The origins of entrenched thought

On a mild Sunday afternoon in November, thousands of people have gathered for a special event in Nîmes, France. The Levée des Tridents.

Hundreds of riders from the Camargue, the tough but beautiful Rhône Delta south of Nîmes, get ready for a parade.

They ride an ancient breed of stocky white horses that live semi-feral lives in the marshlands.

The long poles they carry are used for rounding up cattle that also live semi-feral lives. The poles have three points on the end and are, unsurprisingly, known as tridents.

The parade is recreating an event that happened 100 years ago.

In 1921, the S.P.D.A. (Society for Protection of Animals) applied to the courts to ban bullfighting in Nîmes and other arenas in southern France.

But there was a fightback. Local people were rallied to defend bullfighting.

A parade was held.

Posters were written in both the local language, Occitan, and French.

Let’s look at one of those posters a little more closely.

Loosely translated, it says that the people of the South have made their contribution to saving France in the First World War, which had ended only three years earlier. Now they needed to protect their language (Langue d’Oc also known as Occitan) and bullfighting.

Language – doesn’t that seem odd?

Isn’t this about bullfighting?

What has language got to do with it?

In the mid-19th century only half of people in France spoke French as a first language.

During the late 19th and early 20th centuries an aggressive push was made to ensure the French language was the only language of France, particularly by the Prime Minister Jules Ferry.

Occitan was banned in schools.

The sign in this school reads “SPEAK FRENCH, BE CLEAN

Speaking local languages was a source of shame, known as the Vergonha. It is still a controversial topic.

Other signs in schools included rules like: “It is forbidden to spit on the ground and speak patois.”

Languages like Occitan were referred to as a patois, or French dialect. Actually, the language has more in common with Catalan.

Now let’s look at a poster by the local branch of the Society for Protection of Animals who wanted to ban bullfighting.

What languages are used? – only French

What is the very first thing said?

Si vous êtes civilisés” – If you are civilised

What should be a poster about the rights and wrongs of bullfighting becomes a question of whether you are civilised or not. Isn’t this in a similar tone to “Speak French, be clean” or “It is forbidden to spit on the ground and speak patois“?

If you felt looked down on and talked down to, how would you react?

Actually, the pro-bullfighting posters asking locals to protect their ancient ways weren’t being fully honest. Bullfighting may be ancient, but the first recorded bullfight in France took place in 1853, less than 70 years before. Fights had to be conducted with Spanish Brava bulls as native breeds weren’t aggressive enough. It wasn’t for another 20 years that locals started breeding their own fighting bulls – just 50 years of rearing bulls for bullfighting, or half the time between the first Levée des Tridents and the present.

Let’s get back to the parade.

While bands play music with a decidedly Spanish feel…

the riders process through the streets.

People wait their turn to have their photo taken with Spanish bullfighter Juan José Padilla, known as the “Pirate” after losing an eye when gored in the bullring. Despite a miraculous recovery and quick return to the ring, he was injured again and retired soon after that.

People (mostly ladies) wear traditional costumes.

Speeches are made including one by the current Queen of Arles, who is elected to promote the culture of neighbouring Province. Almost everyone is paying attention.

The great-grandson of the founder of the first Levée des Tridents noted:

c’est surtout un cortège pour la défense des traditions, de notre langue et de tout notre pays de Camargue” – Above all, it’s a procession to defend traditions, language and [the] Camargue

While there may be an older feel to much of the parade, there are young people actively involved.

There is also a new generation of bullfighters.

In Nîmes, they have a local hero to look up to – Nimeño II

He was one of the greatest bullfighters of his generation but was badly injured in the ring and being unable to fight again, committed suicide.

The thirtieth anniversary of his death was just a few days after the parade.

It isn’t just bullfighters who are at risk. Rearing aggressive breeds of bulls is dangerous. A few days after the parade, a cow-heard was badly gored at a farm in the Camargue.

After the parade, social media played its part. Tweets were posted calling for the protection of bullfighting. The twitter account for the body organising the parade tweeted:

Liberté– Freedom

The call for freedom by a local group to central government is something shared with their neighbours in Spanish Catalonia. In 2010, the Catalonian government demonstrated their independence from Madrid by banning bullfighting.

Since the first Levée des Tridents, the people of the Languedoc have shown their determination to hold onto their traditions, their language and their freedom. They have taken back control.

But doesn’t this lead to a paradox?

How can you uphold traditions and have freedom to come to your own conclusions about issues like bullfighting? Did the people on the parade have the freedom to honour their forefathers and hold an independent view from them?

We will never know, unless…

one day, people of the Languedoc stop fighting bulls.

The guardhouse of miracles and grievance

At first glance, Guardhouse 30, is an unlikely looking pilgrimage site.

It was built in the 1890s to oversee rail traffic passing from the Austro-Hungarian Empire to the Kingdom of Romania, but fell into disuse after the First World War when the border disappeared and Transylvania became part of modern-day Romania.

However, this is the place that in 2008 the Miracle of Gyimes Valley occurred.

András Deáky, a retired school teacher, who owns a B&B in the valley, decided to buy and renovate Guardhouse 30, which had been the scene of intense fighting in 1944 between Hungarian and Red Army units.

Initially there was local authority resistance to his activities. But he defiantly went ahead anyway and upon completion, organised an inauguration ceremony. This is when András’ miracle occurred. Rather than a handful of locals pitching up, an estimated 40,000 people came, creating gridlock for hours. How much social media was responsible for this divine occurrence is unclear, but that hasn’t stopped thousands flocking here every year at Pentecost.


András wasn’t finished there. He handed control of the Guardhouse to the local community and set to work on raising money and organising the restoration of the other buildings on the same site.

First the Chapel of Kontumác, then the former quarantine station. After that, the creation of a memorial to the Hungarian soldiers who died defending the valley against the Red Army in 1944.

One day, he hopes to restore the ruins of Rákóczi Castle, but for now, visitors have to make do with climbing up the steep steps to the ruins for a great view.

There is also a covered area where the Pentecost services are held and speeches made.

András hasn’t spoken at the last two occasions due to ill health (He is nearly 80). But in 2017, he had a clear message to the pilgrims. And it is one about unity, at least for Hungarians.

“It doesn’t matter if we are right-wing or left-wing. We Hungarians were never the same, but that’s not a problem. What’s more, it’s not desirable. The more diverse we are, the more valuable we are. But dear ones present, there are sacred things in the life of the nation that we cannot make fun of, none of us. Because as long as we Hungarians in Transylvania and you in Hungary hate each other in the colors of different political parties, there is no Hungarian future. We should put an end to this thing once, sit down at the table like civilized people, and agree on a national minimum that we all respect.”

While pilgrims mull over his words, they can trek up a path to the top of an adjacent hill where there is a traditionally-styled gate known as the Gate of Life, Faith, and Nation.

Passing through the gate leads to a set of wooden posts which usually appear on graves. Each post contains a key date in Hungarian history and a word:

Szabadsag, egység, hagyomany, kultura, jog, anyanyelv, csalad, haza, isten

Freedom, unity, tradition, culture, law, mother tongue, family, home/homeland, God

Beyond the posts is a set of wooden crosses which would seem familiar to any Catholic as stations of the cross.

But in place of the usual pictures of Jesus’ ordeals, there are names and locations of Hungarian towns and settlements.

While taking in the view I talk to Istvan, who is here with his wife and children. I ask him what all of this means to him. He sighs, and despite his fluent English, he’s lost for words.

Trianon? I suggest.


After the First World War, the former Austro-Hungarian Empire was broken up, loosely on ethnic lines, and large parts of the former Kingdom of Hungary were assigned to the victors like Romania, or to new countries like Czechoslovakia and Yugoslavia. Hungary lost 72% of its territory.

The Hungarians living in places like Transylvania found themselves citizens of a different country, even if they were in the vast majority in their local area, like the Gyimes valley.

source: wikipedia

So how do Hungarians feel about this 100 years later? According to a recent survey nearly nine out of 10 Hungarians consider the treaty a national tragedy. Victor Orban put it more bluntly,  “The West raped the thousand-year-old borders .. and made a death row out of our country.”

Walking back through the Gate of Life, Faith, and Nation, there’s a view of the castle, but also the beautiful valley, woodlands and the river Tatras which along with the railway and road pass seamlessly into Moldavia.

I go to the car park to get something to eat from one of the stalls. I buy a typical Hungarian snack, Langos and instantly make two new friends – stray dogs who wait patiently for me to give them the leftovers.

I’m left to ruminate with my two new friends on András’ legacy. On the one hand, he has shown what an individual can do when they put their mind to it. A retired teacher/B&B owner can restore neglected historic buildings and in the process bring thousands of people here to share in his dream.

But it’s a dream with troubling visions. For some, the dream is mindent vissza! (everything back!) – one where Hungary’s pre-Trianon borders are restored. Many proudly show badges in the shape of the former border… If they had their way, then Guardhouse 30 would become the border frontier once more.

But it’s a dream which willfully ignores some hard facts.

Here in Transylvania less than 20% of the population identify as Hungarian. Other former territories include Croatia and parts of Serbia which, given the bloody end to Yugoslavia, offer a reminder of where stoking ethnic tension can lead.

Occasionally there are scuffles here in Transylvania, as happened in the Uz Valley in 2019 over the treatment of war graves.

But for all the dreams, Hungary isn’t going to get it’s pre-Trianon borders back any more than the Hapsburg Empire’s going to reform.

So isn’t all this pining for a former border a little bit … masochistic?

It’s also blinkered.

Just a few hundred metres down the road into Moldavia is another memorial which isn’t on the pilgrimage trail.

Here is the Emil Rebreanu memorial.

Emil was an ethic Romanian serving in the Austro-Hungarian army during the First World War. He was every bit the war hero – decorated for bravery, injured and rapidly promoted while fighting on the Russian and Italian fronts. But then he was reassigned to fight on the new front which had been created when Romania joined the war. Faced with this painful dilemma, he decided to switch sides, but was caught deserting and hanged.

Emil’s brother Liviu wrote about it in his novel Forest of the Hanged which painfully recounts the difficulties faced by many soldiers in the multi-ethnic Austro-Hungarian army.

The novel also sheds some light on the curious mixing of religion with ethnicity. In the end, the hero of the novel ends up meeting his doomed fate, but not before falling in love with a Hungarian and marrying her.

And that perhaps is the real story for many ethnic Romanians and Hungarians in Transylvania over the last century. They fall in love, marry, have children, travel, work anywhere they want in Europe, build a nest egg, buy a little home and get on with their lives in peace.

In the end, isn’t that the real miracle?

The accidental eco-restaurant

“The History of every major Galactic Civilization tends to pass through three distinct and recognizable phases, those of Survival, Inquiry and Sophistication, otherwise known as the How, Why, and Where phases. For instance, the first phase is characterized by the question ‘How can we eat?’ the second by the question ‘Why do we eat?’ and the third by the question ‘Where shall we have lunch?”

Douglas Adams, The Restaurant at the End of the Universe


I’m at Terra Nova, a restaurant in Germany’s Ruhr Valley.

The staff are friendly, the music’s fine and there’s a reasonable selection of drinks with complimentary nibbles. The American-themed menu makes a change from curry-wurst, so it’s nice to order a burger and fries.

Outside there’s a sun-deck and beyond that sun-loungers and parasols. To the side, there’s a kids’ adventure playground for them to amuse themselves while you kick back, relax and take in the view… of the Hambach opencast mine.

That’s quite a USP

Terra Nova makes a point that all the food is freshly prepared so there’s plenty of time after ordering your burger, chips and beer to take a stroll to the sun loungers while they make it.

Approaching the pit is, in the truest sense of the word, awesome. You have no sense of what’s in front of you until you are near the brink and then up looms one of mankind’s largest achievements. A bloody-great-big hole. The sense of desolation was compounded by a raging gale.

The sun loungers, that looked quite inviting from the restaurant, now seemed absurd. They are understandably made of steel and bolted well down, which is why in this staggeringly strong wind they are still here and not flying towards Belgium.

It’s a struggle to keep your eyes open on a day like this and sure enough I get a bit of grit in my eye and retreat back to the restaurant.

Since it opened 6 months ago, the owners have had plenty to contend with. The storms in February caused havoc outside and it looks like large parts of the sun-deck screening have had to be replaced.

Back indoors, all the adversity is gone and wind is replaced by the soothing muzak.


No burger yet, so it’s time to learn some fun facts:

  • Since 1978, RWE has been digging a 500 meter deep pit on the site of the former Hambach forest to extract coal.
  • Seven bucket wheel excavators dig out up to a quarter of a million cubic meters of earth and coal a day. For every tonne of coal, 6 tonnes of earth (or overburden in technical terms) has to be moved first.
  • The lignite or brown coal used to be trees that grew between 5 and 25 million years ago when the planet was several degrees warmer and it’s the lowest rank of coal due to its relatively low heat content.
  • 1,500 wells pump 577 million cubic meters of water a year to prevent the mine turning into a giant lake in fact, the long term plan is to let the hole fill in with water.
  • The Hambach forest was around 12,000 years old when it was cut down to make way for the mine,
  • The coal extracted provides 40% of the electricity used by the state of North-Rhine Westphalia.

That still leaves some questions unanswered:

  • How much coal is being removed per burger wait?
  • What would I need to do to reduce my energy consumption by 40% and keep the bit of coal I’m using in the ground?
  • Could choosing a vegan burger count as carbon offsetting?
  • Isn’t Terra Nova a bit of an odd name and would one of these names suit it better?

Caeli Nova – New climate

Suus ‘ubi magna silva abiit? – Where’s the big forest gone?

Lacuna quod velit mens – Please mind the gap

But these thoughts are put aside as the waitress brings my grub.


My burger arrives sporting the star-spangled banner and is pretty darn good.

As disconcerting as it is having a ring-side seat to watch the frittering away of the climate, it’s good that this restaurant is here.

The mine is open for all to see what is going on. It isn’t a dirty secret hidden away in pipelines running along seabeds from oil-rigs or the shale sands of the frozen north.

We need more places like this.

How easy would it be for us to practice cognitive dissonance if high street fashion stores had their sweatshop child labourers sleeping in the changing rooms or restaurants had petting zoos where you can meet your meal first.

With a clean plate and empty beer glass it’s time to head out into the world outside feeling rejuvenated and ready to make a difference.

Waiting for God

Albany Street in Bedford, England looks like a typical British street.

For the people who lived here around 100 years ago, it was the centre of the world. A world they believed was coming to an end.

They called themselves the Panacea Society and the 50-60 Panaceans lived in a collection of houses centered on Albany Street. Their leader, Mabel Barltrop, lived here at number 12.

Towards the end of the First World War, Mabel had become convinced that the apocalypse was imminent and that God would come to live on earth among his chosen few, the Overcomers, for a thousand years.

Her followers believed she was a modern prophet, the eighth (and final) in a line which they called the Visitation and which included Joanna Southcott. To mark Mabel’s special status they called her Octavia.

The Society offered to help people ‘overcome’ sin whilst also carrying out other important preparations before God came.

One task was to open a box of prophecies that Joanna Southcote had written a hundred years earlier. The box was to be opened at a time of national emergency and would help prepare for the end of days.

Joanna Southcott had specified the box shouldn’t be opened by just anyone. It had to be opened by 24 bishops of the Church of England. So while they were petitioning the Church to come and open the box, they made meticulous preparations for the bishops’ arrival.

They bought a large house adjacent to their commune and furnished it accordingly. They created a meeting room where the bishops would convene to open the box and discuss its contents.

And as it would take time to go through the details, they needed to provide a dining room where the bishops would eat.

Kitchens would be needed to prepare the bishops’ meals

And they would need places to sleep

with furniture to allow the clergy to say prayers before bedtime

and bathe.

Even holy men need to make calls of nature…

but they would get the latest in modern conveniences.

The Society put a great deal of time and effort into organising petitions for the bishops to come.

The bishops never came

…which was probably fortunate for the Society as at that time they didn’t actually have the box, or know where it was. (It was hidden under a bed in Morecambe, Lancashire and is now in the care of the Panacea Trust).

But there was only so much effort they could put into preparing to receive bishops who refused to come and open a box they didn’t have.

The Society busied itself with other activities.

Octavia discovered she had healing powers after a pill she tried to take kept jumping out of her hand. She interpreted this as God telling her she did not need pills but could cure herself, and anyone else. With help from an effective press agent, they created a global healing ministry that reached 130,000 sufferers.

People could write to the society and ask for healing linen squares which had been breathed on by Octavia.

There was no charge but they were encouraged to report back on their progress. All correspondence was carefully catalogued.

The society had a printing press and ran an efficient office producing a mass of publications, pamphlets, petitions and adverts.

Members also wrote to each other, kept diaries and made confessions, much of which has been saved.

Unsurprisingly, Octavia had plenty to say and her words give an insight into the mind of a bright, frustrated and troubled soul.

Every afternoon at half past five, God would speak through her and this would be dictated into the Daily Script.

An hour later, there was the Daily Service which was mostly compiled from the Church of England’s Book of Common Prayer but would also include Octavia’s new insights. It could also at times be quite informal and a joke or two might be shared (to the surprise of visitors). She was good at telling funny or whimsical stories.

Octavia had a view on almost everything and gave meticulous instructions to her followers that had to be obeyed.

This included how to eat toast and make cakes. True to her time and class, she wrote a Manners Paper to make sure her followers all had good etiquette.

In a telling insight into her own insecurities, it included an instruction on not calling table napkins ‘serviettes’ – a transgression she had made herself to the embarrassment of her visiting son.

Despite her higher calling, she was not above party politics and Octavia was a fiercely loyal Conservative.

When the Labour Party won the 1929 General Election, she appointed her own ‘Spiritual Cabinet’ headed by the Conservative party leader Stanley Baldwin. When it became obvious that God wasn’t going to intervene and install her Cabinet, she changed her tune.

‘Asked if we are sorry that Labour has got into power, quite the reverse. It will give God an opportunity to show how disquieting it is to the Earth for servants to rule.’

The Panacea Society had servants like Gladys Powell.

These were Panaceans who did not have the means to pay their own way. Like many domestic servants of the previous century, the hours were long and the pay low.

One servant, Amy Smart, recounted in a letter pleading for time off that she had only had 12 days off in 4 years. She also had to learn her place and was reprimanded for not calling Octavia’s daughter Dillys, ‘Miss Dillys’.

Servants were not even given time off to attend the daily services, except at weekends. Attendance was not considered important for them as they were not as far on in ‘overcoming’.

Life for most Panaceans wasn’t that austere. Octavia said they were to ‘Use all God’s gifts abusing none’.

Good things could be enjoyed albeit in moderation, or at least Octavia’s idea of moderation and clearly she had a sweet tooth.

‘It is a huge mistake to assume that chocolate sweetens… Chocolate cakes and puddings need a lot of sugar.

‘Treacle does not sweeten… add plenty of sugar‘

Peas were served with mint, butter and a lump of sugar.

Octavia ended up diabetic and she died in 1934. Given she and the other ‘overcomers’ were meant to live with God on Earth for the next thousand years, this event should have been the end of the Society.

Although some left the Society carried on with Emily Goodwin, the ‘Divine Mother’ taking the leading role in this matriarchy. They continued their daily tasks and waited.

They tended their communal garden, which they believed was on the same spot as the original Garden of Eden.

They would entertain themselves in the evenings with games or listening to the radio.

Time passed, members of the Society grew old and died.

The Society were forced to rent out houses including the Ark which had been reserved for Jesus. However, the tenants were kept on a short lease and would have to vacate in the event of His arrival.

In 2012 the last member, Ruth Klein, died and the final consignments of healing squares were sent out with a letter to say this was the end.

But it isn’t the end.

As the Society faded away, a Trust was formed to help future generations learn about the Society.

A museum was opened using the Panacea Society’s buildings to tell their story.

As well as curious members of the public, academics have also been keen to learn more. There were more requests for access to the archives last year than in the previous 15 years put together. Why?

The Panacea Society is a good example of both a Southcottian sect and also a matriarchy. Other Southcottian (male) prophets like John Wroe needed seven virgins to ‘help’ him with his ministry. James Jezreel had to build a big tower.

But Octavia seemed to employ a less testosterone-based approach to saving the world and while the Society had male members, it was the women who were firmly in charge.

It also provides a well documented example of cognitive dissonance – how do people come to terms with their fundamental beliefs being completely undermined?

When the immortal leader died some stopped believing, others joined a different sect and some found a way to continue believing despite the obvious facts. It’s through this we learn more about ourselves and the things many or most of us do. Who hasn’t patted a calf or lamb and also eaten a burger?

The healing archive has only been partially explored, but may be here there is a big data opportunity. Who knows what some data scientist will be able to uncover, whether it be hand writing pattern shifts across the British Empire or pre-internet meme dissemination?

There are also the personal stories, like that of the Carew-Hunts. Mrs Carew-Hunt had written to the society to ask for healing, but there was something else troubling her. Her husband did not want to have sex. As she put it, he slept badly since returning from the First World War. The couple ended up joining the Society, but whatever comfort they found in Bedford, it didn’t stop her husband’s descent into fascism.

Or the forbidden love story of Rachael Fox and Leonard Tucker – the screenplay almost writes itself.

There is one final untold story. How a group of diligent and motivated women managed to create a record of their time and place which could help future academics add to the body of knowledge.

And by learning more about the human condition and understanding its shortcomings aren’t academics, in their own way, fulfilling the Panaceans’ mission to prepare for a better world?

Even if it isn’t Heaven on Earth.

Further reading:

with thanks to Vicki Manners, archivist at the Panacea Trust

the unpopular populist train

If there’s one thing populists like Victor Orban should be good at, it’s making things popular. So when it turned out that a pet-project of his, the Vál Valley Light Railway was attracting less than 70 visitors a day, with some days no tourists coming at all, I went to Felcsút near Budapest to find out what was going wrong.

Spoiler alert: Diverting wads of EU cash to build a choo-choo train through your home town from your dad’s newly acquired mansion to your very own football stadium isn’t really at interesting to other people. Perhaps spend the money next time on the nearby school where the leaky roof is affecting kid’s health…

Anyway, here’s a tourist’s-eye-view of what may be going wrong and my top 10 tips for getting things back on track.

Tip 1: If you make a tourist attraction, you need to tell tourists how to get there

The railway’s website is one of the slickest I have seen with some very impressive drone footage and text in both Hungarian and English. Unfortunately, the English pages have only been partially filled in with the most notable omissions being the timetable and how to get there.

It feels like a job started with plenty of enthusiasm which just tailed off when it got to the boring details.

To find out how to get there, I had to switch to the Hungarian text and use Google Translate along with Google Maps.

First I took a train to Bicske which is only half an hour from Budapest and gives a glimpse of the real Hungary, warts and all.

That should have been all I needed to do to get the tourist train. After all, this railway was a reopening of a line that ran from Bicske. So what went wrong? See Tip 2.

Tip 2: Don’t employ football fans to build the railway

I find it really hard to simply walk passed any football match, even Sunday-league in the local park. Before I know it, I’m routing for one of the teams and muttering ‘advice and insight’ from the touchline.

And that is what seems to have happened when they rebuilt this part of the old Székesfehérvár- Bicske line. Instead of going all the way to Bicske, which would then connect to the railway network, they stopped short at the mightily impressive Pancho Arena a few miles away in Felcsút.

Don’t get me wrong, it is a wonder to behold and has a capacity twice as big as the town. If this were in Budapest, the arena would be able to seat 3 million people.

So I was now stuck in Bicske and I had to get a bus to Felcsút.

Asking bus drivers whether they went to Felcsút wasn’t too difficult. Understanding their replies was another matter, especially with a queue of people behind all itching to get on.

The good thing that came out of it was that I was able to sit and talk to a very nice old lady who was also waiting for a bus. No she didn’t know which bus I should catch…

Tip 3: Make the timetable legible

For unswerving enthusiasts like me who still want to go on the little train, publishing a photo of the timetable on your website means it can’t be put it through Google Translate, which is fine if you are only interested in Hungarian visitors.

I tried to catch the train from the top station at the arena, but the train didn’t turn up when I expected, so I filled my time by walking to the middle stop. This took me through the small town, which is incidentally the hometown of Prime Minister Victor Orban. What a coincidence…

The good news about my walk was that I was able to buy an ice cream on the way – I would be grateful for that sustenance later.

Tip 4: Actually open your cafe

I didn’t bring lunch with me as I had read that the middle station has a cafe. It was closed, which I suppose makes good financial sense when you don’t have any passengers.

I had enough time to walk back into Felcsút and past the array of barking dogs whose day I had made by walking past them the first time around. However, I decided instead to wait until the train had actually taken me somewhere and then I’d forage dog-free.

When the train arrived, no-one got off, so I must have been the first passenger of the day on my ride down to the final stop at Alcsút. The train driver and guard were very friendly. They rode in the cab together, presumably for a bit of company until I got on.

I decided to splash out on a ticket that would let me ride the full length of the line up and down. It was the least I could do.

Tip 5: Budget for breakages

Despite the railway being only three years old, it is already showing signs of wear and tear. At the top station, it looks like the wrong type of screws were used for the railings and they are already rusting. The plywood on the accessibility ramp is flaking away and as I later saw, several of the windows in the trains have large cracks in them.

This maintenance is all going to have to be funded somehow.

Tip 6: Tourists aren’t interested in seeing dad’s new mansion

Alcsút is the site of an old Hapsburg estate and an arboretum that is open to the public.

Going into the arboretum actually cost more than the little train and after reading about the dubious purchases of these old Hapsburg lands for Győző Orbán, father of the prime minister, Victor, I felt rather put off of going in.

Instead, I made do with wandering down the lanes and nibbling on a packet of sunflower seeds I had found at the bottom of my rucksack.

Tip 7: Give your staff a sense of purpose

When the train returned to pick me up, perhaps unsurprisingly no one got off and I was the only person to get on.

It made me wonder what it must be like to drive the diesel train up and down these tracks day in, day out with hardly anyone using it. However much you like trains, or at least having a job, it must feel pretty pointless.

So, how about giving your staff time off to go and fix the roof at the nearby school in Etyek where it was reported that mould spore counts exceeded WHO safe levels. Parents have had to club together to pay for basic repairs.

Tip 8: Find a rich benefactor

No, the EU isn’t a wealthy uncle. Or even if it is, they will keep poking their nose into other business interests which could become awkward.

Keeping the little train running, means finding someone with deep pockets who has an attachment to the place. If you can’t think of someone in the area who might want to give something back, how about going further afield?

My advice would be to write a polite letter to ex-pat George Soros asking for help.

Tip 9: Don’t turn away passing trade

I got off the train at the Pancho Arena having been, as far as I am aware, the only passenger that day. But on the platform were four people.

They were work colleagues and one of them was from the Ukraine. The other three wanted to show her some of the local sights after work and they were hoping to go for a little ride.

Unfortunately, this was the last scheduled stop. The train was going to back to the depot. No exceptions could be made, even if it would have quintupled their income for that day.

They didn’t seem too disappointed at missing out on the ride.

Tip 10: Leave this sort of thing to the experts

With my trips up and down this little line, something felt like it was missing, apart from passengers, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was.

Then I realised – enthusiasts.

Train lines that had been closed in places like the UK were reopened by volunteers.

All the little trains I had been on had been run by avid enthusiasts who gave up their free time to pursue their rail-based passion. Where was the gift shop manned by staff grudgingly selling Thomas the Tank Engine toys?

Where were the staff who wince at you for confusing a train with a locomotive and who simply have to tell you their gripe with current national transportation policy.

I love these people.

They keep the wheels on track and their questionably placed passion is, of a sort, infectious.

Let’s be clear, tourist attractions like this could be a great idea. Anyone with kids (or work colleagues from the Ukraine) want things to do.

It’s also not surprising that the local boy, who became prime minister would want to give something back to his hometown. Who wouldn’t?

But benefactors usually give their own money.

The peasant of the future

It’s a hot, sunny afternoon in mid-October and I’ve come to Trifolium Farm in Transylvania to meet Jonas Mertens, a native Belgian, who has moved here to take up peasant farming.

The farm nestles in the Gyimes valley, the Hungarian speaking borderlands of Transylvania and Moldova.

It’s beautiful, but this isn’t why Jonas, is here (although I’m sure it helps).

Jonas looks every bit the part. He has a full quivering moustache that any Hungarian hussar would take his hat off to and a jaunty felt hat that they would probably swap their moustaches for.

He has welcomed me to his ample but modest plot, to come and learn more about why he and his wife have chosen to live here.

At first glance, it does seem like an odd decision and bucks a trend which is seeing many people, particularly the young, leaving rural Transylvania to find easier, better paid work elsewhere.

It becomes rapidly clear that Jonas has his head screwed on and moving here isn’t just some romantic dream. But before learning more, I have some new friends to make. Twenty-four nosey and noisy Saanen goats. In caprine terms, these are the elite.

Fourteen of them provide around forty litres of milk a day, which is used for making on average two six-inch cheeses.

Judging by the way they are walking, it’s time for them to be milked. Levi, a neighbour, does the milking while Jonas’ four-year-old daughter helps in her own way. The milking parlour is modern, clean and compact.

The milk is taken to a small on-site dairy, and stored in a fridge until the following morning when the cheese will be made. It’s now time for dinner and a chance for me to talk to both Jonas and his polyglot wife, Kata, about the life they have chosen.

We have a halloumi, beetroot and mixed leaves salad, which is all from the garden, accompanied by a bottle of wine from another farmer.

The halloumi has the trademark salty squeak, but the texture is less rubbery than the stuff I’m used to from the supermarket. We eat it with bread and ricotta infused with wild garlic. This feels like the life – nice farmhouse, nice valley, nice food, great company.

But it isn’t all cheese and wine parties.

Jonas, in gym parlance, is ‘ripped’. The muscles on his arms attest to the hard work and long hours put in over the summer in gathering hay. Two tons is needed for each goat.

‘I get a bit fatter over the winter’ Jonas smiles.

Hay is gathered by hand from the surrounding hills between July and September. It’s made a little easier by using a modern hay cutter which is like a large hair trimmer on wheels. But it’s still a big job. Wouldn’t it be easier use bigger machines or just take the goats up to the hills?

‘Not if we are to maintain biodiversity’

‘Scientists have been here and studied the meadows. We have to keep to the old ways of making hay to preserve this incredibly rich environment’

In terms of public awareness, biodiversity is the poor cousin of climate change, but it is every bit as important. As the name suggests, it’s a measure of the variety of species within a given habitat. The broader the range of species, the better it is at self-regulating and adapting to change.

Studies have shown that allowing meadows in hilly areas to grow over the summer and then cutting them down is better for biodiversity than allowing animals to graze, or leaving them alone. Otherwise the thuggish plants will dominate.

And here is the problem. Young people are often reluctant to carry on their family farming ways and look to easier and better paid work elsewhere.

The upside for Jonas is that he can have all the hay he wants for free.
So, what are their plans for expansion?

‘We may get up to about thirty milking goats, but no more. It depends on Ludo and Troy’

They are his two male goats who have been taking a backseat role all year. In a week or so, they will need to become the stars of the show and impress the ladies.

‘Thirty? I ask, why not 300 or 3,000?

‘That would completely miss the point,’ he says.

‘There is only so much hay I can gather, even with neighbours or volunteers helping. I also want to demonstrate you can have a good life staying small.’

Rather than building a cheese empire, Jonas has several projects on the go, and more in the pipeline. Jonas and Kata have built a holiday home that will appeal to walkers in the summer and cross-country skiers in the winter. They also run tours of their farm for visitors who want to learn more about what they do and try their products. And being part of a village means neighbours helping each other out.

Finally, I start to see what Jonas means. Instead of putting all your eggs in one basket, maintaining a diverse set of activities makes for a viable lifestyle, much like the meadows he harvests.

If one thing fails, you have other things to rely on. That way you self-insure. You also stay physically and mentally stimulated. You create a more rounded, balanced life. It isn’t an original idea. It’s what peasants have been doing for millenia.

Jonas’ community stretches well beyond the Gyimes Valley. He is an active member of Ecoruralis and ALPA, two organisations that support small scale farming and help promote good practice, share information and seed banking. Last week two volunteers turned up through the WWOOF scheme to help out while they learned more about the farm.

When you factor in the volunteers, his connections with other peasant farmers through Ecoruralis as well as visitors like me, Jonas has a better social life than most of us. Jonas stifles a yawn. It’s eight thirty. Bedtime.

At 5:30 the next morning I get up – surprisingly as fresh as a daisy. Jonas is busy on his laptop and the goats will soon need milking.

We had a breakfast of, can you guess what?

Yep, cheese.

I tried a three-month-old hard cheese which was rich and satisfying, another was flavoured with locally picked chanterelles and a third, the youngster, which was only two months old.

As much as I liked the three-month-old cheeses, the two-month-old was particularly interesting. It had been made in the height of summer and had a bubbly texture, which was as pleasing as the rounded flavour.

I took a few photos, said goodbye to the goats and went with Jonas to the holiday home he owns in the valley opposite, as well as his new project – a barn conversion. It used to be where the local woodsman lived. ‘We had to rebuild his house, which had rotted, but he made the barn from all the best wood that passed through his hands.’

I had a look around and then left a busy Jonas to carry on with the barn conversion.

I wanted to learn more about the science behind peasant farming and so went to Miercuea Ciuc to meet Gergerly Rodics who has been working on studies of biodiversity in the area. Gergerly confirmed what Jonas had told me. He also gave me an insight into the work done over the last decade to learn about and promote eco-friendly farming practices which will be shared in a later post.

Having spent time with Jonas has made me wonder what lessons we can all learn.

We don’t need to become peasant farmers to realise that we are small parts of a bigger whole, socially and environmentally. It may be a cliche, but the sum of the parts can be far greater and we should be aware of the collective impact our own choices make.

Also, diversity is important in our individual lives as well in society. Focussing on one activity and trying to scale up may feel right, but it isn’t necessarily wise. Staying modest in size and using spare time and resources diversifying may provide a better model.

But perhaps the most important thing I have come to realise is:

I love cheese.

To learn more:

Or see the goats in action…

How technology could nudge more Europeans from planes to trains

At a time of climate emergency we want more people to use trains rather than planes, so we need to make looking for journeys as easy as possible. But that isn’t enough. We need to make it fun. Why?

Let me take you on a journey.

I want to show you some of the obstacles that prevent some people from choosing to travel by train across Europe and how they might be removed or even turned into features.

Before we set off, please pay attention to the following information.

  1. We are in a government declared climate emergency.
  2. People use planes for all sorts of reasons. Some people should continue using planes, like fighter pilots. So on this journey we’ll be talking about different ‘cohorts’ – grouping people according to the types of journey they take.
  3. Most of us want to do the right thing, but need a little nudge in the right direction. We want to use less plastic, recycle more, eat more healthily, do more exercise, blah blah blah, but we’ll carry on doing what we’ve always done if the ‘right thing’ isn’t made very easy.
  4. On a personal note, I love planes and I can’t wait to start guilt-free flying again – I’m just waiting for a less carbon intense technology to be found…

Let’s start with one of those cohorts and a story:

A family summer holiday

My other half and I were sitting in front of the laptop on a dark winter’s eve.

We wanted sun – no, we craved the sun.

We both knew that trains were the ‘right way’ to travel, but we looked at the practicality of taking a train down to somewhere sunny. We saw how long it would take, how much it would cost and immediately started looking at Skyscanner for a cheap flight instead.

Let’s call this group, the ‘independent family’ cohort – people who aren’t really into package holidays.

Once we got a vague idea of where and how much, we looked at villas and we booked both. Closer to the time we hired a car and airport parking. Finally a week or two before we set off, we started looking at things to do in the area.

If we were organised people, we might have made a list that looked like this:

  1. Book flight
  2. Book accommodation
  3. Hire a car
  4. Book airport parking
  5. Find things to do in the area (pay for them at the time or book in advance for the stuff we really want to do)

To nudge the ‘independent family’ cohort from planes to trains, this ordering needs to be disrupted. Why?

Because planes are cheaper than trains. The nudge will fail at point 1.

Actually, the perception of being cheaper is probably just that thanks to the Ryanair effect, where costs come in dribbles. It looks like your flight will cost 1 Euro but that doesn’t include a seat… or the costs incurred in points 2-5.

Asking people to take a more leisurely journey to their sunbed by the sea means regaining the idea that travelling to somewhere might even be the best bit of the holiday.

At present, this requires a bit of imagination and a lot of Googling, so for nudging to work, the things to do en-route need to leap out at you. They have to be in your face and appealing enough for you to to trade a few days on that sandy sunbed.

It’s also crucial that the savings you are making are also in your face – a kind of reverse Ryanair effect. Look what you are not spending on points 2-5!

When searching for some sun in southern Europe, we need to see that on the way we could be spending an hour or two e-scooting around Aachen, cheese skittling in Edam or escape rooming in Liege?

This involves a little bit of clever technology. New algorithms that plan in stops to do fun things on the way.

The good news is that the technology and companies to deliver it are already here.

One example is TripAdvisor. You can use their app to pick what you want to do and when, but at the moment, all they can do is offer up things to do at a destination because they don’t have the mid-point data.

Having the technical infrastructure in place, could lead to a whole new form of tourism. Instead of focussing on endpoints, with the bits in the middle being flown over, those parts could become holiday highlights.

So, the ‘independent family’ cohort could be nudged by integrating transport information and allowing companies like TripAdvisor to merge it with other activity data.

Let’s visit another cohort.

The silver horde

Europe is old, and by that I mean it’s population is living longer than ever. Nearly 20% of Europeans are over 65 and this is a cohort with time on their side. At present, algorithms for journey planning focus on speed or cost.

Integrated data can allow more sophisticated algorithms to be devised which cater for people who can take a leisurely ‘cruise’ around the treasures of Europe.

By making surfing for trains easier, we’ll be breaking down the technical barriers that prevent older people from finding their freedom on the rails. Let’s give them easy apps backed up by big data to make them a generation of liberated silver surfers.

What about other cohorts?

I’m going to make a sweeping statement. I think what holds true for ‘independent families’ and ‘the silver horde’ will also hold for the bulk of other holiday makers, including the package holiday companies that serve some of them. However, I may be wrong and I’m happy to work that one through with anyone who is willing to challenge me to a game of chess in a park in Gdansk – just tell me how to get there by the most fun route.

So let’s take a break from the holidaymakers and visit another cohort.

The international business traveller

This year I’ve met and travelled alongside people who need to cover long distances and have made the choice to use the train. I’ve also been doing it myself with mixed results.

Three principal needs are:

  1. The places you are travelling between must be connected.
  2. While you are travelling, you need to be able to work on the train. That means having a seat and blazing fast WiFi. Get that right and it can be better than being in the office.
  3. Being able to use sleeper trains to cover longer distances.

So, how can integrating train (and other transport) data help with making the right services available for business users?

A valuable resource here is the feedback from searching.

Google, Facebook, Instagram and the plethora of other new technologies are free because of the data fed back from people using them.

By being able to gather information on what journeys are being looked for and booked, we get to learn about where the demand is and how services can be modified to meet it. At the moment, this can only be done with surveying and guesswork.

Smarter routes and value-add services like meeting rooms can be planned when we know what journeys are required.

A lack of data isn’t the only issue – many trains run at a loss, and are provided by government because of the economic value they add. Data could help make the case for what services would get used to add more economic value.

By the way, all this additional data gathering might feel quite insidious but it’s a Faustian pact we’re already making, so how about we use it to mitigate against climate change instead of liking each other’s cats on Instagram?

How easy will integrating European transport data be?

If it’s like any of the other integration projects I’ve worked on, I doubt it will be much fun. It will be painful at times, but it will be a step in the right direction.

Finding the lost edges of Transylvania

It was a real pleasure to meet Sandor Molnar the other day.

In his day job, Sandor works on the Via Maria – a cruciform shape of routes which link pilgrimage sites across central Europe. This will go on my to do list, jumping above the Camino de Santiago.

But I was here to talk to him about what he does in his spare time.

Since 2003 Sandor has organised walks along the old borders of what was the edge of a kingdom and an empire.

The Carpathians form a natural defensible boundary which in the east was home to the Székely, who were charged with defending the boundaries of Hungarian lands against the Ottomans.

The First World War and the subsequent Treaty of Trianon, saw Transylvania being ceded to Romania from the Hungarian part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. The border which had been so important, not just for the Hapsburgs but in earlier times Christendom as a whole, was now an internal border and much of the infrastructure was lost.

So Sandor has been leading expeditions along where the border would have been to see what they could find. In doing so, they have been following in the footsteps of the surveyors who during 1883-4 helped formalise where the border should go between what was then the Kingdoms of Hungary and Romania.

Sandor told me that in the first couple of years they didn’t come across anything – they only had a vague idea of what to look for. But with persistence, they started to uncover evidence, such as the following:

It shouldn’t be forgotten that Trianon is still a sensitive issue for many and some people would rather let sleeping dogs lie, but the artifacts Sandor has found give clues to the past and so have value to all of us, wherever we are from.

For those who want to know more Sandor has produced two guide books. One describes a trail along part of the eastern border from Valea Uzului through to Gyimes. The other follows a route in the south over the stunning Fagaras Mountains. A third is due out soon covering this year’s expedition.

Here are some photos of a recent expedition:

If you would like to get in contact with Sandor about the Via Maria or his border walks, visit or contact Sandor at

The body chemistry of the best road in the world

I’ve never been into cars. Correction, I’ve never been into fast cars. 

I live life in the slow lane, especially now I have an electric car. Battery anxiety means never accelerating faster than a three-legged donkey.

So what would I make of what Jeremy Clarkson called the best road in the world?

I went to Romania’s Transfăgărășan to find out.

My first glimpse of it appeared whilst still deep in the Carpathian Basin. I turned a corner and then caught my first sight of the mountains marking the edge of Transylvania.

In the flutter of anticipation, I felt like I should be providing a Clarkson-esque commentary on the relative merits of my hire car. I also wondered if I should have splashed out and hired something a bit sportier than a VW Polo.

That flutter dissipated as the miles passed – driving through village after village, past horse drawn carts, over train tracks and dams with the mountains only seeming to grow inch by inch. I realised that when I first saw the mountains, I wasn’t close, they were just very big.

But eventually, I did get to the start of the Transfagarasan.

I soon passed a performance car going in the opposite direction and felt the roar as he puts his foot down.

Then more cars came and I started to pass parked cars on either side stopping to take a picture, have a pee or buy little roast chickens.

A kilometre from the summit, the traffic came to a standstill. Tour buses turned the narrow path between the lines of parked cars into a single lane road and we all crawled to the top.

For the first time in my life, I felt sorry for the drivers of performance cars especially the ones with foreign number plates. How far had they come to sit in the sort of jam they could have had back home?

At least they could stop trying to drive fast and instead look at the nice scenery, which then begs the question. What’s the point of driving in dramatic places if you can’t take your eyes off the tarmac? Is driving on high bendy roads without falling off really that much fun?

But then I suppose it’s about chemistry. The search for the ultimate adreneline rush. I realised that the first performance car driver I came across had floored it out of pure fustration, after finally getting to an open, albeit flat and straight road. But even frustration produces adreneline, so he got what he came for.

This is where being a natural slow driver helps. By not getting riled by traffic the body is free to release a nice dose of seratonin brought on by being in such a special place.

My fellow traffic jammers spend the time trying to work out what’s missing.

The road had been ordered by the paranoid president Nicolae Ceaușescu in response to the invasion of Czechoslovakia 1968. Ceaușescu felt vulnerable and wanted to be able to move armed forces into Transylvania quickly. Building it was hard and dangerous. Offically, 40 people died building the road, but accounts of those who built the road have subsequently been pieced together and the true count of lives lost is into the hundreds.

So given the monumental achievement, where is the monument or memorial – the physical thank you?

Perhaps the road in itself is the monument.

After crawling to the summit and through the Bâlea Tunnel, the road cleared as I passed from Transyvania into Wallachia.

At the bottom, is the lake created by the Vidraru dam.

As well as the shameless Dracula tourist stuff.

I got some sweetcorn, coffee and breadstick rings called covrigi.

It was while I was munching on the covrigi that I had a nagging feeling. I had been on the ‘best road in the world’ but had I really experienced it? If the UK’s M25 was traffic free, wouldn’t become the best circuit in the world?

I looked at the satnav for a route back to where I was staying in Transyvania. There were two recommended routes. They involved going round either side of the Southern Carpathians and in both cases it would be quicker than going back over the top. If only Ceausescu had had Google Maps, he could have chanelled that effort into things that might have stopped him getting lynched.

I decided to let the crowds on each side of the mountains go home and then I might just get a clear run.

I went to refuel the car for my second go.

As the sun dipped behind the hills, I set off again this time heading north.

In the foothills, I got stuck behind a Dacia Logan weighed down by a roof box which slowed to a snail pace on each incline. There were hardly any places to overtake and I didn’t want to risk meeting a frustrated driver the other way.

Then we were joined by an Audi, who judging by the distance between him and my bumper, really wanted to get past. Overtaking both of us was near impossible.

This was great. Three of us in a pack, just like Top Gear. All we needed were walkie talkies, bad haircuts and some guitar-based rock on the stereo.

And then the magic was broken.

We came to a straight bit of road. The Audi changed down and left the two of us in a plume of oil smoke or was it frustration-fueled adreneline? I also overtook Captain Slow and made my way back up alone.

The traffic had all but gone. There were no queues and I was at the summit in no time. Now was my chance to do this iconic route properly.

Then I got back in my car and prepared to leave my comfort zone with the adreneline pump primed.

However, after a couple of bends I got stuck behind another slow driver. Then BMW joined behind. We were back in a pack of three and as I looked at the lower hairpins bends, I could see another pack of three. A pattern emerged. One slow driver followed by a cautious driver with an impatient petrol-head stuck fuming behind the two of them.

I pulled over to leave my pack and waited for some space to develop. After a while I knew I would have a clear run and set off. 

But even with this chance of a lifetime, I knew couldn’t go really fast. Who knows who would be coming the other way. I value living too much so I followed the pattern of my life and went at a sensible speed.

How lucky I did.

As I got to the tree line, a wild bear felt free to lollop across the road in front of me.

And so instead of adrenaline, I made do with a little dose of nature-induced serotonin.

The literary oasis of Massolit

Cities aren’t the most pleasant places during heatwaves and Budapest is no exception. So it was a relief to wander into the cafe/bookshop Massolit a spend a couple of hours in its shaded garden.

Massolit (the name of the literary society in Bulganov’s classic The Master and Margarita) is stacked high with books in English, French, German – all seem like gems.

With books everywhere, there’s just enough room for a counter which is filled with cakes and a coffee machine. The #IstandWithCEU sticker in the window shows where the people here fit on the political spectrum. The Central European University was recently hounded out of Hungary by the government.

I picked up a book on the politics of Transylvania which is where I was heading next and made for the garden round the back.

Judit, who looks after cafe, came out with some gardening gear and looked at the rampant herb patch.

‘I need to sort this all out today’ she sighed.

She saw the book I had bought and asked me what I thought of it so far. We then talked about the Transylvanian problem.

After the First World War, the Austro-Hungarian Empire was carved up into a series of new countries and formalised in the Treaty of Trianon in 1920. Over a million Hungarians who lived in Transylvania found themselves now living in Romania.

99 years later, with both Hungary and Romania being part of the EU and their citizens having the freedoms that go with it, surely this should all be water under the bridge?

Apparently not. As prime minister Victor Orban put it at a recent rally to commemorate Trianon: ‘while time heals wounds it does not heal an amputation’.

On Alkotmány Street, which leads up to the beautiful Hungarian Parliament, preparation is underway to build a 100 meter long memorial etched with the names of the 12,000 municipalities that had been in the Hungarian part of the Empire and, to quote one journalist, ‘torn from the motherland’. The monument will contain an eternal flame which will be sunken below ground so that it always burns below the surface. Whatever the metaphor, I’m sure the homeless will be particularly grateful for it in winter.

Parliament also voted to make 2020 a year of national cohesion, meaning cohesion with the parts of the former Empire. Votes like this have become particularly easy to win as the ruling Fidesz party was able to change the constitution which was in part helped by giving citizenship to Hungarian speakers who live in other countries.

Whilst some may have applied to get a Schengen passport and the easy US visa that comes attached, others do want to be part of a greater Hungary.

So, populism aside, why is Triannon still a burning issue in Hungary when Germany (or at least West Germany) and Austria came to terms with their losses?

Judit puts it succinctly: ‘People here didn’t get time to grieve. The regime just required them to just forget.’

In the recently spruced up little park which adjoins the garden, an old couple pick figs from the low hanging branches. They had been planted a few years back by a neighbour. Judit, looking a bit agitated – she still hadn’t set to work on the herb patch. Nevertheless, she took the time to talk to the old couple.

Amongst the figs there were also some new bird boxes. Judit sighs, ‘They look good but they are no use’.

‘The local government put them up but birds don’t just need a place to nest. They need things to eat, other places to fly to.’

She has a point, Pest, the eastern part of Budapest is densely populated and there is little greenery.

I wonder if that also isn’t the problem with Massolit. Like the nice little park that’s too isolated for the birds, isn’t this little liberal oasis too isolated from the rest of Hungary.

Shouldn’t the people here be out in the rural heartlands, like the old missionaries who went out on a cart with a bible. Shouldn’t these guys be out persuading the disgruntled masses to discard Victor Orban’s so called ‘illiberal state‘?

Perhaps they could take along a few enlightening books. Better still, take some coffee and cake. George Orwell found out on the Aragon Front in the Spanish Civil War the best recruiting tool was buttered toast. But I stow that thought and instead ask Judit what she has learned about the people who come to the cafe. 

‘You know the first thing most people ask me? Do you have a charging point for my phone and my laptop. When we started eight years ago, people used to come in and talk to each other. Now they just stare at their devices. They are in their own bubbles.’

Bubbles within a bubble?

It must be a bit annoying creating such a nice place and then see everyone who comes in just glued to their screens. But maybe her annoyance that people aren’t chatting to each other in the cafe and my annoyance that they aren’t preaching to the masses are both misplaced.

Who knows what these guys are doing and who they are chatting to.

Meanwhile, I can sit here, enjoy the shade and learn more about where I am heading by reading a good book, with a nice slice of cake and coffee.

If only I had somewhere to charge my phone.