Eurovision 2013: More Than Only Teardrops

And so another one of those grotesque European singing shows is over. Sweden had the honour of hosting the Eurovision Song Contest 2013, having clocked its fifth victory in Baku last year with the euphoric, erm, Euphoria performed by Loreen. After a bit of discussion on the side of the organisers, it was down to Malmö, Sweden's third largest city, to stage both semi-finals and the finals. Malmö was selected over Stockholm to pace the ever expanding scale of the previous recent events – and did its job beautifully. Things went swiftly and the audience inspired with the enthusiasm rarely remembered at Eurovision. Even the presenter was funny, perhaps aided by the fact that she does comedy for a living and was leading the show alone – thus avoiding the mandatory flirting platitudes from a co-presenter of the opposite gender.

This year’s contest was the closest in a long time. Denmark’s Emmelie de Forest eventually outpaced her main rival, Azerbaijan’s Farid, to score the third ever Eurovision victory for Denmark. Her Shakira-esque Only Teardrops featured bare feet, drums and a flute theme; it collected a total of 281 points, eight of which were 12-point tickets. Azerbaijan’s runner-up Hold Me actually received more top scores – 10 in total – but stayed second with 234 points. Despite the tight race, these results didn’t really surprise anyone; Denmark was widely tipped to win while Azerbaijan holds the highest average Eurovision score of the last decade.

This year introduced some changes to the usual set-up of the show. First, realising the importance of the occasion, the male half of former ABBA got together to pen a designated Eurovision anthem, We Write The Story, which opened the show. Second, likely inspired by the recent Olympic Games, the organisers let the 26 competing artists parade their flags over an improvised bridge – echoing the Øresund Bridge that connects Sweden with Denmark, mere minutes from the venue. Third, the running order of the songs was not determined randomly but, for the first time ever, dictated by the producers, apparently to help avoid certain "lulls" created by consecutive songs sounding too similar. And, in case this didn't spark enough controversy, each national result combined the usual televote with the decision of a five-member jury. Introduced to allay certain countries' concerns about Eurovision's trademark bloc voting, this move sadly infuriated a few others. Turkey withdrew its participation from the 2013 contest, citing disagreement with the revised voting system. Oh well, no Sasha Baron Cohen lookalikes this year, then.

Returners and gone missing

Besides Turkey, several other last year’s participants decided to skip Eurovision this time around. Portugal and Slovakia have never really stood out in the contest anyway. The country whose absence I noticed immediately, however, was Bosnia & Herzegovina, which withdrew due to financial difficulties. With disappointment did I come to terms with the fact that another Elvir Laković would not be jumping out of a box in the middle of the stage to his little sister doing the backing vocals. Not even Zlatan Ibrahimović's special words of welcome to Malmö, his home city, could fill in that Bosnia-shaped gap.

Thankfully (or tragically, perhaps), some countries and artists re-joined the contest after a brief absence. Armenia last performed at Eurovision 2011 but looked to have descended straight from the 1980s with their double denim outfits. San Marino sent Valentina Monetta, the same singer as last year, who sadly again failed to qualify for the finals. Bulgaria's Elitsa Todorova and Stoyan Yankulov last presented Bulgaria in 2007, scoring 5th (their country's best result to date). Unfortunately, they, too, failed to make it past the semis.

Some trends: ethnic is so last decade

Unlike several recent contests, the 2013 Eurovision was surprisingly lacking in ethnic music. The only two exceptions were Bulgaria's Samo Shampioni (Only Champions) – which, as mentioned, failed to live up to its title – and Croatia's Mižerja (Misery), which sadly did. The former combined Balkan rhythms with a form of trance, while the latter pulled together six members of several klapas – Dalmatian a-capella singing ensembles.

Traditional music aside, while current Eurovision rules allow the artists to perform in any language of their choice, it is refreshing to see that not all songs end up being sung in English. In the two semi-finals, just over a half of all songs from non-English speaking nations – 17, to be precise – were performed in national languages. By the decisive night, this number had shrunk to 8 out of 23. Among the usual suspects France, Italy and Spain – three automatic qualifiers who nearly always stick to their mother tongues – two surprises came in the face of Greece and Iceland. For Greece, it was the second song to be sung in Greek since 1998, while Iceland last used Icelandic at Eurovision in 1997. One could argue that the Anglophone chorus of Greece's wonderful Alcohol Is Free broke the trend but, before Eurovision relaxed its language rules, three foreign words was precisely the allowed limit per song. Fresh is still my memory of the (otherwise rather forgettable) Austrian 1997 entry, sporting a clumsy chorus of "one step forward… und zwei zurück". I am sure we are all glad the language restrictions at Eurovision have been lifted since.

That said, those Eurovision lyrics are sometimes best not understood rather than being translated into primary school English. I am still recovering from San Marino's last year's take on Facebook ("if you wanna come to my house, then click me with your mouse"), but 2013 was also blessed with less-than-genius song writing. Sentimental platitudes aside, the worst-lyric title goes to Lithuania's Andrius Pojavis. Somehow he didn't win in the end; because of my shoes, perhaps.

My other stage is an operational one

In case anyone had any doubts, this year’s contest notably featured artists who are not even singers. Hungary's ByeAlex is in fact a journalist in everyday life and edits a regional magazine in eastern Hungary. Belarus's Alyona Lanskaya is a TV celebrity and has starred in a local sports reality show. Estonia's Birgit, Iceland's Eythor Ingi and Finland's Krista Siegfrids are all theatre artists, the former having even sung the part of Maria von Trapp in a local staging of The Sound of Music. They were, however, all outdone by Malta's Gianluca who, despite stemming from a highly musical family, currently practises his main profession as a medical doctor. I only hope there were no medical emergencies in Malta last Saturday night.

Among these amateurs, the UK was clearly holding out for a hero with its veteran entry in the shape of Bonnie Tyler. Following last year's Engelbert Humberdinck, it is great to see that we are finally finding good talent in the UK. Believe in Me collected a few votes (thank you, Ireland, for the entire 7) and likely caused a sigh of relief at Number 10, as we couldn't possibly afford to host Eurovision after the whole Olympics extravaganza and the funeral of Baroness Thatcher.

Tit for tat, neighbour

Possibly the saddest fact about this year's Eurovision was the absence of former Yugoslavia in the finals. Serbia merged three long-legged local talent show success stories – a recipe for disaster, as we all learned. I last saw the singing trio dragged away by the fashion police. Croatia's Dalmatian tune entered the wrong contest. Montenegro competed with an eclectic mix of hip-hop and house music (yes, really), with a predictable outcome. I wish I could say the Slovenian entry was better but fail even to remember it. I think it was the only one to be sung in English, however – as always, Slovenia likes to be different.

Without the ceaselessly cross-voting Balkan neighbours, the national results were disappointingly less predictable. Croatia didn't exchange a “douze” with Bosnia, and Montenegro didn't dish out its top points to Serbia. I almost felt let down by the absence of the same bloc voting I get grumpy about every Eurovision. To worsen matters, many halves of the shameless "best friends" went missing in the finals – Azerbaijan was there but not Turkey, Greece was there but not Cyprus, and Spain was there but not Portugal. I nearly sighed with relief when Romania awarded its 12 points to Moldova – but the latter failed to return the favour, rationing a "mere" 10 to its linguistically close neighbour. Whatever has gone wrong with Eurovision?

So the only two "golden" handshakes of the night were Ukraine and Belarus, and the Netherlands and Belgium. The missing Balkans prolifically voted for Scandinavia. In the absence of Turkey, Germany surprised us all by highlighting Hungary. Greece gave 12 points to Azerbaijan. You know the rest.

…and a few more surprises

It wouldn't have been Eurovision without a few interesting memories. Moldova gets my undisputed best outfit award for the singer's huge self-lit red frock. I think I even used to own a Barbie doll with exactly the same outfit.

The most eccentric performance award goes to Romania's Cezar with It's My Life. The singer is a professional countertenor, has sung at several European opera houses and worked with world class musicians. I still kept getting a creepy feeling that the falsettoing singer, dressed immaculately in a black shiny suit, was about to crawl out of the screen and get me. Or worse, turn into a bat and fly away.

The prize for the best lyric decidedly goes to Finland. "Skipping dinner to get thinner, where is my proposal?" is no doubt close to many a fellow female heart out there. "Marry me, I'll be your queen bee", Krista Siegfrids continued, and kissed one of her female co-performers. As the rumour goes, this widely advertised lesbian kiss was among the reasons a certain country refused to broadcast the event. I fail to get the hype though; in the words of the UK's presenter, Graham Norton, those offended by two women kissing need to grow up.

Moving on to worst dance, we have an undisputed winner in Roberto Bellarosa's Love Kills, representing Belgium. Well, I admit to having nearly missed the singer as his two clone-looking dancers stole all of my attention. Seriously, if love doesn't kill you here, choreography certainly will.

Other memorable moments include Norway's Margaret Berger (whose I Feed You My Love seemed to clash with the tune), Ukraine's Zlata Ognevich (carried to the stage by an authentic giant), Spain's ESDM (whose bagpipe intro briefly made me fear that Runrig had gate-crashed the contest) and Belarus's Alyona Lanskaya (who seems to have made things up with President Lukashenko after being personally disqualified by him last year).

What came as a great surprise is that Ireland were not represented by Jedward this year. And an even greater surprise? That so many of us would hear ourselves saying "We miss Jedward". Ryan Dolan's Only Love Survives sounded like a cover version of the most average Eurovision song of the decade. Seriously, Ireland – we want Jedward back.

In conclusion, I know that at least three artists left the event happy. First, Denmark's Emmelie de Forest, for obvious reasons. Second, Malta's Gianluca – undoubtedly the happiest chap ever to sing at Eurovision. Finally, good old Greece. They couldn't possibly host the event next year – the IMF wouldn't understand, for a start – but have fun they certainly did. And if small instruments and men in skirts isn't quite your formula for success then free alcohol might just be. Watch out next year, Copenhagen.

Valentine's, Shmalentine's

My Greek teacher emailed me this morning. Along with a gentle reminder to do my homework, she dropped in a casual “…by the way, I hope you are still coming to class tonight”.

I wondered why on earth not. It wasn’t either of the two Easters yet. Perhaps it was snowing outside? A slightest sight of snow would guarantee instant paralysis to London’s transport network. But snowing it wasn’t and wasn’t going to, either. Was the Tube on strike? Nope – and even then, I’d normally cycle everywhere. Was the city besieged by aliens? In that case the last thing my Greek teacher would do is email around homework reminders.

Heart-shaped sun, heart-shaped clouds, heart-shaped everything

I was seriously confused. And it wasn’t until I logged in to my Facebook account later this morning that things finally became clearer. Heart-shaped objects literally inundated the newsfeed. Of course – today was the 14th of February, aka Valentine’s Day. My Greek teacher wasn’t trying to confuse me at all – in fact, she probably genuinely wished I had better plans for tonight than attending a language lesson. And my affirmative “Of course!” possibly made her feel a little sorry for me.

I dare say I never quite warmed up to the whole Valentine’s Day scheme. As a young girl in the Soviet Union, I was blissfully ignorant of this (and indeed any other) Western indulgence. During my subsequent single years, I christened the 14th of February the “Singles’ Awareness Day” and resented the very idea of a mandatory marking of the occasion by couples. Sorry for stating the obvious, but, if you are a couple, shouldn’t you celebrate every day together? So, when boyfriends started dotting the horizon, they were each politely advised to disregard the date and spread their love evenly throughout the year instead.

This goes for all the suppressed men out there

My main problem with Valentine’s Day, however, has always been its startling inequality. It is unfair that only the male side of the population is summoned in for nice Valentine’s gestures. Being a banker, I have seen all too many male colleagues stressing about that impending date in February. Sorry to disappoint, ladies, but few of those presents you receive are bought with any advance planning. Most result from a 10-minute trip to a nearby train station that conveniently houses a jewellery shop or a chocolate stall. A transaction can even take as little as two minutes; this Tuesday, the ground floor of the very building where I work hosted a jewellery fair. Hats off to the silent genius that brought the right merchandise closer to the busy customer on the occasion when rings are likely to be purchased by a kilo.

Men are expected to rush off early from work, give bigger (if not the only) presents and pay out of their pockets when it comes to that inevitably overpriced meal at an overbooked restaurant. The job of the women is to sit back and enjoy getting spoilt. Which is only fine when a certain man actually enjoys spoiling his woman – on any day, not one designated one – and a certain woman still has the decency to appreciate the gesture rather than take it as a granted Valentine’s “duty”.

And my already strained relationship with Valentine’s Day went further downhill when I met the man I truly believe to be “the one”. Apologies for boring any of you, but every day with him is indeed a celebration of true, unconditional love. Fresh flowers are delivered with enviable frequency, presents given for no reason whatsoever and my offers of honest contribution towards restaurant meals, rugby tickets and the Eurostar all denied categorically. Indeed I have had to impose restrictions on the number of presents made per calendar month and ban all but the simplest flower combinations – partly in an attempt to control my other half’s budget (which he seems to be managing very well himself, anyway) but also to save myself from getting hopelessly spoilt by this ceaseless pampering.

But surely it isn’t all that bad

It is easy to see how an imposed date for men to take their loved ones to dinner and splash out on flowers and chocolate is not exactly necessary. But I tried to see the arguments of the defence side, too. Surely there was a good reason why today’s Facebook was all covered in “I do’s” and coloured a subtle shade of pink. I gave it a little thought and came up with the following few benefits of Valentine’s Day.

First, Valentine’s Day is invaluable when it comes to teaching teenagers about being romantic. Teenagers are not exactly known for being steadfast in their emotional attachments and have little experience in dealing with the opposite gender beyond the usual friendship level. Teenagers are also likely to be preoccupied with a range of time-consuming activities, be it sports, studies, social occasions or hobbies. As a rule, they value their budding relationships less than older folks like me. Granted – Valentine’s Day may indeed be that one time in a year when teenagers actually learn to spend time with the person they have declared to be “In a Relationship” with. This way doing romantic things later on may not seem like a total shock to the system.

Second, the “couples’ day” can be a good social laugh at school and even the workplace. Some establishments go as far as setting up post boxes where romantic letters are deposited anonymously and distributed to the addressees on the day. We had one in the final years of school; I secretly dreamt of receiving a flaming love message but never did. My brightest memory was posting a satirical poem to the guy I actually rather disliked. To my utter surprise, he loved my piece of poetry so much he read it out to the whole class, choking with laughter. Everyone was wonderfully entertained.

Third, Valentine’s Day is a good milestone for men to proceed to major steps in relationships. Let’s face it – men are simple, unsophisticated creatures and really aren’t into over-engineering things. The 14th of February is a fixed date easy enough to set aside for proposals, moving in together or even starting to share responsibility for a flushing spaniel. At least one proposal was recorded on the immortal plaque of my Facebook newsfeed this afternoon. I admit feeling a bite of jealousy at the fact; thankfully, the ring was not at all my type. And, just for the record, the man in question wasn’t, either.

Is chocolate the answer?

But the best aspect of Valentine’s came after my zumba class. The same ground floor of my building that staged a jewellery fair two days ago now had a 2-meter chocolate fountain installed. Bowls of fruits and sweets were surrounding it, and two smart waiters zoomed around serving chocolatey goodness to people.

As the chocolate melted on my tongue, so did my heart. I thought that maybe – just maybe –Valentine’s Day wasn’t such a bad occasion, after all.

I might even celebrate it with some Greek homework.

My life is boring… sort of

Something interesting happened yesterday. A colleague of mine, freshly back from the flaming shores of Puerto Rico, walked into my office and announced that he was soon “going hiking in Switzerland” – visibly expecting overwhelming approval and accolades from my side.

None of such was forthcoming, however. “Boring”, I said without even looking at him. No, not the evil sort of boring. The sort when you barely let the information enter your brain, take a fraction of a second processing it, and shoot it straight out. Hiking in Switzerland? A country just a couple of hours from London by plane? Boring. As for the holiday package in Puerto Rico where you’d no doubt bumped into a few of your ex US neighbours in one of those cereal box hotels? Likewise boring, my friend. What else could one ever respond? Boring.

And, going through one of my legendarily grumpy moments, I kindly took my eyes off the screen to bestow my colleague with a glance – not a very welcoming one, mind you – and added that actually his whole life was boring. Very boring, in fact.

Not without some surprise (but very little as most of my colleagues no longer react to my offensive remarks), my counterpart retorted that his life was really a lot of fun. And that whoever's life was actually boring to tears was “you, Anna”. Following which he walked proudly out. I guess I will be hearing no more of Switzerland. I am a little relieved about the fact.

What do you mean my life is boring?

The incident already half-forgotten (the colleague soon stopped by to check if his tie was okay – I said this wasn’t his worst. I can actually be nice sometimes), I could still hear “you, Anna” ringing in my ears. “My life is boring”, I repeated a few times slowly to myself, as if trying to grasp the full meaning of these words. Somehow I was a little disappointed that someone would ever let it into their minds that my, Anna’s, life could be anything but exciting. A little disappointed – and a little offended, perhaps.

You see, this whole tripping around the world – and the resulting appreciation from friends and strangers alike – have somewhat spoilt me. I hear a zillion compliments addressing my (admittedly amateur, but there you go) photography, my (non-existent, but I play it out well) language skills and my alleged bravery in visiting remote locations (totally undeserved as I mostly stick to midrange hotels and generally avoid hanging out in deserted places). Even my banking career is turning out quite decent for a once penniless student in Finland. I am certainly no longer searching through rubbish bins for plastic bottles every night to earn a bit of extra cash. Seriously, while a healthy dollop of self-criticism is not totally undesirable, I have always thought my life rather an interesting one. An opposing opinion? Please explain.

So no fine dining in Dubai then

Then light gradually began to shine through. Not without some internal struggle, I accepted that one could indeed see certain aspects of my life as boring. Starting with travel destinations – I must admit that I have become an extreme snob when it comes to those. I have no interest in visiting the likes of Dubai or Los Angeles, albeit coveted by many. I did not love New York at all when I was there in 2010 and doubt I am ever going back. Even Rio de Janeiro – the city I flew across to for exactly three days and three nights, for a friend’s wedding in 2011 – is a done thing. I have seen what there was to be seen and my steps are now headed elsewhere. Others may be screaming into my ears how I absolutely MUST go to Dubai or Los Angeles, and how I definitely MUST give New York and Rio another chance – I think not, thank you very much.

Next, I admit I must be dead boring when it comes to eating out. Reservation only? Michelin rated? Mention those buzzwords, and I’ll get depressed – and might even play a sick card. Fine dining in such places is not a treat or a privilege in any way, and it isn’t even a matter of price: I would still feel depressed if meals were on the house. Simplicity, on the other hand, is pure joy. At home in London, my second half and I alternate between local pubs and peripheral Indian joints. On the road, I am more of a supermarket type in countries with higher price levels, and definitely a street food fan when it comes to cheaper locations. India, Vietnam and Thailand boast fabulous street food cultures, and it isn’t a wonder that I thrive whenever I am there. However, most of my friends would fret at the kind of food I routinely consume as a traveller. And I doubt many would sit down on the curb or one of those miniature plastic stools to share a meal with me. Saner people would go for a safer, cleaner, pricier option. I think they might be boring to turn away from street food – they probably think the same about me for avoiding posher sit-down haunts.

Nights are for sleeping. Aren’t they?

Nightlife deserves a few words here. If a newspaper or a guidebook happens to have a corresponding section, then I will most certainly skip it. Nightlife for me is virtually non-existent. I’ll rephrase that: nightlife on the road generally means going to sleep as early as my photos allow me and getting up way too early for most people’s standards. Indeed my alarm is usually set to ring between 6 and 6:30am at the latest; very few people I know would do that to themselves on holiday.

Moreover, I strongly dislike loud, noisy bars – an essential part of a classic definition of nightlife – and, as a rule, do not drink alcohol while travelling. Part of this has to do with being a solo female in a foreign environment, meaning I do not want to (a) send the wrong message to locals and (b) lose control of myself. Another, much larger, part of this is that, well, I simply do not like bars. They rather intimidate me. The idea that you’d have to pay money to prolong your forced visit to any of those simply defeats me. Night clubs take this whole idea to an entirely new level. In fact, I won’t even get started on those. Am I boring? I'd probably seem so to the majority of the holidaying population.

And tonight, Matthew, I will study…

Finally, the way I’d normally spend my free time “at base”, i.e. in London, is not likely to appeal to many people either. Gone are the days when I’d be fashionably toiling away in front of a computer screen together with countless other slaves to an unnamed financial services industry. All my evenings are now work-free – and my favourite way to spend one in London is – tada! – at a language course. I have already tried Norwegian at the University of Westminster, Greek at the Hellenic Centre and Arabic at SOAS (of which the latter two I am still continuing). My next big goal is to sign up for a beginners’ Hindi class at King’s in the autumn. Seriously, nothing moves the brain in the same way as foreign languages do. I swear by my evening courses – but I also see now how most of my friends would probably find such an activity boring. Call me a language geek; I stick to my pistoler. Which is Norwegian for guns, by the way.

Same goes for going out with friends. Fancy meals or, God forbid, cocktails are things I desperately try to avoid. Languages aside, evenings are to be spent with that one crazy person who seems to prefer my company to any other; him failing, there are plenty of Hindi movies on my hard drive to watch and things in my much adored flat to scrub clean. Indeed my preferred ways of socialising are limited to an afternoon coffee or a home-cooked dinner. My most perfect friends are families, whose lives are already well established, homes organised, bedtimes early, children available to play with and fridges well stocked with food. Moreover, my wed friends tend to be older and thus miles more interesting conversationalists than most fellow nearly-30-year-olds. And with “interesting” I certainly speak for myself. Because, to most of my peers, spending time with older people burdened with families is probably boring. Really boring.

I sighed. It was Friday and this lengthy thinking process was somewhat tiresome. Thankfully, my previously offended colleague walked in again – this time to ask if his new trousers were “okay”. For the love of god, the guy had done some serious shopping on Puerto Rico.

I didn’t give him much chance to talk though. In silence I got up, put my hands on his shoulders, shot a meaningful look into his dark Tajik eyes – and said “Maybe your life isn’t as boring as mine, buddy”.

And, as if only to worsen the already terrified expression on his face, I added “And those trousers really aren’t too flared at the ends. Really”.

2013: Travel plan

Happy New Year! I hope that everybody's 2013 has been off to a good start.

Among my resolutions this year is to try and update this blog a bit more. I admit I have neglected this website all too often in 2012, for which I apologise. As I wrote in both of my latest posts (2012: Year in Pictures and 2012 Newsletter), a drop in blogging activity certainly did not result from the lack of news to report. 2012 was an exciting, fulfilling year – the year I travelled to such diverse destinations as India, Cuba, Greenland and Uzbekistan. I should really have made more effort to tell you about those travels here, but honestly, a full-time banking job, occasional photo assignments and a budding romance have all somewhat limited my presence in the cyberspace. Ask my Facebook buddies.

I have also been busy devising my travel plans for 2013. This world is such a great, fascinating place that only ever seems to expand its perimeter the more I travel. 2011 may have been a year of Norway as I made five trips to the Scandinavian country and spent my long summer holiday there. 2012 would have been a year of India, as last year both started and ended there, with a further little bit of India in-between. And 2013? I am not sure if this year will be underpinned by any common theme. The highlights of my travel schedule are below; I will leave it up to you readers to decide.

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(1) Weekend for two in Paris (March). While Paris may not be an exotic destination – especially to any of us Londoners – my imminent visit there is special in a different way. Most of you will remember my firm preference to travel alone wherever I go (Why I love travelling alone). Indeed, bar occasional short-haul overground transfers, I have not sought company on the road since early 2009. I selfishly admit that I have not really suffered from this self-imposed travel solitude; but time is high to start changing the comfortable status quo.

I have a small confession to make here: in case any of you remember my search for a “perfect cricket mate” (Wanted: A perfect (cricket) mate), you may have wondered if the search actually took place and, if yes, whether it has been successful. In a nutshell, yes and yes. The perfect mate in my life may not be all that great a cricket player, but he follows the game with interest, is not giving up hopes of converting yours truly to rugby sometime soon, and generally strikes me as a rare but fine example of male perfection. The weekend in the world’s most staple destination for couples – Paris, what else – will be our first step on the way to grander things. And, if everything goes as planned, why shouldn't the whole world be our oyster. Or snail, whatever.

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(2) Educational visit to Auschwitz (March). Romantic getaways aside, this spring I will finally fulfill my long-term ambition of visiting Auschwitz. Arguably the gloomiest place on earth, Auschwitz continues to attract over a million visitors per year, and does so for a reason. The insight into not-so-recent history of mankind is believed by many to be life-changing. In fact, a visit to Auschwitz should well be made mandatory to everyone.

On a brighter note, I will have a second chance to explore the beautiful city of Krakow, where I haven’t set foot since 2006. Back then, my Polish vocabulary was limited to “gdzie jest sklep” (“where is the shop”), the sole phrase I used to navigate, not without success, around a small village near Nowy Sacz where my friend’s parental home was located. While I suspect I may need a bit more Polish to get around a city as big as Krakow, I stand ready to face the challenge.

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(3) Cherry blossom in Japan (April). Stuck in an hour-long business meeting with lawyers last September, I used time productively to shortlist possible travel destinations for Easter 2013. My original plan was to hit Hong Kong – the city I miserably failed to visit courtesy of a certain Icelandic volcano back in 2010. I almost moved my finger to “make booking” when, somehow, Japan sprang to mind.

It turned out that the 2013 cherry blossom season – a major attraction point for many visitors to Japan – coincided beautifully with Easter in the West. Flight fares still reasonable, my friend Tomoko happily residing in Kanagawa-ken, and Japan not exactly the least interesting world's country all meant that my fate was sealed in seconds. I am yet to settle on a detailed 17-day itinerary in Japan, but it will most likely cover the usual suspects of Tokyo, Kyoto, Hiroshima, Mt. Fuji and Osaka. As well as involve a VERY expensive railway pass. And ultra-sleek, ultra-clean trains. And flashing urban streets. And high-tech interactive toilets. And luscious flower gardens. And raw fish. And – oh, did I ever mention – lots and lots of cherry blossom.

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(4) Escaping it all on Madeira (May). Ever wondered about the outermost region of the European Union? Greenland (an autonomous region of Denmark) may seem the most obvious candidate but is in fact the only territory to have chosen to exit the EU a long time ago, in a 1982 referendum. The Faroe Islands of Denmark aren’t all that far and never even joined the EU in the first place. What’s left is Madeira – an autonomous region of Portugal, the remote archipelago lies as far as a thousand kilometers off the European continent, in the middle of the Atlantic ocean.

Remote in the life of anjči equals interesting, and I am finally getting my act together to visit Madeira on the first bank holiday in May. With surprise, I discovered not one, not two but THREE direct flight connections between London and the island. I remain in denial – while others seem to have discovered and explored Madeira long before me, I still intend to come and see for myself.

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(5) Greek immersion on Milos (June). My Greek lessons continue, as do my annual visits to the stunning Greek islands. Following last year’s escapade to Chios, a joint tour of Amorgos and Astypalea in 2010 and the summer of 2008 (spent almost entirely in Greece), I have admittedly struggled to settle on an island this time. No, I haven’t visited them all yet. I am not even close, in fact – but the circle of remote, less frequented islands with decent transport links to Athens is invariably shrinking.

Finally I have selected Milos – the southwesternmost island of the Cycladic group with permanent population of no more than 5,000 and not overly developed, it was an easier choice. A couple of years since Amorgos, I have missed the whitewashed buildings of the Cyclades and the stunningly gorgeous blue of the southern Aegean. I have likewise missed quiet harbours, remote mountain villages, rocky beaches and the locals’ pandemic excitement to see off an occasional big passenger ferry. I have missed Greece like crazy. There is simply no alike sunny destination anywhere in the world.

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(6) Defying the summer heat of Cairo (August). I have never had more candidates for an August bank holiday than this year. My first idea to roll that weekend into a long escape to Asia (see below) fell through as my friend Marianne decided to get married on the 17th of August. My second idea to visit one of Scotland’s outer archipelagos discovered a dire lack of decently priced flight connections from London. My third idea to visit Dubai hit the wall when I remembered the pain and expense I went through last time I applied for an UAE visa. The vision of Dubai in my mind as a soulless plastic paradise didn’t help, either.

After checking flights to ALL Caribbean islands (I am famous for weekend escapes to ridiculously faraway places, remember) and even Hong Kong, I seem to have finally settled. On Cairo, the capital of Egypt. One, I have good friends there. Two, it isn’t a 10-hour flight away. Three, it is interesting. And four, I get visa on arrival. The unimportant details of daytime temperatures overshooting high 30s, recent revolutions and, reportedly, aggressive street vendors remain, well, unimportant.

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(7) TWO people’s republics of the East (September). I seem to have become famous for visiting rather controversial pockets of the world. Name a dictatorship regime or a leadership crisis, and you’ll probably find me there sooner than later. From Syria to Uzbekistan, from Cuba to Vietnam, I seem to have been methodically ticking off them all, one by one. So apparent is my passion for undemocratic regimes that a certain friend asked me recently in jest if, by any chance, I had put down Pyongyang for my next visit.

To which I shrugged and said yes. I have in fact always entertained hopes of visiting North Korea. Remarkably closed to the rest of the world, it offers but one chance for us outsiders to peep through its firmly shut doors – that being an organised tour with a Beijing-based travel agency. Yes, I am aware that I will not be able to step outside without a guide. Yes, speaking freely to locals will be a taboo. Yes, it isn’t your typical “fun” destination. And yes, it seems endlessly fascinating despite all of the above. The 7-day tour originates and concludes in Beijing, meaning that I will have a chance to explore some of China, too. Two birds and one stone spring to mind.

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(8) Back in India (December). And the best for last – I have originally sketched New Zealand as my big destination for winter 2013, but my recent trip to India ruled otherwise (see photos here). I simply cannot see myself outside India for longer than a year. I yearn to discover the myriad of India’s regions I missed on my three previous trips. I want to fly into historic Hyderabad, explore the stunning, temple-rich Hampi, stop by in buzzing Bangalore, head to Gokarna and Goa for some seaside fun, catch a train up to Pune and, traditionally, finish it all off with a shopping spree in my favourite city in pretty much the whole of Asia, Mumbai. New Zealand can wait – I absolutely long for India. And heck, am I going back next winter.

For now though, may I once again wish you a most wonderful, rewarding year. May it be filled with pleasant mind-challenging new discoveries, both through travel and otherwise. Stay tuned! 

2012 Newsletter

Yet another year is drawing to a close. I can hardly believe how quickly this one, too, has run past. Perhaps I should introduce a standard newsletter format for all subsequent write-ups and only fill in the blanks!

To regular followers of the life of anjči, 2012 may seem somewhat less exciting than the recent years. Indeed, I have “only” been absent from the UK on 104 days this year – almost a full month less than in each of 2011 and 2010. I have spent time in no more than 20 different countries – hereby unilaterally granting Greenland a status of a separate country for the purposes of this blog, in a desperate attempt to beautify the slightly lagging statistics. And of the 20 countries visited, there were “only” five first-timers: Cuba, Cyprus, Greenland, Tunisia and Uzbekistan, again below the high benchmark of the recent past. The fact that I have all but abandoned this blog halfway through the year certainly hasn’t made my case any stronger, either.

This trough underpins one of 2012’s major new developments. It was sometime during 2012 that I felt more at home in London than ever, mounting the efforts to cosy up the same old flat in Bermondsey where I have spent nearly four years. Lengthy travels have become more of an inevitability to reach new places than an adventure of their own. The high-profile events in London this year – what with the Queen’s Jubilee and the Olympics and all – are possibly to blame. 2012 was undoubtedly the most patriotic year in the UK on my modestly short memory, encouraging many of us Londoners to stick around and share in the excitement.

New developments aside, some things have hardly changed at all. 2012 has not been much different to its recent predecessors as far as my friends’ baby activity is concerned. I have been proven dramatically wrong to think most family additions would have depleted themselves by 2011. By now I have hopelessly lost the count of babies residing in my friends’ households at any given point in time. Let alone names and ages, I fail to remember even genders of individual new arrivals. From my heart, I congratulate everyone who has seen a first, or a new addition to their family in 2012. I may have waited out yet another year without joining your ranks – but at least I have got this much closer by shrinking the shortlist of my future children’s father hopefuls to one. Which is not exactly the most unimportant preparatory step.

Without further ado, however, let us embark on the recap of this year’s events in order.

2012 IN REVIEW: WINTER

Following rather unglamorous New Year’s “celebrations” of 2011 – when I welcomed 2012 asleep, aboard an old Vietnamese train moving into darkness in the company of nine local strangers sharing a 6-berth compartment (don’t ask), I entered 2012 in a little more style. Udaipur, the “Lake City” of Rajasthan, did not feel very wintery, and it was only when hundreds of fireworks exploded overhead – reflecting in the many lakes surrounding this stunning Indian city – that the end of 2011 finally dawned upon me. With mango lassi in one hand and my trusty Nikon in the other, I stood atop my hotel’s roof, watching locals exchanging greetings in the streets below and receiving a string of media messages from what was still “last year” – Europe and the Americas. I vouched to myself never to stay asleep on New Year’s Eve again. Unless, of course, I happen to be on a train in Vietnam.

My first couple of days in 2012 were fairly rushed as, having strolled endlessly in beautiful Udaipur, I returned to foggy Delhi and boarded a flight to London – my journey back to reality. The reality did not prove to be such a welcome concept, however, and, soon after returning to Britain, I headed off again – this time to an entirely different environment. The Arctic city of Tromsø in Norway was hosting its annual international film festival, and no destination looked like a better candidate to numb the pain of my recent separation from the spectacular India. And perfect it was! The film festival was fascinatingly diverse, my new friend Hanneke’s hospitality second to none, and the Northern Lights – which duly made appearance in time for my arrival – as ever, breath-taking.

A surprisingly uneventful February followed when my attempted break from travel turned sour days after it started. My brightest memory is joining Syrian friends for a demonstration in support of anti-government movements in the Middle East, organised by Amnesty International on London’s Trafalgar Square on 11 February 2012. That finished, I started getting dangerously bored in frozen London – when spring finally came, bringing with it an end to this self-imposed break from travels.

2012 IN REVIEW: SPRING

As if to compensate for a lingering, dull February, March came down like a phoenix. It felt like all I did was getting on and off the plane. It began with a weekend trip to Spain’s Seville and Cadiz, two cities in gorgeous Andalucía that reminded me just how intertwined the cultures of Spain and North Africa once were. Pre-Easter carnivals had taken over the streets of little Cadiz, with dozens of chirigota performers making laugh even the sternest of passers-by. I, however, had to bid them farewell and return to London for about four hours – before embarking on a business trip to Dunaújváros, an industrial town in Hungary. A visit to a fully functional (and endlessly smelly) paper mill provided quite a contrast to colourful Spanish festivities, which by then seemed like a distant memory.

Back in London for a luxurious 12 hours, I repacked in record times and was off again – this time on a long weekend in… Mumbai. Yes, you may have noticed that long weekends in faraway destinations have become a sort of a tradition on these blog’s pages. I am unlikely to beat my own record of three days in Rio de Janeiro in 2011; but four days in Mumbai, too, raised their share of eyebrows. The trip was worth every penny – Holi festivities, untouristy streets of Kamathipura, early mornings on the Juhu beach, the Gateway of India, tour of Dharavi slum, shopping in Santa Cruz, cricket to a rather western cup of coffee on modern Linking Road – the contrasts were almost as overwhelming as the rest of this incredible country called India. Many thanks to my friend Avi and the rest of the Mehta family for giving me an unforgettable welcome. I cannot wait to see you all in Mumbai in less than a month; more about this later.

Steady on, those three short trips only bring us to the second half of March. Within days of returning from Mumbai, I made a dash to Cyprus, for exactly 36 hours – arguably enough time to tick off a handful of items on my list. The undisputed highlight was the crossing of the so-called Green Line, the guarded frontier splitting the capital of Nicosia and indeed the rest of the island into Greek Cypriot and Turkish Cypriot parts. It was just as I had imagined – lives on adjacent sides of the border seemed to be abiding different rules while my (allegedly) beautiful Athenian Greek became decidedly useless in Turkish neighbourhoods.

I returned to London, only to fly promptly back pretty much in the same direction – this time to Turkey proper, where I combined work in Istanbul with a weekend visit to the region of Cappadocia. The towns of Nevşehir, Göreme, Avanos and Ürgüp all took my breath away with their surrounding moonlike scenery and rich cultural heritage. Finally, a couple of days later, I found myself on another business trip, in Slovenia. The power generating unit my employer is financing there is almost complete, and I was lucky to ride a lift up its newly built cooling tower, over 100 meters tall. The surrounding views were stunning, and subsequent work visits to Zlatoličje and Maribor confirmed the well-known truth: I absolutely, dearly love my job.

March was finally over, but spring continued its brisk pace. I was pleasantly impressed by how lovely the allegedly overdeveloped island of Mallorca was on a weekend trip there in April. Rapidly improving European weather prepared me for a major holiday that was to follow in May. Off I set for the faraway rebellious island in the Caribbean: Cuba, amigos. During the 12 days there, I travelled most of the island’s length overland, from Havana to Santiago. Havana charmed me with its decadence scruffy look propped up by decidedly outdated American cars (I was less impressed by their less outdated but far worse looking Soviet counterparts); Santiago sported a rich blend of cultures; Trinidad’s colonial heritage had been beautifully preserved; while the Caribbean – the beautiful, pleasantly warm Caribbean – needed absolutely no introduction. With some of the most captivating personalities I have met around the world to date, Cuba was quite simply surreal.

A rather unmemorable weekend getaway to Tunisia and a VERY memorable Eurovision Song Contest later – I am a Eurovision freak, remember – the spring was over. It was certainly an eventful one.

2012 IN REVIEW: SUMMER

June marched in, opening grandiosely with Her Majesty’s Diamond Jubilee festivities in London. At the risk of jeopardising my loyalty to the Crown, I shamelessly left the country for the warmer shores of Greece instead –and, after two failed attempts to visit the Aegean island of Chios in the past, luck was finally on my side. I spent nine wonderful days zooming around Chios on ancient buses, catching lifts with locals, talking politics, cycling to quieter beaches for evening dips, hiking over hills to UNESCO protected monasteries, getting forest fireguards to show me the way and wondering how, how it was possible that one of Greece’s wealthiest islands – housing a reasonable number of ship owners – could look ever so understated. It was only later that a Greek friend explained to me I would have to fly over Chios to spot a few palace-like properties from above. On taxman’s eye level though, it was all low profile.

Quick stopovers in Porto and Riga later, I found myself halfway through July – and getting ready for another week of holiday. I had made no secret of my ardent dream to visit the world’s largest island and dependent territory, Greenland. This time it all finally came together when I spent nine days exploring the highlights of this vast Arctic area: the massive icebergs floating off Ilulissat, the magic light of the midnight sun descending mildly upon remarkable glaciers, the thickest morning mist I had ever, ever experienced – and, decidedly unforgettable, the enormous humpback whales gazing out of the water within close distance from our boat. I may have been eaten alive by the omnipresent mosquitoes in the unusually warm weather, but the holiday itself was worth every bite. I might never revisit Greenland – getting and staying there is both cumbersome and expensive – but, for now, I am happy enough to have ticked it off my immediate wish list.

The holiday in Greenland also broke a major trend of the recent years: that of me refusing to do anything remotely special on my birthday. The last few birthdays had me come to work sporting a mysterious smile, sit through the day without breaking the news to anyone and head home – while laboriously responding to benefactors’ well wishes on social media. It all changed this year in Greenland, when my 29th birthday had me ascend into skies on a helicopter flight over Ilulissat and the surrounding glaciers. It may sound glamorous; however, I fear that was the last time I ventured to mark my birthday in any way. Perhaps I should have saved the whole extravaganza for my 30th.

The rest of the summer went by swiftly. Everybody in London seemed to be talking the Olympics; that opening ceremony certainly made me proud to live in a country with such stunning heritage of history and music. I even went as far as attending one sports event, a non-finalist allocation in men’s water polo. Perhaps I should have capitalised “men’s”, as, ladies and gentlemen, the sight was so breath-taking that I ended up dropping my Nikon onto lower benches and damaging the lens beyond repair. But worth the view? It certainly was.

After a quick family reunion in Ventspils, Latvia – the five people I am related to besides my parents all live there – August concluded with two visits to Scandinavia. The first one was the baptism of my friend Dasha’s two children in Copenhagen, Denmark – a very special occasion indeed. The second was a belated visit to my once frequented Norway, where I travelled on the picturesque Rauma Railway from Dombås to Åndalsnes, visited the Art Nouveau city of Ålesund, took a Hurtigruten ship down the stunning Geiranger fjord, and enjoyed some amazing local hospitality in Molde. It was a perfect end to a perfect summer.

2012 IN REVIEW: AUTUMN

The autumn began in some style when, on 2 September 2012, I found myself cheering for England at Lord’s Cricket Ground in London. Many of you will remember how passionate about cricket I claim to be; an 8-hour match against South Africa went by in a flash. And while my search for a “perfect cricket mate” did not prove to be a success, I managed to score even better by selling my spare ticket to a stranger. At almost double the price. And did I mention England won, too?

Another busy travel spell followed. After a rushed visit to the familiar sights of Helsinki, I was off to Uzbekistan on my first ever trip to Central Asia. During the 11-day break, I travelled from the capital city of Tashkent to historic Samarkand, Bukhara and Khiva, and further to industrial Nukus and sleepy Muynak. The latter was once a thriving port on the Aral Sea, but, the sea all but wiped out by the authorities’ mindless devotion to cotton industry, the only reminder of Muynak’s fishing past were rusty ship carcasses resting in the stretching desert – the so-called “ship cemetery”. As sad as I was to see the prevailing poverty in Uzbekistan, I remained absolutely awed by the hospitality of the locals. On many an occasion I was invited to local homes, fed simple but delicious food, given keepsakes to take home and even accommodated for the night when my designated hotel in Tashkent was suddenly cordoned off by police – all courtesy of kind strangers.

Back in London, I started my evening language classes – continuing Greek and, for the first time, taking on Arabic. In-between work and studies, I managed to squeeze in a couple of other trips, including a weekend getaway to Cork and Dingle in Ireland and a fifth visit to Riga this year. My passport was meanwhile mercilessly expiring, prompting me to apply for a replacement and declare a self-imposed 7-week break from travel. The ordeal turned out to be a rather difficult one, and, eventually, I bent my own rules (as one does) and made two day trips in England – one to the Viking inspired city of York and the other to the pretty, cathedral-topped Lincoln.

Another highlight during this lengthy travel abstinence was watching my first live rugby match at England’s home grounds of Twickenham, where England faced Fiji. England are famous for pulling out a rather patchy performance at times, but this time it all went well. I walked out of the stadium carrying a newly bought England rugby top and vouching to return. Add Lord’s and the Olympics, 2012 in the life of anjči was certainly rich for sports events.

JUST ANOTHER YEAR THEN

Which neatly brings us to December! My new passport issued and the first visa already glued into it, I am making final revisions of my impending 2.5-week itinerary in India. On my third visit to this remarkably colourful country, I will briefly visit Delhi and Mumbai, stop in Varanasi and Kolkata, and spend a week zooming through the southern state of Kerala. With four domestic flights, three rail journeys and a couple of car transfers, I can only pray that no hiccups await along the way. And, even if they do, there are worse things in life than being stuck in India for a few extra days.

2012 was a truly special year. I will always remember it for the newly discovered travel destinations, the feeling of firmly belonging in the UK and the patriotic vibe brought by Her Majesty’s Jubilee and the Olympic Games in London. In the run-up to 2013, I would like to wish you all a wonderful Christmas and New Year, in whichever order you prefer. Many thanks to everyone who found the time to see me and especially to host me in a variety of countries in 2012. Thank you to those of you that kindly bestowed me with your visits – my door in London is open a lot of the time, so please keep on stopping by. Thank you for your friendship and presence in the life of anjči during 2012. I hope that I can keep in touch with and continue seeing many of you in 2013, and beyond.

Happy New Year! Happy New Year! Happy New Year!

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View my 2012: Year in Pictures post.