Travel

Mekong Muster Part 6, Cruise

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Well we got back from our Cambodia / Vietnam adventure yesterday and as is the case with most holidays, the glow wore off about half a day after returning as the memories sunk inexorably into the past. We were jolted back to reality after the child bride went to pick up the cats who had resided at the cat motel for the past two weeks. Almost immediately there was a territorial stand-off between Charlie the dog and Kaos the cat and we woke this morning to a fir ball on a rug (not on the wooden floor of course) and something disgusting in the litter tray.

Oh to still be sitting in the Game On Bar in Saigon watching the NRL or the AFL or the rugby or the EPL of the boxing or the racing or the golf – TV’s showing sport everywhere you looked, local girls in tight shirts serving ice-cold beer and pub-food that doesn’t look back at you. We managed to get there twice in two days.

The first day in Saigon we explored a local market. Imagine the Baywatch girls, in beach uniform, attending a maximum security prison. That was the rather aggressive, noisy and touchy/feely attention a westerner generates in that place. It is rather intimidating but we managed to get out with the required shirts and dresses albeit with the wallet a little lighter and the bargaining voice a little hoarser than the parallel experience in Cambodia. Not to worry because it was only a 10 minute walk to Game On which was only a two minute walk from the tallest building in the country which had a viewing platform and……a bar.

Met up with our four Victorian mates in Game On and drifted from beer to beer for the rest of the day including dinner at a restaurant where a local entrepreneur (who was a boat person and made his money in Oz) ran a restaurant training street kids (chefs, front-of-house, waiters etc). The food was nothing like rat, very nice in fact and like the art school in Siem Reap, an admirable enterprise.

Day two in Saigon and we had to check out at twelve, and had our hotel transfers arranged at four. How to kill a few hours on a hot steamy afternoon? Here’s an idea, thought some genius. Let’s take a 10 minute, $3 cab ride to Game On. Done. And so the gentle transition back into Australian culture began.

Visiting developing Asia is a great and rewarding experience as long as you can experience most of it standing up rather than sitting down, if you get my drift.

Mekong Muster Part 5

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Well it’s only one more day on the boat then off to Saigon tomorrow. And not a day too soon for some, I think. The last couple of days have been absolute carnage with this place now resembling the aftermath of the Alamo. This is not in any way, shape or form a criticism of the cruise company. They have been scrupulous in their adherence to safety and health standards.

The karaoke excesses of a couple of nights ago plus the accumulated impact of different foods and breathing different air, especially in the open markets, have taken their toll I think. I was a mess yesterday but am fine now. But I reckon if it was possible to harness the power generated by the simultaneous sphincter clench of 78 people, you could drive this boat from Saigon to Brisbane without refuelling.

The markets in the Mekong delta have to be seen to be believed. People shop twice a day because apart from a few random blocks of ice and the fact that most of the seafood and assorted reptiles and amphibians are still alive, everything is out in the open. However to spare the sensibilities of the more fragile brethren, the rats are skinned before being put on display.

Last night was concert night when the various ship departments put on a show for the guests. Watching a bunch of Vietnamese and Cambodians pretending to be The Village People and doing everyone’s favourite, YMCA, had to be seen to be believed although I’m not sure they all comprehended the significance of the arm movements.

And after that finished some of the guests who had “volunteered” the night before, had to get up and perform. Apparently I volunteered but I’m pretty sure I was volunteered. Had I been forewarned or at least been vaguely aware of what was coming, I could have prepared Not Garfunkel’s full repertoire. But my still alcohol fogged brain was only capable of a rendition of Hotel California on the only guitar on the ship. A Londoner got up and told a few jokes and as he warmed up, they got better and better if you know what I mean.

We are now wending our way to the last stop before leaving La Marguerite. I think it’s to see another bloody temple. Actually I can now see a massive bridge that I and a lot of other Australian taxpayers built about 10 years ago. I recognise it from last time we were here so we must be getting close to the end. The internet connection has been getting progressively better so it stands to reason.

Maybe one more travel blog to impose on you before we leave. We’ll see.

Mekong Muster Part 4

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We are now at the Cambodia/Vietnam border and it’s day something or other into our caravanserai  adventure as we watch the world slip by in air conditioned comfort. Thank you barman, you may indeed freshen up my drink and as the story goes, I have this medical condition which requires this glass to be replenished every half hour, on the half hour.

Yesterday, our second day in Phnom Pen was a great day, it has to be said. After trying to imagine what it must have been like (impossible) during the Khmer Rouge times the child bride and I decided to have the afternoon in. We were all pagoda’d out anyway. Then some of our party mates suggested a trip to a bar down town. No worries said I. Five of us piled into a tuc tuc and off we went. We found a place overlooking the river where happy hour went from 7.00am to 11.00pm, I kid you not. Icy draft beer for $0.75. We spent the afternoon there and the bill for five was less than $30.00. I am moving to this country and buying a Lexus.

Needless to say, last night (two nights ago, now) was either a write-off or a triumph, depending on how you look at it. We’ve pretty much commandeered the music situation so instead of middle of the road we now have Rolling Stones and Guns ‘N Roses and the place is jumping. It’s karaoke night tonight so that will be interesting.

It’s the morning after karaoke night and it’s been a struggle. My attention span could not extend to the intricacies of a spinning loom operated by a 12 year old girl I’m afraid. And vague memories of Wish You Were Here are swirling round my brain and bouncing off the insides of my skull. Fortunately we’re cruising this afternoon because I don’t think I need to learn any more rural Vietnamese life skills.

I decided to finish this story in the library. It’s the only public place on the ship where you can’t be tempted by alcoholic extravagance and it’s as far away from a bar as it’s possible to be.

Mekong Muster Part 3

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Just spent a very confronting morning at one of the killing fields outside Phnom Pen then the Genocide Museum which is in what was a school and was used by the Khmer Rouge as a torture venue. From reading some of the so-called confessions and listening to the guides relate stories of the time you wonder whether the Khmer Rouge ever questioned how the CIA managed to employ hundreds of thousands of agents including whole families. Being good Buddhists the locals eventually forgave the bad guys whereas most of us would have been sorely tempted to exact some form of retribution, with extreme prejudice.

You’d think Cambodia would be the most anti-communist place on earth after experiencing the most perverted version of an already perverted political philosophy but there can’t be too many places with both a North Korean Embassy (next door to the Prime Minister’s house as it happens) and a Cuban Embassy as well as a street called Mao Tse Tung Boulevard. I took a picture of the North Korean embassy but we weren’t allowed to take pictures of the US embassy. I guess if you’re North Korean this is probably one of the safer places in the world to be what with The Donald’s finger hovering over The Button. That reminds me, North Korea is the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea and under Pol Pot this place was called Democratic Kampuchea. The similarity is that no one gets to or got to vote.

Time to lighten the mood. If I asked you to name the place with the largest proportion of Lexus’s (or is that Lexii) on the road in relation to the other vehicles, you might suggest Nagoya, where Toyotas are made or Geneva (no, that’s Ferraris with Arab rego plates) or Manhattan. I guarantee you wouldn’t guess Cambodia but that is in fact the case. They are everywhere. It’s like some weird parallel universe. And I still haven’t received a satisfactory explanation as to why. It’s fated to be one of those unanswerable questions like why does a women stroke her chin when she drives or why does “change up” mean “slow down” or why can’t some people see the absolute logic of all of my arguments?

Mekong Muster Part 2

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Actually “Mekong” is a bit of a misnomer. We have been on the Tonle Sap River for the past 3 days and don’t reach the Mekong until this afternoon in Phnom Penh. The Tonle Sap River is highly unusual because in the dry season the Mekong pushes water north along the Tonle Sap and in the wet season there’s enough water flowing into the Tonle Sap Lake in the north to push the water south down the river. So it’s one way part of the year and the other for the rest. Wouldn’t be out of place in Hollywood.

There are 172 floating villages round the lake. Everyone lives in a relocatable home and all are connected to the same sewerage system. Needless to say of the hundreds of fish species in the lake, the most prevalent is the brown trout. Fish and rice provide most of the sustenance but like an old mate of mine from Japan, they’ll eat anything with its back to the sun, tigers and elephants excluded. Tarantula sandwich anyone?

On a more serious note, Cambodia has an awful lot of catch-up to play after the atrocities committed by the Khmer Rouge. There were about 10,000 doctors here pre-1975. By 1979 when Pol Pot and his mob were finished there were seven. SEVEN! Now families have eight or nine kids as repopulation continues apace. There are some inherent human skills that can never be eradicated even by the most determined scumbags.

This trip is quite unlike what you would imagine a river cruise to be if you’re thinking of Amsterdam to Budapest or the Loire Valley. It’s all very rural and life experience stuff. Yesterday we went for a ride in an ox cart which really loosened up the joints. I suggested to the farmer in charge of our transportation that he consider installing eight sided wheels as they’d be much more comfortable than his six sided versions.

But it’s not all killing fields and Old Macdonald’s farm. Back on the boat there’s a party group as you would expect. Yesterday was my birthday (thanks for all the good wishes) and we found a guitar so raucously worked through all of the songs I could remember. It’s amazing how good Wish You Were Here sounds with a bucket of Southern Comfort in the bag.

Off for a tuc tuc tour of the city soon. A tuc tuc is like a carriage for two or four people towed behind a vehicle with what sounds like a ride-on mower engine. Should be interesting. We’ll be stopping at some markets where the child bride will put her considerable bargaining skills to good use. So I’ll have to stop at an ATM.

Mekong Muster Part 1

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In August 2017 the child Bride and I visited Cambodia and Vietnam and took a leisurely cruise down the Mekong River. Following is a 6 part opus on that epic journey.

Well the Mekong Muster, Siem Reap in Cambodia to Ho Chi Minh City in Vietnam, is now well underway. We are on the boat – La Marguerite – and having done the unpacking and explored the boat the 40 degree heat and 100% humidity are doing their job. La Marguerite is very small – about 78 passengers I think – but has two bars. Having been on here all of two hours I think we’ve done well to befriend Jenny, one of the bar attendants who now knows our order. Jenny is here to mitigate the heat and humidity.

But let’s backtrack a couple of days. We flew out of Brisbane on Saturday afternoon in gorilla class but on Singapore Airlines – scant compensation I know but it could have been a whole lot worse. No….no it couldn’t – can’t think of anything worse after all of those years flying at the front on someone else’s dime. I know you’re all feeling my pain – thanks, that makes so much difference.

We had 8 hours in Singers airport and despite all of my previous travels I have never been asked to rate a toilet but there in the airport was this very opportunity. So I go for a pee and there’s a box on the wall in the loo that says “Rate our toilet” and you can tap a button of your choice. I was torn between shithouse and pissweak. But enough of that so let’s move along.

The rest of the trip to Seam Reap was uneventful but now it gets interesting. In this politically correct world we live in, if you believe cultures are unequal you are a bigot. Anyone who thinks Angkor Wat is the equivalent of a handprint on a cave wall or a poison dart blown through a hollow reed or an ability to build a mud hut that will withstand a light drizzle can call me a bigot – guilty as charged. And we’re not here to indulge in in-depth academic debates on the pros and cons of the noble savage vs the industrial revolution so let’s leave it superficial and flippant. Those temples – hundreds of them – are not only works of incredible detail and complexity but they were carved out of impenetrable jungle about 800 years ago. Of course elephants help, vis a vis the jungle bit but it still must have been an architect’s paradise.

Compare with the pharaoh’s chief architect:
“So your munificent, sun shines out of your sarcophagus, God-pharaoh, you want me to build you a tomb. May I remind you I built the sphinx, the library of Alexandria and consulted on the hanging gardens of Babylon, so it’s not another bloody pyramid is it? Oh, it is. It’s a big one, you say, with lots of secret passageways. Hoo-f..ing-ray.”

At Angkor Thom and Angkor Wat and all the others, the builders had an absolute ball it seems compared with the poor old pyramid builders.

The first day, after spending most of Saturday night in the airport, was zombie central but we did manage to drag ourselves away from the air conditioning for a few hours. Apart from visiting the aforementioned temples, a highlight was visiting a school where a program called Overseas Development in Art teaches art as well as English language, computing and a few other things to underprivileged and orphaned kids. It was started by a local artist and now extends to eight schools. He established all eight of them.

Compared to our whiney, the tax payer owes me a living, artists who produce bugger all of any redeemable or cultural value, like standing on one leg in a bucket of offal for six hours at a time, this guy is a saint and deserves the Nobel Prize. Think Mother Theresa without the leprosy. And he’s a bloke.

But last night after climbing all over a series of temples, we did what everyone does when visiting a provincial Asian city for the first time. We visited Pub Street (that’s what it’s called) and drank $1 beers in the Red Piano Bar. Well I did. Jan drank $3 wines. Secondly, I did what every male does in these places…..no, not that. I had my feet eaten. Yes, you read that right. I dangled my feet in a large tank of water and dozens of fish nibbled the dead skin off my feet.

Now it has to said, I have the ugliest feet in Christendom (which we weren’t actually in to be fair) but these little buggers gave it a red hot go and did an admirable job. But really. If you thought maggots or bacteria are at the bottom of the food chain, think again because I can’t think of anything that beats this in a disgusting race to the last link. Of course if you’re ticklish it’s almost unbearable. I lasted about 15 minutes. Another hour or two and I could have been a foot model.

For the next seven or eight days the most stressful decision will be which of the two bars to patronise, as in offer them my custom, not talk down to them. And when the intermittent wifi kicks in I’m going to find out where I can buy some of those fish.

European Safari – Epilogue

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I called this the prologue in the previous post. Apologies to all of those people whose grammar and punctuation I have criticised (justifiably – all of them) in the past.

We got back from Europe in time for my birthday and what feel like massive hangovers.

 

Back home this morning after a rather long time between getting off the boat in Stockholm on Thursday morning and getting back to Brisbane. Still, got here in time to see replays of Broncos v St George played last night and the Wallabies v New Zealand from last Saturday (which we won – woo hoo). Let’s hope the result is the same for the Bledisloe decider tonight (it wasn’t).

Completely knackered after almost 4 weeks of “relaxing” holiday and struggling to make it to a decent hour to go to sleep and avoid the worst of jet lag which has a bigger impact when going west to east than the other way apparently.

We got a magnificent welcome from Charlie the dog who greeted us with an enthusiasm only he can muster. But then he carries on like that when you come back from the toilet. Anyway, he’s helped me watch 2 football games today. Even the cats seemed pleased to see us or at least enough to feign a rather aloof acknowledgement that some familiar faces were back in their house.

My brain is mush at the moment. I used to go into the office after flying in from Europe or wherever, in my younger days. Thankfully, I learnt that lesson eventually. In fact, going into any office seems a somewhat remote possibility at the moment. Thank God it’s Saturday.

 

 

 

European Safari Part 8

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This is the last entry (other than a prologue describing the aftermath – following) regarding the child bride’s and my gallivant round the Baltic and other salubrious European destinations. Stay tuned for the Mekong Muster covering our recent visit to the backblocks of Cambodia and Vietnam ……. in a degree of luxury it has to be said. Remember the child bride has a pathological hatred of cheap champagne and all things camping.

 

Last day today, in Stockholm and we’re doing a roof top walk. There are always numerous onshore trip options and this was an opportunity too good to miss. Saw a couple of the gay guys at breakfast this morning. They’re going to the ABBA Museum. Obviously.

Back from our roof top walk. Wow just about covers it. 40 odd metres up on top of the court house on a walkway about a foot wide with a harness attached to a wire at floor level. You also wear a hard hat which is basically a blood bucket if you fall off. The CB was a bit dubious at first but handled it with aplomb. I got the wobbly boots a couple of times I have to admit but they assured us they hadn’t lost anyone this month so I wasn’t going to be the first. As you can imagine the views were fantastic.

The guides were these fit young Swedish ladies with well developed………senses of humour – quite a pleasant surprise. One regaled us with tales of midsummer celebrations in Sweden (longest day of the year, usually late June) where singing comes before drinking not the other way round. So you sing a ditty then everyone in the group downs a shot. Then the next person sings and you down another shot and so it goes. She gave us two renditions of her ditty, when she was first and when it came round to her turn again in a group of 25. A bit like Not Garfunkel at 2.00pm and Not Garfunkel at 6.00pm but in reverse because we sound better the more we drink. And she pointed out that many babies are born 9 months after midsummer. March must be birthday season in Sweden.

All sounded pretty good to me until she explained what they traditionally eat. Herring figured prominently. I tried pickled herring once. It was revolting. I think they pickle it in brake fluid.

The photo count is up over 1300 after Stockholm with a few more of the ship before we leave tomorrow morning then we’re done. It’ll take me all of next week to file them. Took some photos of the sunset last night. It was amazing; unlike anything we get at home. The sky was like a cathedral dome painting without the angels and cherubs (that we could see).

We’re now sitting in The Looking Glass, our favourite bar, for the last time on this trip reflecting on what has been a fabulous twelve days. The CB’s having her last champagne cocktail and I’m not having my last beer. It’s always a shame to leave and plenty of people stay on for more than one leg. The next one for this ship is almost a reverse repeat of what we’ve done but finishing in Southampton instead of Copenhagen so I don’t expect many will stay on. There were quite a few who stayed on from the previous cruise which was the Norwegian fjords. Apparently the weather was atrocious. Everywhere we’ve been the weather has been great and invariably the tour guides have said “lucky you weren’t here last week….”. Not sure I could do consecutive voyages.

As I said in the previous post we need a rest after this holiday. But then we did have a week in England and a week in Ireland before joining the cruise and we didn’t get out of either unscathed. I forgot to mention in the bit about Ireland – Crean Lager – brewed on the Dingle Peninsular. Superb drop.

Just got back from the final show of the cruise – a hypnotist. He started off with 10 volunteers, 5 men and 5 women. When he’d culled those who weren’t playing the game there were 5 women and 1 man. Interpret this however you want. I personally thought it was bullshit. And he started off by saying he wasn’t going to get them to do anything “dirty” (his word) or remove any clothing so it was a complete waste of time.

That’s it. So we’ve added a few countries to our “Visited” list and crossed a few more things off our bucket list but there are very many more on both lists. If you have the inclination and the wherewithal don’t leave it too late.

European Safari Part 7

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We’re just pulling into Helsinki with only today here and tomorrow in Stockholm to go. Thursday we head to Stockholm airport and home. It’s been over 3 weeks now and after 3 solid days in Saint Petersburg and 3 solid weeks of enjoying ourselves we’re starting to feel a bit jaded like someone I’ve already mentioned a couple of times. I’m pretty sure I now know what a world tour with Guns N Roses feels like. No one’s thrown any underwear at me yet (thank heavens for small mercies). And apparently all of those marriage proposals in Russia were from hookers.
Day 3 in Saint Petersburg was more opulence and extravagance. Peter the Great’s summer palace (about as far out of town as Redcliffe is from Brisbane) is called Peterhof. It is famous for fountains – 180 of them of which 150 have been restored. Most of them comprise multiple jets (500 in one) and all run on gravity – there were no pumps in 1720 and restoration is to the original including gold leaf on virtually everything. And he had nothing on his daughter Elizabeth and niece in law (I think), Catherine the Great who both went berserk when it came to decorating, renovating and building and generally spending money. Why am I not surprised?
Like many places in this area, Peterhof saw two pitched battles in WWII – when the Germans arrived in 1941 and when they were driven out in 1944 so it was mined and bombed to within a facade of its life. But it’s back to what it was like and is a reminder of the disgusting waste of money that went on back then but attracts gaping mouthed tourists now.
We also went to St Isaac’s Cathedral which was used to store valuable stuff during the war on account of its 2m-5m thick granite and marble walls. Another church filled with gold, artistic masterpieces and icons. Ho hum.
Interesting parallel between Russia and Vietnam. The locals were the heroic defenders of all that is good and the Germans and Americans respectively were the worst kind of bastards. We heard snippets of the Red Army’s behaviour in Gdansk and Ronne so as they say, the winners get to write the history although I’m pretty sure the Yanks still think they won in Vietnam.
We had the obligatory all singing all dancing White Night on Sunday evening. The gay boys were in their absolute element putting to shame everyone including two professional dancers, on board to do their enthusiastic ballroom dancing routine – the bloke was throwing the girl around like a marching band leader’s baton when we saw them. Incidentally we saw them perform at an exclusive (half the boat was there) function for repeat cruisers who are in the cruise company’s club. We’ve done three so went along. They also give out awards to the top cruisers on the boat. A UK couple are up to 38. I doubt we’ll live long enough to do that or have the money.
We left Saint Petersburg at 7.00 pm last night so had plenty of daylight to check out the “newer” parts of the city. These included the massive port infrastructure that stretches for miles along the river and into the bay as you head out to sea. There were dozens and dozens, possibly hundreds of cranes at container terminals, a scrap iron wharf, wharves where there were acres and acres of what looked like cement bags, thousands of aluminium ingots and dry docks and floating dry docks galore plus a naval shipyard. Not one crane was operating, there were no people to be seen and there was no vehicle movement anywhere. It was positively eerie – almost as if the whole place shut down when the communists left. Big ports operate 24/7 all year round and especially when the temperature is 22 degrees in a port that ices up in winter.

I was reminded of the Peter Sellers movie, The Mouse That Roared where this tiny imaginary European country decides to invade America and lose so the Yanks will rebuild their country. They just happened to arrive in New York during a nuclear war exercise so everyone was in bomb shelters. They had to go home to report that unfortunately they had won. If the Germans took on Leningrad (the original sign at the port entrance is still there) again, disguised as tourists on cruise ships they’d win hands down. They would however have a fight on their hands with the Chinese who are everywhere and not just in Russia. They take photos of everything in minute detail so don’t be surprised if a few imitation Peterhofs or Hermitage palace museums spring up in Guangzhou.
Being in Finland I feel somewhat compelled to have a Pure Blonde beer but less compelled to have a pickled herring burger or reindeer hot dog. I’m sorry but the only reindeer I know all have names and are absolutely vital to the success of Christmas so eating them just wouldn’t feel right.

I’m reminded of the Finnish national anthem which goes something like this:
Finland, Finland, Finland,
The country where I just want to be,
Pony trekking or riding,
Or just watching TV.
It was written by either that famous Finnish composer Sibelius or by Monty Python. I can’t recall which.

Speaking of notable Finnish, Paavo Nurmi is a local hero who had many notable finishes at the 52 Olympics which were held here. He was a distance runner. There is a statue of him outside the Olympic stadium and he’s nude. I thought that was Ancient Greece not 20th century Europe.
But what a wonderful place (like most places we’ve been to this trip). The sun’s shining, there’s no wind, hardly a cloud in the sky and it’s 22 degrees. I could live here until +22 becomes -22 and the sea freezes. Then I’d shift to my summer palace in Redcliffe.

One more wonderful place to visit – Stockholm. We know it’s wonderful because we’ve been there. Consequently tomorrow we are undertaking a more unusual tourist caper. It’s a rooftop walking tour which goes to some pretty scary places apparently. So this could be the last post.

European Safari Part 6

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We arrived in the land of the cabbage cocktail and had all day (first of three) in Saint Petersburg. What an incredible place. Concrete blocks of flats with crumbling facades interspersed with magnificent palaces (also some with crumbling facades with literally piles of shattered masonry on the footpath), incredible museums and gold onion topped cathedrals. Re the crumbling facades, this place was under siege by the Germans in WWII for over 2 years so there’s a massive amount of restoration work still being done and they’ve done a brilliant job so far. Also there’re more statues than you can poke a stick at. It’s a bit like Paris in a lot of respects with Russian service staff about as humourless as your average French waiter. Three days here so another dose of culture tomorrow (today) then again on Monday.

Had our first Russian meal at lunchtime which started with a tot of ice cold vodka (very civilised), a bit of salmon caviar (so it was imitation caviar in fact) and a glass of anti-freeze champagne. The floor show was quite something. The establishment was a theatre restaurant so we had two musicians, one playing a triangular 3 string guitar type thing and the other playing a piano accordion without the piano bit. It had buttons on both ends. The guitarist could have got a gig with any thrash metal outfit. His hand speed had to be seen to be believed. Slash reckons he can play fast (he said it in his autobiography). He’d be pushed to keep up with this bloke. I was seriously impressed.

As the Japanese eat sashimi, the Koreans eat kimchi and the Indians eat curry, so apparently the Russians eat beetroot soup or borsch as it’s called and we were duly served it. We then had beef stroganoff naturally (chicken stroganoff on day two). Apparently stroganoff was invented by Count Stroganoff’s chef on account of the boss running out of teeth and not being able to handle steak.
We visited two palaces on day one and also a fort in which there is a cathedral where all the Tzars are buried including what they could retrieve from various mine shafts of the last lot, the Romanovs (the computer just changed that to “aroma nobs” for some reason). Visited yet another palace on day two being the one where Rasputin was murdered plus a spectacular church (The Church on the Spilled Blood) built by Alexander II’s son on the exact spot where the old man was blown up by anarchists and bled to death. We also did a boat cruise which is always a good way to see somewhere especially somewhere with over 300km of waterways.
The opulence and frankly, sickening extravagance of the nobility in the 18th and 19th centuries (the child bride, she who will never go camping, thought it perfectly acceptable) gives you some idea why the peasantry eventually got the hump in 1917. Ultimately it was just one mob of nobility being replaced by another set of self proclaimed nobility, the difference being that the second lot didn’t have the fashion sense of the first although I understand Raisa Gorbachev made Mikhail’s Kremlin issue credit card smoke whenever they got anywhere where the shops stocked more than turnips.
We saw a statue of Voltaire in the Hermitage Museum – Catherine the Great’s winter palace in Saint Petersburg and now a museum that rivals the Louvre. Catherine bought all of Voltaire’s books, letters and other writings when he died. It’s kind of ironic that his complete works are here and he’s the bloke who said “I may not like what you say but will defend to the death your right to say it” (or something similar). Hardly the motto of the communists (or the erstwhile nobility) and not something Vlad subscribes to either I’ll wager. That reminds me of another Estonian Russian joke. Apparently speech was as free in the Soviet Union as it was in the USA. In the USA you could stand in front of the White House and shout “Down with Reagan”. Similarly you could stand in front of the Kremlin and shout “Down with Reagan” as well.

Speaking of Vlad, he figures prominently on souvenir shop t-shirts, in a very positive way as action-man in various poses. Maybe it’s the locals taking the piss but I don’t think so unless the country that gave us the gulag is more nuanced than we think. I’m only aware of one t-shirt “celebrating” an Aus PM. It says “F….k Tony Abbott” and was produced by a journalist for The Age newspaper in Melbourne. Incidentally, The Age is known locally as Pravda on the Yarra so it stands to reason doesn’t it.

We saw quite a few wedding parties on the first two days. There are so many great places for photos so the bridal parties were out in force. I have to say, as a confirmed male chauvinist pig (do femonazis still say that?), Russian girls are extremely attractive (think female Russian tennis players) whereas the blokes all seem to be pasty faced petrol pump attendants. Talk about punching above their weight. All of them.
Question – why do Americans abroad think we are even remotely interested in what they have to say? We are in the bar part of the restaurant at the back of the ship and are surrounded by shouting Yanks. STFU readily springs to mind. It is possible to converse and laugh without taking everyone in the post code into your confidence. The CB thinks I’m getting grumpy in my old age. I’m not. My tolerance for stupidity is just reducing. The people on the next table must be on party drugs.