Ozbus11 in Pakistan

Ozbus11 had to get up at stupid O'Clock in the morning on the last day of Iran as we were scheduled to catch a flight to Karachi from Tehran. “Flight?” I hear you say. “But how dare you – you're on an Eco-trip!” Well it isn't my decision and not one I knew of when I paid up for Ozbus but it is due to Political tensions in other countries. For example – the border we would have had to cross is too near to Afghanistan for it to be a safe passage. Thus – the flying thing.

It was our first flight as a group, there are more to come, and I was strangely looking forward to a spot of airport civilization. Which is odd for me, as Madrid flying really put the final nail in my thoughts of all aspects to do with the aviation industry. We arrived just as it got light and for a moment I saw a beautiful light highlight the tails of the parked aircraft at the boarding gate. Strange – how something I detest at times can seem so beautiful.

It was only a couple of hours until we landed and the breakfast I thought was one of the best we'd had in a long while (that's saying something about what we had been putting up with). Then it was a hop, skip and a jump forward in time, sightseeing on a tiny bus and an introduction to our Guide named Amjad. He turned out to be the best guide we'd had so far and had left his heavily pregnant wife to travel for a week through his country with us. It was a walking tour that afternoon before we headed to our hotel and we visited the mausoleum of the first President of Pakistan. Here, thanks to the amazingness of Amjad, we were treated to a Pakistani changing of the guard. Photo op.

Day 26 and we had to leave Karachi for Hyderabad. A semi-early start was made a little later by the humorous sleeping in of Kate and Frances (officially the oldest member of Ozbus). At that point I was reminded at how good the group had actually been of leaving on time and not really being late for anything. Although Deeeeeeeeeeeeeee from Londahn is gaining a bit of a rep for faffing and generally wandering off in search of things that interest her.

Hyderabad was just an overnighter but it was here that we first encountered real security issues. I wanted to, that evening, buy food for the next day's drive. I couldn't. Apparently it was too unsafe and Amjad had to go out and get something for me. Then as we left the next day we had on our tail a police escort van with several armed men on board. These vans would continue, though changing quite a lot as they passed through different jurisdictions, throughout our stay in the country.

On the road after leaving Hyderabad we visited an Archaeological museum at 2.00pm. Here we were served lunch – unfortunately for me, the food hadn't got any better from Iran, just spicier, so I had to pass. Also most of the 'museum' was outside and walking round that at 2.30 didn't really appeal. Memories of hours spent under the sun at Pompeii, Italy flashed before me. On the road again and we visited another Mausoleum where we weren't really allowed to ask any questions on the subject of the dodgy death of one of it's occupants. It was here though that I think we started to get hassled by the locals for the first time. Although in Pakistan the locals were more intrigued with a rare sight of a tourist then simply wanting money.

We were heading to Sukkur now and before we arrived into the city we were allowed to ride in the back of the Police van escorting us. A short wind through hair moment for Jo and Lara with heads popped up through the roof as the guard kindly informed us “it's a sensitive area” and “don't want to draw attention”. Heads quickly drawn back in then. We were looking forward to arrive in Sukkur. We shouldn't have. The hotel we had to stay in was one of the worst we we had been in so far.

When you book this kind of a trip you have to have your mind open to several things; new cultures, differences between them and yours and the absence of comforts you would otherwise associate with a 'normal' holiday. As Ozbus definitely does not offer in any way shape or form anything close to normality. The whole thing is billed as a once in a lifetime opportunity. So I had been ready for hostels and roughing it from the start. Especially as when I had first looked into booking the trip, passengers were camping and cooking together and not hosteling/hoteling all the time. If you do not accept the above as part of the Ozbus experience – you will cause problems for yourself. And then eventually, other people on the trip as I believe, once you board the bus on Embankment (or Sydney if coming from the other way) you become part of a sort of vacation team. In it together.

Arriving at the hotel in Sukkur was like arriving at a dis-used brothel surrounded by Pakistani Mafia posing as members of staff. And once we had arrived, we were not allowed out. Security again. Drove me crazy. The town was simply a lay over and unfortunately only had one hotel so Ozbus did not have a choice. It did get me down though as it did others. We left after a nice lie in and headed for Multan. Day 28 and we didn't see much on the way. Once we arrived it was another lock in with snipers posed 'ready' on the hotel roof. I found out the next day that at 10pm there was distant shelling and gunfire heard by some passengers. Exciting stuff. It was also the day that the supposed leader of the Taliban had been murdered up north, Afghanistan or something.

We left Multan the next morning in the rain. I tried to remember the last time I had experienced rain and couldn't. In the moments when the water wasn't dribbling down the outside of my window, smudging the view of the countryside, I notice women in brightly coloured saris working in the cotton fields. I also noticed how I hadn't really seen them at all in the country. A few I had spotted on the side of roads holding babies or in those fields but when we drew up to settlements and attracted great crowds of wondrous Pakistanis, it was all men that I saw. I didn't like the invisibleness of the women. I didn't feel I could get to know this country without them.

But then as the 26 paid up passengers wizz through town after town in our air conditioned albeit slightly ropey labeled 'Tourist' bus, can we be getting to know these countries anyhow? As it is mostly a glazed view I'm seeing. As enlightening as that is at times – I see babies crawl around without clothes, I see the corrupt people with their shiny 4x4s – I feel slightly treacherous to the art of 'traveling'. I feel protected still. A westerner in an eastern land. Still a stranger in their land. I'm lucky they just about tolerate me.

Lahore was a welcome town to arrive in. At last we were allowed to go out after dark! I felt a sudden rush of foreign excitement after dinner at the nicest restaurant we'd experienced yet. The food was till spicy, but I managed to find something that wasn't. The next day (day 30) and a start of a new week Ozbusketeers were off on another walking tour. We visited the old fort and had drinks under a240 year old tree. We arrived back at the hotel slightly later than expected which left only an hour or so of rest before we were all off again on the bus to visit the Sunset Border Closing ceremony.

This is a must see if you are in that particular area. It's probably the only time you will ever be invited to take photos at a border. Basically a load of Pakistani guards do a little of a show with a few spectators and a load of Indian guards do a little of a show on the other side of the border with a lot more spectators (owing to the bigger country and all). It was all rather good fun with an amazing old guy with long white beard really revving up the crowd with crazy dancing and a massive Pakistan flag. As ever Ozbusketeers got into the swing of things with the help of Amjad relaying what the chants were for us to join in. “Pakistan! Sinderbad!” was a highlight.

Looking over to the Indian border side I spotted Westerners for the first time in weeks. Surprisingly we didn't see a lot of them in Pakistan. Amjad had informed us that we were the only tourists in the country at that particular time. I suddenly felt a longing to be over the other side. I wanted to see all of what colourful and strange things India had to promised. Security issues in Pakistan were wearing me down as even in Lahore, after dark, we managed to attract police escorts.

When we arrived back in the city after the ceremony we had dinner in Pizza Hut (sick as a dog of what Pakistani hotels had to offer by this point), a few of us headed off to a favorite little Ice cream place of Phil's. OMG – you have to go there if ever you are in Lahore! Moree's Cafe had widest range of Ice Cream flavours this side of Italy. Along with smoothies, cakes and pastries, it was a welcome treat from the heat of the outside. Yum yum. In fact I recall spending the two nights there on the trot.

Whilst we were in the country there was something about the Peshawar bombing going on and WFO conference being blown up. First Iran when US wants to go to war with 'em then, shelling and bombings not far from us, Ozbus11 really knows how to do controversy. But on day 32 it was another early morning start to head for the border. Surprisingly, it was the same one we'd been to for the show – and I thought it was far too decorative to be a real one, much to Phil and Jimmy's amusement. It was though – the longest border we'd ever been through. We didn't play the border game on the bus there as Amjad announced his wife had just had a baby boy – congratulations!

We arrived at 10am, got through the Pakistani check by half past, got to the Indian check at 11.30 where we had to fill out paper work. That process finished at 12.30, at 1.30pm we left the border on the bus. Hmmmmmmmmmm. Not a nice morning. Luckily it wasn't long until Amritsar where our Indian adventure awaited us.

Ozbus11 - Pakistan

Ozbus11 in Iran - Strangers in a strange land

“We share the grief of all the downtrodden and support the oppressed people of the world.”
Iman Khomeini – founder of the Islamic Republic of Iran

It was Day 19 of the 92 day leg to Sydney and having said goodbye to the coach and our amazing Latvian bus driver Martin it was time to play the border game. The winning time was 2hrs 25mins guessed by Elli. No kissing Charlie this time – just Ozbus pride as the prize. It was also time at the border for us girls to get scarved up for the first time. I was quite looking forward to wearing the headscarf and as Phil our leader (we must follow him) tried to put us youngens at ease, he said to try and pretend to be in some Broadway show for a week. Well I wanted to walk out of that show at the interval – but choices I had were none.

After a day or so of the scarve I was not into it. Maybe it was the heat and my scarve was particularly long. Maybe it was the reality of an image I'd been used to in London. Or maybe it was the fact that I was in a country as a tourist where I didn't have a say in my outward appearance due to my sex. In our hotel in Tehran a sign welcomed us in English reading “the headscarf is a beautiful part of Iranian culture, please respect it.” Which I found jovial because I don't remember being disrespectful by not wearing something. In fact I would have thought it would be incredibly disrespectful to have a certain appearance for something you don't believe in. Like wearing a crucifix because Dolce and Gabbana put it in their latest campaign when not believing in Christianity.

Islam is an incredibly beautiful religion – however I am not religious – so why should I have to make a religious statement? But taking personal beliefs aside – and recognizing that this is the country of Iran and just life out here, should make it easier. Yet I was not eating local meals with local people either. I came into the country on a tourist visa, stayed in a hotel charging me tourist prices?! The whole country just didn't make sense to me. Forget about the difference between sexes, or the differences from the western world to the east. I found it a little contradictory. We managed to catch BBC World in some of the hotels before the channel mysteriously disappeared. They were reporting on a second Nuclear site being found just outside Estafan where we were staying for two nights, a contradictory country for sure.

Culture shock issued – in my opinion there wasn't much Iran had to offer the tourist in the way of culture. We visited a lot of Mosques. These were beautifully decorated and lovely to see but perhaps a little variety from the country would be nice. There were a few Mausoleums The most famous of these was just outside Tehran and approaching from the highway was something like approaching a Muslim 'Willy Wonka' chocolate factory. Girls and boys entered through separate entrances. We took off our shoes, got searched, had electrical items taken away from us due to religious reasons. Bad news for Rob 'the Geography boy' as the resident Ozbus11 photographer. The girls came to a dead end in 5 minutes of visiting the half constructed building but we figured out eventually that we were allowed into the bigger Men's section. Whilst we were there a group of Army veterans or volunteers were marching and celebrating something inside. Turns out it was an anniversary and they gave us all army scarves. Not sure if that will ever be making it's way out of my bag – more research has to be done into the Army's story for that.

It was only going to be a flying visit to the Mausoleum but unfortunately a few of us girlies got inquisitive and started chatting to the Mausoleum authorities. They gave us info in broken pointed English and prayer stones. We gave them the 'where we come from speech' and then they wanted something from England which I gave them in a form of a box of mints. After I had wandered off some of the girls were given more treats such as sweets and the official propaganda book and then when they tried to leave – the officials wouldn't let them. Fortunately the guide plus Bernie the crazy 'beep beep' Frenchman, Bernie, intervened and they were set free.

Mostly Iran was made of the colour beige, in the scenery, black, which all the women were wearing and blue in the domes of the Mosques. The best thing about Iran was the Archaeological museum in Tehran. It had archaeological bits in. I'm really trying to be positive about the country but it was just a little bit of a drag. The food was rubbish, the culture was rubbish because the country isn't allowed to have one apart from the obvious. As a tourist I felt like I was only allowed to go to certain places deemed suitable for a tourist. For example a few of us would have loved to have visited the US Den of Espionage where the CIA organized the coup but there wasn't enough free time for things like that. It was Museums, Kebab houses and more Mosques oh and a spot of Carpet shops. Go to Iran if you're interested in the dawn of mankind as there is a lot of civilisation history to be found here. But maybe I'll return when the regime is over and I can see Iranian art.

Ozbus11 - The Turkey Leg

It was day 12 when we arrived in Istanbul. There was great excitement on the bus as we all were now beginning to feel like traveling and not just flying through Europe. As Phil our leader (he must be hailed) exclaimed in his Kiwi accent “If you're not excited about Istanbul – there's something wrong with you.” I wasn't that excited about the city to be honest and was starting to worry. I had visited before on a school trip and hadn't been particularly impressed then even though I do remember it being quite a cool city. So as we rolled in to our last country on the official Ozbus, a sense of foreboding came over me.

Luckily we were put up in a really cool hostel to take my mind off things. It was just a street away from the Four Seasons and right next to the Blue Mosque. After setting down our rucksacks in our varied dorms (brunettes, blondes, couples and the infidels) we headed into the center for a quick orientation of Istanbul and change of money. After we went back to the hostel who put on dinner for us and a 'belly dancing' show. Phil the Bus God had warned us not to take this show as the official belly dancing stuff as it turned out that it was really just two Gogo dancers hoping for some tourist tips. A few of us shook our hips with them though before retreating to the roof for shesha overlooking the sea. It was a very enjoyable night.

The next day most of us were up bright and early for a pre-arranged guided walking tour of the city. We visited the Blue Mosque and the Palace. All very cultural but a tad expensive. Those of us looking forward to the cheapness of Asia were sorely disappointed as Istanbul charges European prices. That night another group dinner was organized across the street from the hostel in one of the many restaurants that lined it. A set menu of Turkish cuisine was laid out for us and I have to say that Turkey offered the best food yet. Their mains and sweets were absolutely delicious and I was hoping the rest of the countries' food was just as tasty.

On our last full day in Istanbul I took the opportunity to do some much needed laundry before visiting something I told myself I must do before I leave. I went to a proper Turkish Bath. One that had been recommended by the local owners of the hostel, not a tourist trap. It was great. If you're not a fan of the whole nakidity then there are places you go when you're just in bikini but I'm OK. So stripping in a cubicle with two other women, we wrapped the towels round us that were laid out ready and slipped on the over-sized sandals on the floor. We made our way into the women's section of the baths through a tiny door in the double height, doomed foyer. Suddenly a marble passage opened up before us as we went through what seemed like a labyrinth of doors to a hot and steamy chamber. There we were shown a space on a marble step next to a basin of hot flowing water. We sat on our Turkish towels whilst pouring the water over ourselves with mini plastic pans.

After a while of this, we were taken to another room for a full scrub down and sort of massage. Not with oils, just soap. To soap us up they dip a sheet in soapy water and sort of glide it over us in a fast sweeping motion until a thick lather has been produced. After that we were wrapped in a dry towel and told to go to the 'salon'. Stepping out of the door into the slightly cooler labyrinth – it took me a good five minutes to find the right door back to the 'salon'. There, we sat down in the refreshingly cool area, and were brought delicious Turkish apple tea. Just what I needed. Turkish baths are a fabulous experience and but not exactly a spa or anything.

Then it was off to Goreme. It was day 16, a Monday morning and I woke up at 6am in a cave to go Hot air Ballooning over Capadocia. Unfortunately, the weather wasn't looking too good so it was back to bed until 8am when Phil woke us up saying we were leaving in 15mins. Grabbing breakfast from the traditional common room, it was then into the van to be taken – somewhere. You learn to not question the bus – it's home now. After a short stop at somewhere where a proper typical Englishman, and I haven't heard that kind of Public school speak for a long time, told us we could get some Tea, and then not, then we were whisked away to the Ballooning sight.

We witnessed a one in, one out situation involving a Chinese party. And then a quick safety talk, before we were up, up and away. Having the Turkish middle plain below us while we gently floated higher and higher above was amazing. What a way to start the week. We stayed in Goreme a second night before heading to Erzancin. Nothing much happened here apart form going to a super fast kebab house who loved the fact that they suddenly had a restaurant full one evening. We spent one night there before heading off the next morning to the airport. An airport? Are you mad? This is Ozbus I'll have you know. Well the reason for this was as follows.

A few of the group members had a priority of sorting out Iran visas in Istanbul. So off to the embassy they trotted, bright and early on the first day. Unfortunately owing to some unfortunate cock-ups they all came away having to leave their passports in the embassy that wouldn't be given back until after we'd left Istanbul?! It was decided that one of our group, the one who was most affected by visa number mistakes, would stay behind to pick up visas (luck pending) and passports to then fly on to picked up by us on our way to the border. It was Aussie, carpenter, truck and bus driver, bad taste joker, Jimmy who had to stay behind and he was sorely missed on most of our Turkish leg. So it was with great anticipation and excitement that he was greeted with at arrivals. A posy of, mostly girls funnily enough, had made a sign for him and much to the locals' bemusement, had also come up with a great chant and way of saying his name in the style of “Timmy” from South Park. Lucky guy.

It was, in fact, the second time in Turkey the group had been threatened with a loss to numbers. On our first night there, Jo the writer for the Telegraph had had to be taken into hospital with terrible pain. Turned out she had Diverticulitis which she was allowed to continue the trip with but it was thought at first that it was Appendicitis which she would have had to return home with to recover. So back on the bus from the airport, all 26 passengers on board plus the Bus God Phil, we headed to the border town of Dogubayazit, pronounced 'Doggybiscuit'. Here we stayed one night in a hotel slap bang next to a Mosque (nice wake up call). I didn't find the calls too annoying, I thought they were quite tuneful, but they did wake you up at stupid O'clock.

At breakfast, the day of the Iran border crossing us girls were in our Iran gear of covered up-ness and practicing our head-scarf wearing techniques. As Lara, one of the Germans on board, gave us all a demonstration of how it's done. Very helpful. So now it was the real deal – the great unknown. We were about to be, as Billy Joel would put it in our official theme tune, 'strangers in a strange land.'

Congratulations to Thea and Punky for the arrival of Ophelia Rose Gibbs - super pleased for all three of you, love from honoured Godmother.

So Iran may have taken away my access to Facebook, Twitter and now it seems even emailing home is an issue due to Hotmail being down but they haven't figured out that my blogs are on direct feeds! Haha in your face authorities.

So this is to say how pleased I am at the long awaited arival of my oldest and bestest friend/sister's daughter Ophelia Rose, who I have the immense pleasure of being Godmother to. Unfortunately I am traveling to Oz whilst she was expected but that will not stop my commitment to seeing the little one when I can.

This is not a featured update of my travels but a way to communicate to the outside world in this strange media shy land of Iran where they are also shy of women so have to cover them up. Tomorrow I am off to Pakistan via a flight, for political reasons. There I will be free from a headscarve but locked up in a hotel at night due to bombings. Hmmmmmmm. I will also be married and Irish from now on. I'm thinking this is pretty much the only time I'm gonna be wearing a ring on that finger (Post post Feminism) but luckily I'm pretty good at accents. Not that that matters as we have been informed that the only way Pakistanis and Indians understand English is if you talk in an Indian accent?! It's not wrong - it's how they've learned English apparently.

A big happy congratulations again to the Partridge and Gibbs household. I will be seeing you all at the Christening, lotsa love x x x

Ozbus11 from Budapest to Istanbul

The so called real border of Hungary went off without a hitch and it wasn't long before we arrived in Budapest. Here we had our first "walk to the hostel with your bags" which some people without the recommended backpack found a little tricky. It was also our first very basic hostel and first being ripped off by the locals experience at dinner. However if I put a downer on Budapest at first - bear with me as it only got better in the evening. Our Latvian bus driver who is with us until the Iran border said that he would take us to a little local club he knew of.


Ozbusketeers pointing East in the main square of Budapest.

After the surprisingly expensive dinner and managing to pin down our whistful bus driver to take us as a group, we seemed to trek round the city mindlessly. No one knew where we were going, what we were going to, only that it was a club. After half hour of walking we arrived at what looked like a parking lot. We entered through some battered doors being guarded by some heavies. We ascended a stairwell that I can only describe as being something out of a scene from CSI Miami. This wasn't looking good. But it was sort of intriguing. And the further we climbed, the more we could hear the familiar sound of a heavy club base. Until - we reached a level we entered. Through a more populated indoor area, passed a dance floor and up still more stairs. We were on the roof by this point with red lights, table, chairs, a bar, a lot more people and a great view.

Settling down with drinks as a group we all turned out to have a great night. One that can't be found in Lonely Planet. Before long, a few of us were on the dance floor. If we got bored of dancing (and who would with Britpop gold being dished out by the DJ with forgotten Blur tracks) you could visit next door to the Club indie shop. Here they were selling individually designed clothes, jewelery and other accessories. A friend and I invested in a souvenir badge - hers stating she 'hearted' some Hungarian shot and for me, a comic line from 'League of Gentlemen' sketch that was an incredibly random find in a Budapest club. 'You're my wife now' is pinned nicely on my handbag next to the other San Jordi Barcelona badge and Stop Stansted Expansion ones I have acquired.

The next day I headed to the river for a cruise. Lots on option here and I got a basic student deal. An hour round the island in the middle with English commentary. After lunch a few of us met from the group to head to the 'Labyrinth' underneath the castle on the Buda side of the river. Here we looked forward to navigating ancient foundations with only an oil lantern as our light. Turned out to be a sort of Art gallery with many 'humorous' or confusing 'finds' from supposed excavations underneath the castle. It was a lovely experience - not quite a labyrinth though. Bit mis-labelled that one.

The next day and into our second week on the bus we left Budapest heading for Belgrade. I never thought I'd get to visit a city I'd heard so much of on the 10.00 news but when we arrived, there I was, in a recovering bombed out city. With shiny new malls placed slap bang next to remenants of bombed buildings. At the hostel in Belgrade we experienced our next piece of talk-able drama. Our group was split between two hostels and in one of them we had found a young British girl crying her eyes out because she'd had her passport stolen and her friends had gone on without her. Now if my friends had done that - they wouldn't be my friends for long when I returned home. She had been traveling for 3 months with these people but apparently that doesnt mean you stay with each other when in trouble. Also she had not one copy of her passport or photo ID on her. I'm not entirely sure why you come to a place like Belgrade not preparing for the absolute worst but call it lack of experience. Anyway because we're such a handy group of people to bump into on Ozbus, a few of us along with our leader went to the police station to help sort it out.

The next day she was sorted as she came to have breakie with us and we left for Sofia. If I haven't mentioned what we did in Belgrade it's because there's not really anything to do there along with not much to see in Sofia either. The most interesting thing there was the fact that we went to a restaurant that apologised for being so slow with orders because they were only a cafe with one chef. A very funny cafe with a full on Restaurant menu and waitresses that had lost the use of their second hand and had never heard of a tray. Even though there was a walking tour of the city the next day first thing - it wasn't really very impressive and I was starting to lose faith in the sights of Serbia.

Then we arrived in Plovdiv. What a fantastic historic old town. The actual town is quite large but stick to the Roman bits and you can't go wrong. As you'll know from my previous blogs - I can't really go on holiday without bumping into a few Roman sites. Can any of us? The evening there was spent on the outskirts of a Roman amphitheatre watching Serbian interperative dance. Then a few of us got bored with that and left to find dinner. Where we found the need for a good night out. After dinner we headed to local bar where I got ID'd for the first time (thankgoodness for bringing driving licence) and sat down as the only group there with massive beers. Turned out to be the craziest Rock bar ever and got livelier and livelier the later the night got. Many Ozbusketeers woke up with strained neck muscles the next day due to too much headbanging.

So the next day was a THE real border. We were now leaving the E.U. and entering Turkey. Where the lines between East and West begin to blur. The game was to guess how long it took to get through. I guessed way over at 2hours with the winning guess being a questionably accurate 1hr 14mins from Kate, a late guesser. The prize was to kiss Charlie, our 18 year old 'son' of Ozbus. But none of us fancied that prize and we disqualified Kate for insider information anyway. We drove on from the border until we arrived in Istanbul. Our first real cultural city, away from the tired and tested Euro-tourist trail. Or so we thought.

Ozbus11 "Down Under via All Over"

Bleary eyed and headachey from a 4am packing session, pulled up to Embankment in London to meet Ozbus crew and passengers. There was a pretty motley crew standing by Cleopatra's needle as I walked up with my 70 liter backpack plus Eastpak day sack. Trying to spot official Ozbus members for some sort of registration of arrival it was hard to make out who was family waving off relatives and who were passengers. Some were chatty, some were quiet – at 7am it was too early for me to make with the small talk. A quick hello to Phil, our leader for the mammoth 92 day bus journey to Sydney and the traditional family photo with parentals before we bunged our bags into the hold of the coach and set off.

Rolling away from Westminster, Phil made a quick introduction before letting us settle in. But whilst sitting at the back, listening to Phil what should I hear but a kerfuffel from another passenger apparently looking for 'Christine' and franticly looking out of the coach window onto the pavement. It was only Jo Thompson who was travelling with us writing about a midlife crisis Ozbus journey for The Telegraph. I could tell it was going to be an interesting ride. Whilst we let scenes of London roll past us, Phil played us a nice little tune for us. Little did we know how Billy Joel's 'We didn't start the fire' would become our signature tune for the start of the day.

We made a 10am Dover to Calais crossing having made the port in good time. Most of the bus was still pretty quiet with the only exchange between passengers going on with whoever was sitting around Jo. Our first bit of drama was had at Dover port when Jo's name was called over the loudspeaker having left her wallet at a Cafe. The crossing though, went smoothly and it was straight forward driving over the Belgium lowlands to Brugge. We arrived about 4pm and after settling into our hostel rooms, met in the bar for a cycle tour of the city with a celebratory beer after in the oldest pub. Absolutely loved Brugge. Everyone travels by bike and has the quaintest architecture. Some say it isn't somewhere you visit twice owing to it's size but I found myself saying - I'll come back here.

Brugge was only a stopover and the next morning it was a bright and breezy 8.15am start to head to St Goar in the Rhine Valley. I'd like to say that it was at this point that we all started to get to know each other but having been on board with everyone for just a week I feel as if I've always sort of known them. Among the 26 passengers there are 2 Aussies, 2 Irish lasses, a Frenchman, a Norwegian, 2 Germans, a Scots lady, a Canadian, 16 English people and a Kiwi tour leader. A suitably varied bunch ranging in age from the youngest of 18 to two 70 year olds. There are 3 couples, those who have left families behind, those taking career breaks and the familiar young backpacker. The variation in life status only fuels my story-telling spirit but others I think were hoping for a few more youngens traveling.

Arriving in St Goar mid-afternoonish, we sauntered around town for a couple of hours taking in views of the river, the big cuckoo clock and a couple of beers in the sub groups that we attached ourselves to. Luckily this bunch traveling don't seem to be forming cliques though there is a bit of seat hogging going on in the coach. We were staying on a campsite that night but not in actual tents. With the group split into girls, boys and optional caravan upgrade for couples, we were directed to a fairly interesting camping barn set up. It was top and bottom bed platforms with two mattresses laid side by side, fairly loosely divided into cabins. The evening saw us enjoy a traditional dinner of Schnitzel (beat up meat to tenderize) cooked by the wonderfully charismatic owner of the campsite. After dinner we were treated to regional wine tasting hosted by the owner when it became clear that perhaps his charisma was due to a bit too much wine tasting of his own.

Ozbus left St Goar in early morning low valley cloud to make our way to Prague. It was only day 3 and we experienced our first border, albeit a tame one, and money change. I'd heard a lot of Prague and it being the center of true Bohemia from friends but arriving at the city late afternoon, I wasn't overly impressed. Hoping for that to change, Ozbus debarked into the biggest hostel we had stayed in yet. One with it's own currency apparently as we were told that the only way to purchase food and drink was to load our key cards with money only to find out later that they did accept cash at the bar. Most of us stayed in that evening to enjoy the traditional 'pizza' in the hostel Restaurant.

Day 4 was our first free day of non-travel. I nearly missed the optional morning coach trip into the historic center due to a sort of barrage of emails from my parents. Having made it into town, the morning was spent wandering from site to site. In the main square there is an astrological clock that strikes and puts on a sort of show for a tourist crowd. Amongst the many shops and cafes there was one recommended to us for a spectacular terrace. The U Prince was indeed lovely with suitably lovely price tags. As we drunk our valuable small glasses of fizzy drinks we watched a bride and groom pose for their wedding photos in a trellised corner overlooking the rooftops of Prague. It was beautiful and I promised myself that when I have something nice like expendable income, I will come back and stay in that hotel.

Otherwise Prague did not leave a lasting impression on me. We had a good group dinner, good value apart from my Risotto that seemed to be just undercooked rice with a lot of secret sauce. Perhaps I had too many expectations from years of looking forward to be immersed in my spiritual home of true bohemianism. Before long we were off again, this time a short ride away to Vienna. We arrived there around 4pm and after a short walk to our hostel, those of us who wanted to, met for an excursion to the oldest fairground in Europe. Apparently scenes from the The Third Man and Bond have been filmed there. The rides weren't exactly cheap but you didn't have to buy any tokens and the park was fairly quiet no queing - hurrah.

After purging myself on a few classics and one official really scary one, I was tired and went straight to bed after a free 'thanks for staying with us' beer back at the hostel. Out of all the hostels we've stayed at so far, Wombat's in Vienna has provided the best breakfast. There's nothing like a varied choice for breakfast. Our free day here involved a few of us walking round town before deciding what to do. Another girl and I spotted the Leopold Museum which had Klimt and other Art Nouveau artists on display which we headed to late on in the morning. In the Museums Quarter which was where the museum was located, we had a bite to eat and made our way round the exhibition. Towards the end however, I rushed through a few as I wanted to head back to the hostel to make myself look decent for an evening of traditional classical entertainment in a small Opera house. By decent I mean, non- "I've been wearing the same clothes for a good two years now" and slap a bit of the ol' make-up on that I carry with me for such occasions.

That evening was interesting but the free glass of champagne that swayed me to sign up really did taste – free. The Vienna Orchestra that was performing a selection of favourites from Mozart and Straus were very pro with traditional Vienna dress on. We were treated to a few Opera scenes also along with a ballet duo who didn't seem that fussed about their performances. But you know, doing that twice a night maybe nearly every night, who would? And for this reason there was a part of me that wished I was sipping good champagne in a good dress, watching performers really get into the art that they were expressing. I would recommend the night for sure, but I think it was tainted a little with the aspect of tourism. Vienna as a whole though had a very fine effect on me and I can see myself wanting to explore the city in greater detail in years to come.

The next morning I barely managed to fit all my first washed clothes back into my bag before rushing down to the coach for an 8.30 departure. We were on our way to Bratislava only about an hour away and down the River Danube for morning coffee. Here was another quaint little snapshot of a historical town center that had an atmosphere about it that I found appealing. Another town to add to the list. But only an hour was had here before were all back on the bus again, heading for a 'real' border.