Ian Kimbell's Homepage

A Trip to the Market
One of the big things to do on a weekend in San Fran, is to go to a “farmers” market – which is not dissimilar to a “normal” market, except it has the word “farmers” in the title. But as usual in the USA these are bigger than normal – the selection was amazing. I literally have never seen such a variety of fruit and vegetables in one place and all sold directly by local “farmers”, who would fill you in on every aspect of the fare.  On the veggie side, as well as my favourites (artichokes, corn, broccoli) there were many varieties I have never seen before such as ocra, purple cauliflower, blue potatoes and strange green knobbly things. The fruit selection was just as vast, and included the sweetest nectarines and peaches I have ever tasted along with mind bogglingly delicious strawberries and blueberries.

For me, the biggest benefit of such competition is that everyone offers free samples to tempt your purchase – so, in theory, you could stuff yourself silly for free. In practice, this just what I did, and free food was not just restricted to fruit market – next door there were a number of food stalls also offering samples. This snack market really reflected the cultural hodgepodge of San Francisco, some highlights included:

• Mexican tamale (corn meal with sweet or savoury filling)
• El Salvadorian pupusa (hand-made corn biscuit-like flat bread, covered in yummies)
• Hummus and
• Chilean alphajores (delicious caramel biscuits made, as it was described to me, from angel sighs and unicorn giggles). They were so addictive I think they are rather made from giggles of cocaine dealers.

After stuffing ourselves, we rolled contentedly out of the market back up the hill to the car. From there it was down to the water’s edge to the scene of 4th July Pier 39 freeze. But this time a kind colleague had invited for a sail around the bay in his 34 footer. And what an adventure it was.

Sailing the Bay
After the sail and the jib (the small sail at the front) were unfurled, the small diesel engine (used for tight manoeuvres) took us out from the dock in to main bay. From there we headed over the Golden Gate Bridge and Alcatraz. As it was a bit foggy in that direction, we tacked off in a southerly direction and sailed down to the Bay Bridge. It was just spectacular, and at times for a novice a bit scary as the hull heeled (ie tilted) seeming perpendicular to the water necessitating us throwing ourselves to the other side of the boat to balance it.

After sailing around for all too short 2 hours, we headed back to the dock, rolling up the jib and taking down the main sail, and readied ourselves to cruise back in under diesel power. However, 2 minutes after starting the diesel engine there was an ugly sound as it started overheating due to a blocked water intake. We were floundering, and after trying to hail a passing boat our brave captain made the rather bold decision that we would sail in to the dock. So we unfurled the sails again and prepared for this really rather tricky operation. Honestly, it involved real split second timing with everyone pulling their weight, but under his competent guidance we managed it, much to the relief of all involved.

There followed a pleasant chat re-living the experience and using vocabulary which I shall probably never use again – stuff like “self tacking jib” and “that halyard is a bit frayed”. I will attempt to insert these phrases in future postcards to see if anyone notices.

Roller-coasters Galore
The following weekend, we stuffed ourselves silly at the market again, and then chose to try to relieve our swelling stomachs on a rollercoaster ride. There are two large theme parks around San Francisco and we chose the Six Flags Discovery Kingdom in Vallejo. It was formerly a Sea World park, so was heavy on the aquatic life, and was subsequently bought by Six Flags chain that added 5 roller-coasters and then went bankrupt. The park is still open though while they recover from Chapter 11.

The park was a peculiar mix of zoo, water creatures and thrill rides.  The queues for the roller-coasters were lengthening, so we headed over the whale show – apparently a highlight. There was enough entertainment trying to find a seat between the human whale families that were already seated even before the show began, and we were pleased to be at the back of the auditorium as the first 10 rows were dramatically doused in whale splash, a theme that repeated itself at the dolphin and sea-lions shows. As a result, wet people were a common sight at Six Flag, but when a photo opportunity with Batman came up, I naturally rushed up. However, he was soaking too. Due to the heavy plastic costume and the 38°c heat he was sweating like crazy and it sort of destroyed the illusion – Batman with a perspiration problem never made it in to the comics. We left soon after that.

Dust Bowl Garlic Festival
Following weekend, looking for something to do, we were recommended to experience a “once in a lifetime” event, a The Gilroy Garlic festival. Feelings in the office were mixed on the subject and ranged from “load of old toss” to “overpriced, hot, dusty hell-hole”. The truth was somewhere in the middle. $12 entrance fee to basically have the opportunity to join 10,000 other people looking for shade and occasionally dashing out to view the tat on sale, peruse the “gourmet” food stands which all had the word “garlic” prominently displayed or listen to some garlic related music.

We tried several interesting dishes, garlic chips (sorry, I mean French fries), garlic bread (original), garlic popcorn, garlic chicken, garlic scampi etc etc. The highlight for me was garlic ice cream, which was a big disappointment – basically vanilla with a few cloves crushed in – interesting taste but nothing spectacular. We left to the parking lot (very large fields) and watched the circling irrigation trucks pouring gallons on the ground in an attempt to stop the hot dust creating a sand storm as cars drove by. It really was a once in a lifetime event – it deserves a single visit.

More excitement is planned for the weekends to come, like searching for a self taking jib, but more about that later…

With the cost-reduction “thou shallst take holidays” edict still in effect and having just been in the UK for a lovely wedding, it seemed like a good idea to go somewhere far, far away for the subsequent Christmas weeks – but where? Well, the island of Borneo looked interesting, and being about 5 times the size of the UK and shared by 3 countries (Brunei, Malaysia and Indonesia) it gave some scope for exploring, so I booked a cheap flight which routed me via Moscow.

The alarm went a 4 a.m. and I got to the airport only to find a flight delay of 30 minutes, which worried me, as my connection in Moscow was just an hour, and I was more worried when I was refused entry at the gate. Despite the e-mail confirmation that I would not need a Russian visa (learn, Stacey), it turned out I did. I was delighted as this meant it was now Lufthansa’s problem to get me to Asia on time. The ground staff was a little taken back as it was the first time they had bumped a passenger who was happy about it. But Lufthansa rose to the occasion and I was soon on my way again, this time via Munich. As I approached the gate I was refused entry again and had to go back to the counter, but this time it was good news as I was handed a business class upgraded for the 11 hour flight. Happy Ian.

Arriving in Asia, I teamed up with a good friend and our first major point of call was Brunei. The guide books are a bit sketchy about “attractions” in Brunei – we quickly did all the sites in the capital Bandar Seri Begawan; the mosque, boat trip around stilt village and the Royal Regalia Museum, where the coronation display answers the question “what do you give the sultan who has everything” – a huge beer mug (from UK) and a golden miniature oil rig stand out. With nothing else to do, we hired a car to visit two real highlights for me, the billion US$ white elephants that the Brunei finance minster (by chance the Sultans son) built while in office (at a time the $ was worth something).

The first is the Empire Complex, which cost US$1.1 billion – an amazing conglomeration of hotel, country club, cinema and golf course of epic proportions – beautifully maintained it would work in Las Vegas, but is simply too big and opulent for such a small country. The second at the other end of the maintenance scale is the haunting Juradong Playground Park – an amusement park with formerly world class rides. After being built, the principle of free admission for the people meant there was no money coming in to maintain anything and as the rides decayed they were simply closed. Now it is like walking through a bad Scooby-Doo cartoon, with beautiful decorations crumbling to the ground, ghostly roller-coasters and eerie, empty water-ride plunge pools, which I am sure once delighted screaming guests. The silence in the park was deafening.

From there we headed to Malaysia to explore the eastern part of the Island of Borneo, known as Sabah. The flight with Brunei Royal Airlines was interesting, as we taxied out the PA system broadcast a rather long prayer asking Allah to bless the flight, which seemed to work just fine and we arrived safely at the surprisingly modern Kota Kinabalu Airport. The town had a lot to offer, modern shops and a huge food market where fishermen hawk their catch. You simply select the nicest looking fare, sit down, have a drink, and by then your seafood selection has been grilled and served on a plastic plate complete with steamed rice. I gorged myself on monster shrimps – some of the best I have ever eaten.

The next morning we were up early to continue our route to the impressive Mount Kinabalu peak, Kinabalu National Park and the associated botanical garden. Now call me old fashioned, but a botanical garden for me is a big glass constriction (à la Kew Gardens), here it is a simply a sign painted on a gate and you walk further in to the jungle. After seeing some orchids and a really rare blooming raffesia we then traipsed up the canopy walk in 35°c heat, which necessitated a subsequent cooling dip in the adjacent waterfall pool – brilliantly refreshing. From there we drove the 200kms over somewhat paved roads to the Sepilok Mountain Lodge, where we arrived at dusk and were greeted by a lovely welcoming committee of 40,000,000 mosquitoes.

We headed off to visit the Sepilok Orang Utan Rehabilitation center, a not uncontroversial body that collects orphaned and stray orangutans, tags and tattoos them to prepare them for a life back in the jungle. After the usual propaganda video, we watched a feeding – normally about 8 of these rather languid creatures turn up, but naturally on our watch only 3 arrived – my theory was that the rest were recovering from hangovers from a boozy Christmas Eve party the night before.

We moved on to the Kinabatangan River to the Proboscis Lodge, so remote it is only reachable by boat. Luckily, the mosquitoes from Sepilok had phoned ahead to let their brethren know were coming and far bigger welcoming committee was waiting, but we took to the river and did 3 boat expeditions (dusk, night and dawn) as well as a jungle trek. I had for foregone the leech socks for sale at reception, so the trek was interesting as it gave me the chance to come face-to-face (well, face-to-thigh) with a number of tiger leeches, which were luckily spotted and removed before they did any serious sucking. Perched on the end of a leaf, they reacted aggressively to body heat stretching out with an urgent desperation. These harmless, but revolting creatures, don’t frighten me per se, but let’s just say I was wearing 2 pairs of tight underpants that day expressly to prevent and unwarranted sucking in the control zone.

On the boat expeditions, the amount of wildlife our local guides could spot in the dense foliage was incredible and we witnessed a plethora of animal life including pigmy elephants, monkeys, orangutans, snakes, crocodiles, monitor lizards and numerous birds. The highlights had to be watching 2 proboscis monkey families showing off to each other across a river tributary and a kingfisher at night that froze in our light beams and allowed us to come literally within touching distance – the colour kingfisher blue has new meaning for me after that encounter.

We then headed off for our final port of call, Sandakan, stopping off on the way at the Gomantong Cave to witness the locals harvest birds’ nests at insane heights on flimsy ladders, whist breathing the ammoniac stench of bat guano and having their (and our) feet overrun by cockroaches. Sandakan was a jumping-off point for Turtle Island. The point here was obviously to see turtles laying their eggs at night. They can come ashore anytime from 8pm to 5am, so an overnight stay and a lot of patience is called for. There are only 22 rooms (with primitive, shared facilities) on the island, so invariably there are about 50 visitors, who cluster around a frightened animal when she finally makes it on shore and digs a hole. We saw 2 turtles, the first one made it in at about 9:30pm, but she was a nervous first timer (she was not tagged) and only laid 14 eggs, so we waited for the 11:15pm showing, where an old hack turned up and dumped 87 golf-ball sized eggs. Then the hatchling from a previous laying were released and I strategically stood close to the water – the absolute highlight was when the water washed two of them next to me, which necessitated a serious climb over my foot and toes. I suddenly felt very close to these tiny creatures and wish them well on their long journey to become a responsible adult (chances of making it < 5% – about the same as mine, I reflected on the long journey home.)

Reaching your 80th birthday is something to celebrate. So when the Leading Hotels of the World reached that magic number, they celebrated by offering (a limited number) of hotel rooms for $19.28 (having been founded in 1928).

But how to distribute the rooms? Well, to show how far the company has come, why not use that new-fangled Internet-thingie to run a sweepstake? But actually you need to plan such a Web event and after a first, completely abortive attempt where the Website crashed horribly, a second attempt two weeks later had me again sitting at my PC, hitting the refresh key as the sweep of second hand moved to the top of the hour. This time the site actually came live and I hit the “send” button within the first minute, hoping for a result.

To my astonishment, three days later, an e-mail arrived confirming that I had been allocated two nights in my choice hotel, the sumptuous 5-star Bauer Hotel in Venice. So I wasted no time getting on-line booked “free” flights which weren’t exactly free (they didn’t include the tax, suitcase, fuel surcharge, check in charge and credit card fee), to “Venice Treviso” airport that isn’t exactly near Venice. Still we were set for a luxurious and relatively inexpensive weekend.

I have sort of visited Venice vicariously via James Bond films and the over-the-top Venetian Hotel in Las Vegas. There we went on a fake gondola ride, while it rained from a fake ceiling and subsequently strolled along a fake St. Marks square – now I wanted to do all this for real (except for the rain). I wanted to walk over the real Rialto Bridge and some of the other 408 bridges that connect the 117 islands and 150 canals that make up this unique city.

Venice’s uniqueness became more apparent a few days before we left, amongst the various e-mails from Ryanair reiterating the ludicrous restrictions on their flights, there was a BBC news alert that had the title “Boats strike as Venice hit by serious flooding” with a lovely video of people wading thigh high through St. Marks Square and huge queues as people waited for water taxis. I rushed out to get buy a pair of wellington boots, but being a cheap-skate-Kimbell I was unwilling to pay the ridiculous prices for a pair of waders – so thinking back to the BBC video I bought a roll of 10 bin bags and set of orange canning jar gaskets to hold them in place to act as temporary overshoes. But I was going come hell or (more appropriately) high water.

After the flight and a bus ride, the city emerged out of the darkness and we took the now non-striking bus-boat the 12 stops to St. Marks square and the simply gorgeous Hotel Bauer, which just oozed elegance from every crevice. We entered, passing occasional tables swathed in ostrich leather and decorated with Murano glass objet d’art to a reception dripping with Carrara marble and smiling staff. The room too lived up to expectations; my only qualm was that the grape-sized crystals on the toilet paper dispenser didn’t quite match the one on the end of the toilet brush.

We had a quick tour of the area (there was no flooding as the water had subsided, but the after effects such as a raised walkways were still to be seen). The hotels location was ideal, facing the Grand Canal, a stone’s throw from St. Marks Square and surrounded by shops such as Prada, Salvatore Ferragamo and Valentino. The city is fascinating and the differences between Venice and a normal city became apparent with every step. There seemed to be an incident somewhere the emergency services were on their way. A blue police boat sped past, followed by a red fire engine boat (basically 4 men and a water canon) – everything in the city has to be done by boat, deliveries, post, rubbish collection etc, but everything seem to run smoothly.

The next morning we were up early to enjoy a hearty breakfast buffet (surprisingly, included in the $19.28 room charge) with a striking view over to the seemingly familiar, bulky form of the Chiesa di Santa Maria. The breakfast too was superb with the most perfect and fluffiest scrambled eggs I have ever eaten. From there it was off the St. Mark’s square for a visit to Gothic fantasy of the Plazzo Ducale, the Doge’s Palace. Dating back to the 9th century it was the political and administrative heart of Venice until 1797 when the French stuck their oar in, in the form of a Napoleonic invasion and stole the best works of art (typical).

From there we went up the Campanila tower (there is a lift) and round the amazing golden frescos of the Basilica di San Marco. The rest of the time was just spent meandering the alley and over the bridges that connect the various parts of the city, such as the slightly grubby Rialto bridge surrounded by a myriad of markets and stalls making for excellent shopping opportunities. Although tempted by some beautiful glass sculptures, the high price (€3,000 and up) turned out to be an inhibitive hurdle.

We visited several acclaimed galleries, the modern art gallery (Ca’ Pasero) was supposed to be a highlight, but paled in to insignificance compared to the smaller, but exquisite, Peggy Guggenheim collection. OK, I may be biased as we stumbled on two of my absolute favourite Magritte paintings were in the collection, namely the Empire of Light (a house at midday and midnight simultaneously) and the Voice of Space (three silver orbs hovering above a landscape). These, along with a couple of spectacular Dalis and an interesting boy on a horse sculpture, meant I literally had to be dragged out. Interestingly Peggy’s garden held a few trees, the first real greenery we had seen anywhere in the city. I imagine roots would just hit sea water or destroy a building’s supporting structure making a garden a huge engineering project and thus only an option for the ultra rich.

It was hard checking out, giving up the brass key to our lovely room, but tempered a bit by the cheapness of it. We took the bus-boat in glorious sunshine back to the Piazzale Roma. It had been a great trip, and an ideal time of the year to visit – according to the receptionist there were only “few” tourists – it must be unbearable in summer with the heat, stench and thousands more tourists. I will take back great memories and stronger calves thanks to the steps on those lovely bridges of Venice.

So with the current financial crisis cost-cutting, it was with great reluctance that I phoned the travel agency to downgrade my luxury, high tech, hugely spacious business-class seat to the wooden bench that forms Lufthansa economy-class. Regardless of the 10 hours of discomfort, this wasn’t a trip I was going to miss as it was my first to China.

Arriving in surprisingly good shape at the futuristic Shanghai Pudong airport, I took the sleek maglev (the only commercial one in existence) the 30km to the city center – reaching 430 km/hour on the 12 minute, surprisingly wobbly, journey. From there, I encountered the main issue for any westerner in China, the gargantuan language barrier. I had printed out a map and what I assumed was my hotel’s address, but despite this and a very adroit pointy finger, it was really difficult to get anyone to understand where I wanted to go. We got there, eventually.

After a quick shower and snooze, it was off to the first attraction the Oriental Pearl Tower, the 3rd tallest tower in the world and probably the silliest. Although it was literally a stone’s throw from my hotel, tracking it down wasn’t easy due to the thick fog / smog that hung over the city – and remained for the 4 days I was there. Consequently, the views from the tower were not exactly spectacular. I could vaguely make out some other skyscrapers and the renowned west bank of the Huangpu River, known as the Bund. This was my next port of call, so I returned to ground level and took the ludicrously Disneyfied “tourist tunnel” under the river.

At this point you start to appreciate the architectural charm of Shanghai. Its roots are shrouded in Europeans trying to make a fast buck whilst smoking opium, so the mix of European, Chinese and whacked-out-on-opium building styles makes any stroll a really remarkable experience. I wasn’t exactly looking for any pirated goods on my saunter, but I seemed to be a pirate / beggar magnet. Walking anywhere, innocuous looking people would sidled up and recited an incredible list of what was unofficially on offer – CDs, DVDs, handbags, watches, fragrance, jewelry, belts, massages and “pretty woman.”

After language, food was my next frustration. Either you could see wonderful food but had no idea how to order it, or you ordered something and got something different and vile in return, so the first night I gave up after being offered what look like a plate of dog vomit, and went to McDonalds in frustration. The next night, I changed my plan waited conspicuously for a beggar, like a spider for a fly. It was only a matter of seconds until a young-woman approached me, telling me how hungry she was. “Good”, I said, “so am I”, and dragged her away to the food area – I don’t think she was actually staving, but I got her to order what I (and she) wanted – it was still cheap at the price.

From Shanghai (there was some work there too somewhere), it was off to Beijing, where I feared an even smoggier environment, but the air was crystal clear and my taxi driver found the hotel with only minimal language issues. I checked in, and with a flourish Siegfried and Roy would have been proud of, hoodwinked the inexperienced receptionist to accept my seriously expired Marriott Gold card and upgrade my room. As a result, I got a huge, gorgeously appointed room on the “executive” floor, which smelt pleasantly of new carpet and fresh linens. Perhaps my only qualm would be that one of the petals on the rose in the bathroom was wilting a bit on one corner, but I consoled myself with a stroll in to the lounge and availed myself generously of the free food and drink.

With limited time in Beijing, I had hired a guide and driver to take me to the main sites. The first port of call was Tiananmen Square and the Forbidden City, with its 9999.5 rooms and spectacular gardens. I think however much time you spend there, it would be too short – it was fascinating. For example, each night, the emperor selected one of his 72 wives, from numbered stones on a silver platter. The lucky wife was then carried to him, naked, by eunuchs. Interestingly, they had to be carried as their bound feet prohibited walking and they had to be naked so they could not conceal assassination weapons – the eunuch bit speaks for itself. My guide revealed many such tales.

Then it was off to the Temple of Heaven, considered the pinnacle of Ming design. It was built in 1420 as a meeting point of earth and heaven and to help ensure good harvests. The main circular, wooden temple (32 meters in diameter) was strewn with colorful mosaics, but had to be rebuilt after it was struck by lightning in 1889. The lightning strike was apparently caused by sacrilegious caterpillar climbing on the golden ball that crowns the building. The emperor had 32 dignitaries executed for allowing this to happen – and the building now has a lightening conductor.

Visits to other sites such as the Birds Nest ensued, but the final stop was the simply magnificent Great Wall. I was expecting a gentle stroll, but section I visited literally went through the mountains and is really steep. I started climbing with the crowds, but they started to thin out after the second watch-tower or about 400 steps. The climb and descent were really treacherous as all steps were uniformly different sizes. But I made it to the top of the hill, 7 watch-towers and about 2,000 steps. The views were amazing.

I had to drag myself away from Beijing (and more to the point, my hotel room) to do some work in stinky Bangalore. The flight there was via Hong Kong, but an 8 hour stopover allowed me to enjoy a hike on sunny Lamma Island, a lovely meal and a trip round Hong Kong harbor with some delightful friends I had not seen in far too long a time. Less said about electricity strapped India the better, as I showered and shaved in the dark, but my happy thoughts of China kept me going though the days there and gave me sweet dreams on the Lufthansa log-bench all the way home.

In one of my favouite films, The Andromeda Strain, there is a scene where a slightly wacky scientist is being driven to the huge top secret, massively underground laboratory in the middle of nowhere by a no-nonsense marine. As they drive along a tiny, meandering dirt track to the innocuous looking shack that houses the clandestine entrance the scientist says “but no big dumper or cement truck ever drove down here”, to which the marine says “that’s because it was built to look like that.”

I never thought I would experience that scene in real life, but driving through the 4 streets that make up the tiny village, née hamlet, of Prenden 30 km north of Berlin, and being pointed down a half cobbled dirt track in to the woods, that scene suddenly became very authentic in more ways than one. Firstly, I was sitting next to an ex-marine, secondly some people say I am slightly wacky, thirdly we were on our way to a huge (formerly) top secret, massively underground construction with a very clandestine entrance and lastly, (we subsequently found out) the road we were following had been intentionally rebuilt to look like a meandering farm track. However, the illusion dissolved as my colleague and I arrived and circled, trying to find a space in the tiny car park.

The construction we were visiting was Objekt 17/5001 – or as it is better known the Honecker Bunker. Erich Honecker probably wasn’t the dream child you would wish for. A murky past of communism, spying and politics, he rose through the political ranks in Germany and 1971 he became head of the East German “government”. During his regime, the DDR wasn’t exactly winning any awards for “most popular country to live in” from its people or from the West and a nuclear attack was a real possibility.

So what does a cuddly dictator leader do? Right, builds himself a great big nuclear-attack-proof bunker close to his political power base. Thus in 1971 huge barracks were constructed to protect a large “field” and in 1976 the soldiers moved in and started digging – after burrowing solidly for 2 years, they had a pit large enough to build Objekt 17/5001, which “opened” in 1983.

The bunker itself is huge concrete block, 66 meters long, 48 meters wide and 17 meters high. It contains about 300 rooms spread over 3 floors and above it floats a protective umbrella of concrete 3.75 meters thick, designed to absorb the impact of the initial detonation. The main entrance is down a 200m long corridor, angled at various strategic points to prevent attack and reduce the blast shockwave. It had the original 1980s linoleum and it was our first taste of the fixtures and fittings.

There are 3 tours offered round the bunker – the “Standard” tour – 2 hour walk about in safe, lit areas. The “History” tour, 4 hours incorporating a 2 hour lecture and then the standard tour. And the “Tough Guy Tour” – after signing-your-life-away waiver (literally), 4 hours of uncompromising go anywhere you please and do anything you want tour – bring old clothes, gloves, knee pads, flashlight and a spare set of batteries. No prizes for guessing which tour I chose.

So with my fellow 7 other “tough guys” we set off and rounding the corner of the entrance corridor we caught the first sight of the blast doors – a big one to bring in equipment and a smaller personnel entrance. Here we started to see the incredible engineering and thought that went in to the construction. The doors have an amazing closing mechanism and even today are so well balanced, that they closed with a light push. They have aluminum panels at the touch points to the frame, which were designed to melt but not fuse so they could be re-opened to a very different world. Entering the personnel entrance, you had to follow a green stripe (peace time) or a red stripe (war time) which took you through 5 de-contamination rooms, each monitored and carefully controlled.

Once we made it in to the main part of the bunker its scale and the engineering prowess really came in to being. Each main room (e.g. communication center, control rooms, Honecker’s house, Stasi offices) were designed to move independently within the structure. Think of them as metal containers, suspended from the ceiling by huge steel cables kept taught by enormous springs. When the bomb hit, they could wobble in 40cm in any direction, dampening the blast impact. In our tour we climbed scary 10 meter high ladders and could walk around on top of these floating rooms, marveling at their construction and jumping up and down to make them wobble.

Once the doors were closed, the bunker was designed to be totally self sufficient for 14 days, and every critical system in the bunker was planned with a 2 or 3 fold backup, so, for example, if one of the compressed air tanks exploded, the room containing it would be sealed so the oxygen could not escape. Five huge diesel machines were fitted, 3 needed to run the bunker, 1 being repaired, 1 as a backup – with a vast array of diesel tanks feeding them. On our tour, if you wanted to climb around inside a diesel tank (now dry) you could. So naturally, I did.

Engineering prowess was everywhere. The bunker has been badly looted, but in the remnants of the communication room (the looters were mostly after copper cables), the entry points of cables linking this bunker to others were clearly visible. These cables were enclosed a lead pipe and the air pressure in the pipe kept at a constant rate. If the pipe was punctured (by an eavesdropping 3rd party) the pipe pressure would drop and trigger an alarm. Innovations like this littered the bunker.

Our guide was so enthusiastic, we stayed for almost 5 hours, looking at every nook and cranny – from the blast cap to the cellars. Sadly, the bunker is only open for three months, until the end of October 2008, it will then be blasted shut. Permanently. Reasons for these draconian measures are a little vague, it seems it is not an object that the government really wants to promote – it is also not something cheap to maintain. However, it is definitely worth a visit, and you certainly need to spend a lot of time to appreciate it – certainly more than Honecker did. His one-time 15 minute visit did not do it justice, but a five hour tough-guy will start to.

So we are off for a nice vacation to those places you have vaguely heard of, but are never quite sure what country they are in. Sure, Prague and Budapest are fairly easy, but what about Bratislava? Yes, we´ve heard of it, but is it Romania, Czech Republic, Slovakia or Slovenia? And are those last two really different countries? How many countries do border Hungary? Well, this trip was all about that – the ability to answer such questions, if I ever get on “Who wants to be a Millionaire?”

The first point of call was in Hungary, which is a VERY long drive from Malschenberg. It took us about 10 hours to drive the 950km to picturesque Lake Balaton (the trip totaled 2,400km). The first thing you notice entering Hungary are the place names – names like Táplánszentkereszt fly by en route. This is a country with a considerable overdose of vowels, which has serious consequences for computer keyboards, half of which are given over “extra” characters, and a total lack of Scrabble boards. We spent the first night in the first town we could pronounce – Héviz.

At least since Roman times (several sestertsi have been found in the waters) Héviz has been used as a health spa –the 5 hecter lake produces 80 million liters of poopy smelling, 40°c water every day. It was an ideal introduction to the Hungarian bathing obsession, and a rubber ring was a must, as the mineral content made buoyancy a serious problem and you were in constant danger of sinking. After a couple of hours stewing and a quick excursion to some local castles we went on to Budapest.

Over the next 3 days, we did some more bathing, visiting the Gellért and Kiràly baths, the latter of which, many people liken to bathing in a cathedral. Our experience was more like bathing in a labyrinth. Just getting to the changing rooms was an adventure and then the medieval locker system came in to play. It involved an attendant, a single key for all lockers, hieroglyphs on the locker door, cryptic symbols on a small blackboard in the locker and small metal discs. I made a mental note of the locker number just in case. Once we found the actual baths the architectural splendor shone through both figuratively and literally with an open roof and glorious surroundings. This contrasted acutely with the Kiràly (Turkish) Baths. These were built in 1570 and most of the bathers seemed to have been lolling in the water since its inception. Its claim to fame is the huge skylit dome that dominates the main pool, but it was still pretty dark and somehow a bit seedy.

The next morning a tour round the incredible Parliament building was first on the agenda. After waiting in line for over an hour, we were given free admittance thanks to an EU passport, and led in to a spectacular blend of architectural styles. The entire building is mirrored around a central axis and has over 700 rooms decorated with 42 kilogram of gold leaf. The tour “highlight” is the rather drab Crown of St. Stephen, the nation’s most important national icon, which was dropped at some point so has a wonky cross on the top and nobody’s bothered to straighten it.

Next was a stroll down communism lane, with a visit to the “House to Terror” the ex-secret service head quarters (where 30 years of suppression were graphically portrayed) and a visit to the Statue Museum, where all old busts of Lenin and other party members come to rest. Talk about propaganda, but it made for some interesting photos.

Following on visits to castle hill, churches, operas and some great meals, we headed off up the Danube in the direction of Slovakia and the capital Bratislava. The guidebook we were using for Slovakia was rather thin and the “highlights” section on Bratislava was somewhat sketchy to say the least. A pretty town, with lots of old buildings, some nice castles and statues with a very young population – this just about covers Bratislava. It was almost the total contents of the guidebook anyway, and after a more-than-ample day, we moved on to Prague.

Prague endeared itself to us immediately. Any city that models its subway station decoration on Dr. Who’s arch nemesis the Daleks has to be respected (even though the subway ticketing machines are archaic). But it just kept getting better (Prague that is, not the ticketing machines). Stepping out in the middle of the old town your jaw just drops at the splendor and flair this town has to offer – no wonder it is considered to be the most beautiful city in Europe and is now the 6th most popular European tourist destination.

Round every corner peeks architectural delights and amazing views as well as about half a million other tourists. This is epitomized on the Charles Bridge with its views of the castle and old town, where you are seriously hindered by the sea of camera wielding sightseers trying to get the best shot of anything that doesn’t move and hoards of pickpockets who mingle with the crowd and hoards of pickpockets who mingle with the crowd.

Each building in Prague seems to try and outdo its neighbours, adding turrets, statues, stucco, colour and art deco spender, seeming regardless of the era it was built. Highlights through the ages start at the magnificent St. Vitus catherdral and the castle area, various museums, the art deco Municipal House up to the ultra modern Frank Gehry “Fred and Ginger” building. You could spend weeks here and never get bored, sadly we were limited to 3 days and then drove though the first rain we had seen back to Germany.

The whole trip was excellent, a real eye opener to growth engine of Europe. OK, they need to get a decent currency (Slovakia and the Czech Republic are already well on their way to the Euro in 2009 and 2012 respectively) – and probably need to work on their some of their marketing concepts –there were several surprises along the way (I mean who opens a sushi bar and sells chocolate éclairs with that), but all in all, overwhelming positive.
(And in answer to the question, there are 7 countries that border Hungary – can you name them?).

Clearing up the stage following my last presentation, I was approached by a charming lady who introduced herself as Kim and said how much she enjoyed it. I thanked her profusely, but then deviating from the usual script she asked “would you like to come and present that in Australia for us?” I was somewhat taken aback, “Come again?” I replied. “Australia” she confirmed, and I happily tippy-toed tout-suite to the travel agency.

The agency informed me that the “best” flights (i.e. cheapest) available were with Thai Airways “Silk Class”, with a six hour stopover in Bangkok. This is a totally unreasonable amount of time, not enough to leave the airport and go snuffling about, but long enough to make it a mind-numbing experience. However, there was a later flight which gave me twelve hours – midday to midnight, just enough time re-sample the delights of this vibrant city.

The flight arrived punctually at the brand spanking new Suvarnabhumi Airport. This airport has been the center of controversy since its opening in September 2006, as some serious corners were cut whilst building, which has resulted in some rather interesting, and unintentional, architectural features. It is unusual to have a landscaped runway, rather than the traditional (and some would say boring) flat variety, but thanks to the subsidence landing is an adventure. The only design flaws I found in this gargantuan construction was the lack of personnel in the poorly laid out immigration area, architects being unable to distinguish between “push” and “pull” on many doors and the way the rain dripped down from the roof.

But I didn’t see much more as I raced out the door, dropped my bags at the left luggage and caught the bus in to town (the planned railway link is not quite ready yet). My first stop was the back-packers haven Khao San Road, one stop shop for anything not-quite-kosher. After purchasing a few “items” it was then off for a boat-taxi ride down the mighty (and a little bit smelly) Chao Phraya River and off to Pantip Plaza, one stop shop for high tech bits and pieces.

After purchasing a few “items” there, I enjoyed some local delicious fare, straight from a wheelbarrow at a reasonable 20 Baht (€1.20). I then tried to make it back to the airport with airport bus, but Friday night is not the ideal time leave Bangkok, the traffic was horrendous, so I made a detour on the metro and caught a taxi on the outskirts of the city.

This got me to the airport with earlier than expected, but rather than amusing myself watching the antics outside a glass door where push and pull had been wrongly labeled, I toddled off to the Silk Lounge for a shower and a complimentary massage, which relaxed me nicely ready for the 9 hour flight to Sydney. Boarding the plane, there were some unusual announcements – things like “we reserve the right not to serve alcohol to intoxicated passengers” are not typical in Europe.

Arriving in Sydney, we were forced to sit in place whilst an “immigration official” came on board to assess the contamination danger posed by a puking passenger. The problem was declared “non-communicable” (alcohol poising) and we were let off (figuratively and literally). Australia is paranoid about bringing in contaminates, especially after the experiences importing cats, which have killed off most of the indigenous smaller marsupials and cane toads, which are progressing across the country and are now being gobbled up by crocodiles, who expire of cane toad poisoning shortly thereafter.

I am surprised at this caution, as Australia is already FULL of the most weird and deadly animals on the planet; spiders, snakes, not to mention what is in the water. I am forever missing a heartbeat when turning a tap in case a box-jellyfish slides out or at the prospect of doing the “under the hotel bed check” in case I find something as big as a dinner plate with 842 eyes and 37 legs is staring back at me.

Still, I am not adverse to danger and so took my limo (checking first under the seat for funnel-web spiders) to one of the nicest cities on the planet. After a quick shower and shave, and more importantly a change of underwear (it had been 32 hours), I went for a little wonder. It was kind of bizarre walking in bright sunlight (almost) as hot as a Heidelberg summer, to be greeted by signs proclaiming the “Mega Winter Sale”. Other slightly-out-of-the-ordinary experiences included watching the rats come out and play in the Sydney streets or avoiding begging seagulls outside McDonalds. I moved away rapidly in case the gulls were some sort of mutant variation what would extend their stingers, stun me and drag me off to a nest of death.

I wondered up to Circular Quay and gawped at the Harbour bridge and, of course, stood in awe of the gorgeous Opera house. The whole area is bustling and I was surprised at the considerable number of older people still alive and walking around. The sun was just setting as I arrived, which made everything glow beautifully and made me temporarily forget the lurking dangers around every corner. I also took a tour of the Opera (with a reduced rate, thanks to my new student ID card – one of the “items” from Khao San Road) and got all the history. During the tour, one quote from Frank Gehry stood out; “it is a building that changed the entire image of a country”. I agree, and certainly don’t subscribe to the “it looks like a load of mussel shells crammed in to a typewriter” school of thought.

Apropos mussels, this being one of favourite dishes, I gorged myself on them in Sydney. Good food is prevalent in Sydney, and the views from the waterside restaurants is just as spectacular.

Back at the hotel, I had a message waiting – on of my colleagues had cancelled his trip and I was asked to take his place presentíng. This meant quite a bit of extra work, but a little thing like that is not going to curtail my sight-seeing. I picked up my PC and trotted off to the Chinese Garden of Friendship to work – it is one of the most beautifully settings I have ever seen. It is an oasis in an oasis and despite them not offering student discounts, a place I visited several times, just to sit and bask in the warmth of the city.

The rest of the week went well, 5 presentations, numerous meetings, all ended very satisfactorily. For one presentation I was rewarded with an original, beautifully carved, aboriginal boomerang, for another a nice hat. Sydneyonians are delightful people and I met many old and new faces, who were a delight to work and play with. Special thanks to Karen for all the organization and chaperoning.

With the week drawing to a close, it is was back to Bangkok, a quick massage, watch the push/pull fiasco and then on to Frankfurt, this time only 27 hours in total, but then the jet-lag kicks in. It is a challenge to sleep, perchance to dream of a delightful city and its wonderful, warm people set on a blue, blue harbour.
Sweet dreams indeed.

Two things you need to know about the German dental system:

1. It ain’t cheap
2. You have to pay (at least some of the bill) by yourself.

So, with a bit a of toothache, I naturally first checked my bank account and then went over to the dentist. He is a pleasant chap and greeted me with a cheerful “how are you?” – but I was not going to fall in to that trap. You need to avoid having any audible exchange with German doctors, as the conversation invariably appears on a subsequent bill as €35 line item of “in-depth consultation”, so I smiled nonchalantly, slid in to the chair and pointed to the hurty tooth.

He started by adding €50 to the bill, followed by a quick check which involved pressing some freakishly cold pellet to my tooth and then started smashing around a bit, going “does this hurt?” – my immediate reaction was “of course it does!”, but actually, and surprisingly it didn’t. “Hmmm” he said, “that’s not good”, but his eyes lit up, obviously with the idea of a luxurious week away in a posh hotel somewhere foremost in his mind. The tooth in question already had a filling and after a couple more bashings and and yet another ice test it was confirmed the nerve was dying and I needed a root canal.

Somehow this very term has always filled me with dread and now I was facing up having one, the reality was terrifying and Mr. Dentist, realizing I was likely to bolt from the chair and never return, casually turned round, dropped the holiday brochure for the Maldives he had been flicking through, and said ominously, “we’ll start it now”.

Desperate for an excuse to get out of there and reappraise my situation, I panicked and blurted out the first thing that came to mind, which, with hindsight, was probably not the intelligent phrase on the planet. “But I have a dentist appointment”, I stammered. “I know”, he replied, smiled and inserted the needle.

I had foregone the high-tech entertainment gadgetry my dentist has on offer (video glasses to watch movies, sound systems to distract you) as I like to see what is going on and this was no exception. The rack of pointy files was placed in front of me and looked like something straight from Dante’s 7th Circle of Hell – an impression that was emphasized when a seemingly huge pink sheet of latex-free rubber was placed over my mouth “for my protection”. There was a slight disagreement because I didn’t like the colour, but Mr. Dentist won out. Before things got serious I managed to bark out the question “you have done this before, haven’t you?”. Mr. Dentist smiled and the drill bit whined, but I could still hear his assistant outside asking to be sent some brochures for a QE2 cruise.

There was very little pain (hardly surprising as the nerve was extricated on the first visit), however, the feeling of having 12mm of drill bit inserted in to the tooth was not the most pleasant experience I have had. This feeling was repeated with anti-biotic treatments, sodiumhydrogenchloride paste paste, rubber sticky-things and the final core filling. Luckily, this tooth only had 2 canals that needed cleaning, disinfecting, stuffing and filling over the following 3 appointments.

Having so many appointments gives you real time to reflect. Why are dentist instruments so pointy? Couldn’t they have some nice rounded ends to make them look less threatening? Why does the drill whine like that? Surely there are noise suppressors available to drown out the sound. Questions, I fear, that will never get a satisfactory answer.

Credit has to be given to Mr. Dentist, who was excellent, and put up with my whining and moaning, complaining and penny-pinching. I have not yet had the final bill, but driving past his praxis today there was a rather nice shiny new Volvo sitting outside…