Carry on- Follow that camel

 Last night we stayed in a fully restored 'painted house' hotel. It was absolutely beautiful, which just goes to show what can be achieved with a bit of elbow grease and free rein with the Dulux colour chart.

Full marks then, for decor, but disappointed not to see curry on the breakfast menu.

Moving on, and after another 7 hours of tedium, we arrived in the town of Bikaner. We were here primarily to visit the fort (not UNESCO).

Built in the 16th century, it's famous for never having been conquered despite being built on flat ground rather than the more usual hilltop.

Inside, we were led past various pieces of aging weaponry (bizarrely there was a biplane in amongst the scimitars.......)

The fort has also served time as a palace and so we dutifully traipsed through a few bedrooms before it was back onto the coach.

By now, it was early evening and it was time for the main event of the day. An outdoor evening of cultural entertainment, and dining under the stars. 

Situated in a desert landscape, there unfortunately seemed only one way to arrive:

Camel-cart.

For those readers unfamiliar with this particular mode of transport, allow me to explain. It's a cart. Pulled by a camel.

Yes. Exactly like this. In fact, this is our cart and highly qualified driver. 

Let me tell you blog-mates, this is not a vehicle built for comfort. My ribs took a right old bashing I can tell you. Not to mention my rear end. 

The entertainment began with a recital featuring that most feared of instruments, the bagpipes, and I began to realise exactly why the fort down the road had never been conquered. 

The music continued during our al fresco meal, along with a dancer who whirled around most impressively before her grand finale involving what appeared to be a fully lit candelabra on her head.

All in all, a remarkable cultural evening.

Mandawar and the painted houses

After another curry themed breakfast, we once again boarded our sub-luxury coach and set off for Mandawar. Much hyped by our guide as an 'open air art gallery' we were more than willing to submit to the 7 hour journey to see it. 

Halfway through, and with most of us having second thoughts about the whole outing, we stopped for a refreshing lunch of curry.

As a result, the remaing 4 hours of the journey flew by. Undeterred by the many cattle in the road nor by the suicidal intent of most of the other drivers, we soldiered on and finally reached Mandarwar.

Stepping from the coach, with a heightened sense of anticipation we prepared to be 'charmed by the colourful frescos'.

Seasoned readers of this blog ( those that aren't in some kind of institution) will have a sense of what's to come.

Stepping deftly over the steaming piles of sacred cow dung, we approached the first house.

To say I was disappointed is quite the understatement. 

I can't say I was overly charmed. The next house proved slightly better, but honestly, none of them are going to feature in an issue of Homes and  Gardens any time soon.

The 7 hour drive was not completely wasted however. We did see some baby owls......

By the way, the missing members of our party have finally turned up! (I know you were concerned).

Djelhi babies

 

Namaste blog-mates!  We're finally in Delhi. Our plane landed at around 04.30 this morning and after hanging about in the airport for a couple of hours, waiting for missing group members, someone casually mentioned that in fact,said members had actually missed the flight and would follow on later today.

Oh how we laughed...........

Once on board the coach, our guide introduced himself. Apparently his name is Lalit, although by this time it's safe to say that to the majority of us his name was mud.

We set off in search of breakfast and after a nourishing plate of curry and chips, we were ready for the first sightseeing jaunt.

Our target was the Qutb Minar, (no idea how you pronounce it) which as I'm sure you're aware, is the tallest minaret in Delhi. And a UNESCO World heritage site (obviously).

It's a whopping 73m tall and has no fewer than 379 steps inside leading to the top. However entry is now prohibited, following a grisly stampede in 1981 in which 45 people were killed.  

Sill, it's an ill wind and all that......

So, this minaret and ruined mosque complex thing. Quite impressive. Lovely brickwork,  Judge for yourselves:

 Once Lalit had decided we'd seen enough bricks, he let us back on the coach and brought us to the hotel.

Which is where I'm writing this, lulled by the gentle rhythm of full-on Delhi rush hour traffic.

And we're off ! (Again....)

 Welcome back blogmates! I hope you're all fit and ready (if not entirely willing) to join us on our Passage through India.

Currently, we're in Istanbul Airport, attempting to fill a mere 3 hours before our flight to Delhi.    

I'll be honest, there's not a lot of distractions on offer. And the airport services are blunt and to the point:

Needless to say, trusty JB has sniffed out a bar, but at a remarkable 16 Euros per pint, we've decided we're not that thirsty.  

In any case, we can amuse ourselves by thinking of fun facts about Istanbul.......

Well, that didn't take long. It's now only 2 hours and 47 minutes of waiting................

And no Turkish delight in sight.

Foreign Pie News

Cheese and Ham Pie: The Bakery Rhodes Old Town 

Despite the crushing disappointment of the spinach and feta pie from this establishment, we decided to give it another chance...

Pastry: 

Startlingly yellow, with a crimped crust possibly an attempt at suggesting a rustic origin. Taste wise however, it was a total dud. The crimping had created areas of extreme toughness, contrasting unpleasantly with the rest of the pie which had the texture of a well used flannel.

Filling:

Billed as a 'Cheese and Ham Pie', this came as a bitter disappointment.  The discovery of a layer of tomato ketchup (and not even Heinz) was as unwelcome as it was unnecessary.  Discerning no cheese whatsoever, I took the rash decision to lift  the pastry lid. The image of the pseudo ham that was revealed will haunt me for many a year.......

An absolute disgrace. 

I might add that it pains me to post this now, given that today is the  the start of UK Pie Week. 

Sadly (depending on your point of view) it's also the last post for this trip.

Thanks for your company blogmates, and stay tuned for the next chapter..........

The Palace of the Grand Master (with bonus museum)

After walking to Rhodes Town and back (22,000 steps!)  most of yesterday was taken up with applying various ointments and liniments to our mangled knees and trotters.

Sensibly this morning, we opted to take the bus into town for our free visit to the palace and museum. Built in the 14th century it was the administrative centre of the Knights of St John of Jerusalem ( aka the Knights Hospitallers  aka The Knights of St John of Malta - very dodgy if you ask me) and the fairly ritzy home of the order's Grand Masters (so much for the vow of poverty...) between 1309 and 1522, when the pesky Ottomans took over Rhodes.

They used the building mainly as a fortress and prison (not having any Grand Masters to house) until 1912, despite it being blown up when lightning struck the gunpowder store in 1856. (Take note: NEVER store your gunpowder in bulk without adequate protection from lightning)

From 1912 to 1948, Rhodes was occupied by the Italians, (a source of huge shame to Rhodians, and rightly so. I mean, the Italians.....really....??).

Anyway, the Italians rebuilt the broken bits of the palace to make it into a fitting home for both Mussolini and King Victor Emmanuel 111, so all's well that ends well I suppose......

The palace was stuffed with some very nice mosaics (looted from Kos in the 1930's.... what did you expect???) and questionable sculptures:

There's only so much you can take of this sort of thing, even if it is free, and we fled the palace, for the archaeological museum (free entry)

The museum is housed in the former hospital building of the multiple-identity Knights.  The exhibits lean heavily toward the pottery side of things, which in all honesty, I couldn't be bothered to photograph (don't pretend you'd have been interested)

It has beautiful gardens though, with more mosaics ( not looted ones)

Cultural commitments completed, (and free of charge, don't forget) we boarded the bus back to our hotel and happy hour.

Foreign Pie News

 Spanakopita pie (The Bakery, Rhodes Old Town)

Pastry:

Filo pastry, which somehow managed to be crisp and flaky in parts and oily and soggy in others.

Filling:

Feta cheese and spinach, with added olive oil to ensure maximum greasiness. We'd been warned by the baker that it was very salty, but if so, we must have been given a rogue one.

Initially, it was a very pleasant experience, but about halfway through, the overwhelming oiliness was fairly off-putting, not to mention slippery to grip.

A tasty treat provided you only eat the non-oily half. 

Disappointing. 

Rhodes old town (again)

We set off at a jaunty pace this morning in the face of what was at least a Force Ten gale to pay another visit to UNESCO heritage site Rhodes Old Town.

We'd intended visiting the Palace of the Grand Master and the Archeological Museum.  However, on discovering that entrance to both is free on Sunday, we decided that, despite the nearly 6km trudge in less than perfect conditions we'd prefer to save the whopping 80 euro entrance fees and come back then.

Instead, we wandered through Rhodes Old Town (UNESCO heritage) and mooched about Mandraki Harbour.  This, if you fall for the tour guide schtick was the site of the Colossus of Rhodes. I mean, really, let's look at the facts......

Alledgedly standing 33m tall and weighing in at approximately 70 tons, there's no way it could have stood there. Besides, archaeologists now reckon it stood somewhat inland. (And they're now probably discussing how much to charge for entry )

Anyway,  marking the dodgy spot today  are a couple of pillars, topped with a stag and a doe.

The building you can see in the background is the 15th century fort of St Nicholas (closed to the public no matter how much you pay)

As we strolled around the harbour, looking at the various floating gin palaces moored up, one in particular caught my eye...

JB assumed an air of innocence, claiming never to have seen the vessel before.....

Incidentally, we bumped into Hapless Rep Michael on our stroll. He'd run into Doner Trump that morning and the two had had something of an angry disagreement about which of them told the biggest whoppers to their tour guides. (I'm paraphrasing here...)

And all this in front of mesmerised tourists. Such professionalism is rarely encountered .

I'm only sorry I wasn't there to film it.

Ixia

 Welcome to our first full day  back in Rhodes.  We're in Ixia, slightly south of Rhodes Town (not that you care, I imagine).

The beach here in Ixia is across a fairly busy main road and there's an underpass to allow for a safe passage. Disappointingly, this morning, the underpass was somewhat soiled:

The beach itself is pebbly - like Chesil Beach, but much smaller. And not as many pebbles. And in Greece....

As mentioned yesterday, the hotel is quite nice, although this hasn't prevented a fairly large section of the residents becoming incandescent in their rage against hapless rep, Michael. (Almost certainly not his real, Greek name)

Possibly against his better judgement, he convened a meeting this afternoon with the sole purpose of flogging his island trip on Friday.

This quickly descended into a shouting match with hotel residents yelling increasingly bizarre complaints, ranging from having to wait for a lift whilst suffering from arthritis to dislike of the shower screens in the bathroom. Strong stuff.

Nevertheless, by means of shouting loudly and disparagingly over any hint of grievance, he managed to avoid actual physical harm.

However, as Scarlett O'Hara said, 'Tomorrow is another day'....

Farewell to Turkey

 Following our customary 4am call to prayer from the mosque opposite the hotel ( it really works. We were moved to exclaim 'Oh God! each time we heard it), we headed back out to join the coach for our return journey to Rhodes.

Somewhat foolishly, Doner Trump had provided us all with feedback forms regarding the quality of hotel rooms, meals, the excursions and, crucially what we thought of our guide......

Initially, there was much excitement as people began mapping out the best phrases to describe the less than stellar Doner.

 And then.....

Someone pointed out that our names were also written at the top of the form . Most then backed away from outright criticism, fearing another trip to the carpet factory. 

As I'm sure you're aware by now blogmates, I'm made of sterner stuff. I had considered just putting the link to this blog by way of feedback but settled in the end for a few choice words.

I won't deny, it made for a slightly frosty five hour coach trip to the ferry port.  It was apparent that Doner had read the forms.

Once in Marmaris we boarded the catamaran for our 'scenic cruise ' back to Rhodes.  In fact, you're seated so low and the windows are so salt-encrusted that visibility is nil. But still, I suppose it was a catamaran and we were cruising along, so two out of three......

At last, we docked in Rhodes and after a mere one and a half hours of queueing (outside. And it was very windy) we were stamped back into Greece.

We're now settled into our hotel which at first glance seems very nice.

Stay tuned though.........

Kusadasi

 Here we are then, on the outskirts of the seaside town of Kusadasi.

Remarkably, today was a free day. No coach trip, and thus we're all on a knife-edge wondering if Doner's daughter ( very very intelligent) will get her scholarship in the USA (very very good college)

Actually, there was a trip, to Doner's home town of Izmir, but as it was optional, only eight people were sufficiently broken to sign up. (Obviously, we feel for them, but ultimately it's  a far better thing etc..)

As for the rest of us, I confess we're all a bit stir crazy. The hotel is lovely and right next to the beach. (Although you are greeted by some fairly dubious statuary as you enter...)

Apparently they're not boobies strapped to         her front, but are, in fact, bull's testicles.            (Turkish stonemasons eh? What will                             they think of next?.....)

Refusing to be put off  by the filthy figurine, JB and I decided that a stroll along the promenade would be just the ticket.

And, guess what? It was!............

Its back to the grind tomorrow as we embark on the 5 hour journey to Marmaris and the ferry back to Rhodes. 

The Empire Strikes Back

 Following yesterday's quasi-mutiny, there was a palpable air of nervousness around the coach this morning as we waited for Doner Trump to make her appearance. 

Dispensing with her usual morning monologue about what her great grandparents received as wedding gifts, she instead went straight into an anecdote about some Norwegians on a previous tour who, despite the fact that that it was raining in on them while they were seated on the bus, merely raised their umbrellas and had a jolly good Nordic chuckle.

And the moral of this convoluted tale was this:

If you complain about things, you'll never enjoy your holiday. Stop complaining. 

Clearly this thinly veiled rebuke was intended to quell any further ideas of mutiny.

Of course, by now, most of us have given up listening to her (either as a means of self preservation or simply due to misplaced hearing aids). She could announce her intention to purchase Greenland and the majority of the coach would be none the wiser.....

But coming so early in the day and combined with the undercurrent of fear following yesterday's rebellion, it hit home.

And worse was to come. In an act of the purest malice, we were taken first to the Jewellery Makers Centre and then straight on to the Leather Showroom, where we endured a 'fashion show' .

By now, several members of our group were openly weeping. ( JB and I, having discovered the complimentary raki table remained relatively unscathed.)

After a very subdued lunch, we drove around the outside of the Treasures of Ephesus and not one voice was raised in dissent.

Carpet bagged

Today's tour began at the ungodly hour of 6am, with an alarm call thoughtfully booked (without our knowledge) by our increasingly deranged tour guide, Doner Trump.

Oh how we laughed.........

Especially as the coach wasn't leaving until 7.30.....

After a brief 10 minute stop to look at some hot air balloons ('Most popular ones in Turkey'), we were off to our first stop of the day.

THE CARPET WORKSHOP

Universally feared by all right-minded people, the Carpet Workshop, along with its equally evil siblings, The Leather Showroom and The Jewellery Makers Centre form an unholy trinity of places you're forced into during one of these tours.

Once inside, and with the doors securely fastened, you're asked to:

Marvel at the skill of the wizened old peasant crone seated on a platform, weaving a carpet!

Exclaim at the natural dyes used!

Gasp at the silkworm cocoons!

Then it's on to the saleroom where, after a softening up glass of raki, carpets of all shapes and sizes are unfurled before your delighted gaze.

And a bargain at only £2000 each.

Once the carpet-flinging has died down, the real business begins. Hapless tour members are paired off with a salesman and woe betide you should your gaze wander from your shoes for a millisecond.

Old hands at this game however, JB and I drank the raki and, once the saleroom door opened, headed straight to the coffee shop, rounding up less experienced tour members as we went.

I regret to say that three of our party succumbed to the hard sell, but we managed to save over 25 fellow travellers.

 Back on the coach, Doner proudly reminded us that these carpets are the best in the world, as indeed are the peasants girls who weave them  and in fact anything remotely Turkish in origin.

Then it was time for lunch.

We were herded into a restaurant  where a set menu had been prepared (scrambled egg as a starter was a new experince for me, but given that it was still only 11.30, I suppose the confusion was understandable) .

Throughout the meal, we were entertained/tormented by Bouzouki Bill (not his real name).  Bill's optimism clearly knew no bounds as fastened to his bouzoki was a small basket labelled 'Tips'...

Once back on board the coach, Doner broke the news that tomorrow's widely anticipated tour of  'The treasures of  Ephesus ' would not as imagined take place within the city. Instead, we're going to drive round the outside and look at some photos she has of the actual treasures behind the walls.

Considering how the day had gone so far, this news was not well received. The atmosphere was as tense as I imagine  it was on HMS Bounty shortly before they lowered the rowing boat.

And then it started to rain.........

Ruinous Friday

 This morning marked our full proper tour day in Turkey.

Giddy with anticipation (and possibly the lingering after effects of tonic wine) we boarded the coach.

Our Turkish guide, the improbably named Rosie (clearly an assumed name ) was chirpy.

So chirpy in fact, that several of our party reached for their Horlicks and/or Mogadon.......

Her speaking style appears to be heavily influenced by the inflated orange buffoon Donald Trump. 

Happily, I remained unconcerned by her Trumpian torrent engrossed as I was by a rather fine audio version of Wuthering Heights..........

(AHEM) Anyway...............

Our first stop of the day was to an 'artisansal market place' which turned out to be a petrol station with a fast food cafe attached. 

After an admittedly tasty portion of pide (essentially cheese on toast)  it was back on the coach .

Following what seemed an interminable drive later, we arrived at the remains of the ancient city of Afrodisias.

Dedicated to the goddess Aphrodite, it was once a thriving and cosmopolitan city. 

Ruined now, it stands as a sobering reminder to the inhabitants of Congleton, Blackburn, Swansea and the like.

 (You know who you are. Yes. You!!!,)

Anyway here's some pics of the way things could go........

Then it was back on the coach to Pamukkale, a UNESCO World heritage site.                      (Of course it is)

A scientist  (JB) explains:

'The water at Pamukkale is heavy on the calcium carbonate content . Water is heated by the geothermic process. ( apparently this is responsible for earthquakes and the like) As the water cools, the calcium carbonate is deposited in solid form.'

In other words, you get solid walls of white crystals forming, resembling, variously, snow, icing sugar, petrified waterfalls or as one member of our group suggested, premium cocaine.......

Judge for yourselves....

We're now in our hotel for the night (ficticiously described as 5 star - the shower exploded when I tried to use it)

There's a thermal pool within the hotel (geothermal thingy at work again) which is heavily advertised as being a certain cure for whatever ails you.

However, this being Day 4 of our tour, I've had plenty of time to observe at first hand the dermatological horrors present amongst some of our group, and in the interests of self preservation, declined the offer to bathe.

Until tomorrow then......

Rhodes forward....

 Today, we bid a temporary farewell to Rhodes, (despite the fact that the sun had finally deigned to show itself), but not before a lightning tour of the UNESCO world heritage site, the medieval City of Rhodes.

One time haunt of the Knights of St John of Malta, the medieval city is surrounded by at least three walls, an assortment of (dry) moats and is criss-crossed by all manner of winding side streets, with impressive vaulted ceilings seeming to be ten a penny (or €0.00001211 )

We fully intend to subject the place to a deeper scrutiny* next week, but for now, here's a few snapshots.....

*Especially worth the extra scrutiny is the plainly ridiculous claim that these "original" cannonballs were fired from this "original cannon.......

The scent of a swizz lies heavy in the air.....

For now though, our attention turns to Turkey. Following a textbook transfer from coach to catamaran involving a mere two and a half hours of standing aimlessly on the quayside ( several members of our party required emergency administration of Sanatogen), we've finally arrived in Marmaris where we are to spend only one night before pressing on tomorrow....

I pray the Sanatogen supply holds out.....