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My only previous visit to Scotland was 45 years ago when my brother and I and a friend of his spent a week in Glasgow with a day trip to Edinburgh. I recall being underwhelmed by Glasgow, unable to follow the Scottish accent and not loving the food. I figured a return trip was long overdue.

I began with a five day stay in Edinburgh, utilizing the services of a shared Airbnb because I couldn’t justify the ridiculously high hotel prices which seem to start at about $300 a night. A trip to the grocery store indicated the prices were double what they were back home and the cheapest glass of wine I had was $15.

I started my sightseeing with a walking tour of the Old Town, taking in all the must see sites along the Royal mile, Edinburgh castle, Holyrood Palace, the alleyways known as closes and the Greyfriar cemetery, where I duly rub the nose of the statue of Greyfriar Bobby, the legendary dog who visited its deceased owner’s gravesite for 14 years.

I was unable to visit inside St. Giles Cathedral, best known where John Knox started the Presbyterian movement in Scotland, or the Writer’s Museum, dedicated to Robert Burns, Sir Walter Scott, and Robert Louis Stevenson due to the intrusive filming of a movie Frankenstein, which was blocking access to numerous sites.

The film crews only added to the large number of tourists in and around the Royal Mile. Queuing was a necessity to enter just about every attraction and, except for the free museums, were expensive. I passed on the £20 pounds required to enter the Holyrood Palace; the Royal family is rich enough already. Food and beverages in the old town were probably double the price everywhere else and generally not as good. I did indulge in excellent fish and chips at Bertie’s, a chippy shop run by Italians where a plate of fish and chips cost only $35.

On every tour I took, we learned the history of the Scots. In a nutshell, different Celtic tribes settled here about 7,000 years ago. The Romans tried, but failed, to conquer the land they called Caledonia. Out of the dark ages, Scotland emerged as a kingdom, until Edward I invaded in the 12th century and took it over. Rebellions by such luminaries as William Wallace and Robert Bruce restored the Scottish kingdom for a few centuries.

Following Elizabeth I death, James VI, a Stuart, of Scotland became James I of England, but after a few tumultuous decades, his descendant abdicated and William of Orange took over both the British and Scottish thrones. The countries officially unified in 1707, but supporters of a Stuart king, called Jacobites, rebelled a lot until the defeat of Bonnie Prince Charles in 1746. Scotland has been part of the United Kingdom since.

I took a walking tour of New Town, one of the first master planned communities. Begun in the mid 18th century, it was designed to lure the wealthy from the overcrowded Old Town at top of the hill and London, with its Georgian architecture, broad boulevards and private parks. It’s still retains many of those features today, along with the official resident of the Prime Minister of Scotland, which was not secured in anyway:

A quick 50 minute train ride took me to Glasgow, where my tour guide delighted in showing us the more comedic sights in Glasgow, like the City Hall. It’s adorned with carvings of Gallileo, Newton and the Statue of Liberty, none of which have any discernible connection to Glasgow;

Then there is Conehead, aka, The Duke of Wellington with a cone on his head. Started as a prank by a bunch of drunken college students 40 years ago, the city removed the cone every morning and it reappeared every night. After 20 years of this, the city gave up and embraced it, putting on cones relevant to the season;

Glasgow started a program of beautification, encouraging and later commissioning hundreds of murals to adorn its buildings’ walls:

Glasgow was much less crowded than Edinburgh and, while it lacks the grandiose attractions of Edinburgh, certainly had enough to interest this tourist for a day.

Back in Edinburgh I got off the tourist track and walked along the Leith Water, a 13 mile path along the river Leith, ending in the Firth of Forth where the Royal Yacht Britannia is berthed. The walkway is a peaceful paradise in a busy city:

One of the highlights along the walk is Dean Village, a well-preserved medieval town:

The next day, I started on my 3 day tour of the Scottish Highlands and the Isle of Skye with 22 other tourists aboard a bus called the Hairy Coo, named after the hairy cows brought over by the Vikings a millennium ago:

Our first stop was at one of Scotland’s newest attractions, a gigantic sculpture of two kelpies, mythical water creatures who eat sailors and take the shape of white horses;

A few stops later, we arrived at Culloden, the site of the final battle on English soil where the Brits defeated Bonnie Prince Charles and quelled the Jacobite rebellion. As battlefield sites go, it was pretty standard; a large expanse of green fields with a few flags to mark different troops’ lines and various commemorative plaques:

Just to bring home how expensive this country is, this is my $212 per night room in Inverness:

At least it had a private bathroom and the staff were kind.

The next day saw us take the bridge over to the Isle of Skye, where the main attractions were the pretty town of Peartree:

And the stunning scenery, described as wild, rugged and untouched:

Yes, it was pretty. Not much more to say about it.

Our final day saw us cruising Loch Ness, looking intently for Nessie the Monster:

Needless to say, no monster was spotted or you’d have heard about it on the news, but we did sail by Uruquart Castle, a medieval fortress mostly destroyed during the Jacobite rebellions.

A trip to the highlands would not be complete without a stop at Glenfinnan Viaduct, constructed in 1892 but achieving fame in Harry Potter as the Hogwart’s Express steamed towards the school. Today, at 1:20 ( never early, often late) a tourist train rolled across to the delight of hundreds of tourists eagerly snapping photos and videos (myself included):

My tour, and time in Scotland, ended after 8 days. So were my preconceived notions borne out? It is surely very expensive and there are way too many tourists for my liking. But overhyped? No. It’s a fascinating country with lots to interest this history buff along with modern art, pop culture and innovative features. It was definitely worth my return visit.

Next stop: The UK by train

People ask why Paraguay exists. The short answer is that although it was the loser in the war against the triple alliance ( Brazil, Argentina and Uruguay) in 1860 to 1874, Brazil and Argentina thought it best to have a buffer state between them and, thus, Paraguay exists to this day. It has lots of jungle, cattle and the largest navy of any landlocked country in the world.

So why visit Paraguay people asked when I mentioned it. Good question since there’s not a lot of tourist attractions. The jungle creates a wealth of birdwatching opportunities and nature hikes, neither of which interest me. Asuncion, the capital, is largely devoid of architecturally interesting buildings as, so my guide told me, Paraguayans didn’t really care about that and destroyed most of them. The former governor’s house, where the Spanish governor surrendered to rebels in 1811, paving the way for Independence, was razed and a park now stands there.

One of the few colonial buildings still standing is Independence House. It’s a museum detailing Paraguay’ s road to Independence. It’s furnished as it was a few hundred years ago, with a mix of Indigenous wood furniture and imports from France:

Other than a few historical buildings and government offices, the center of Asuncion has largely been abandoned for the suburbs. 1960 era apartment buildings stand vacant:

The new Parliament sits downtown. The funds to construct it were donated by Taiwan, one struggling democracy to another:

Other downtown highlights include the Presidential Palace, painted pink as it’s the second cheapest paint colour after white:

There’s the main cathedral and the Pantheon, both a church and a mausoleum housing the remains of many Paraguayan heroes. One person who is not there is the dictator, Alfredo Stroessner, who ruled with the help of the USA between 1954 and 1989. His legacy includes thousands of “disappeared”, child sex slavery rings and providing refuge to Josef Mengele, the maniacal doctor from the Auschwitz concentration camp. There are no memorials to him that I saw, but there is a memorial to the disappeared:

A small museum is dedicated to the railroad in Paraguay. Constructed in 1861, it ran between Asuncion and Encarnacion, until 1999. Powered by steam engines, the train was one of the earliest in South America. The museum is in the old Asuncion station and has memorabilia relating to the 1800 and 1900 train experience in Paraguay.

So, why Paraguay? I confess I’m counting countries and as I’d never visited Paraguay, it was hot and on my way to Argentina, it seemed like a good stop. Sadly, most of the tours I wanted to take, to ruins of Franciscans and Jesuit missionaries, were not running and all the wildlife tours wanted at least two people, not ideal for a solo traveller.

But I enjoyed my time in Asuncion. I walked to the Museo del Barro, which showcases both pre-Colombian artifacts and modern Art. The people were kind, prices cheap and the weather great. I won’t race back but I’m glad I spent a few days there.

If all had gone according to plan, I would be on a tour of Eritrea, Djibouti, Somaliland and Sudan but plans go awry and with medical facilities post-COVID in short supply in the Horn of Africa and a civil war raging in Sudan, the tour company cancelled the trip. To salvage some of my flight plans, I invited a former work collegue, Maryann, to join me for a jaunt through Italy.

Thus we arrived in Milan one sunny mid-October afternoon. The weather forecast was not optimistic. While it had been hot and sunny for the preceding 4 weeks, the next few weeks were to be cool and rainy. We raced to Milan’s central Cathedral, the Duomo, in the hope of getting a few photos with a clear blue sky:

The skies started clouding over but the rain had not yet started so we enjoyed some outdoor sights, walking the terraces on the Duomo roof, visiting the Monuments Cemetery and gawking at the environmentally innovative Bosca Verticale apartment high rise with its plethora of trees growing on its balconies:

The rain started and we focused on indoor activities. Leonardo da Vinci’s Last Supper is Milan’s most famous art piece. Nearby, the Science and Technology Museum has a Leonardo da Vinci exhibit with many of his futuristic designs and drawings on display, with life-size models finally created in the 1950’s, beside the drawings.

The highlight of Milan for us was dinner at the 3 Michelin star restaurant Enrico Bartolini. This was a belated Happy 60th celebration, originally scheduled at another Michelin star restaurant in April, 2020 in San Sebastián, Spain. However, the pandemic happened and our dinner did not.

We arrived at 7:30 and were seated in a sparsely furnished dining room. The performance, and it can only be described as a performance began, with wait staff bringing our beautifully crafted dish after dish, each accompanied by explanations of the food, its preparation and its significance. A sommelier brought wine pairings for each of the 10 courses and even the chef himself, Enrico Bartolini, stopped by the table to say hello. Over the course of 5 hours our tastebuds were delighted with such delicacies as scallops, crab tacos, truffles, pigeon breast, eggplant emulsion in squid sauce, edible gold leaf, a spiced apple, etc. too much to remember but here are photos of just a few:

It was a lovely end to a few days in Milan.

Next up was a short trip to Lake Como. Sadly, the rain joined us and we got drenched in our 10 minute walk around the town of Menaggio. We cowered from the rain inside the ferry for our crossing to the pretty town of Belaggio, spending just a few minutes on its boardwalk before racing back to the cover of the ferry terminal:

It’s easy to see why people are charmed by Lake Como but that charm was obscured for us by the rain. Not a great visit.

The forecast was for a bit of sunshine the next few days as we drove to our next stop – La Speizia- where we would catch a train to Riomaggiore, the first of 5 villages making up Cinque Terre. The plan was to hike the seaside paths between the villages and return via a scenic boat ride.

Alas, it was not to be. Though the day was relatively sunny, the prior days’ rains had made the seaside paths too slippery. They were all closed:

A few of the high trails were open but we were warned they were slippery, difficult, dangerous and not recommended. We passed on the trails and resigned ourselves to taking the train between villages.

Unfortunately the boats were also not running due to high waves. So every potential hiker, boater and passengers from 3 cruise ships docked nearby all crammed into trains making the whole trip feel like a romp in the Tokyo subway at rush hour. We did make it to all 5 villages and, according to my I-Phone counter, climbed the equivalent of 55 flights of stairs and walked well over 20,000 steps so the day was not a complete wash out.

And we did see a bit of sun:

Next: In search of the sun in Florence

Continuing my futile quest to remain in Provence during July, I again found myself leaving Provence for the region of Occitanie, the southern most area of France, destination Carcassonne, a fixture on everybody’s prettiest towns in France list. Less than 4 hours and more than 40 Euros in tolls from Lyon, I arrived there in the midst of France’s second heat wave of the summer. Thankfully, both my car and hotel had air conditioning.

Geography:

Carcassonne is located in the plains beside the river Aude, where the 16th century Canal du Midi links the Mediterranean with the Atlantic. Two hour boat rides on the canal by far more modern vessels are offered starting at 10 Euros. Occitanie has its own language (Occitan), a Romance language closely related to Catalan, and a history replete with attempts by Spain to conquer it, and vice versa. Barcelona is only 300 kilometers away.

It is also the region where grapes have grown forever, or at least since the 5th century BC by the Greeks. Sparkling wine was developed here 150 years before Don Perignon figured it out and it is home to Cassoulet, a dish made with white haricot beans, pork fat and duck in a slow cooker called a cassole. I had one for dinner in Carcassonne; delicious yes, but no one could explain to me how a dish heavy with white beans, which were first brought to Europe in the 15th century from America, became synonymous with France.

History:

Carcassonne is really two cities, the “medieval” city perched on the hill and the modern city (mostly 18th century) below, beside the canal. The medieval city has been around since Neolithic times. The Romans built a fortress on the hill; their walls are still visible. It was captured by the Visigoths in the 5th century, the same Visigoths who also sacked Rome in 410AD.

In the 10th century, Carcassonne became a favourite stopping point for crusaders off to the Holy Land. Also during this period, the count of Trenceval built the chateau that still stands and ruled the area for a while. Early heretics of the Catholic Church, the Cathars, were headquartered in Carcassonne, causing it to become the center of the French Inquisition in the 13th century. Between the 12th and 15th centuries, various armies tried to penetrate the city, but failed due to its constantly updated fortifications.

Finally, Napoleon decommissioned it as a military base and it fell into disrepair, its stones used for buildings in the new Carcassonne below. It was even ordered to be demolished in 1849. An uproar ensued and Eugene Viollet-le-duc, an architect who also installed the recently collapsed spire on Norte Dame in Paris, took up the fight to save the city and renovate it.

The Medieval City:

In 1853, restoration began. Two rows of walls; the interior Roman ones and the exterior medieval ones ring the city, along with 52 towers. Inside, a labyrinth of cobblestone roads and meandering alleyways are flanked by “15th century” houses and shops, their telltale second floors overhanging the streets in order to reduce the tax burden calculated on the ground floor space. A now clean and dry open sewer runs down the street centers, previously used to steer refuse and other undesirable stuff away from the city.

The Trencevals built the cities largest house- the Chateau Comtal – currently a museum with guided tours. A large, decommissioned  church, the Basilica of Saint Nazarius and Celsus ,is believed to have been begun in the 6th century, renovated by the Carolingians, blessed with Cathedral status in the 11th century and took its Gothic shape in the 13th century. It, too, was renovated by Mr. Violet-le-duc.

His restoration is not without controversy. Slate tiles dominate the roofs, even though slate is not quarried anywhere in the vicinity. Many of the towers are pointed, another feature not found in medieval architecture. The city does not advertise itself as an authentic reproduction, but as a re-imagined medieval city with a few idiocyncracies. It’s a fair enough description, with the 15th century houses now home mostly to souvenir shops, restaurants and hotels. Fifty residents still inhabit the old town, but with running water, proper sewage and electricity. As an UNESCO heritage site, it has no (visible to me) air conditioning and it is closed to traffic after 9:00AM.

It is also the second most visited monument outside of Paris in France, with Mont. St. Michel in first place. Tons of visitors, mostly French, braved the 40+ degree weather to wander the city during the 3 days I spent there, their kids running around in full length medieval dresses brandishing plastic swords and shields, and everyone drinking from the fountains and wells. Ice-cream was the bestseller.

My walking tour offered by the Tourism Centre was underwhelming, with the guide showing up 20 minutes late, then racing through the old town to ensure she still finished at the specified hour. She spent  an inordinate amount of time explaining Cathar religious philosophy and how it differed from that of the Catholic Church. I won’t bore you with the details, a courtesy I wish the guide had also extended. Suffice to say, the Cathars were the main targets of the French Inquisition and were effectively extinguished through conversion, torture and execution. Their lasting legacy is, oddly, their repression by military means, which eventually led to the unification of the Carcassonne region with France rather than Spain.

Final Thoughts:

Carcassonne is striking, from the first view of the ramparts in the distance, to its interior buildings, roads and squares. Yes, it evokes the sense that one is wandering through a medieval city, although the hoards of tourists did much to dampen my enthusiasm for it and I was a tad disappointed to learn much of the renovations dated from the 19th century. But on my final day, I rose at 6:00AM and went into the old city, without the crowds and just meandered about for an hour, trying to take myself back 500 years. Aside from the occasional delivery truck driver, it mostly worked and made it worth the visit.

Although traveling through the Balkans solo had been easy, after 6 weeks I was ready to surrender myself to the ease of a tour group, where everything would be organized and all I would have to do is show up at the appointed place at the appointed time and hop on the bus.

Thus, on Saturday I attended at the lobby of the Budapest Hotel, in Bulgaria’s capital of Sofia, at 6:00PM to meet my group.

The Tour:

The organizer was Explore, a UK based travel company specializing in small group tours, which I have used before in Central America and the Baltics. This 8 day tour is called Best of Bulgaria, led by Toma, a Bulgarian national with over 25 years experience as a tour guide. Joining me were 2 Australians (Nick and Sybil) and 6 Brits (Mary, Tony, Dolcy, David, Allison and Judith), comprising 3 lawyers, 2 patent officers, 2 chemical engineers and a TV and film producer, but Nick turned out to have the most stories to tell. Born and raised in Bulgaria, he escaped in 1969 by walking (unauthorized) into Italy, staying in a detention camp there before being accepted as an immigrant to Australia. His Bulgarian was still pretty good and proved invaluable in interpreting Bulgarian menus and dealing with waitresses.

Our route was designed to showcase the best of Bulgaria (hence its title),  historical gems, exquisite beaches, monasteries, and, to my delight, the Rose Valley. We started in Sofia, then drove to the Rila Monastery and, from there, to Bansko. Next was the European city of culture for 2019, Plovdiv, before heading to see the Neolithic ruins, Thracian tombs and the heart of the Rose Valley in Kazablak. We went to the Black Sea coast before returning inland to the capital of the 2nd Bulgarian kingdom in Nesebar. The route made no sense from an historical chronology, but covered most of the major periods in Bulgarian history.

Geography:

Bulgaria’s history, culture and economy is tied up in its geography. Split into Northern and Southern Bulgaria by the Balkan Mountains, it is blessed by the Black Sea on its Eastern Coast. To the south lies Greece and Turkey; in the North is Romania. Serbia and North Macedonia are to its west. The country is small; twice the size of Ireland. Its capital, Sofia, is home to about 1.25 million of the country’s 7.25 million people.

History:

Bulgaria is old. Evidence of Neolithic settlements dating to 6000 BC have been found, excavated and preserved in a museum in the town of Stara Zagora.

Highly sophisticated towns and colonies of the Thracian plain from the 2nd millennium are referenced in the Iliad and the Odyssey. The Thracian tribes battled with and against Alexander the Great, ancient Greece and eventually became a Roman colony. Bulgaria’s most famous burial site, a Thracian tomb at Kazanlak, has been closed to the public but, like the Lascaux caves in France, a perfect reproduction open to visitors is nearby:

Revolts against the Ottomans started as early as the 17th century, but gathered steam in the 19th century, culminating in the Russian-Turkish war of 1877-1888. The effects of the extended Ottoman rule meant that Bulgaria was quite backwards. It had no railroads, little industry, no universities, widespread poverty and illiteracy. Cultural pursuits were also limited during this period. No great Bulgarian literature, art (other than religious iconography), composers or architecture emerged; a combination of Ottoman oppression, poverty and non-existent educational opportunities. Only folkloric items: dancing, singing, embroidery which could be passed down orally through the generations, kept alive the Bulgarian spirit.

The late 19th century saw the beginning of the 3rd Bulgarian Kingdom and  the start of the Bulgarian revival period. Fashions from France were imported, universities established, dancing balls were held. Houses built in Plovdiv revel in the new architectural style, with elaborate paintwork the defining mark:

Bulgaria allied itself with the Nazi’s during WW2, but in a rare example of church opposition to Nazi policies, managed to avoid the wholesale slaughter of its Jewish population. Although it enacted anti-Semitic laws restricting the movement and employment of Jews, when the Nazis ordered the Tsar to transport 50,000 Bulgarian Jews to concentration camps, protests erupted, led by the Orthodox Christian bishop of Plovdiv. The Tsar backed down and refused to deport Bulgarian Jews., saving most of them. However, few Jews remain in Bulgaria today, most emigrating to Israel after the war. The Central Synagogue, completed in 1909, is Moorish revival in style and the third largest in Europe. I was only in Sofia on Saturday, when it is closed to visitors.

Bulgaria was “liberated” by the Russians in 1944. Following the end of the war, it became part of the Warsaw Pact and was closely allied with its communist brethren, suffering Soviet style economic planning, collective farms, 100% employment of people doing nothing etc. Most high rise apartments and government offices bear the trademark Soviet Realism architectural style, unattractive rectangular blocks with grey, rotting stucco facades. Central Sofia suffers from a glut of these buildings, like its current Parliament, but it is moving soon:

Economy:  

Bulgaria is one of Europe’s poorest countries. Its lack of industrialization during the Ottoman period left it playing catch-up, but then it immediately endured what Toma referred to as “the messy period”, the time between independence, the Balkan Wars, WW1 and WW2, followed by 45 years of communism. Today, abandoned Soviet style factories litter cities and countryside, socialist style apartments are decaying, sidewalks, where they exist, are little more than rickety pieces of concrete between trees, lampposts and garbage.

Small farms, light manufacturing, forestry and tourism are the biggest industries. Education and medical care is free, but the latter is funded through a tax system paid only by those who are employed. Tax is a flat 10% and there is a 20% VAT, leaving the government woefully underfunded, limited infrastructure improvements and inadequate social programs.

One of the biggest problems facing the economy is widespread corruption amongst government figures. A recent article in The Economist exposed a story where high ranking government officials were being sold luxury apartments at ridiculously low prices then reselling them very quickly at their fair market value. The article also noted the recently appointed anti-corruption minister is being investigated for corruption.

But the largest issue, according to Toma, is Bulgaria’s complete dependence on Russian oil & gas for its energy needs. In January, 2009, Russia stopped imports to Bulgaria during the Russia/Ukraine conflict. For 2 weeks, Bulgaria was without power to heat or light its schools, hospitals and factories and completely powerless (sorry for the pun) to do anything about it. Despite some advances in obtaining resources from elsewhere, Bulgaria still relies on Russia for 75% of its energy needs.

The Monasteries:

During the Ottoman period, severe limitations were placed on churches if they hadn’t been converted to mosques or destroyed . When construction was permitted, they had to be lower than the lowest minaret, so no towering steeples or soaring cupolas topped with onion shaped domes. In order not to attract the attention of Muslims, the exteriors had to be plain, which explains both the lack of outdoor decoration and the plethora of colourful icon paintings inside. No photos are allowed inside Bulgarian churches, but the refractory at the Rila Monastery didn’t count as a church and photos were allowed, as were photos of the outside paintings:

Rila Monastery is the country’s most famous and deservedly so. Its courtyard contains an ornately decorated (inside) church and is surrounded by former monks’ dormitories but  today primarily house pilgrims as the monk population is rapidly dwindling.

Flowers:

Bulgaria is awash in flowers, a pleasant surprise to me, although if I had read the tour’s trip notes beforehand, I would have learned that Bulgaria’s Rose Valley, is responsible for 70% of the world’s rose oil. As is becoming an annoying habit, we were a week late for the best blooms (just like the tulips in Holland) which occur in mid-June, but a few fields still had roses on the vines. Stores selling rose oil related products – lotions, soap, liqueurs – proliferate as do demonstrations on how to extract the oil (pour petals in a vat with steaming water, press, take the resulting liquid and separate the water from the oil). There’s a Rose Museum in Kazanlak and a weird ethnological village nearby with roses and a grotesque Statue of Liberty (the owner’s take on capitalism):

In Plovdiv and again in Kazanlak, we attended folk shows at dinner. Excellent as both were, the highlight of the trip was our “brunch with the grannies,” some ladies of grandparent age who invite tourists into their restaurant/museum/gift shop and entertain them first, with the Bulgarian drink, rakija. Made from grapes (in other countries rakija can be made from plums), it is between 40 and 50% proof, sipped slowly from a shot glass with food and a bit hard to take at 10:00AM. But not for the grannies, who managed 3-4 shots each over the 2 hours we spent there.

We began with the grannies showing us how to roll the dough for the traditional bread, Tutmanik (it has other names), to which eggs and cheese are added, baked and comes out delicious. As it was baking, the grannies dressed some of our tour group in traditional Bulgarian costumes (I declined), serenaded us, acapella, with folk songs, then invited us  to dance their dances with them (I declined again). They were gracious hosts, despite not speaking a word of English, the food delicious and it was a welcome reprieve from all the ruins and churches. I suspect the rakija contributed to my enjoyment.

We did and saw a lot more: the Black Sea resorts of Varna and Burgas with their overdeveloped coastlines and all-inclusive guests, mostly Brits, Germans and Scandinavians, seeking cheap holidays, rode on a narrow gauge railway, visited the Russian Orthodox Church and memorial at Shipka, saw what is considered to be the most exquisitely painted church at Arbanasi and ate lots of good Bulgarian food.

Final Thoughts:

I thoroughly enjoyed our tour; Toma was a good guide, our group “jelled” and Bulgaria proved interesting, but maybe a few too many churches and monasteries for my liking. There were pleasant surprises: the flowers, the fresh vegetables, the good, cheap local wine, but these virtues could not mask the poverty in the country. While everywhere I went had roads, air conditioning, reliable electricity and wifi, it was hard to ignore the potholes, the beggars, the Roma problem (10% of the population) and the lack of historical art and literature.  Nowhere have I been has brought home so forcefully the negative effects of 500 years of Ottoman and then communist rule. Bulgaria is doing its best to overcome its history, but it has a long way to go.

Bali Hai, the song made famous in the musical South Pacific, doesn’t really have anything to do with Bali. The novel by James Michener, upon which the musical was based, was inspired by the Pacific Ocean island of Vanuatu, some 7,000 miles away, where Michener was stationed during WWII. Similarly, the movie was shot on the Hawaii island of Kauai, about 6,300 miles east. But because of its association with Bali Hai, Bali is forever regarded as the epitome of the Pacific island paradise, with white sand beaches, pure blue water, palm trees swaying in the breeze and beautiful women in grass skirts and bikini tops made of coconuts swaying to ukulele music.

In fact, Bali’s topography does match its reputation, although there are no native women in grass skirts. As one of between 17,500 and 18,300 islands (no one can quite agree on the figure) making up the archipelago of Indonesia, its shoreline is fringed by spectacular beaches with both white and black sand, clear turquoise waters replete with crashing waves beloved by surfers and a green interior, home to palm trees, coffee plantations, orchids and rice paddies. At 5,800 square kilometres, the island supports a population of about 5 million and has over 5000 hotels with close to 60,000 beds. An attempt to add land to Bali via reclamation was defeated, but threats to resurrect the scheme abound.

Indonesia’s population is primarily Muslim, but Bali is the exception. Its inhabitants adopted Hinduism between the 2nd and 4th centuries AD after coming into contact with Indian traders. Java, the larger island  to the east and home to the capital, Jakarta,  was eventually conquered by Muslim invaders, after which the Hindus and Buddhists decamped to Bali and have stayed since, resisting all attempts to be converted by Muslims and Christians.

Thus, Bali adopted Hindu gods, traditions and architecture, but not the caste system. Walking around today, offerings are placed at every entrance way each morning, made of betel leaves holding betel nuts, lime, tobacco and gambier overlaid by flowers. Hindu temples, with their interior sanctums housing shrines with images of deities, multi-level roof towers and ornate carvings, are ubiquitous; estimates indicate there are over 20,000 temples in Bali and seemingly on every corner.

I had arrived just before the Balinese New Year’s celebration, Nyepi, or day of silence. During the week preceding it, Balinese roads are filled with processions of Bhuta (demons), accompanied by white clad gentlemen and bands banging on pots and pans and bamboo tubes. I was lucky enough to run into one and took pictures while traffic stood still; the driver was less enamoured of the 30 minute delay.

The night before Nyepi, Ogoh Ogohs – bamboo statues of demons or negative spirits – are paraded through the streets before being burned in cemeteries. I attended at one parade, but so many people were straining for views and making it difficult for me to see much.

During Nyepi, four rituals are performed: no light or electricity, no work, no travelling and no revelry. It is a day of reflection, forgiveness and looking forward to the new year., reminding me of a Balinese Yom Kippur. In practical terms, it means the airport shuts down, TV stations go blank, mobile networks are off-line, special police patrol the streets ensuring no one is about and meals, if one is not fasting, must be consumed by sundown. Fortunately for me, tourists and pregnant women (not applicable) are excepted from the prohibition on lights and revelry, but not the travel ban. My hotel had power and food before 6PM, but we were not allowed out and had to draw our drapes after dark. The internet did work and I noticed a large number of Indonesian guests who came for the day and left the next, after Nyepi and travel was once again permitted.

I engaged the services of a guide/driver to do some sightseeing. First up was the famous Lempuyang temple, whose gates frame the volcano Gunung Agung. Much beloved by Instagramers, the temple imposes strict rules on visitors, including the compulsory donning of a sarong, a ban on menstrating women (how they check I do not know), no kissing and forbidding yoga poses at the gates. If one looks at Instagram, the reason for the last rule is apparent. Hundreds of tourists decided that yoga postures (mostly disrespecting the Buddhist/Hindu restriction of having feet pointing to the gods) would best show themselves off. The first one or two photos may have been beguiling but after a few, they just become cliches.

After climbing a steep roadway to the temple’s entrance, I passed through a gate and into the courtyard, where a line of tourists waited patiently for their turn to have a picture with the volcano behind. “It wasn’t too busy”, a guide told me, “the wait will only be 20 minutes. Sometimes, it is hours”. A gentleman, probably a combination photographer and rule enforcer, chastised a lady when she started raising her leg in a prelude to a tree pose. When my turn came, I gave him my I-phone and a tip and he snapped a few photos while directing me how to stand – both feet firmly on the ground.

We went to Tirtagangga, a water palace built by the king of Bali. Yes, Bali was a kingdom (or 9 of them, depending on the century) from 914 to 1908, when the Dutch overlords finally had enough. The royal family still exists, and while administration has been ceded to the central government in Jakarta, the family still regards itself as the guardian of the Hindu faith on the island.

The grounds today are preserved primarily as a tourist site and wedding destination venue. The pools are the highlights, with stepping stones allowing visitors to get up close and personal with the richly carved statues:

Another water palace is Taman Soekasada Ujung, a pretty place featuring ponds, bridges, gardens and pictures of the king:

Lastly, we stopped at the Tibumana Waterfall. Bali is blessed with many lovely waterfalls, surrounded by the verdant rainforest with cooling watering holes fed by the clean water. Unfortunately, as I entered the water, two idiot Italian girls followed me in with cigarettes dangling from their lips, blowing smoke in my direction and totally oblivious to the hypocrisy of enjoying nature while smoking.

This is my second time in Bali and so far, it is as enjoyable as the first. It is far more built up than in 1996, but the Balinese are kind and welcoming hosts. Tourists proliferate, mostly Australians; think suntanned blonds with tattoos and surfboards riding on scooters. Bali has decent infrastructure, first world amenities and enough cultural attractions and differences to enchant a visitor like me. It’s the perfect place to relax, de-stress and wait out winter.