Benidorm 1977 – First impressions and the Hotel Don Juan

In 1976 I travelled to Europe for the first time to Sorrento in Italy with my dad who obligingly stepped in at the last moment following a bit of romantic trouble when just before departure my girlfriend went off with the head reporter from the local newspaper.  Very soon after that we patched things up and in October the following year I went to Spain with my fiancée, Linda.  We could have gone practically anywhere we liked, so long as it was within our restricted budget of course, but we choose to go to Benidorm on the Costa Blanca for two whole weeks and we selected the Don Juan hotel on the Avenida del Mediterráneo, just behind the Levante beach because Linda had been there some time before with her parents and had liked it.

Benidorm is one of the most popular tourist locations in Europe, today six million people go there each year on holiday but in 1977 it was even more popular and that year attracted the most holidaymakers ever and over twelve million people poured into the city.  That peak in numbers has never been matched since and it is unlikely that it ever will be.  In the early 1960s my grandparents visited Benidorm several times in the Freddy Laker days of package holidays and came home with exotic stories and suitcases full of unusual souvenirs, flamenco dancing girls, matador dolls and velour covered bulls that decorated their living room and collected dust for the next twenty years or so. 

The name Costa Blanca was allegedly conceived as a promotional name by British European Airways when it first launched its air service between London and Valencia in 1957 at the start of the package holiday boom.  At that time the cost of the fare was £38.80p which may not sound a lot now but to put that into some sort of perspective in 1960 my dad took a job at a salary of £815 a year so that fare would have been about two and a half weeks wages!  The average UK weekly wage today is £450 so on that basis a flight to Spain at British European Airline prices would now be £1,100.  Thank goodness then for Ryanair because I flew to Seville last year for just £30 return which represents just about three hours work today in comparison with what of been about a hundred hours in 1960.

We flew from Luton Airport in Bedfordshire (made famous by Lorraine Chase in the 1970s Campari television adverts) on Monarch Airlines which was in the days before low cost airlines when flying still felt exclusive and glamorous.  The pilots were all ex RAF and called Toby or Edward and the air hostesses were tall and elegant, wore smart uniforms and looked like catwalk models.  The seats were comfortable with generous leg space and there was a free meal thrown in.  There was a drinks trolley at below UK prices (today a cup of tea on Ryanair costs £3) and a genuine duty free service for spirits, tobacco and perfume.

As an experience flying has mostly deteriorated in quality since 1976 except in one important area where there has been massive improvement.  In 1976 passengers that smoked were still allowed to light up a cigarette on board which meant that because of the way aeroplanes recirculate air in the cabin everyone else had to as well.  To be fair they did all have to sit at the back of the aircraft, a bit like Dante’s Inferno, and puff away together but after a couple of hours there was a horrible acrid odour of stale tobacco and the entire cabin smelt like an unemptied ash tray.  Actually it wasn’t just cigarettes but pipes and cigars as well and even the cigarette smokers complained about this.  Pipes and cigars were banned in 1979 but a ban on cigarettes had to wait for another ten years.  As there has been no smoking now on planes for twenty years I am always curious why arm rests still have ash trays in them because the only purpose they serve now is a place for ignorant people to stick their discarded chewing gum.

The flight lasted a little over two hours and then we landed at Alicante airport about sixty kilometres from Benidorm and as this was in a time before Spain’s modern motorway network the coach took the old coast road north through a string of small towns and villages.  Just past Villajoyosa on the coast and the one thousand four hundred metre high Puig Campana Mountain to the west  we snatched our first glimpses of Benidorm out of the right hand side windows of the coach and we could see a ribbon of golden sand at the fringe of the magnificent bay and behind it a strip of concrete skyscrapers towering into the blue sky above.

Once in Benidorm we went through the tedious process of dropping people off at their hotels and as the Don Juan was at the far end of the eastern Levante beach we had to wait quite a while to arrive there.  Thirty years or so later the Don Juan isn’t there anymore and I might be mistaken here but it might now be the refurbished Don Pancho.  It certainly looks similar and it is just about the right location.  If I am correct it is only two hundred metres from the Hotel Los Pelicarnos on the Calle Girona, which is famous for being the setting of the TV comedy show, Benidorm.

The Don Juan was a typical 1970s Spanish seaside resort hotel with a cavernous reception and public area, a dining room that was little more than a school canteen and an entertainment room for evening activity.  The hotel was an eighteen storey concrete and chrome building and we had a room on the front about half way to the top with a good view out to sea.  In the 1970s rooms could only be described as functional because these were the days before mini-bars, TVs, internet wifi access and complimentary cosmetics in the bathroom but it was nice enough and it was going to be our home for two weeks.

Later that day we had our first evening meal at the Don Juan and it has to be said that this was by no stretch of the imagination a gourmet experience.  The menu was limited and consisted mostly of the sort of food that British holidaymakers, unfamiliar with Spanish cuisine, would have insisted upon in 1977, beef burgers or chicken, chips and overcooked vegetables with everything, and for sweet it was crème caramel or ice cream and it was the same choice for the whole of the fortnight.  One thing was certain – it was unlikely that we would be introduced to traditional Spanish food on this holiday.  To be fair however anything ethnic may have come as shock because like most English people I wasn’t ready for tortilla and gazpacho and although I am now rather partial to tapas and paella I had certainly never been introduced to these Iberian gastronomic delights in 1977.

If the twelve million visitors to Benidorm came in equal numbers each week, which of course they didn’t, then there would have been nearly a quarter of a million visitors to entertain every night and after dinner we walked to the old town, which even in October was bursting at the seams with visitors wandering around the bars getting lashed and the shops buying things they didn’t really need.  In 1977 most of Spain was still shaking off the restrictions of the old Franco regime, in June there had been the first elections to the national Parliament since 1936, but Benidorm was way ahead of the rest of the country.

It was loud, brash and noisy and so was the hotel when we returned later on.  There was entertainment on the ground floor and even though we were at least six floors up the noise from the disco could be heard all the way up to our room.  The booming of the bass kept us awake and so did the loud German couple sitting on the balcony of the room next door who were having a conversation with someone in Hamburg!  Sleeping has never really been a problem for me and I eventually managed to drop off but sometime in the early hours of the morning I woke up and found Linda on the balcony tired and sobbing and desperately in need of sleep.  I think that it was at this point that I wondered just how we were going to survive fourteen nights in Benidorm!

Switzerland

In the morning we had a good late breakfast and the friendly owner of the hotel Sulzburg looked up the ferry crossing times for us on the internet website and the crossing scheduled for twenty past eleven looked absolutely perfect, so we checked out, said goodbye, promised to come back and set off towards Romanschorn. 

We drove along the Seestrasse which runs directly along the side of the lake, first through the municipality of Horn which although being in the Canton of Arbon is separated from it by a part of the Canton of St. Gallen, and then the town of Arbon where I calculated that we had time to spare and so we parked the car and walked along the lake for one last look across the water from the Swiss side.  It was a lovely town, spotlessly clean with no litter or graffiti, manicured lawns and perfect flower beds.  Switzerland was voted second in the World quality of life survey carried out by the Economist Intelligence Unit in 2006 and I imagine that a town like Arbon must have helped secure the high score (if you are wondering, France was first and the United Kingdom was eighteenth).  In the same survey, out of the top ten cities voted best to live in, Switzerland had three, Geneva, Zurich and Bern.

There was still plenty of spare time to get to the ferry terminal but then things went badly wrong and I followed signs to the passenger ferry instead of the car ferry and ended up on the wrong side of the harbour.  The ferry was in and cars were driving on but I just couldn’t find a way to get there.  Finally I had to drive out of the town and start again and we eventually arrived at the terminal to watch the ferry passing out of the harbour entrance.  The ferries run every hour so the only thing to do was to park the car and take a short walk into the town and have a relaxing beer and calm down.  We found a hotel with tables outside and we sat in the sun and talked about our holiday.

We tried to agree on five things that make Switzerland famous.  Our final choice might have included Roger Federer or Ursula Andress but in the end we agreed upon Swiss watches of course, that was obvious, cuckoo clocks because even though they are strictly speaking from Germany the Swiss were important for the ‘chalet’ style that they introduced at the end of nineteenth century and is the sort of cuckoo clock where it is common to have a Swiss music box with tunes like ‘Edelweiss’ and ‘The Happy Wanderer’.  Muesli, which was introduced around 1900 by the Swiss doctor and nutritionist Maximilian Bircher-Benner for patients in his hospital in Zurich.  Toblerone, the Swiss chocolate bar that was invented by Theodore Tobler in 1908 in his factory in Bern but most of all we had to agree on the Swiss Army knife.

Various models of Swiss Army knives exist, with different tool combinations for specific tasks. The most common tools featured are, in addition to the main blade, a smaller second blade, tweezers, toothpick, corkscrew, can opener, bottle opener, slotted screwdriver, flat-head screwdriver, phillips-head screwdriver, nail file, scissors, saw, file, hook, magnifying glass, ballpoint pen, fish scaler, hex wrench w/bits, pliers and key chain. Recent technological features include USB flash drives, digital clock, digital altimeter, LED light, laser pointer, and MP3 player.  That’s a startling collection of potential weapons in one utensil but I can’t help thinking that it was a good job Switzerland didn’t go to war with Germany because I can’t imagine Hitler’s crack Panzer division being turned back by an army wielding nailfiles and toothpicks.  Manufacturers today  supply over fifty thousand a year to the Swiss Army which works out at a new knife for every soldier just about every three years or so.

We decided that we liked Switzerland and wished that we could spend another couple of days here.  When it was time to leave we paid for our drinks with what has to be some of the finest bank notes in the world.  Everyone knows that the Swiss are fond of money and they leave no one in any doubt of this with the quality of their notes.  Not only are they brilliantly colourful but they are printed on high quality paper as well.   These bank notes reminded me of my dad’s insistence on always returning home from foreign holidays with currency for his personal treasure chest.  Even if it was 90˚ in the shade and everyone was desperate for a last drink at the airport dad was determined to bring a souvenir note or coin home and would hang on with a steadfast determination and would deny last minute drinks to everyone so long as he could get his monetary momentos back home safely.  How glad I am of that because now they belong to me and my left-over Swiss bank notes have been added to the collection.

Soon it was time to go so not wishing to miss a second ferry we returned to the terminal in good time, joined the queue of traffic and eventually boarded the boat.  We took a seat on the top deck and watched Switzerland slip away and Germany draw closer and as we looked back there was a dramatic sky with big rolling clouds over the Alps and a tourist zeppelin negotiating its route around the edge of the lake.  After forty minutes we were back in the Federal Republic and passing through customs and reassuring the border guards that we had nothing to declare.  This all seemed a bit unnecessary but I suppose Switzerland isn’t in the European Union and rules are rules!  Interestingly Germany has more neighbours and borders on mainland Europe than any other European country, which I suppose partly explains why they were so dangerous at various times in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. 

No prizes but see if you can name all nine, the answer is at the foot of the page.

  

Germany’s neighbours: Austria, Belgium, Czech Republic, Denmark, France, Luxembourg, Netherlands, Poland and Switzerland. At various times in the twentieth century it has invaded or annexed all of them except Switzerland.  Lucky Switzerland!  Austria and France both have eight European mainland neighbours.

Lichtenstein

Liechtenstein is the fourth smallest independent European state after the Vatican City, Monaco and San Marino.  It is predominantly Germanic but the only German speaking state that does not have a national border with Germany itself.  When the Holy Roman Empire was abolished by Napoleon in 1806 all of Europe seemed to forget about this tiny insignificant Principality and the royal family were able to keep their heads down and have continued to exist as an independent state ever since and as such it is the only state in Europe with a remaining direct continuity with the thousand year old Holy Roman Empire of Charlemagne.  It is one of only two countries in the world that are double landlocked, the other is Uzbekistan, as neither of its neighbours, Switzerland or Austria have access to the sea either.  It is therefore safe to say that fishing is probably not an important contributor to the economy in Liechtenstein.

After an excellent breakfast and with Sally in possession of the map and entrusted with navigation duties we set off from the hotel and attempted first of all to plot a route over the mountain behind us.  The roads were narrow and after a while it became clear that they just went round in big circles without ever going across the top and down the other side so we had to abandon this course and return to the main road that took us effortlessly to the town of St Gallen, which is a sort of gateway to the Alps.  Here things became slightly more difficult and Sally’s navigational skills were tested to the limit as she was entrusted with the task of getting us through the town and on the road to Vaduz. 

Unusually for a girl it turned out that she is a natural at map reading and she guided us through and then selected a minor road and scenic route where the scenery was wonderful with green fields that looked like watercolours in the rain and clean alpine meadows all bathed under a gentle pastel blue sky.  In the fields adjacent to the roads there were honey coloured alpine cattle with full udders feeding on the lush grass and clanging noisily about on account of the huge cow-bells that they had hanging around their necks.  They were friendly and inquisitive and when we stopped to admire the view they came close and posed obligingly for photographs.

We climbed the road through the town of Tregen and continued along the scenic route and through the Ruppen Pass with more impressive views and then we picked up a main road that took us south through the low-lying plains of the Appenzell region.  This wasn’t quite so scenic but as we drove the Alps got closer and their high peaks began to loom overhead rising in dramatic style from the meadows and arable farmlands of this relatively flat part of Switzerland.  Unfortunately the weather ahead was beginning to change and dark clouds were hanging in the mountain passes.  Just before we crossed the border into Liechtenstein we came across a picturesque little town called Buchs where we stopped to admire the views of the Alps that completely surrounded this delightful little place and its attractive lake.  We didn’t linger for long because by now we were excited about arriving at our destination so we moved on and resumed our gentle drive south.

We passed through the unremarkable state capitol of Vaduz with the castle of the ruling Prince, the Schloss Vaduz, perched high overhead and with magnificent views of all that he possesses stretched out below.  Out of the city we began our ascent to the village of Triesenberg a thousand metres above Vaduz into the Alps.   As we climbed a road with spectacular hairpin bends it unexpectedly started to rain, gently at first but about half way to the village it really started to fall quite steadily which made driving more difficult than it might have been and we were glad when we arrived at the top.  We found a bar with an outside terrace overlooking the Rhine valley below and across into Switzerland and although it was still raining the terrace was sheltered and we took an outside table and enjoyed a drink and the magnificent view.  Although the rain was disappointing and the bar staff and the regulars thought we were slightly daft to be sitting outside we wouldn’t have missed this view for the world and it was so good that after the first drink we had a second and stayed a while longer.  

First of all before setting back to Rorschach we drove to the very top of the mountain above the town to the winter sports resort of Malbun.  The road was quiet and we made a leisurely ascent through small villages with an abundance of unoccupied winter ski chalets and as the road became steeper the car began to strain in objection to the uphill task.  The smell of burning clutch was enough to confirm that it wasn’t altogether enjoying the assignment of taking us to the top.  When we completed the drive and stopped in Malbun we were one thousand six hundred metres above sea level and there were good views to be had all around us.  The place was almost completely abandoned because by May there is no snow remaining in the valleys or on the ski slopes and only the very tops of the mountains still retained a covering.  The number of days of snow cover in the Alps is steadily reducing and the snow line is retreating because recent years have seen the warmest winters on record in the Alps and climate projections predict even higher temperatures in the future.  Scientists say that this is due to global warming and some warn that within twenty years skiing will not be possible below two thousand metres and already some investors are refusing to offer loans to resorts under one thousand five hundred metres as they worry about future snow cover.  Most ski resorts now rely on snow cannons to create simulated snow by pumping thousands of gallons of water into the air which turn to ice crystals to provide an artificial skiing surface but unfortunately these machines use so much energy and consume so much water that they are also contributing to the environmental damage and this solution to the no-snow problem may be self defeating.

We didn’t stay long at the top and not being able to get across the mountain because the road terminates at Malbun we returned down the mountain stopping in the Hamlet of Steg where we looked at the charming little chapel of St Wendelin that stands next to the River Samina that was flowing swiftly, full as it was of the last of the melted snow from the mountain top, and babbling excitedly as it surged towards the river valley below.  The views were excellent and we stopped a time or two to enjoy them, although we were reluctant to leave them behind we wanted to leave the Alps and return to the lake where to the east of us we could see that the weather looked much better.

So we drove out of Liechtenstein the way that we came, back through the unremarkable Vaduz and then across the Rhine and back into Switzerland. Vaduz was a bit disappointed but I don’t really know what I was expecting really, it just sounded as though it should be more interesting than it is, the very fact that it has been able to remain independent through two hundred turbulent years of European history should have given me a clue.  If none of its more powerful neighbours had taken a fancy to it or annexed it for themselves in all of that time that probably says a lot.  Although it is regarded now as a wealthy country this hasn’t always been the case because in the immediate aftermath of the Second-World-War the Prince of Liechtenstein had to sell off family heirlooms to stay solvent but in response to this sorry state of affairs the economy of Lichtenstein was completely modernised and the advantage of low corporate tax rates attracted many foreign companies to the country.  These days the Prince is the world’s sixth wealthiest head of state, with an estimated wealth of three billion Euro (by comparison, the personal fortune of Queen Elizabeth II of England is estimated at seven and a half billion Euro) and the residents of the country enjoy one of the world’s highest standards of living.  And that’s not bad for the world’s sixth smallest country!

We followed the road back through Buchs and across the alpine plain and back towards the lake at Rorschach taking a different route back across the hills surrounding the town but always making for the blue sky and the sun ahead of us.  In the late afternoon we arrived in the town and found a car park and took the short walk to the lakeshore.  The sun was shining now and the sky was a brilliant blue, and although the town had a Saga like feel, it was pleasant and safe and all that I needed to make this perfect was a bar.

We found somewhere nearly perfect, a swimming club building built on a promontory extending into the lake and with tables and chairs with a stunning view of the water looking out over to Germany on the other side of the water.  We spent a leisurely hour drinking beer and eating ice cream and then we walked along the promenade and back to the car.  Sally’s navigational skills continued to astound me and although I had completely forgotten the route back out of the town she negotiated our short drive to the hotel effortlessly. 

Lake Bled, Slovenia

In 2007 we went to Ljubljana in Slovenia and visited lovely Lake Bled in the Julian Alps.  The local bus passed out of the city and into the countryside and passed through green meadows flanked by snow capped mountains, vivid green fields surrounding semi Alpine villages with traditional farmhouses and churches.  Finally, after about an hour and twenty minutes on the efficient little bus we pulled into Bled and disembarked into the tourist town and the sunshine.  We planned to walk around the lake but before we started we found a terrace bar for refreshments and debated the alternatives of clockwise or anti-clockwise (a bit like choosing a route around the M25) and we both agreed that anti-clockwise for some unknown reason seemed preferable.

Soon we started our expedition around the lake and set off as planned.  The water was a pleasant turquoise, crystal clear and full of lazy fish resting under the shade of the trees and presumably appreciating and enjoying the fact that fishing here is strictly forbidden.  Quite by chance we spotted something unusual sitting on a rock by the side of the water and upon investigation were surprised to see a Red Eared Terrapin.  I tried to get close but this frightened it and it jumped into the water and swam away.  And then we saw another.  Red Eared Terrapins are not a natural species to the Europe, but have become common due to widespread release of imported pets by the public once it is realised that terrapins in captivity need a lot of care, as they can live to over forty years and they are aggressive, impart a painful bite, and become increasingly difficult to look after.  After they are released into the wild they can grow quite large and can reach the size of a dinner plate and become a real nuisance, chomping their way through native species: fish, newts, toads, frogspawn, dragonfly larvae and, possibly, the occasional young duck.

The water looked inviting so we decided that we would hire a boat and row to the island in the lake with a church.  It had been quite some time since I had been in charge of a boat and my rowing skills were a bit rusty when we cast off and I was called upon to do the Steve Redgrave thing and negotiate our passage across the short distance to the island.  Rowing can be quite a lot more difficult than it looks and I had some early problems coordinating the actions of left and right hand oars to keep us progressing in a straight line and with Kim in charge of plotting the course I had to make frequent adjustments to maintain the right direction.  I found it most helpful however when she began to beat out the rowing tempo in the manner of a Roman galley slave-master but I was worried that I might not be able to cope physically if she decided to up the pace to Ben Hur ramming speed!

We reached the island without incident even though I was slightly concerned by the strange sloshing sound of running water at the front of the boat, I believe the correct nautical term is stern, and I began to worry for a moment that we were certain to take on water and capsize but a quick inspection after we had moored up and with some difficulty left the boat put my mind at rest that this was really quite normal.

There are ninety-nine steps to the church at the top of the island and there is a tradition that if a bridegroom can carry his bride to the top without either stopping for breath or complaining then the couple will enjoy a happy marriage.  If you are tempted to try this super-human feat my then my advice is that you get engaged to a skinny girlfriend because these steps represent seriously hard work just to get yourself to the top without any unnecessary additional burden.  Or perhaps this is simply designed to get you ready for married life.

The island was an interesting little stop-over, it was apparently created one day as a punishment by God, who stopped by one time and was irritated to find his church full of cattle because the villages were suffering from the deadly sin of sloth and had become too lazy to watch over them and had left the church door open, so he made the lake so that in future they couldn’t get across to it.  A nice story but in actual fact the lake is glacial and was formed at the end of the last ice age when water poured in behind the retreating ice.

We left the island and as Kim was convinced that rowing a boat was a straightforward process and that I was simply an incompetent oarsman she decided to take responsibility for the return journey.  She was no better than me of course but I didn’t complain because I was enjoying sitting back in boat enjoying the warm sunshine and the slightly curious meandering route back to the shore.  She did however make a perfect docking procedure and we completed our walk around the lake stopping on route for a pizza and a beer at a bar with a raised terrace and a good view over the lake and after that we completed our circumnavigation of the water and caught the bus back to Ljubljana.

Oświęcim (Auschwitz), Poland

In 2006 we visited Krakow in Poland and went on a bus trip to the Nazi concentration camp at Auschwitz. 

After breakfast in the hotel we had a baffling incident about whether we had booked a tour or not; actually it turned out that we hadn’t but luckily there was a tour guide in the reception who did her best to make things as confusing as possible before taking our money and escorting us to the tour bus that was waiting patiently around the corner.    The cost of the full day excursion was one hundred and twenty zlotys each (about £24) and that seemed like good value to me.  She charged us the full adult price but issued us with half price student tickets, which I didn’t notice until later and was probably her way of making a little for herself. 

The bus made several more pick ups and then headed out west into the suburbs and finally the countryside for the one hour journey first through a mixture of affluent looking houses and poorer working class districts, then farmland and finally dense deciduous woodland with trees standing proud all stripped naked of leaves and waiting for winter to arrive. 

Actually the journey deteriorated into a bit of an ordeal!  I don’t think that the driver had noticed that the weather was unseasonably warm for December and the strong sun pierced the coach windows into a vehicle with the heating set to maximum.  The combination became quite uncomfortable and the heat and the motion sent Kim into a deep sleep and she missed most of the video that was showing about the history of the concentration camp.  Everyone was struggling to take off their heavy outdoor coats and I think the tour guide fell asleep too because once when the driver was negotiating a particularly sharp roundabout she fell out of her seat and tumbled into the stairwell of the bus.  Luckily she was uninjured and we carried on.

I wasn’t quite sure what to expect at Auschwitz and I confess to being a little apprehensive at the beginning of the tour especially when a cold wind seemed to blow across our faces at the very moment we passed through the infamous gates of the camp; or perhaps I just imagined it?  There is a story that no birds fly across the camp but I did see a solitary crow passing by so I presumed that this was indeed just a bit of folklore.  I didn’t see any more however.  It wasn’t quite what I expected to see, instead of the wooden barracks that I had imagined these were three storey brick buildings that looked quite comfortable and this didn’t seem wholly consistent with the truth of the horrors that took place here.  One million, six hundred thousand people killed as part of the Nazi’s ‘final solution’ including one million Jews, seventy-five thousand Poles and twenty-five thousand gypsies! 

Just imagine that! – Actually I think it is impossible to imagine that. 

When the camp was at its most ruthlessly efficient they slaughtered four hundred and fifty-eight thousand Hungarian Jews in just three months.  Just three months!  That is slightly over five thousand people a day!  I knew this of course but what I didn’t know is that the monsters actually sold them train tickets to get here.  Amongst the exhibits were empty Zyclon B canisters, the gas used to murder the prisoners, seven tonnes of human hair from an estimated one hundred and fifty thousand people and part of a grim recycling operation to process it into army uniforms; spectacles, pots and pans, suitcases with return addresses optimistically scrawled on them for identification and most moving of all a display of children’s clothes and possessions.  The owners of these personal belongings all died at the hands of the Nazi’s, the most hateful people that Europe has ever produced.

Usually when I am travelling I like to see sunshine and today the sun did shine but this seemed to be somewhat inappropriate, it occurred to me that this was a place where the sun should never shine again so that no one ever forgets the enormity of the crime.  We saw the death wall where an unknown number of people were murdered and the prison cells that were positively medieval in their cruelty; the starvation cell, the suffocation cell and the standing in a very confined space with others cell; and there was a display of photographs of the prisoners which in each case showed the dates of admission and of death, on average only three short months. 

Finally we passed through the first gas chamber and crematorium where seven hundred people at a time were gassed to death and this was a horrible place, grey, grim and cold.  For me the most shocking thought it that all of this took place less than ten years before I was born and my thoughts at this time were how lucky I have been to live a happy life.  I was bought up on tales of the war told to me by my father, but these were always gallant tales about impossibly brave paratroopers and square jawed commandos, about fearless desert rats and valiant fighter pilots, about courageous heroes and stiff upper lips, about medals and honours; I am certain that he never really understood what the war was like in the east.

After a short break we went to the adjacent Birkenau that was a much bigger second camp where people lived in wooden barracks and where most of the killing took place.  This was much more like what I had been expecting and so much more familiar to the films we have all seen.  This place was stark and ugly and we saw the platform where selection took place – work camp and a slow lingering death or an immediate bullet and a release from misery, and looming over all of this was the watchtower that kept guard over this entire evil place. 

The journey back was a time for personal reflection and the coach was eerily quiet as I am sure each visitor tried to make sense of what they had seen.  I am not certain I was able to do that but it was a place I wanted to visit and I’m glad that I did.

Black Forest, Germany

When I was a boy my parents had an LP record by Bert Kaempfert.  He was a German band leader who was quite popular in the 1960s.  They liked it!  One particular tune that I can remember distinctly was a jaunty little melody called ‘A walk in the Black Forest’ and today that was exactly what was on the planned itinerary.

It was a fine morning with a perfectly clear blue sky, just the way I like it, so after a substantial breakfast at the Hotel Merkur it was out of Baden-Baden in an easterly direction heading for the town of Gernsbach about ten kilometres away.  It was early and the town was quiet with just a few people on the way to church and what was interesting that the streets were all decorated with home made bunting all made from old rags and scraps of clothing but with no real clue to what it was all about.  I have to say that the really nice thing about German towns is the cleanliness and with the sun shining so considerately the town centre, adjacent to the fast flowing river Murg, was especially picturesque this morning. 

The road out of town followed the river and wasn’t especially fascinating but after a few kilometres a left hand turn took us into the mountains and towards Schwarzenbach-Stausee, a sort of reservoir lake in an especially picturesque location.  The car climbed steeply and negotiated a succession of hair pin bends first through deciduous trees surrounded by the remains of autumn leaf fall and then into dense conifer forest and as it did so we quite unexpectedly found ourselves above the snow line.  Suddenly the Black Forest was completely transformed into the White Forest.  There had been a substantial fall of snow a day or so before and the conifer trees were heavily laden with crisp white snow fixed in place by a hard frost and it was as though we had been transported into a traditional christmas card world of snow and ice, frozen lakes and winter pastimes. 

What was especially impressive was that the roads were all perfectly clear and had obviously been subject to an efficient snow clearing plan that had kept them open to traffic.  This wouldn’t happen in the UK of course because half a millimetre or so of snow in England brings everything to a complete standstill.  The steady climb continued until what seemed like the top of the world and the forest looked like a freshly made bed with a pristine white sheet of pure Egyptian cotton  spread across it.  At this point the forest is about one thousand one hundred metres high which is just about the same elevation as Mount Snowdon.   At its highest point the Black Forest mountains reach one thousand five hundred metres which is just a bit higher than Ben Nevis.  And at this height it was just about possible to appreciate the vast scale of the forest; it covers an area of about twelve thousand square kilometres which is roughly the equivilent of Yorkshire.  I don’t know what I was really expecting from the Black Forest but one thing for sure it was much more impressive that Sherwood Forest or the New Forest where I have always thought there is a disappointing shortage of trees, for forests.  I think the reason fot that is that since the sixteenth century or thereabouts, Britain has always had a navy that used up all of the forest oaks in England to build wooden battleships but Germany didn’t become a naval power until the late nineteenth century by which time ships were made of steel.  That probably saved the Black Forest and thank goodness for that.

From the top the road descended again back to the main road and on to the town of Freudenstadt.   On the way navigation proved something of a difficulty because I have found that one of the things that could be improved in Germany is the standard of road signs and directions; and road numbers would be quite handy as well.  It is hard enough grappling with place names like Badshitz and Klostermeebag but it is even more difficult when the road signs give confusing and conflicting information that continually test a drivers skill at performing three point turns.  It is also disconcerting when the navigator is completely lacking in map reading skills and I always kew that I was in trouble when Kim kept turning the map round to face the way we were going in that female sort of way.  This invariably means one of two things, either we are lost or we have just missed an important turning.  I always know that this is the time to make preparations for a u-turn.

The town of Freudenstadt was still clearing away the snow from the footpaths and the pedestrian areas and the there was a sense of community involvement as everyone seemed to be making their contribution to the work in hand.  Passing quickly through town the scenic tourist road zigzagged wildly from left to right and always upwards towards Bad Rippoldsau and then dropped down again to Kneibis where it was time for a simple lunch and a glass of pils in an authentic German Gasthaus.   I knew that the snow had only recently fallen and was probably the first fall of the winter because it was completely undisturbed and there was a lot of frantic activity as local people had obviously rushed to the countryside with their children for tobogganing and skiing and I suspect that just as in England snow isn’t as common in many parts of Europe as it used to be.

Another tourist road led to the small town of Oppenau where there was a carnival in full flow and it seemed appropriate to stop at a community centre where there was a party to investigate.  The children were all in fancy dress, the men were dressed like Noddy and Big Ears with elaborate wooden masks and the women wore colourful medieval style dresses.  It all looked a bit pagan to me, which I suppose it is really, and reminded me of the film ‘The Whicker Man’ when villagers in fancy dress sacrificed a stranger.  With that thought rattling around my head I remained alert to any threatening behaviour.  There was none of course, this was all a lot of good fun and it did explain the carnival bunting in Gernsbach and I discovered later that this is the festival of Fastnacht which is a carnival in Alemannic folklore that takes place in the few days before Lent in Southern Germany, Switzerland and Alsace.  The Alemanni were German tribes who lived in this part of Europe nearly two thousand years ago and this area iremains characterised by a form of German with a distinct dialogue called Alemannic.  The celebration literally means ‘Fasting Eve’ as it originally referred to the day before the fasting season of Lent.  The schools are all closed for this festival and all over the Black Forest there are six days of parties and making merry.  At the community centre everyone was shoving down platefuls of food and consuming lots of drink.  A sort of doughnut seemed to be popular and these I learnt were called fasnachts and are a traditional fatty treat that are produced as a way to empty the pantry of lard, sugar, fat and butter, which are forbidden during Lent.  This is a catholic tradition but in protestant England we call this Shrove Tuesday and serve pancakes instead of doughnuts, it is much the same thing.  This festival is also called ‘Weiberfastnacht’  or Women’s Carnival on account of the fact that tradition says that on this day women take control of local affairs.  I might be mistaken but I was under the impression that this was every day not just once a year.

Out of Oppenau the road climbed again and provided stunning views over the Rhine valley, flat and contrasting sharply with the Black Forest mountains, looking deep into neighbouring France. The road finally arrived at the Allerheiligen Wasserfälle, which is a five hundred-metre waterfall on the river Lierbach as it tumbles quickly through a narrow gorge full of boulders and fallen trees.  It was especially dramatic today because of the melting snow that was adding to the volume of water that was contributing to the volume of water in the river.  The sides of the mountain were covered in little icicles that had attached themselves to and entombed blades of grass and on the ground the compacted snow was easy to walk on and made the climb to the top of the gorge easy except that is for the parts when the steps were covered in treacherous ice and it was necessary to cling on to the railings for fear of slipping over.  After the falls and back in the car the road continued to an unusually numbered road, the 500, that would have led directly back to Baden-Baden if I hadn’t tried to be clever and find another tourist route which because of the inadequacy of the road signs only led to the uninteresting towns of Bühl and Sinzheim and then back to Baden-Baden through the St Michaels tunnel.

Berchtesgaden, Germany

When I woke up and inspected the weather it was absolutely pouring, the streets were full of spreading puddles and no one was walking about without an umbrella.  It didn’t look very promising and the weather forecast channel, which was showing web cam pictures from Austrian cities and ski resorts from all around the country only confirmed that today was not going to be very special. 

After breakfast we checked out of the hotel and walked again to the train station, because today we planned to go to Bavaria in neighbouring Germany.  It was raining heavily and my £1.50 umbrella from Wilkinson’s simply wasn’t up to the task and my trousers and my shoes were getting wetter by the stride.  At the station I examined the damage and the rain had gone right through my shoes to my socks.  When I buy a new pair of shoes I always decline the pushy invitation to add the shoe protector offer to my purchase and today was a day when I wished that I hadn’t.

 There was a much better railway fare offer today and although we wanted to pay individually the man at the ticket office explained patiently (several times) that we could buy a group ticket for all of us for much less.  Mike eventually worked out what the man was saying and the basis of the deal and we got our group ticket for a very reasonable €30 for the return journey to Berchtesgaden.

Berchtesgaden is a municipality in the German Bavarian Alps and is  located north of the Nationalpark Berchtesgaden in the south district of Berchtesgadener Land in Bavaria, which is near the border with Austria. Although it is only thirty kilometres south of Salzburg the route is not particularly direct as the line runs first west and then south so that it can follow the river valley to the Berchtesgaden railway terminus.  What is fascinating about Berchtesgaden is that it has a very close association with the history of Nazi Germany and that is why I was interested in visiting the town.

The nearby area of Obersalzberg was purchased by the Nazis in the 1920s for their senior leaders to get away from Berlin from time to time.  I find the concept of them buying anything quite interesting because later on of course they just took anything they wanted without paying anything at all for it.  Adolf Hitler’s own mountain residence, the Berghof, was located here and  Berchtesgaden and its villages were fitted out to serve as an outpost of the German Reichskanzlei office  or Imperial Chancellery whenever the Government arrived in town.

In the closing stages of the war the Allies feared that Hitler would leave Berlin and set up an ‘Alpine Redoubt’ to continue the war from the mountains, so the Royal Air Force bombed the Obersalzberg complex on 25^th April 1945.  Many buildings were destroyed, and looting, first by locals and then by the Allied occupation troops completed the job.  One of the conditions for the return of the Obersalzberg to German control in 1952 was the destruction of the remaining ruins. Accordingly, the ruins of Hitler’s Berghof, the homes of Bormann and Göring, an SS barracks complex, and other associated buildings were blown up and bulldozed away.

By the time that we arrived the rain had stopped and although it was still very overcast at least I didn’t have to worry any more about my feet getting wet.  We arrived at the railway station that was a typical Third Reich building that had been built for the Nazis and included a reception hall for Adolf and his guests.  It has gone now but next door was once the Berchtesgadener Hof Hotel where famous visitors stayed, such as Eva Braun, Erwin Rommel, Josef Goebbels and Heinrich Himmler.    It felt slightly chilling to be walking in the footsteps of the most evil men of the twentieth century and it seemed strange that this pretty Bavarian town was once home to these people.

 

After a visit to the Tourist Information Office we talk the steep walk towards the town and arrived evntually in the busy main square that was surprisingly touristy.  It was time for refreshment so we selected a café and found tables in the window that had good views over the mountains that at nearly three thousand metres high are the third highest in Germany.  We couldn’t see the tops today because they were covered in cloud but somewhere among them was the Kehlstein and at the top of it was the Eagle’s Nest.

Its proper name is Kehlsteinhaus and it was commissioned by Martin Bormann in 1939 as a fiftieth birthday present for Hitler. It was a huge construction project and took thirteen months to build so I couldn’t help wondering how they kept it a surprise?   It is situated on a ridge at the top of the mountain and is reached by a spectacular six kilometre road that cost thirty million Reichsmark to build (that’s about one hundred and fifty million euros today). The last one hundred and twenty-four metres up to the Kehlsteinhaus are reached by an elevator bored straight down through the mountain and linked through a long granite tunnel below. The inside of the large elevator car is surfaced with polished brass, Venetian mirrors and green leather. We didn’t have enough time to visit the Eagle’s Nest today so I suppose we will just have to come back another time.

The weather wasn’t brilliant in Berchtesgaden but at least it wasn’t raining so we walked the length of the town with its typical painted Bavarian houses with all roads leading to a large square with a war memorial and war paintings on the wall.  Sometimes it is easy to forget that although the Germans were the aggressors in the two world wars of the twentieth century that this was a catastrophe for them as well.  Just as in Salzburg the shops were interesting and many of them sold traditional German clothing; the girls giggled while they tried the Julie Andrews dresses and Micky treated himself to some wollen shooting breeches.  It is interesting how Geman people are quite prepared to wear these traditional clothes in a completely unselfconscious way and at one point we saw a young lad of about fourteen in full lederhosen and braces, felt hat and cape and I wondered how difficult it might be to get a fourteen year old in England to walk around the streets dressed like that.  To be fair it wouldn’t be right to expect it because he would surely be beaten up within fifty metres of leaving the house.

It was obvious that the sun wasn’t going to get out today but it was pleasant enough to sit outside at a café and then we walked back to the railway station to catch the three o’clock train back to Salzburg.  For the first half of the journey the train descended down the mountain to Bad Reichenall and then it turned into the low plain and returned efficiently to Austria where it was raining again so all that we could do was spend our las couple of hours in Austria in a bar.  What a chore!

Hallstatt, Austria

On a recent visit to Salzburg we went on a train journey and visited the village of Hallstatt, which claims to be the most attractive place in all of Austria.  We were delighted to find that the carriage was one with individual compartments because these are our favourites and we settled in for the ride.  There were only six seats in the compartment and there were seven of us but this didn’t matter and we took it in turns to either sit or stand in the corridor to enjoy the view. 

At the town of Attnang-Puchheim we left the express train and changed to a slow, stop at all stations, variety that travelled in a southerly direction into the mountains and towards our destination (or so we thought).  The lady at the train ticket office in Salzburg had thoughtfully provided us with a timetable that included an explanation that the final part of the journey would be by bus because the line was closed for repairs but as it was in German we hadn’t fully understood the significance of this until it was explained to us by the ticket collector (also in German of course, which didn’t exactly make it a great deal clearer).

The first stop was at a place with the unfortunate name of Wankham and this reminded me that place names in Germany and Austria can be a bit of a challenge and it can be difficult grappling with places that might possibly have been named by somebody suffering from tourettes syndrome; places like Wolfswinkel, Alpfahrt, Fuchs and Koch (all genuine I assure you).

The scenery was spectacular now and as we moved further into the Salzkammergut (see what I mean about a challenge?) the railway line followed the western shore of Lake Traunsee and then the River Traun into the Alps.  This is an area of outstanding natural beauty that stretches from Salzburg to the Dachstein mountain range and spans the federal states of Upper Austria, Salzburg, and Styria. The name Salzkammergut means ‘Estate of the Salt Chamber’ and derives from the name of the state authority that managed the precious salt mines here in the time of the Habsburg Empire.

The journey came to an end at the spa town of Bad Ischl, which is where the Emperor of Austria-Hungary Franz Josef had his summer residence and here we were decanted with some confusion onto a bus for the remainder of the journey.  As the bus was replacing a train it did not go directly to Hallstatt but had to detour several times to stations along the way so this journey took longer than might have been reasonably expected.

Finally Lake Halstättersee came into view and it was delightful with a calm, glass like surface and reflections of the autumnal mountains dancing on the water.  It was only a narrow road because until as recently as the late nineteenth century it was only possible to reach Hallstatt by boat or by narrow trails.  The land between the lake and mountains is sparse and precious and the town itself has exhausted every free patch of it and the first road to Hallstatt was only built in 1890.  The bus arrived in the village through tunnels blasted out of the rocks and dropped us off at the southern end of the village.  The village was thoroughly charming and I was immediately prepared to accept its most attractive village in Austria claim.

The village is set on piles driven into the lake with an intricate system of intersecting timber ramps, butresses and ascending terraces like hanging gardens creating an air of mystery and the eeriness of mirage, a village that seems to be almost lost in the middle-mist of folklore and fable.  The mountain flanks rise sheer from the lake, leaving no room for a road and all but the smallest of vehicles are prohibited from entering the centre of the village.  We walked through streets with houses sometimes built into the mountain, sometimes hanging on to the mountain and at other times on top of the mountain and on the other side they were built right up to the edge of the lake. 

The walk into the village along the water’s edge took us past some modern art sculptures floating on the lake that were interesting but seemed out of place and I was pleased that they were only temporary and then we began to climb towards the centre of the village.  It seemed quiet and deserted but as we reached the central square it became busier, mostly with children on school visits.  It was lunchtime so we were all getting hungry so we choose a café and stopped for some refreshment.  After soup and cakes we returned to the streets where it started to spit with rain but it blew over quite quickly and the skies started to clear and then we saw the first of the sun beginning to poke through.

Although this was October there were still flowers growing in the gardens and by the side of the road but we didn’t see any Lentropodium Alpinium because this is a summer flowering plant.  Lentropodium Alpinium? Well, that is Edelweiss to you and me and is considered to be something special in Austria.  So special in fact that it is a protected species and picking of Edelweiss is a crime and can result in an on the spot fine if caught.  The most reliable place to see it is on the reverse side of the Austrian two-cent euro coin.

By the time we returned to the bus stop the sun was shining and there were some great views of the village sitting next to its reflection at the side of the lake and we were all sorry to leave.  We boarded the bus that had plenty of spare seats and set off back to Bad Ischl but then at the first stop were ordered off the bus onto another with no spare seats and full of teenage children on the way home.  None of had really expected to have to take a ride on a school bus as a part of our excursion today  and we were glad when we arrived back at the station.

The train was waiting for the bus connection and as soon as everyone was on board it left quickly with some time to make up if it was to make the connection at Attnang-Puchheim.  It was a bit late but the Austrian railway system seemed to have all of this under control and the departure of the train for Salzburg was held back for ten minutes so that those who needed to could make the connection. 

Greece 2009 – Athens, from Elgin to pickpockets, a city of thieves

After four years of visiting Athens on the way to a Greek island-hopping holiday I have finally managed to see the new Acropolis Museum.  It was originally planned to be completed in 2004 to accompany the return of the Olympic Games to their spiritual Athenian home but construction setbacks and various outbreaks of controversy along the way have meant that it did not finally open to the expectant public until June 2009.

The long awaited €130m Acropolis Museum is a modern glass and concrete building at the foot of the ancient Acropolis and home to sculptures from the golden age of Athenian history.  Unlike any other museum in the world this one has been designed to exhibit something it doesn’t own and can’t yet exhibit and the Greek Culture Minister has said that he hopes that it will be the catalyst for the return of the disputed Marbles from the British Museum in London because about half of the sculptures have been there since they were dubiously sold to the museum in 1817. 

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We spent most of the morning in the museum and after we had finished we walked around the ancient city admiring all of the sights.  Athens is a wonderful place for visiting ancient monuments and buildings, in addition to the Acropolis there is the Ancient Greek and Roman Agora and the dramatic Temple of Zeus with its spectacular columns thrusting triumphantly into the sky.  They are all in pretty poor shape it has to be said, the Parthenon at the Acropolis was blown up by Venetian invaders when it was being used as an armoury store, most of the Agora is pretty much non existent and the Temple of Olympian Zeus has only a handful of its original columns still standing.

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We checked the bus times back to the airport and discovered that the metro line had been reopened so we agreed that would be our preference and once  confident of times we walked through Monastiraki with its cramped little tourist shops and back to the Plaka where we found a place for a drink next to the Agora.  For some reason Athens felt different this year, there were more beggars, more lucky-lucky men and more gipsy kids pestering us at the table for handouts.  It didn’t feel quite so safe.

Despite this, it was the last day of the holiday and we had spent a good day in the Greek capital even when it started to rain later in the afternoon.  Finally we had a last meal before collecting our bags from the Royal Olympic and made our way back to the airport.  This was the fourth year of taking the metro and I have never felt uncomfortable or unsafe in any of the previous three years but this time something was different.  Syntagma station was busy and felt edgy and when the train arrived we had to force our way onto unusually crowded carriages.

As soon as I got on board I knew something was wrong and this is how they did it.  At the very last moment a group of three or four young men rushed onto the train causing mayhem and confusion and pushing and shoving and moving other legitimate passengers around.  In the melee we were separated so couldn’t watch out for each other and I knew instinctively that something was going to happen in that carriage.  In hindsight it is easy to see that we had been targeted, we had been on holiday, we were off our guard, weighed down with bags and the way that Kim was looking after her bag made it obvious that there was something inside that she would prefer not to loose. 

One man stood by the door but then I sensed that he was determined to stand next to me and he pushed in and stood so close I could smell his body odour and it was most unpleasant.  I knew what he was doing but luckily I was wedged in a corner so I gripped my wallet in my pocket in a vice like white knuckle grip and turned away from him so that he couldn’t get a hand to my right side where my wallet and my camera were.  He knew he was rumbled, gave up and moved on pushing and shoving the other passengers as he went.

Kim was stranded in the middle of the carriage but I could see that she was clutching her handbag tight to her chest and I felt reassured that she too was being extra careful.  Suddenly I noticed that she was bothered by something and was examining her ring.  One of the thieves had placed a bit of wire around the stone and had pulled it so hard that it had bent the ring and it had hurt her finger.  She said that at the time she thought it had been caught in a zip or a strap from someone’s bag but this must be a well practiced diversionary tactic because at the moment she reacted he managed somehow to open the zip of the bag and remove the first thing that he found.  All of this happened so quickly and at the next stop they were gone and so was Kim’s camera.

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This incident rather spoilt the holiday and we left Greece with a sour taste in our mouths.  All of Kim’s precious pictures were gone including her favourite of the naked man on the beach on Ios and these were priceless and irreplaceable.  I hope we will return to the Greek Islands again next year but we probably won’t be stopping off in Athens.

Greece 2009 – Blue Star to Piraeus

The Hotel Korali put on a good breakfast and we were amongst the first in the dining room because we had an early start and a nine-thirty ferry to catch for the return journey to Piraeus.  The hotel owner drove us to the port and with a day of disasters behind us we were optimistic about better prospects for today.

The Blue Star Naxos arrived on time and there were a lot of passengers to get on board before it could leave again.  The Blue Star ferries can carry one thousand five hundred passengers and two hundred and fifty vehicles and the line of cars waiting to drive on board stretched all along the port and back to the town square.  When the gate was opened we pushed our way on board and made for the top deck where we had plans to find a seat in the sun and we found some at the back of the boat which we estimated would enjoy the sun all the way to the mainland and we settled down and after the boat had loaded up and left the port watched Naxos slipping away behind us.

We had chosen good seats and they would have been perfect except for a group of Swedes next to us who couldn’t seem to settle down and they kept rearranging the furniture, changing seats, which seemed to involve a lot of unnecessary pushing and shoving and talking to each other in very loud voices.  Soon we were following the shoreline of Paros and within an hour the ferry was pulling into the harbour for its last stop.  The port was heaving and there was the usual chaos associated with a big ferry coming into town.  Cars, busses and big trucks were all competing with the foot passengers for a place on the quayside but despite the fact that there appeared to be absolutely no organisation at all everyone finally got on board and there were no fatal accidents and soon the boat was under way again with a four hour journey ahead to Piraeus.

The restless Swedes had a picnic, which meant more furniture reorganisation and then thankfully they settled down for the journey.  Other passengers manoeuvred themselves into preferred positions and everyone found their own way of passing the time.  We finished off the last few pages of our books and then from my map I tried to follow the route and identify the islands on the way.  We slipped between Serifos to the south where we had started our adventure fifteen days ago and then Kythnos to the north and I wondered if this might be worth a visit so I looked it up in the Island Hopping guide and it said not so I removed it from the emerging itinerary for next year that was beginning to take shape in my head.

As the mainland came into view the last hour of the journey began to drag as we started to look forward to being on dry land again.  From the sea Athens was laid out before us, nestling beneath the mountains to the north, east and west (Parnitha, Pendeli and Hymettos) and the Saronic Gulf to the south.  Out at sea, where we were, the expanse of grey concrete, which formed the outer environs of the city, shimmered brightly in the strong sun and it looked much more attractive than I guessed it would from up close.

Piraeus was hot and noisy, the traffic was as we remembered it when we left, pushy taxi drivers were touting for business, the lucky-lucky men were selling counterfeit goods and there were dusty road works just outside the metro station.  The metro at rush hour was not a pleasant experience.  It was overcrowded and felt dangerous and without a seat we stood and guarded our possessions for fear of pickpockets.  We were glad when after eight stations we arrived in Omonia and changed lines to a less crowded train and travelled the three stops to the Acropolis station where we emerged from the underground tunnels back into the open air and the oppressive heat of an Athens September afternoon.

We knew roughly where the Royal Olympic hotel was and with some helpful directions from a taxi driver found it quickly, crossed the busy main road and presented ourselves at reception.  The Royal Olympic is a five star hotel and we don’t usually do five star but I had spotted a good deal and broken the normal rule.  It was very smart and plush and I felt a little out of place and conspicuous in dusty sandals, a salt streaked shirt and a battered backpack, which I put down as inconspicuously as I could and well away from the Versace and the Louis Vuittons.  The supposed deal was a €650 executive room for €120 and the room was nice and I was happy with the price we had paid but it certainly wasn’t worth €650.

The trouble with five star hotels of course is that they have five star prices and after I had got over the shock of the mini-bar prices (€7.50 for a small beer) and had a good laugh at the restaurant prices I slipped out of the hotel and found a little shop with alcohol at sensible prices, purchased some cans of mythos and a carton of cheap red wine and sneaked it through reception as discreetly as I could and took it back to the room.

After we had had a drink on the balcony and tidied ourselves up we declared ourselves presentable enough to wander around the hotel and we made for the top floor roof garden and restaurant where there were some stunning views over the Temple of Olympian Zeus directly opposite.  The restaurant looked nice and it was being fastidiously prepared for later but on account of the prices we knew we wouldn’t be dining there so we left the hotel and walked to the Plaka to identify alternative arrangements.

It was late afternoon and the streets and the shops were busy but the restaurants and tavernas were short of customers and every few metres we were stopped and encouraged to go inside and eat.  It must be obvious that five o’clock in the afternoon is not the time most people want to dine and we turned them all down with a smile and a promise to consider going back later.  One man fancied himself as a bit of a comedian and was quite entertaining and his menu looked interesting so we thought we might let all of the others down and go there.