more than 500 years, were hungry, homeless and looking for help.

And the two giants who held the cards were two late entries into the war: the United States and the Soviet Union.

Given the length and complexity of the Cold war that followed, it’s worth taking a moment to remember that during the struggle against the Nazis, the Russians and Americans had been on the same side. And that by the end, they both wanted the same thing: a peaceful, stable central Europe. One that wouldn’t bring the world to its knees every generation or so.

Trieste Station

It was winter when I arrived in Trieste. The wind carried with it the whisper of sleet and the soft scent of snow. The ground sparkled with the reflections of Christmas lights in the afternoon rain and the central square was surprisingly quiet.

A central square with a name like Piazza d’Unita d’Italia already invites questions. A mention in a landmark Churchill speech becomes an informal visit to help the police with their enquiries. By the time I was translating the Italian word for sauerkraut (crauti) while sitting in the century-old beloved Buffet da Pepi, historical questions had become a caffeine-fuelled double cross-examination in a hyped and highly-televised celebrity trial of the century.

Just who or what was Trieste? What was the former Iron Curtain? And why didn’t I already know about this fascinating, fantastic place?

First things first. Trieste lives in the northeast corner of Italy, a short train ride away from the not-so-well-kept-secret city of Venice. One hundred years ago, it belonged to the Habsburg Empire. The Habsburgs (in case, like me, you never covered any of this in school) were essentially Kings and Queens based in Vienna who ran and oversaw an empire that at various points stretched from Holland to the subsequent USSR and lasted for more than 600 years.

Less than 100 years after their demise, hardly anyone knows who they are. For a modern day parallel, imagine your grandchildren drawing a total blank at the mention of a Britain or the notion of a Queen of England.

Yet in the eyes of the world as it entered the 20^th century, Trieste formed the Habsburgs’ 4^th largest city, right behind the glittering icons of Vienna, Budapest and Prague.

The assassination of the heir to the Habsburg throne and his wife (think the gunning down of Wills and Kate) lit the fuse to World War One and the well-catalogued destruction, misery and suffering that followed.

As World War One ended, so did the Habsburgs. A victorious Italy moved into Trieste, Slovene names were switched to Italian and the decades that followed involved ongoing border disputes, forced Italianization, Nazi occupation, the decimation of the Jewish population and the formation of the only concentration camp on Italian soil.

Landing on the losing side once again, at the end of the Second World War, Trieste “belonged” to the Allied Forces. Its territories were split once more and within a few years it settled into the borders it uses today, snug against what used to be western Yugoslavia, and what is now 21^st century Slovenia.

And, according to Churchill’s speech in 1946, at the edge of the Iron Curtain.

My visit to Slovenia, the next stop after Trieste, painted a rather different picture. Talk about the iron curtain with Slovenians ranks right up there in chit-chat terms with discussing slavery with the Yanks or “The Troubles” in Northern Ireland. Folk, if you’re old enough to remember, picture Bruce Willis with an “I hate Niggers*” sign walking through New York’s Harlem, and proceed through conversation in Ljubljana with caution.

Yugoslavia (now Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia & Herzegovina, Macedonia, Montenegro and Serbia) adds in a striking piece to the Cold War jigsaw. Led by General Tito, Yugoslavia emerged from the Second World War as a communist country, although it quickly fell out with Stalin’s extremist stance in Moscow and established itself as an independent socialist state.

Unlike Stalin, Tito kept travel borders open; his trade routes were more relaxed, his ideas less radical. The land that he governed forms a crucial part of understanding the Cold war, but I’m not ready to go there. Not just yet. Not now.

Now I’m watching the waves of the Adriatic as they approach the shore of Trieste. I’m smelling fresh and salty air and thinking of dinner. I’m looking for Viennese-style coffee shops and lard-soaked pizza; historical sauerkraut and slices of pork; a Garden of Remembrance and the inspiration for James Joyce. I’m looking for Italian and Slovene, Habsburgs and happiness, Cold War and warm peace.

I am, I suppose, looking for Trieste.

Come back soon to read more about modern-day Trieste and more about the Iron Curtain, the Cold war and #IronRoute.

This article forms part of a series for #ironroute, a journey by train from Istanbul to Berlin. This took place thanks to the sponsorship, freedom and encouragement of InterRail.
*And just so there’s absolutely no confusion…This comes from a scene in the movie/film Die Hard With a Vengeance. Since inflammatory and defamatory language comes with a linguistic and cultural context, the line in this article is trying to relate a situation in one place and time with a comparable one in another, only so that people can understand the high tensions and emotions involved, not because I believe or support any kind of discrimination or prejudice. That’s actually the opposite of what this series is trying to achieve…

Trieste: Sadness at the Start of the Iron Curtain first appeared on Inside the Travel Lab. Head over there for more juicy fresh travel goodness. Or, you know, something you might like to read...

Travel by train through Europe in December also carries with it another special treat – a chance to thoroughly inspect the Christmas Markets of central and eastern Europe. After only a few photos on Flickr and updates on Facebook, that rascal Andy of 501Places dubbed the trip the gluhwein way.

So, to celebrate gingerbread, gluhwein and twinkling bright lights, I bring you this post: the Best Christmas Markets in the World. (Only, it’s not really the whole world. Just the countries between Turkey and Germany. But let’s face it, that wouldn’t make such a good title…)

To spice up the Season of Goodwill even more, I’ve designed specific categories for each Christmas Market so that everyone’s a winner. So, grab a glass of gluhwein yourself and make yourself comfortable. Drumroll please….

The Best Christmas Markets in the World – More or Less

The Most Organised Christmas Market

The Gendarmenmarkt in Berlin wins this prize outright by being the only Christmas Market I found that had an organised ticket booth with queues and formal entrance procedures. The market itself dazzled, set between floodlit buildings and accompanied by accomplished – and organised – musicians.

The Sparsest Christmas Market

Trieste, in northern Italy, really excelled itself with Christmas minimalism this year. Take one vast, imposing, floodlit square, insert one Christmas tree and…Er, that’s about it. Compare and contrast with…

The Most Extravagant Christmas Market

Why let something stay in darkness when you can throw Christmas lights all over it? I love the approach that Slovenia took with their Christmas lights in Ljubljana…the more, the merrier I say!

The Most Christmassy Christmas Market

Prague wins easily by placing its Christmas Market on the aptly named Wenceslas Square. It also throws in a mention of the nativity, snugly hid among the gingerbread and wine…

The Chic-est Christmas Market

Vienna did so well here I’m going to push the boat out and upload another photo. Glimmering away in the shadows of the Rathaus, this Christmas Market was one of the largest and most popular I saw. The weather was biting at the time as well, with sleet, high winds and the kind of low temperatures that make Spaniards shiver at the thought of them. And STILL it was popular. Impressive.

The Cutest Christmas Market

With these dough couples plus embroidered hearts, lace-trimmed blouses and scented sachets, Budapest’s Christmas Market wins the cutest prize…It also scoops up…

The Best Food at a Christmas Market

From stir fry to sauerkraut, cinnamon cabbage to cinnamon cookies, mulled wine to roasted Romanian pastries, this Christmas Market in Budapest had the most on offer by far…

What’s the best Christmas Market you’ve ever seen?

A Christmassy Disclosure: I travelled from Istanbul to Berlin thanks to a Global Pass from InterRail. InterRail itself had nothing to do with the granting of these Christmas Market Prizes…

UPDATE! The lovely Yvonne from Just Travelous tells me that the sweet-looking hearts at the top of the post actually have words that may make your grandmother blush…Oops! Ah well, they look sweet enough…;)

ANOTHER UPDATE: Interested in Christmas Markets in Western Europe? Check out this series from Follow Ben and Jenna.

The Best Christmas Markets in the World* first appeared on Inside the Travel Lab. Head over there for more juicy fresh travel goodness. Or, you know, something you might like to read...

The Berlin Wall: The End of the #IronRoute

Eighteen days ago I set out on a journey of more than a thousand miles. It took me through nine different countries, six different currencies, two continents and it strayed both in and out of the European Union. It criss-crossed along the iron curtain and took me face to face with some of the most important events in recent European history – if history can include my own lifetime.

It showed me chocolate cake and gluwein, war crimes and reconciliation, rail strikes and lost property and it introduced me to the point of iPhone travel apps.

I caught up with old friends, met new ones and had the privilege to interview some of the most fascinating people I’ve met yet.

I’m exhausted, to be honest, as I type this out and I felt the same way when I reached the East Side Gallery in Berlin earlier today.

At 1.3 kilometres long, this former marker of a divided Europe now serves as the largest open air gallery in the world. And open air it is.

I arrived not long before Christmas to a moving wall of hail and sleet. Tears burned the curves of my cheeks, while my torn and drenched map screamed with the wind. I had to walk backwards, to protect my face and, more importantly, my camera lens. With numbness creeping through the soles of my shoes, this is what I saw:

Looking back at #ironroute

I’ve wondered how to word this, but I’m just going to come out and say it.

This trip really has changed my outlook on the world. When I began planning, it seemed a shame to finish in Berlin, rather than to travel east to the edge of Asia. Now, after reading, visiting, interviewing and thinking so much about each of the countries I’ve visited and how they’ve changed over the last 100 years, there couldn’t be any place to finish other than Berlin.

I hope to share more of that with you in a (hopefully) more coherent manner over the next few weeks, but for now, thank you so much for following along, thank you to InterRail for the freedom and funding that made this trip possible, thank you to every single one of the many people who helped me along the way – and I’ll be back in touch again soon.

Only one question for today: what, in particular, about this trip would you like to hear about?

Hitting the Wall – Reaching Berlin first appeared on Inside the Travel Lab. Head over there for more juicy fresh travel goodness. Or, you know, something you might like to read...

Sofia, Bulgaria.

Bulgaria’s an EU country with a swirling Cyrillic script that’s indecipherable. Unless you’ve studied and learned it, of course, when I would imagine it would be perfectly easy. It counts Greece as a neighbour, and on and off ally, along with Macedonia, Serbia, Romania and Turkey. It hasn’t yet entered the eurozone (so it’s probably feeling smug right about now) and it has fewer people living inside its borders than there are within London’s M25 (a record, incidentally, that several Balkan nations share.)

It also has a graveyard of a central station, or so I thought when I first arrived. Blinking with sleep into the buttercup-yellow light, I stood on the platform and looked around.

An abandoned train stood opposite, incoherent graffiti scrawled along its length. The escalators had seen better days (I hoped) as they slumped, lifeless, in a congealing layer of sludge.

After the escalators, there was no-one. Just the echoing footsteps of my fellow passengers as they made their way to Sofia’s hottest parties, clad in hot pants, mustard tights and white wellies. We’d travelled together on the overnight train from Istanbul, me on my interrail pass, they as a diversion from their English studies in Turkey. A story for another day.

Back in Sofia, in the midday sun made milky by the wintry haze, I hauled my suitcase up the steps to the central rail concourse.

No-one moved. Traffic peeled past outside, casting reflections on the floor. A man sat inside a tiny McDonalds booth, arms crossed, shoulders hunched. The “golden M” was one of the few symbols I could recognise, a rather depressing observation.

I sat down to gather my thoughts. Where should I go in a city so derelict and deserted?

I checked my phone for the time. Within five minutes I’d found a map, a hotel and a guidebook.

And I hadn’t even stood up.

Bulgaria, you see, has free fast wifi streaming through its central station. That was my first clue that there’s more to Sofia, Bulgaria than first meets the eye…

Sofia, Bulgaria – Second City on the Iron Route Journey

In December 2011, I set out to travel from Istanbul to Berlin using a global interrail pass*. I wanted to find out more about the countries I knew so little about and to explore the past in terms of east and west and the former iron curtain. The #ironroute journey began here and progressed with travel articles about Istanbul and photos of Sofia.

You can read more about how it is progressing with these live updates - and for even more news, check out the #ironroute hashtag on twitter.

Have you ever visited Sofia, Bulgaria?

What were your first impressions?

Sofia, Bulgaria: Empty & Lost first appeared on Inside the Travel Lab. Head over there for more juicy fresh travel goodness. Or, you know, something you might like to read...