White Stork Museum, Kölked

Skopje is far behind us and we are making a beeline through Serbia. After three months of travelling through six countries, the Oldies have only one thing on their minds: the thermal spa in Harkány in Hungary. Neither spares a single thought for Yours Truly. The smell nearly killed me the last time we were there. I think they’re planning to finish me off once and for all!

No sooner do they have the caravan set up than off they head to the spa. At least I can get a bit of peace and quiet when they are gone. In spite of the whiff off its sulphurous smelling spa-going population, Harkány itself is a lovely, laid back part of the world. It’s hard to imagine a better place for totally chilling out.

When the Smellies, I mean, Oldies return from the spa that first evening, I learn with horror that they’ve bought a couple of 7-entry tickets. They’re chuffed with having got themselves a bargain into the bargain. Apparently, the cashier just took one look at them and, without even asking their ages, charged them the pensioners’ rate. Those wrinkle-reducing dried cornflowers they got in Albania obviously haven’t started to take effect.

Thankfully, the Wingless Wonders decide to pace themselves, planning a few outings in between their spa visits. One was right up my alley: a visit to the White Stork Museum in Kölked. Close to both the Croatian and Serbian borders, Kölked lies in the floodplains of the Danube. No wonder it is such a popular spot with visiting storks. Plenty of fine pickings there, no doubt!

I enjoyed strolling around, spotting stork pairs and families in their nests on roofs, chimneys and electricity poles, the clattering of their bills often the only sound in this sleepy little village. The White Stork Museum itself is small but sweet and it’s a mine of fascinating information about these magnificent birds. One of the guides, who spoke perfect English, explained that storks rely on thermals to help them soar and glide the long distances they cover when migrating. They therefore avoid large expanses of water and enter and leave Europe either at the Straits of Gibraltar or on the Bosphorus. No wonder I never met any storks in Ireland!

The museum’s resident stork, Poppy, won’t be flying anywhere, however. She apparently fell out of the nest as a chick, permanently damaging one of her wings. The cold of the Hungarian winters is no bother to her, nor is it to storks in general. The only reason they migrate is to go in search of a reliable food supply. Poppy has no worries on that count. Her every need is catered for here. It’s not fair. I have to constantly migrate with the Oldies, but there’s certainly no five-star treatment for me!

Some of the biggest concentrations of storks in Europe are on the Iberian Peninsula, the guide went on to say. I can certainly attest to that. I never saw so many storks as I did in Portugal! But there are even more in the Ukraine. Another fact was new to me: several other species of birds, from sparrows to owls, often live in the lower parts of storks nests. I suppose it’s a bit like the human pecking order – VIPs living in the penthouse suite, their poorer cousins in sublets in the basement below.

The Oldies continued going to the spa, getting smellier by the day but perceptively more relaxed too. Believe it or not, I slowly started to get used to the smell, and my curiosity started to get the better of me. I was tired of hearing about the amazing facilities in the spa, the hectares of landscaped grounds, the dozens of great restaurants, the water slides, the saunas, the jacuzzis … It was time to see it for myself. So I snuck into Her Ladyship’s bag one morning and came along for the ride. She hung her bag on a stand at the main thermal pool however, so I unfortunately didn’t get to see much of the main park itself. Even more unfortunately, I had to endure a ringside view of the Dynamic Duo taking part in an aqua aerobics class. God help me!

The aqua aerobics instructor bounced onto a poolside platform, greeted by claps and cheers from the crowd in the pool. To the strains of old Abba and Rod Steward hits, the Oldies hopped around, desperately trying to mirror the instructor’s movements. Her stubby Ladyship was already at a distinct disadvantage, her chin barely above the waterline when she was simply standing still. Every time she actually moved, she almost drowned. So embarrassing!

His Lordship’s baldy head, on the other hand, was well above water and easy to spot. So too, was the fact that, with his left-right confusion, he was totally out of sync with everyone else. I started to have flashbacks to the time he tried to dance along to ‘Y.M.C.A.’ in Croatia… Horrific!

Whilst many of the octogenarians in the pool looked like they might well have been serious contenders for the Hungarian Olympic synchronised swimming team, the uncoordinated Oldies were making complete eejits of themselves. Yet again.