Train Archives - Wandering North

Balkans Trip 2023 Bosnia and Herzegovina Europe

Day Trip to Mostar

Following my busy first day in Sarajevo, on my next day in Bosnia and Herzegovina I went to Mostar. I wanted to see a little bit of the countryside and also, I wasn’t going to leave the country without seeing the famous bridge. Mostar is a small city about 130 kilometres away from Sarajevo and is famous for having a beautiful Ottoman era bridge: Stari Most, which, not so creatively, means “old bridge”. This also gave me a great opportunity to take the train.

Train from Sarajevo to Mostar

To get to Mostar is easy; you can drive, take the train, or take the bus. There are lots of train and bus schedules per day and they take roughly the same amount of time. But I wanted to take the train. The first train in the morning was 7:15am so I left my hostel early and walked to the train station in Sarajevo. (I probably should have just taken a tram to the station, which would have been faster as there is a stop right there, but it was a pleasant time for a walk.) The 1949 train station is this interesting communist era functionalist structure, concrete with high ceilings and Olympic murals. And best of all, people were smoking inside. I went to the ticket office and queued up in front of a man who sold tickets and stamped papers with a demeanour that I would also describe as communist era and functionalist. It really felt like I was transported to another time.

The ticket was 22 Bosnian Marks round-trip. That’s about $16.00 Canadian.

The trip takes just under 2 hours and it is utterly delightful. The most gorgeous scenery passes: small villages, green hills, and lakes and rivers. And the seats are quite comfortable. I visited the gleaming dining car and got coffee, which was fine. (Don’t count on much in the way of snacks.)

We arrived at the train station in Mostar. From the train station, it is a short walk to the historic part of the city and the bridge. The newer part of the city is perfectly fine but not completely charming. The best thing that I saw on the way to the historic centre was a building of indeterminate former use that had fallen into disrepair and covered in graffiti.

Into the heart of Mostar

The historic centre of Mostar is what I was there to see (along with everyone else). Cobble-stoned alleys and shops, pretty buildings, restaurants, a bridge, and a river (Neretva River). The streets with shops are extremely touristy but very nice to walk. The closer you get to the bridge, the thicker the tourists get, crowding around to take perfect shots of themselves standing in front of the bridge. I can’t really blame them; it is gorgeous, and if I had been traveling with someone who wanted to take my picture maybe I would have done that too.

But before I was ready to delve into the throngs around the bridge, I wanted coffee. There are several cute little cafes perched on the cliffs high above the river that offer excellent views. I picked what appeared to be the cutest of them. It was set back just behind a little market where local vendors were selling liqueurs and honey. I went to the cafe and sat facing the bridge smoking a cigarillo, drinking Bosnian coffee and eating a Hurmašice, a Bosnian cake soaked in spice syrup.

I finished my snack and walked closer to the bridge. It was built by the Ottomans in about the 15th century, but then was destroyed during the Bosnian War in the 1990s it was finally rebuilt in the early 2000s. It’s become incredibly famous and is one of those sites that people share and pin and dream about visiting. And it is beautiful. It is a very attractive bridge in a very attractive setting. What I didn’t realize until I went there was how stunning the surroundings are. It is not really just the bridge, it’s the river and the surrounding green hills dotted by mosque minarets and charming little streets. It is absolutely lovely.

I crossed the bridge and wandered around the other side and continued poking around, but at that point I was kind of done. I came to see the bridge and to wander around and I did that. I had no desire to spend more time. It was just so busy with tourists, and I can’t blame them (I am also a tourist), but I also didn’t want to be stuck in their crowds any longer. My train to return to Sarajevo was supposed to leave at about 3:00pm, but I didn’t feel like staying that long, so I stopped and had a final lunch overlooking the bridge, where I watched people preparing to dive off it into the river below, and then I found a bus station.

*Lunch with a view. There was nothing vegetarian on the menu, so they made me a plate of delicious roasted veggies.*

Busing back to Sarajevo

There are numerous buses a day that go in between Mostar in Sarajevo I picked one that was leaving at about 1:00pm and bought a ticket. I don’t remember how much it was, but it was cheap. The views were just as lovely as the train trip had been. And I was back in Sarajevo by about 3:00pm, which gave me the opportunity to spend the rest of the day enjoying more of that city. I’ve written about that in the previous post here. Was Mostar worth visiting? Absolutely. Not just for the destination but also for the wonderful train ride to get there, but I didn’t need to spend more than a few hours there. I’d rather spend my time in Sarajevo than gazing at bridges and fighting crowds. Plus, this was my final full day in Bosnia and Herzegovina. The next day I was going to bus to Montenegro.

Balkans Trip 2023 Croatia Europe Slovenia

Ljubljana to Zagreb by Train

I took the train from Ljubljana, Slovenia to Zagreb, Croatia. It is a relatively short and easy trip that requires little planning and can be made by bus or train. There is only one correct choice in my opinion. I walked to the train station the day before my trip and bought a ticket. One way, about €25 euros. It was supposed to be about 2.5 hours but was about an hour longer.

The morning that I left my hostel, I got to the station a bit early and had an espresso before going to the platform to wait. It is not an attractive station, but it is functional, fairly small, and easy to access.

Ljubljana Train Station

*a building near the station I thought was interesting*

On the platform was a man I had seen, but not spoken to, at my hostel in Ljubljana. He was tall and sturdy looking, but what caused me to notice him in the first place was that he was old. That sounds awful, but if you are staying in a hostel and traveling with only a backpack and you are of a certain age, you are going to be noticeably old. (I am probably old to many of the hostel residents. It is all relative.). This man was probably mid-seventies to early-eighties and he told me that he was from Vancouver, a retired longshoreman, and was now traveling as much as he can – but doing it on a budget, staying in hostel dorms, taking public transport. He proudly told me he had never taken a taxi. He said all the walking isn’t as easy for him as it used to be, but that he believed it was good for him to stay active. A nice guy and something of an inspiration. I hope I too can still maneuver into a top bunk at that age.

We chatted on the train and walked the scenery pass. We shared out car with two Slovenian or Croatian ladies, probably around 70 years old themselves. I notice them because they seemed so happy; they were smiling and talking ceaselessly for the whole journey and laughing a lot. That’s a thing that I noticed about a lot of the senior aged women in Slovenia and Croatia: they seemed to be smiling and happy a lot of the time, which isn’t necessarily a thing that I have noticed at home.

We arrived at the train station in Zagreb and took the tram to our hostel – yes “our” hostel. We had coincidentally booked into the same one. The Swanky Mint Hostel. We checked in and went our separate ways. And I was on to my new destination: Zagreb.

Africa Mauritania Mauritania Senegal Trip 2021

Return to Nouakchott

From Nouadhibou to Nouakchott

It was the morning after my adventure on the Iron Ore Train. I awoke in my hotel in Nouadhibou with no great urgency. I needed to travel to Nouakchott that day and I didn’t know what time the bus left for the ~8 hour journey, but I just couldn’t be bothered to rush. By the time I showered and got downstairs I confirmed the bus had left. Secretly, I was happy. I didn’t feel like crowding into a hot minibus. I wanted comfort, likely as a direct reaction to the rigours of the train and pre train experience (after all, before the ride on the iron ore train I spent one night sleeping rough and two nights sleeping outside without running water or bathing). Desirous of speed and comfort, I inquired as to whether it would be possible to hire a car and driver and by the time I finished my breakfast, there was a car waiting.

The drive was great. My driver took the time to point out the sights. There weren’t many, but we saw the sea and the border crossing to the quasi country of the Western Sahara and a few small towns. Mostly though it was just sand and camels and I had seen a lot of that the day before, so when sleep got the better of me, I let it.

About half way into the journey, the driver asked if we could make a stop at his friend’s house in a small town by the roadside. Of course.

We exited the highway into a small town of newish but modest houses, sandy streets, and herds of free roaming goats. We entered a house and were greeted by four guys about to have lunch. We sat on the mats on the floor in an otherwise empty room and out came the tea. Tiny sugary tea cups were passed around and cigarettes were smoked as we chatted. Two of them spoke English, which was a treat for me as I could take a break from struggling with my very basic French.

A large platter of rice covered with pieces of meat and a smaller platter of rice with potatoes and carrots appeared. The driver had called ahead and told them I was a vegetarian. They also gave me water and a yogurt drink to take with me. Another example of startling hospitality to add to those I have experienced over the years in unlikely places.

After lunch we returned to the road and, about 7 hours after we left, we were in Nouakchott.

My remaining days in Nouakchott

I stayed somewhere different this time: the Maison de Jaloua. It is a lovely bed and breakfast in a white two level house on a sandy residential street just off a main road.

My room was a huge private room with my own bathroom and, gloriously, a big bathtub. This was a real bonus as I was still finding iron ore residue from the train on my body.

The hotel had a pretty garden seating area for meals and, as it turned out, housed one of the better restaurants in the city.

I had it for four nights.

Usually I write about my travel experiences on a day by day basis, but I don’t think this is necessary for my remaining three days in Nouakchott. They were pleasant, but primarily relaxing, days. I had seen ‘the sights’ of Nouakchott on my first visit. This round I just explored nothing in particular by foot and at a leisurely pace.

Each day I went for a long walk in a different direction, seeing what I could find. I had coffee and cigars at local cafés, lingered in air conditioned markets, revisited the main outdoor market, and sought out local artists.

On the art front, that took a bit of digging. There is a gallery/café Gallerie Zeinart, which looks amazing, but it was closed the days I was there. I did find a smaller place, Art Gallé, which was opened and is run by Amy Sow, a local painter and sculptor. It’s small but very cool, with an exhibition space and a café. I chatted for a long time with a young photographer and met Ms Sow. A pleasant respite from the heat and aimless walking.

I had a covid PCR test, which was required not for my next destination, but to leave the country. The process was simple. At a health centre you arrive before it opens and write your name on a piece of paper found under a rock on the sidewalk outside the gate. When they open they administer the tests in the order of names. It was fast, I got my results in 24 hours, and it was free. This is astonishing as in Canada, where I live, these tests start at $200.

That’s basically what I did in those last days. I was really taken with how peaceful Nouakchott is for a capital city. I can’t say that it is overly interesting or beautiful, but it is calm and pleasant; it feels very safe and the people are great. No hassles. no problems.

I loved my time in Mauritania. I can’t say that I would recommend it for a casual traveller or a first time trip to West Africa, but for off the beaten path travels, untouched desert vistas, hospitality, and once in a lifetime train travel, it ranks highly.

I left Mauritania with a flight to Dakar, via a day in Casablanca.

Africa Mauritania Mauritania Senegal Trip 2021

Riding on Mauritania’s Iron Ore Train

Planning

Mauritania is worth visiting if you like desert sands and far flung, seldom visited countries that lack ‘must see’ sights, but the reason I decided to go was because of one train. As long as I can remember I have wanted to ride, hobo style, on top of a train, illicitly and with a bit of danger. Not so much that I would lose an important limb, but enough to get the heart going. To see the sky change from atop of moving train in the countryside. To sit by the tracks waiting for the next ride. I had wanted to do it for so long that I figured I might never do it, when I read about Mauritania’s Iron Ore Train.

The Iron Ore Train (or the Train du Désert) is, on many days, the longest train in the world, at about 3km long. Every day it leaves a mining town in the Sahara, filled with iron ore, and heads to the sea, where it deposits its cargo and heads back, empty, to make the journey again. And because there are no roads that cover this route so directly, locals will ride on top of the ore to the coast, or in the empty cars into the desert. There are no tickets, as it is not officially allowed. I had found my next adventure.

But I thought, I can’t do this alone. It would be better with a buddy, for reasons of security and convenience. So for about three years I tried to find someone to do it with. And then I realized no one was in, so I had to do it solo.

And that is what led to me sitting by the tracks outside of Choum, Mauritania, alone and waiting for a train.

Waiting

I took a truck to Choum from Âtar. It is only about two hours and there is a minibus that goes in the afternoon, but I was paranoid about finding the right place to wait, so I arranged a driver. We made the two-hour drive, got to Choum, where I stocked up on water, and they drove me to the tracks and told me this is where I would wait. They left and I was alone.

Let’s be clear: there is nothing there. No trees, no station, just a flat expanse of rocky ground next to the train tracks and a barely legible danger sign. (Just as well that I couldn’t read it.) There was a small mud brick shed of sorts, with holes in the walls that provided some shelter, but it was dark and smelled like shit, so I sat outside of it, taking advantage of the bit of shade it provided.

The train is meant to come at about 6pm, but there is no fixed schedule and it may come earlier or later. I was not going to risk missing it, so I arrived at 11:30am, prepared to wait. And wait I did.

I sat there for hours, alone, reading, and smoking cigars. So many flies buzzed around me that I started to wonder if I was dying. It was very hot and I was thankful I had bought so much water.

A pack of children showed at one point, from where I know not other than it was towards the border with the Western Sahara. They just appeared over the horizon as dots and ran towards me. Upon reaching me, they stared and poked at me, sang and danced, asking me for photos and then laughing at their images on my camera. We couldn’t communicate verbally, but I understood well enough when they made up teasing songs about me or mimicked my smoking with little sticks. At first it was fun, but then it felt like a nightmare. Surrounded by children. I’m not sure children are reasonable at the best of times, but when you can’t even speak to them, how do you explain that you appreciate their exuberance and curiosity but that you would rather be left alone with your thoughts? I was happy when they tired of me and left.

After six hours, a van of about 14 people arrived and got off, also waiting for the train. This filled me with optimism. Surely the train was coming soon, and there was comfort in knowing I was not waiting alone.

They seemed like nice people. They invited me to sit on their blankets with them as they scavenged bits of wood and lit fires to boil water. They produced bags of mint, tea, and sugar and boiled it up in metal tea pots and passed around the tiny cups. A couple of the guys spoke some French, so I was able to answer some basic questions (resulting in some disapproval or pity at being unmarried, childless, and atheistic) and I explained that I was going to ride on top of the train. They were going to be riding in the passenger car at the end of the train.

The train didn’t come, and so we all laid down on the rocky soil and went to sleep. The train could have come at any time, so I did not sleep soundly – or maybe that was because I was lying on the ground without a blanket in the cold night air. I had not expected this. Somehow though it wasn’t so bad. The time seemed to pass quickly. I had my books, my thoughts, my new cohorts, and entertainment like comparing various rocks to one another, deciding which was the most lovely. (In case you are wondering: I had no cell service. There was obviously no wifi and I didn’t want to risk running down the battery on my phone with music or podcasts.)

The next morning came and still no train. I started to feel a bit down like I was in some Godot situation. Just then, one of the guys yelled and pointed. Off in the distance, the train was coming into view.

I felt a surge of adrenaline. Finally! Three years of planning and 22 hours of waiting and it was here. I picked up my pack and blanket and stood in amazement as this incredibly long train roared by. It took a while to stop, being that it is so long. I saw a couple of people riding on top of the ore around the middle of the train.

Finally the train came to a stop and I realized that I was about 300 feet or so from the ore cars. It stopped so that the passenger car (the last car) was right in front of us. In front of it were about 3 or 4 flat-bed wagons with cars on them, and in front of that were countless wagons with iron ore.

I had no idea how long the train would be there, so I bolted towards the cars with the ore. I didn’t have time to be choosy, so I just made it to the last one and climbed the ladder up into the car. (Honestly, that was slightly less easy than I imagined, with the heavy backpack, all the water, and the fact that the ladder was high off the ground and missing a rung. But I did it.)

Riding the Rails

A few minutes later, with a shudder and series of clangs that ran down the length of the train, we were in motion. And just like that, I felt elated. I was actually doing it. And it felt great.

The iron ore – fine black dust that you instantly start breathing in – was piled into two round humps in each car and was very comfortable. I spread out my blanket and settled in. I sat on top of the humps for great forward views. I laid in between the humps, head and feet elevated, for reading and naps. I sat in the middle with my back against the car and looked out the sides. I expected it to be uncomfortable, but that was not an issue.

I took selfies. I mean, how could you not? (My camera was utterly ruined by the iron ore which got inside of it despite my best efforts to protect it with bags and duct tape and I had to throw it out soon after.)

Sitting there, having a cigar and watching the gloriously empty scenery go by was awesome. Sand. Occasionally some dry grasses or rocks. A camel. A few buildings strung together as a small village or encampment. Some discarded train parts. It looked like a beautiful post-apocalyptic scene.

It was hot so I stayed covered up. When it got really windy, I wore goggles to cover my eyes or pulled a bandana over my mouth to protect myself from the dust, but that didn’t last long because you can’t smoke with a mask on. (Shortly after getting on top, I used a garbage bag and duct tape to wrap up my backpack to protect it and just kept my essential items accessible.)

A few times we made stops – not that I got off. There was nowhere to go and the thought of being left behind was concerning. At one point we stopped in a small village, and I watched 5 or 6 angry and restrained camels get piled on top of the flat bed car with the vehicles. The sound of angry camels in distress is a sound I will never forget.

Every time we stopped, men would climb up the side of my wagon and peer in at me. Sometimes we could communicate a little and sometimes not. What I gathered though was that they were curious about the crazy woman riding alone on the ore. Some of them told me it was not safe (I told them if that was the case then they better get off). And some of them just asked me where I was from or if I was ok. Towards the end, one guy just popped up to make sure I had enough to eat. I never felt like I was in any danger, but I was always much happier when the train started to roll again and I was again alone and free. There might be some benefit to sharing a car with others, but I just felt much more comfortable being alone. No need to be vigilant that way.

*A better view of the length of the train*

The night came. A pretty decent sunset over the Sahara. Then it was dark. Dark. No light anywhere except for the incredible stars. Like a planetarium display. Lying there and looking up was peaceful and magical – which is good because there was nothing else to do or look at. I did have a head lamp, but I was out of books.

The peace and magic didn’t last the whole time though. The dark part seemed to last for a long time. It got fairly cold, and I was thankful for my extra clothes and blanket. I slept a little bit, but after a while of the darkness, I was keen to get to the end. These last few hours seemed to take forever. I could see on my phone using maps.me how far we were from Nouadhibou (the city on the coast where the train deposits its ore) and I was delighted when I realized we were nearing the station.

Except there isn’t a station. The train just stops on the side of the tracks maybe 9 km from the city. (The train does make a final stop, just past the city where it unloads its ore.) There was nothing there. Not even lights. But there was a group of cars waiting to pick up the passengers, so I knew I had to get one of those cars to drive me to the city. The train rolled to a stop and I threw my backpack over the side and pulled myself over the edge of the wagon, groping around for the ladder. I landed (fell) on the ground and started running the about 300 feet or so in the blackness to the cars, waving my headlamp over my head and yelling “Taxi!” I was tired. At this point I had waited 22 hours and ridden on top of the train for 16 hours. It was after midnight, and I was exhausted. I was not going to be left behind.

There weren’t any empty taxis there just waiting for rides, but I did convince one guy (through my crazy insistence and, likely, my pathetic appearance) to drive me to my hotel, even though he was just there to pick up his friend.

Epilogue

I got to my hotel around 1am, many many hours later than I expected. I was staying at the Hotel Free Zone. Kind of a splurge. It was new and well-appointed and without charm, but it was spotlessly clean and had laundry facilities.

I was not spotlessly clean. I was black from face to feet. Comically so. I had been wearing two pairs of trousers and three shirts and still I was black underneath. It was glorious though. I felt so happy to be in my room. I washed my face and walked to a little store that was open and bought yogurt, water, bananas, and chips, returned to my room, ate and had the greatest shower of my life. (Dear Hotel Free Zone, I am so sorry about all of your lovely white towels.)

*A final, blurry selfie before the sun went down.*

Being on the train was one of the greatest experiences of my life, but the feeling of it being over, being dirty and exhausted and suddenly comfortable, was pretty fantastic too.

I am so glad I did it and glad I did it alone. I am only maybe a little sad that it is over because I don’t know what I can do now that can compare.

Anyway, the next day I returned to Nouakchott, but that is for another post.

Europe Sweden

A Morning in Malmö

I arrived in Malmö at the train station from Copenhagen, which makes a good first impression, along a scenic waterway and just steps off of pretty Malmö square. Pretty though it was, there wasn’t a whole bunch to do and it was early so a lot of things weren’t open.

So I took a stroll through the historic town centre and Slottsparken (castle park) over to Malmö castle sitting on the edge of the park near a windmill and on a waterway with swans.

The castle itself is only moderately interesting, though I did have a great chat with one of the docents who was full of colourful historic stories of imprisonment, scandal, and witches. The great thing about the castle though is that your ticket also gets you into a gallery, a natural history museum, and an aquarium. I went to the art gallery, which was small, but well curated and had a good collection of Swedish art.

From there I went back to the town and went to a small design museum to take in a textile exhibit, which was ok.

Past colourful buildings and patios of cozily dressed brunchers, I too settled down at a café for a coffee and one Sweden’s famous cinnamon buns.

It was a short visit. Just a few hours. But it was great and so cool just to be able to hop on a train and be in a new country.

I was returning to Copenhagen to finish up my long weekend but I was doing so having seen a bit of Sweden, which was real bonus

Denmark Europe

Copenhagen Long Weekend: Sunday

My second day in Copenhagen had an early start. Once I had realized, some time ago, that I could take the train from Copenhagen to Malmö, Sweden in less than an hour, there was not way that I wasn’t going to go.

I had an excellent coffee and a revelatory sandwich (seriously, how are the sandwiches here so good?) and proceeded directly to the central train station. The trains for Malmö leave about every 20 minutes. A ticket and and a few minutes later and I was on board, flying across the Øresund bridge to Sweden.

Because Malmö is in Sweden, I’ll save the description of my time there for another post, here.

I wasn’t in Malmö for more than about 4 hours, so it was early afternoon when I returned to Copenhagen and I took the metro to Nørrebro.

About four days before I went to Copenhagen, a certain international magazine had declared Nørrebro the ‘coolest neighbour hood in the world’, so I figured I ought to check it out.

Nørrebro’s coolness seems to stem from its multicultural population and sense of community. These are both good things, and I can certainly see why the multicultural aspect is of note in Copenhagen, which does feel a little…homogeneous. Coming from Vancouver though, where it is the norm to have people from literally everywhere and and multiculturalism a part of the national identity, Nørrebro didn’t seem so novel in that regard. But it was cool.

It has many of the hallmarks of an up and coming neighbourhood. Street art, excellent cafes, skateboard parks, vintage shops, stores by local and young makers of things and art.

The thing Nørrebro is most famous for though is Superkilen park. The park has some normal things, like green space, sports fields, and walking and biking paths. But it really manifests Nørrebro’s multicultural nature with stuff from all around the world. I couldn’t possibly name all of the things, but amongst the things there are swings from Iraq, a fountain from Morocco, a slide from Japan, a boxing ring from Thailand, soil from Palestine, basketball hoops from Somalia, etc. It’s pretty neat and impressive how much effort went into it. The space was used by families and individuals for playing, socializing, and exercise. It is also home to the Human Library, where you can select a human who will sit with you and tell you a bit of their life story, as a way to make connections. A really nice use of public space.

From Nørrebro I went back to the hostel for a bit of a rest and a chat with the other girls. I then went for an unusual cocktail at a lovely and cozy bar called Ruby’s (a cocktail whose ingredients included whiskey, cherry brandy, whey, and kelp). I then figured I would walk to the Little Mermaid statue. I didn’t care about seeing it really, but I also figured I couldn’t leave and not see it.

It was so dark and I walked past a palace, shrieking when one of the tall, furry hatted and armed guards silently stepped out in from of me from the shadows. He remained suitably stoic. I walked along the sea wall until I saw her, Hans Christian Andersen’s Little Mermaid on a rock, barely visible in the moonlight. It was as underwhelming as I had thought it would be, but I liked the walk.

I finished the evening, quite unintentionally at a fancy French restaurant (I found myself in a very expensive neighbourhood and desperate for a bathroom so I went to the first place that I found) where I had an excellent meal and a Montecristo No.2 while chatting with a visiting chef.

That ended my evening and my weekend in Copenhagen. I had an early flight back home the next day.

I loved Copenhagen and, while I am not often inclined to return to places, there is more there that I would like to do, so I can imagine a return visit at some point in the future but I am very satisfied with what I experienced in my short time.

Europe Ukraine

Ukraine Night Train

The day after I visited Chernobyl, I spent another day in Kyiv. More churches, several art galleries, a market, and a terrific lunch at a Lebanese restaurant on the patio with a cigar. Nothing particularly notable, but it was a pleasant day.

There are lots of galleries in Kyiv, but I picked just a few two visit: the National Art Museum, the Kyiv Art Gallery, and the Pinchuk Art Centre The first was closed. The second I missed because I accidentally went to a different art gallery next door, the Khanenko Museum, which I also enjoyed. I didn’t realize the mistake until I left, but I was happy with what I saw. The Pinchuk is a free gallery of modern art, which I definitely recommend.

But the highlight of the day was in the evening, when I took an overnight train to Lviv. When I was originally planning to take this trip in 2020, I was going to book the cheap seats on the train, which would have given me a bed, along with 40 other people in an open car. I think that is the most fun and probably the safest way to do it, but with COVID, I thought I should secure a private sleeping arrangement. So I splurged on buying both bed in a two-bed car. I was very happy with this decision.

I had booked the train ahead of time online here https://booking.uz.gov.ua/en/ and printed my tickets from home. Super easy. The car wasn’t fancy but has nice linens and pillow and a place to charge electronics. I was delighted and took some silly selfies before drifting off to sleep to the clacking of the weeks.

I slept well and awoke in time to see the sun rise and to clean myself up before arriving in Lviv and going out to explore.

Asia Azerbaijan Azerbaijan trip 2019

Night Train to Sheki

I awoke on the third day in Baku, Azerbaijan feeling leisurely. There was one area I wanted to check out, but beyond that there wasn’t much on my agenda. I had breakfast at Manipura, a vegan café I had found the day before and then walked in a different direction, along the water, past an area with a bunch of pretty man-made canals winding past fancy looking restaurants.

I wanted to check out the carpet museum – not the inside, but the building itself. A notable entry into Baku’s crazy architecture collage, the carpet museum is shaped like a giant rolled up carpet. It did not disappoint.

Across the street from that is a funicular that takes you up to the base of the flame towers. There are also stairs, but it is quite far and the funicular is only one manat. There really is no reason to get up close to the flame towers but you get great views over the city.

After that I just wandered around, drank coffee, smoked – all very relaxing.

At some point I packed up my backpack and took the metro to 28 May station, which is where the main train station is in Baku. I was taking the night train to Sheki.

I had bought my ticket ahead of time online, which was a good idea, as the train seemed full. Buying the tickets online was easy enough. They went on sale about 10 days before and the site had an English option. I picked up my ticket at the modern train station. The ticket for the approximately 8 hour ride was $5.60 CDN.

There are different classes of cars. You can book sleeping cars with two beds (SV/lyux) or four (kupe), or you can book tha platzkart, which is an open car with loads of beds. There are also cars with regular seats. I decided to go with the platzkart. Having a sleeping car with only two or four beds can be weird if you are traveling alone. I figured more beds would be safer and more…interesting.

The car is set up so that on one side of the aisle are beds stacked two high running the length of the car. On the other side of the aisle are alcoves with four beds, stacked two high. I booked myself bed 17 because it was in the centre of the car (away from the toilets) and because it was on the lower level, meaning I could store my backpack under the bed. Had I booked bed 19, I would have also had an electrical outlet. Now you know.

When I got on the car, I found there were already three guys in my four bed alcove. They were playing cards and drinking home made beer from repurposed two-litre soda bottles. They looked alike. Sort of like crosses between Al Pacino and Charles Bronson, all with moustaches. The spoke no English. I was friendly enough, but I thought, “It’s nearly midnight. When are they going to wrap up the cards so I can lie down and sleep?” I chatted with a young man sleeping across the aisle who spoke good English and could answer all my train questions.

At about 12:30am they put the cards away and took out plastic bags from which they produced: a whole roast chicken, a kitchen knife and cutting board, a container of raw onions, about a dozen or more tomatoes, two loaves of bread, a whole fish (smoked?) wrapped in newspaper, and bags of sunflower seeds. They proceeded to prepare supper. The young man told me this is typical, though he clearly did not approve. They kept offering me food and beer, which I politely declined.

Other people went to bed right away, or stayed up drinking tea or chatting.

Finally my seat mates they wrapped up their meal and I could get to bed.

Each train car has a woman called a Provodnitsa who oversees things. She sternly walked down the aisle at the beginning of the trip, handing out plastic bags containing two sheets and a pillow case. Each bunk already had a pillow and mattress rolled up. I made my bed and went to sleep.

I slept pretty well actually and woke up about an hour before reaching Sheki, which allowed me to get a few creepy photos of the train car in sleep mode and to get a look at the dry and desserty landscape.

I had no idea we had arrived in Sheki when we did, as we arrived a little early, and I might have missed my stop, had the Provodnitsa not come and barked “Sheki” at me when she did.

The Sheki train station is a bit out of town, but there were lots of taxis on arrival. For 10 Manat, I secured a ride to the centre.

I am so glad I took the train. It was hassle free, comfortable, and gave me a non-touristy view of Azerbaijan. Ok, I didn’t love the fish and chicken smells, but It was worth it. With my arrival I would spend a day and a night in Sheki.

Europe Scotland United Kingdom

Glasgow & Paisley

On our final day in Scotland we decided to take a day trip from Edinburgh to Glasgow. Neither of us had an overwhelming desire to go, but it was right there, of course we had to check it out. My mother does not share my love of aimless walking, so I decided we would do a self-guided walking tour around Glasgow to see their street art. That way we would have a purpose but also get to check out the city. It really was a perfect idea, in theory.

There is a website that lists all of the major murals around the city, so we decided to follow that route from the train station, where we arrived from Edinburgh. It started off well enough; there were a few murals in close proximity just in the alleys off of a main pedestrian street. There was a race on, bagpipe buskers, people out…it felt festive.

The 2^nd or 3^rd mural we saw ended up being my favourite, which was a cool one of a black British taxicab hoisted by colourful heilum balloons.

From there it was all downhill. That is not to say that anything bad happened – we just didn’t like Glasgow. We found the city just dull. It wasn’t beautiful, it wasn’t interesting, it wasn’t intriguingly seedy, it was just mediocre.

I feel bad saying that and I’m sure that there are many people who live in Glasgow or spent more than a few hours there who love it and know about all sorts of hidden gems, but all I am saying is that for a city to spend a day strolling around in, it did nothing for us.

I am aware that there are excellent galleries and museums in Glasgow, but my mum doesn’t relish museums or galleries and I also wanted to be out and about.

Sadly, not only did we not enjoy what we saw of Glasgow the city, we also didn’t like the murals. They were well executed, but we didn’t find them terribly interesting or edgy.

We could have stuck with the plan, but neither or us were really digging it, so we decided to get a coffee and reconsider. As it turned out, finding a good independent café in downtown Glasgow was also a bit of a struggle (so many chains) but we finally found one: Laboratorio Espresso. It was a tiny place with excellent coffee and cakes. We pondered over a few espressos and macchiatos and decided that flexibility was the best course of action. We walked to the train station and hopped a train to Paisley.

Why Paisley? It was close by and had some historical significance. Paisley was a textile town at one time and it apparently the place that invented the paisley pattern, which is named after the town. Also, I realized when I was there, it is the home of the famous “Paisley Snail” case that every common-law law student learns in first year. (A woman bought a bottle of ginger beer and it had a snail in it. She sued. It’s about negligence. If you are a lawyer/law student you know it and if you aren’t you probably don’t care.) The law dork part of me was pretty excited about that.

Paisley is a nice little town and was pleasant for a stroll, though apart from a lovely church, it doesn’t have much in the way of sights.

We walked around a bit, had a coffee, and returned to Edinburgh, as we had to get up at 2am for a flight home.

The last day of our trip didn’t turn out as planned, but was enjoyable, largely due to our willingness to admit we weren’t enjoying ourselves and change plans. And what’s better than being able to just hop a train at the last minute to another city? Coming from a country with almost no train travel, it is pretty great.

And so ended our mother/daughter trip to Scotland. Thankful for a chance to spend time together and explore Scotland a bit, which was actually pretty great.

Europe Scotland United Kingdom

To Wigtown, Scotland by Train and Bus

In southern Scotland is a town called Wigtown. If you are reading this, you likely know why Wigtown is a destination, but if not, people go to Wigtown because it is the ‘book capital of Scotland’, boasting maybe a dozen bookstores in a quaint town of about 900 people. Each fall they have a book festival. My mother had read a book about the town written by one of the bookstore owners and we are both keen readers and book hoarders so we decided to go. The issue was how to get to Wigtown by train and bus.

Scotland is not very big so the most sensible way to get to Wigtown is to drive, but I never learned how and my mother did not want the stress of driving in a foreign country so transit it had to be. There are no direct routes from Edinburgh or Glasgow to Wigtown and there was no useful information I could find to tell me which trains and buses to take, so I figured it out, which took a bit of effort, so here you are: how to get to Wigtown from Edinburgh or Glasgow without driving.

We started in Edinburgh but the first leg of the journey necessitated going to Glasgow, so this works for departures from either city.

We left Edinburgh (Waverley Station) on a morning train for Glasgow. All trains can be booked ahead of time on the ScotRail website https://www.scotrail.co.uk. As far as I could tell there is no need to book in advance, but I did anyway and then picked up the tickets at the train station in Edinburgh from a machine.

The train from Edinburgh to Glasgow takes anywhere from 44 minutes to about an hour and 15 depending on the train. They cost the same. We took the shorter one and arrived at Glasgow Queen Street Station.

From there we had to change not only trains, but train stations – from Glasgow Queen Street to Glasgow Central. The stations are a five-minute walk apart, but leave yourself a bit longer to get there and find your next train. 15 minutes was fine for us.

From Glasgow Central we took a train to the town of Barrhill. This leg of the journey takes around two hours, depending on the train.

This is where things got interesting. Barrhill is a town of maybe 400 people. You may see none of them. The station is unmanned, so you basically get off the train next to a building that will be closed, surrounded by fields of sheep. You cannot pick up or buy tickets there. There is no phone and are no taxis.

The sheep that will greet you in Barrhill

From Barrhill Station there is a road to Barrhill town, which is walk able. It took us 20 minutes. It is an odd walk because it really is just a country road with little or no traffic.

You leave the station on the only road and soon will hit a fork. Turn left heading downhill slightly.

Follow that road through fields and past a cemetery on your left.

Barrhill Cemetery – maybe more populous than the town

At some point you will see a sign welcoming you to Barrhill.

You will then reach a part of the road with houses and signs and your second fork in the road.

Turn right towards the town. The town is a couple blocks of mostly houses, but there is a hotel (closed when we were there) and a general store where you can buy snacks and water and whatnot.

So, you’ve turned right and about one block down on the left hand side of the street is an unassuming bus stop just before a little bridge.

Wait there for the #359 bus to Newtown Stewart. Don’t worry, it will come.

You can check the timetables for buses here www.stagecoachbus.com.

There are a couple of buses in the morning and a couple in the afternoon. We caught the 1:20pm bus, which was on time. This is like a regular city bus. The website suggests that you may be able to buy tickets in advance close to the date, but there is no reason for that. Just buy the tickets on the bus, but check the fares ahead of time, and bring exact change or at last small bills. You cannot pay with credit cards and I did not see an ATM in Barrhill (and you don’t want to get stuck there). If you did get stuck in Barrhill you could call a taxi from Newton Stewart, about 40 minutes away, from www.mcleanstaxis.com but I have no idea what that would cost. Barrhill does not have taxis.

The bus from Barrhill to Newtown Stewart takes about 40 minutes.

Tell the driver you want to get off at Dashwood Square. Newtown Stewart is a metropolis of about 3,500 people and has more than one bus stop. Dashwood Square is the main bus loop, just in front of city hall (where you can totally pop in and use the washroom).

City Hall at Dashwood Square, Newton Stewart

From Dashwood Square catch the #415 bus from Stance 1 to Wigtown. It will take only about 15 minutes and that bus leave frequently (every 15-30 minutes throughout the day).

On arrival in Wigtown, you will be dropped off in the town centre, with a square in the middle and book stores all around, walking distance to everything.

I loved Wigtown, but I loved the journey there just as much as being there. It was like a fun mini adventure and was a great way to see some small towns and countryside in southern Scotland.

A final note, to return to Edinburgh or Glasgow (to to go to Stirling, as we did) you just reverse the direction of this trip, however be sure to buy your train tickets out of Barrhill in advance, as there is no place to buy them in Barrhill.

Tag: Train