I must confess that I was briefly in Dubrovnik in 1959, when Tito governed Yugoslavia. One July, my impecunious mother took me on an ungrand tour to the cheapest destination on The Continent that was not ruled by Franco or Salazar.
I can't remember how we got to Paris but from the Gare de Lyon- we took an overnight creaky, stuffy old Simplon Orient Express to Venice which I tiredly liked. Then by passenger ship down the Adriatic: via Split and Rijeka to Dubrovnik, which I also liked, less tiredly. Then on, by another boat, to Cavtat, perhaps not then connected by road to Dubrovnik ?
I was bored in Cavtat, where my mother just wanted to lie on a towel on a stony beach amongst dozens of Germans. Although I have hitherto lived close to the sea, I have never cared for beaches, having had bad experiences in early childhood, and nearly drowned much later in Morocco. I have remedied that by now living over 200 kilometres from Bordeaux
I also hated the spicy food...and especially tomatoes! My serious eating-problems ended all of a sudden just a couple of years later...in Denmark. Now, though I find most meat repulsive, I can force myself to eat anything except tripe and tongue,
One day we went on a tour in a hot bus to Mostar whose elegant bridge was my first introduction to beautiful, simple architecture, built by Albanians under Ottoman Rule. Albanians were the builders, Greeks became shipping magnates and later annexed a large part of Southern Albania.
In Mostar I got very sick : probably heat-stroke, and I suffered all the way back to the hotel, where I stayed in bed for a couple of days.
When I was better, we went on a wonderful bus-tour down the coast to Kotor and Budva and Cetinje in Montenegro. I did not get sick.
We went back to Belfast by the same route (London-Belfast by train and boat ?, or perhaps by expensive British European Airway ?)
That was almost my only Tourist Experience, by which I mean Going somewhere you know little about and gawping.
All subsequent travels have had a definite aim: to seek out megaliths, or romanesque churches, or rugs, or a Pal. I tend to avoid anywhere there is a queue. I gladly missed out on most of the gawp-stuff in Florence, except dor the fabulous marble floor of the very cruisy Santa-Maria-Novella station, the lovely (post-Romanesque) church beside it, which has amazing frescoes and the little church which is a shrine to Mantegna. I thought the celebrated Duomo a monstrosity, nearly as hideous as Belfast's City Hall. On the other hand I liked the Ponte Vecchio. I have a weakness for old bridges, of which there are many here in France, some of them Roman., many of them now by-passed and rustic.
Here endeth my aside on Tourism. Many years ago (long before Ryanair and EasyJet) I composed a web-page on the subject.: http://www.beyond-the-pale.uk/tourism.htm
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I must confess that I was briefly in Dubrovnik in 1959, when Tito governed Yugoslavia. One July, my impecunious mother took me on an ungrand tour to the cheapest destination on The Continent that was not ruled by Franco or Salazar.
I can't remember how we got to Paris but from the Gare de Lyon- we took an overnight creaky, stuffy old Simplon Orient Express to Venice which I tiredly liked. Then by passenger ship down the Adriatic: via Split and Rijeka to Dubrovnik, which I also liked, less tiredly. Then on, by another boat, to Cavtat, perhaps not then connected by road to Dubrovnik ?
I was bored in Cavtat, where my mother just wanted to lie on a towel on a stony beach amongst dozens of Germans. Although I have hitherto lived close to the sea, I have never cared for beaches, having had bad experiences in early childhood, and nearly drowned much later in Morocco. I have remedied that by now living over 200 kilometres from Bordeaux
I also hated the spicy food...and especially tomatoes! My serious eating-problems ended all of a sudden just a couple of years later...in Denmark. Now, though I find most meat repulsive, I can force myself to eat anything except tripe and tongue,
One day we went on a tour in a hot bus to Mostar whose elegant bridge was my first introduction to beautiful, simple architecture, built by Albanians under Ottoman Rule. Albanians were the builders, Greeks became shipping magnates and later annexed a large part of Southern Albania.
In Mostar I got very sick : probably heat-stroke, and I suffered all the way back to the hotel, where I stayed in bed for a couple of days.
When I was better, we went on a wonderful bus-tour down the coast to Kotor and Budva and Cetinje in Montenegro. I did not get sick.
We went back to Belfast by the same route (London-Belfast by train and boat ?, or perhaps by expensive British European Airway ?)
That was almost my only Tourist Experience, by which I mean Going somewhere you know little about and gawping.
All subsequent travels have had a definite aim: to seek out megaliths, or romanesque churches, or rugs, or a Pal. I tend to avoid anywhere there is a queue. I gladly missed out on most of the gawp-stuff in Florence, except dor the fabulous marble floor of the very cruisy Santa-Maria-Novella station, the lovely (post-Romanesque) church beside it, which has amazing frescoes and the little church which is a shrine to Mantegna. I thought the celebrated Duomo a monstrosity, nearly as hideous as Belfast's City Hall. On the other hand I liked the Ponte Vecchio. I have a weakness for old bridges, of which there are many here in France, some of them Roman., many of them now by-passed and rustic.
Here endeth my aside on Tourism. Many years ago (long before Ryanair and EasyJet) I composed a web-page on the subject.:
http://www.beyond-the-pale.uk/tourism.htm
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