Winter break 2009 was the perfect opportunity to start writing the travel book that has been missing from the genre – on processed goodies that we now all take for granted. To do so, I planned to start in the Czech Republic and take a train to Istanbul, following the route of the Orient Express. I would jump on and off as I felt like through Hungary, Romania and Bulgaria. Since most of the trains would not have a restaurant car, I would have ample opportunity to buy groceries and experience the prepackaged foods of the former Soviet Bloc. It was to be an adventure full of intrigue, unexpected twists, and trying to figure out if the Cyrillic-printed label was for liverwurst or cat food.
In Prague, I realized two follies. Firstly, even though I had armed myself with three new pairs of long underwear, traveling through Eastern Europe in January should have been considered more carefully. Second, I had neglected to bring utensils and I did not know where to buy them, for the local supermarket did not stock them. It significantly limited my diet to pre-sliced deli meats and cheese. But no matter, for Prague is a picturesque city, and where else would there be a Barbie exhibit inside the old Castle?
In Brasov, Romania, I ran into another unexpected issue: people usually take the weekend closest to New Years off. Few museums and historical sites were open as most people spent time with their families. So instead, I went skiing, which is what everyone else was doing anyways. Unfortunately, the snow did not arrive as ordered, so only the easiest slopes were open. However, they very quickly reminded me of my beginner’s status. After a few runs and a few spills, I retired to a food booth and got some freshly grilled sausage. In true Romanian fashion, I got a large dollop of mustard that rivaled the sausage’s size and weight.
Veliko Turnovo (Or Tarnovo (Or Tarnovgrad (Or Велико Търново))), Bulgaria had even fewer museums open, but the ruins of the Tsarevets fortifications were a giant playground. I was perhaps the only tourist that morning and no one told me where I couldn’t go. There were city walls with watchtowers high up on the mountains and stairs leading up the remains of old castle. Everything was covered with fresh snow, giving the impression of a winter wonderland. It was also here in Turnovo that I found a large supermarket and concluded that protein bars taste horrible, no matter which country you’re in.
Finally, Istanbul with fresh squeezed pomegranate juice, Kebab shops and candy stores at every street corner gave me a well needed change in diet. Street vendors hocked roasted chestnuts, pastries and corn, to name a few. A friend recommended a walk through the fish bazaar, which consisted of several narrow pedestrian streets filled with fresh fish all caught that day.
While there, I was lured by a convincing restaurant proprietor. The prices were decent, so I went in and sat down. He stood there next to me and asked, “What do you want to eat?”
“Uh…Can I see the menu?” I thought it rather strange that he would want to take my order before even presenting me with choices.
He paused for a moment and then said, “Here, come with me and you can see for yourself!” With that, he led me across the street to the fish shop facing his restaurant. He pointed to the burgeoning variety on display and asked again, “What do you want to eat?”
If there are any present or future restaurant owners who read this, here is a note to you: this is how I want to be served seafood. After negotiating a meal, he barked some orders to a waiter who quickly scurried away. He returns a few moments later with a bag of fish. Within 15 minutes, I had a fantastic plate filled with tasty bites.
With that, I found myself back in the familiarity of the Mark and Spencer in Gatwick airport. As I munched on a ham and cheese sandwich, I could not help but reminisce on the delectables of the journey. To help jog the memory was a box of Turkish Delights purchased that morning from the Grand Bazaar. It was a fitting end to a fantastic journey.
