Amsterdam to London

7 June 2007

Our final day as Team Kumuka 2007… I dragged myself into the hotel restaurant and joined Julie for breakfast. She explained that Nick was still feeling sick – and it wasn’t even because he’d had too much fun the night before. We all checked out of the hotel and queued up to put our luggage on the coach. Once again, Darren and Matt were at the forefront with helping Kev load the bags on. Some of the group were looking a little worse for wear, having enjoyed the atmosphere that Amsterdam has to offer… Ben and Danni hadn’t even gone to sleep. For the last time, Susan put on the ‘day song’ as we set off for Paris, where our Kumuka tour would officially come to an end.

We stopped for lunch near Brugge, Belgium. As we ate, Fran mentioned that she was looking forward to some Chinotto. I commented that I had tried it once as a child, and thought it was vile, but added that maybe it was an acquired taste. After making my way through too much bread and cheese, I went outside, where Craig and Ben were chatting about some of the ’sights’ of Amsterdam they witnessed the night before – all from the comfort of their own rooms. Back on the coach again, we had one more stretch before arriving in Paris. Susan gave us a few more warnings to be vigilant about keeping a close eye on our luggage and our wits once we arrive. She also asked for a show of hands of those of us who were continuing on to London, and distributed our Eurostar tickets, and suggested that we group together for taxis from the London station to the Holiday Inn, which had been optionally included with the Kumuka trip. Jason nearby had his hand raised, so I suggested a taxi group with him and his wife, though they said they’d be taking the train instead. I wondered why Susan would suggest a taxi, if a train were a viable option.

Finally we were in Paris. The coach pulled up near Paris Gare du Nord, at which we point said our goodbyes to those not continuing on. We all personally thanked Susan and Kevin for all of their help and advice on the trip, and Susan offered me some wise parting words. The group then divided up, though a considerable portion of the group – more than 10 of us – were continuing on to London. We headed into the station, hoping to find somewhere we might be able to leave our bags while waiting for the the train to London. Upstairs, near a lift and a small shop, we piled all of our luggage together, and arranged to wait in shifts while others went off for food. I went with Paul and Vicky for a snack. Crossing the road, I was encountered by a girl wearing a headdress who asked if I spoke English. I thought to myself, “In Paris for less than half an hour and someone’s already trying on this scam,” though I decided I may as well have some fun with it. I said, “Yes”, and then she held out her little piece of paper for me to read that explained her little sob story. I smiled and leaned forward from a few feet away to read her note. Unfortunately (for her), I had my hands firmly entrenched in my pockets, making access to my wallet for her pick-pocketing accomplice quite impossible. I rejoined Paul and Vicky in a packed McDonalds. I know… I know… all of that local cuisine on offer, and I have McDonalds, but where else would I be able to get a “Royal Cheese” (or “Royale with Cheese” as Pulp Fiction liked to call it)?

Back at the bag pile, I decided to buy an apple and a bottle of water. Though the shopkeeper could clearly see that the group of us were encamped just a couple of metres away, and that neither the apple nor water would last long anyway, she decided it was vitally important that she place them in a paper bag for me. Not long after, a girl asked us if we would help with an assignment she had by filling out a small survey. (From memory, the survey had something to do with telemarketing.) The survey wasn’t interesting, but she was polite, so I filled it in for her.

As our train time approached, we went in search of the right queue, though it was in pretty much a straight line from where we were, so it would have been harder to find the wrong one. We were quizzed at passport control about how long we’d be in the UK, what we were doing there, who with, who we knew there, etc; they stopped just short of demanding our shoe size and blood type. It made a change from the lax border crossings we’d seen in most of the EU. Once on the train, a few of us passed the time asking trivia questions about everything from pop-music to ancient history. (There’s a lot of things I don’t know, but I seem to know a lot about nothing.)

Arriving at Waterloo Station in London, what remained of our small group was whittled down even further, as those of us for King’s Cross Station got tickets for our connecting train and then split from the others. On the train, I decided to check that I still had my Kumuka-supplied voucher for the night’s hotel. I did. But as I reviewed the information, we had to change trains (it was either Leicester Square or Oxford Circus), and in my haste, I left the voucher on the train, along with the other information supplied by my travel agent including the information for my return flights. Fortunately, I expected that I would do something silly like that at some point, so I also had the details in my mobile phone, as well as copies of the paperwork – except for my hotel voucher… arghhh. Barry alighted at one of the stops en route, to head to his hostel and continue his holiday in the UK. I hoped he didn’t think I was still sore at him for the snoring. A few minutes later, we arrived at King’s Cross Station. Jason & Christina and I (and who else?) headed in what we hoped was the right direction for the Holiday Inn, though we were all a little disoriented, so it was decided that it might be better to take a taxi. Susan’s suggestion of getting a taxi rang in my mind with some irony, but the irony was doubled when a taxi we hailed informed us that it was quite close, and not really worth the drive. Heading back in the opposite – and correct – direction, we came across Paul and Vicky, who gave us some helpful pointers, and we continued on foot to our hotel.

We checked in, and I bade farewell to the others, beginning my stint as an independent traveller for the next eight weeks. Fortunately, there were no problems with my reservation, so it didn’t matter that I’d lost the voucher. It was getting late, but I wanted to check my bank balance before I turned in, so I asked if there was Internet access nearby. I was shown to a pre-paid Internet kiosk near a conference room. The machine (provided by isrighthere.com) happily accepted my money, but wouldn’t let me accomplish anything. Though it certainly took a long time not doing it. It provided the option of contacting their support staff even after my wasted paid time had expired, so I sent off an e-mail – after all, £4.95 is a lot to pay for nothing – though I wasn’t entirely convinced it would make much difference. Being a late hour, and having been in four countries in the one day, it was definitely time for bed.

I would have liked to have gotten to know the members of Team Kumuka 07 better, but it takes me longer than average – by orders of magnitude it seems – to break the ice with people. Still, they were a great bunch.

Weary faces, who-knows-what in their brain.

From Amsterdam, a day on coach and on train.

As the Eurostar whizzed,

Some trivia we quizzed.

Kumuka trip’s done, but still 8 weeks remain.

Amsterdam – Dutch Courage

6 June 2007

After a good night’s rest and an excessive sleep-in, I was ready to have a look around Amsterdam. I headed to an Internet cafe in the Dam to catch up on some Internet stuff. While I was there, I met an Aussie from Melbourne who’d been living in Amsterdam for a few months, so he offered to show me around. One of the highlights was the famed Anne Frank Queue, a line of people that extends for miles. Rumour has it that if you ever actually get to the beginning of the queue, you can visit the house in which Anne Frank hid with her family during World War II. As usual, there was a church or two to visit, and an art gallery as well, though neither really held my interest. We checked out the markets at Waterlooplein, and then found somewhere for a late lunch.

After lunch, it seemed like a good idea to sample some beer at the Heineken Experience, a former brewery, turned museum. Our entry fee included four tokens – three for beers, and one for a ‘gift’. The first part of the ‘experience’ was largely about the production of beer in general, after which we entered the first bar where we could redeem our first free beer. In the bar area was a group of young Americans, apparently there on a school trip of some kind. They were 18, and because they were still too young to legally drink back home, they were like kids in a candy store. Except, with beer instead of candy. And with being old enough to drink it. So it wasn’t really like being kids in a candy store at all. After the first bar, most of the exhibits emphasised Heineken’s marketing endeavours. There were a couple of ‘rides’ as well. In the first, we filed into a small cinema with standing room only and bars to hold onto. A video, coupled with a synchronised moving floor gave us a simulated bottle’s-eye-view of the production process from labelling to delivery. It was fairly corny, as was the other ride; a variation on the theme, but this time we were seated in a fake horse-drawn carriage, ‘travelling’ through the streets of Amsterdam. Another exhibit gave the option of video recording a very bad karaoke beer song that could then be e-mailed to friends. Relaxing reclined chairs provided a comfortable place to watch Heineken television commercials of the last 50 years. In the second bar, we used our remaining two tokens on complimentary beers. There were some other Australians in the bar – one of them not just from Australia, but from Cairns, though no one I knew. A group of girls from mexico came into the bar and asked us if we would like their beer tokens, because they didn’t want to have any beer. We weren’t going to say no, though we did ask if they were sure, advising them that there was also Pepsi available. They declined, and left the two of us with 12 tokens. We got talking to a couple of guys on holiday from Miami, with whom we shared some of the beer tokens. One of them spoke in detail about his experience with one of the women in the red light district, explaining that she was very business-like. Before leaving, we picked up our ‘free’ gift, a Heineken bottle opener encased between two halves of a novelty aluminium bottle-shaped casing with a moulded plastic recess. Trevor and I headed to the train station, at which point we parted ways, as I headed back to the hotel in preparation for our final group dinner.

I got back to the hotel just in time to stow my Heineken souvenir, quickly get changed, and head out again, meeting up with some others from the group on the way – which was good, because I wasn’t sure where we were supposed to go. Taking the tram, we soon arrived at the designated meeting point, where we found Kevin and Susan, and the rest of the group. I mentioned the cross-dresser I saw while waiting for the toilet the night before to Susan and Kevin; they said he’s a nice guy, explaining that they’ve met him before. Susan led the way to our final group restaurant. Naturally, because we were in Amsterdam, we had Chinese. As we chatted over an initial drink, one of the paper napkin’s caught fire on a tea candle. Trying to put it out, Tim helped it along by blowing on it. Thinking quickly, Peter had the nous to smother the flame. Our starter was a chicken and corn soup; it tasted quite nice, though the consistency was off-putting – actually, it most closely resembled mucus. I tried hard to think of aspic. The main meal gave us a choice of several dishes, all of which were pretty good.

After dinner, our next stop was a boatride down the canals. On board were tables set with cheese and olives. Does it get any better?! It did, as we were each given a Flügel (specially formulated to “let the duck out”). As we floated down the canal, with beer on tap, it didn’t take long for the music to start up. The youtube video below was uploaded by Kat…

After the cruise, we gathered for a group photo before a walk through the red light district past the many windows with women showing their wares. To my knowledge, there were no takers among the group. Back at the hotel, most of the group went to the bar, after which a few of us chatted at a table in the open air. As it got late, Barry invited a few of us to his room for shots of absinthe – “the drink that makes you want to kill yourself instantly” (according to Bernard from Black Books – fortunately he was wrong).

Saw Anne Frank’s, with the queue long and wending.
Free tokens for beer – s’pose cirrhosis is pending.
Chinese, then a cruise,
Red lights, and more booze…
Our Kumuka tour’s last night – a good ending.

Berlin to Amsterdam

5 June 2007

We had to wake up early in the morning. Not only had we a lot of driving ahead of us, but first we had to get ourselves back to the rest of the group. The four of us – Kevin, Susan, Barry and I – gathered together (can four people really ‘gather’?) in the hotel lobby, checked out and called for a taxi. When the small car arrived, it looked doubtful that all our luggage would fit in the car – particularly if we wanted to fit in the car with it. But the driver assured us that everything would fit. The driver was wrong. Reluctantly accepting defeat, the taxi driver relented, and we called for another, more roomy, taxi. Arriving at the hotel of the rest of the group, they were still having breakfast. I managed to get past the tight security (none) and sneak into the hotel restaurant for a free cup of coffee and a bite to eat from the guests’ complimentary breakfast.

We were soon on our way again, and once again, the ‘day song’ boomed out as we made tracks toward Amsterdam – our last Kumuka destination with overnight accommodation. A sheet of paper was passed around the coach for us to provide our e-mail addresses. Susan explained that when we returned home, people there would not care about our trip – at least not in the same way as those who shared the experience with us. It was a long day in the coach, which made for an opportunity to sleep as well as give the MP3 player a good thrashing. Susan gave us the low-down about the Netherlands and passed around Amsterdam information brochures, drawing our attention to some of the highlights. Her knowledge once again proved invaluable, recognising immediately that the map in the brochure gave the incorrect locations for some points of interest.

Arriving in Amsterdam, we stopped off at our accommodation, the Hotel Casa 400. The hotel is only open during the summer, presumably offering student accommodation for the rest of the year. The rooms were quite plain; the shower was a continuation of the rest of the bathroom floor, with a shower curtain. But at least the location was central – originally, we were to stay at the Tulip Riverside Inn, which seemed like it would be quite a nice place, but was decidedly out of the way. (If you don’t know why it is very important that I mention places at which I didn’t stay, them I’m not going to tell you. If you do know, maybe you can explain it to me.) A few of us headed for a beer at the bar before reboarding the coach to head into the city centre. A few of the guys had grown horseshoe moustaches (though someone referred to them as handlebar moustaches, a different style entirely) especially for Amsterdam. We were given a time and place at which to regroup before the group dispersed for a while near Dam Square, which I tried some traditional Dutch cuisine after cashing up at an ATM. Okay… I had KFC. But it was Dutch KFC. I sat in the Square for a while, watching people go by, then found a cafe for a coffee. Soon it was time to regroup, and we met up with Matt and Dimity again, who had finished their Kumuka experience in Vienna, but were still floating around Europe. In all of the other cities we visited, our group meal was on the first night, but we broke with tradition, so that we would have dinner as a group on our final night together instead.

It was time for us to go to a live sex show. This really is classy stuff! At the door, the guys were given a free condom (no, not for use during the show), and the girls were given a penis-shaped candy. Not sure which one was a better deal – both have a long shelf life, and neither can be re-used. Although… no, neither can be re-used. Unfortunately I got front row seats – it was clear that this kind of show would involve some kind of primitive audience participation humiliation ritual. Fortunately I was on the far end of the front row. Although the sex show was undeniably graphic, it all seemed very matter-of-fact, and none of the couples did anything that would be termed extreme. Though some of them tried to make it more of a gymnastic routine. Some of the solo acts were a bit hard to swallow though. (I’ll be accepting the award for “Worst-Placed Pun” later… thanks, in anticipation). A scantily-clad woman (little more than shoes actually) asked for five volunteers (from a Contiki group). Four extroverts volunteered, and then a clearly introverted skinny asian lad with glasses was coerced to join them. The woman danced around a bit, and then laid down with her legs apart, holding the banana near her nether regions. One by one, each of the volunteers had to kneel down to take a bite of the banana. When it came to the last volunteer (no prizes for guessing who they made go last), the banana was removed at the last second, bringing him face to… well, you get the picture. Off to the side stood someone in an anatomically correct(ish) gorilla costume. The gorilla had hold of his rubber ‘correctness’. Can’t say gorillas do much for me, but please yourself. At the end of that routine, the ‘gorilla’ squirted water at the audience from his rubber attachment. Did I mention, “classy”? A male stripper came onto the stage, and requested a volunteer for him to cavort with. Tina (T1) was ‘volunteered’, though she didn’t seem to be objecting too much. Visibly nervous at first, she seemed to adapt well to the role, moving her hands over the guy as he stripped and applying lotion, but nothing happened that would leave her needing to lay charges. A leather-clad dominatrix, complete with whip, came onto the stage. It would have been a little more impressive, had the dubbed backing-track been properly synchronised with her feeble whip-cracking. Barry was called up to onto the stage, and directed to get on all fours. A strap-on attachment was fitted to his head, with which he got to ‘know’ the woman (in the biblical sense – well, kind of). What?! Haven’t you ever penetrated a middle-aged pseudo-dominatrix/actress-who-can’t-really-crack-a-whip with a dildo strapped to your forehead before? The final solo act involved a woman and a cigar. While it may be customary for some to smoke a cigar after sex, smoking the cigar down there just can’t be healthy. Sure, you won’t get lung cancer, but it can’t be good for you.

After the show, we had to get back to the coach quickly because there wasn’t much allowed driving time left allocated for the day, pursuant to the strict rules by which Kev had to abide. I needed to go to the toilet; I went into a bar but was told to leave because it was for black people only – talk about racism! I found another place to go to the toilet, but it was occupied, so I was told to wait. I figured it couldn’t take too long. At the bar sat an oldish guy in a green dress chatting away to the bartender. Soon enough, I was outside again and on my way to the coach. To my dismay though, I saw the coach moving away before I could get to it. I walked to the train station, or at least in the general direction in which there might possibly be a train station. Once there, I went to a ticket machine, but I didn’t know which stop I needed. The only information I remembered was the name of the hotel and the name of the street it was on. I found some station attendants, who were talking to an American guy, Rick, who happened to be looking for the same hotel. I decided to stick with him, so that I would at least be in the wrong place, with someone. But we found the right train without too much hassle, and I was soon back at the hotel – well not really ’soon’. But I got there.

Berlin to Amsterdam – a long way to go.
Once we were there, saw a steamy sex show.
A faux dominatrix
Bit surreal, like the Matrix.
But now the coach has just left me! Oh no!

Berlin – Back to the Scene of the Crime

4 June 2007

Having had a relatively quiet day the day before, I was due to see some of the sights of Berlin. After breakfast, I headed to Potsdamer Platz and into the donut shop again for a donut and coffee. The guy who had accused me of stealing the bottle of water the day before came over to the table I was at, profusely apologising once again. Then he asked me if I like coconut, which I thought was awfully specific. As it happens, I don’t mind coconut, so I said yes. He returned shortly after with a gratis chocolate and coconut ball. Maybe I should ‘not steal water’ more often.

I went walking for a while, and after some time noticed a pain in my leg. On inspection, I discovered a small bruise – I had been carrying my sunglasses in the lower pocket of a pair of cargo shorts, and the repetitive tapping of the frames while walking had been enough over time to bruise the skin. Seeing a section of the old Berlin Wall, I was tempted to write on it, as I had on the Lennon Wall. But although it was covered in graffiti, I didn’t really think I should. Plus I didn’t have a pen with me, so I would have had to ask to borrow one, which seemed a bit much. It was around lunch time, and I headed into a shopping centre where I happened upon Fran, Cel, and Ji-on. Three of us stopped at a pizza vendor for some lunch, and Ji-on bought sushi with a side of pickled ginger – I love that stuff – though her electronic Korean-to-English dictionary decided it was garlic.

After lunch, we headed in separate ways – I in the direction of the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe. When the monument was first opened in 2005, the head of Germany’s Central Council of Jews criticised the monument, saying that it failed to raise the question, “Why?” But that is a question that need not be asked – there is no answer that could be given that would justify those deaths. I wandered around the intentionally disorienting memorial for a while and then headed to the nearby Brandenburg Gate, before exploring further north on the other side of the Spree. Stumbling across an Internet cafe, I headed in quickly to check my e-mails, pay some bills, and publish the first blog entry for the trip that I’d written in Prague.

I decided I would check out the Berlin Zoo, so I headed back to the subway. On the seat across from me on the train, an American couple were discussing a poster on the train, advertising a show, “Cavalia“, which they ‘knew’ must be good, because it had received high praise from Larry King. It was evident that they assumed no one else in the cabin spoke in English, so I surprised them, saying “It must be good then.” It had the desired result; it got a laugh, the lady predictably exclaiming that she didn’t expect anyone to understand. At that point, a fourth person piped up, with an English accent, “You’d be surprised!” startling the three of us. He was reading a book by Bill Bryson about Australia, Down Under (ISBN 0-552-99703-X); he was up to a part about Melbourne. A few months prior, I read Neither Here Nor There: Travels in Europe (ISBN 0-380-71380-2), so we chatted about Bryson’s writing style, about Melbourne, and about travelling generally. As the train pulled up at one of the stations, a skinhead boarded the train, looking a little mean. As the train got moving again, it was revealed that he was actually the ticket collector – the element of surprise with a bit of humour made a great change to an otherwise mundane ticket check.

Soon I was at the zoo, home of the much acclaimed Knut. For all of the fanfare, poor little Knut looked sad, bored, and lonely. I was assured though that there were regular activities and interaction for the young polar bear. I saw a fountain in the zoo that I decided to get a photo of. As soon as I decided to do that, two young children decided they had to play in the fountain. I hoped they’d get bored quickly. I gave up. After the zoo, I headed for some dinner before heading back to the hotel.

To say sorry, got given a free snack
At the donut shop – good thing I went back.
Train chat about Bryson.
Saw katydids and bison.
Entertainment for Knut – seemed there was a lack.

Ich bin ein Berliner

3 June 2007

I still had a bit of a tickle in my throat eliciting the occasional cough, so I decided I would have a bit of a lazy day. After a nice sleep in, I headed for the subway and into the city. At this point, my notes just say “brief exploring”, so I’ll need to clarify that after contrasting my memories of Berlin with my brief notes for the next day. Arriving at Potsdamer Platz, I headed for a donut shop for coffee and, oddly enough, a donut. As I slowly sipped my coffee, I watched people come to and from the connected Bahnhof. Once I was finished, I grabbed a bottle of water and paid the girl at one end of the counter. I got about 5 metres out of the store when I heard yelling behind me. I turned around to see the guy from the donut shop accusing me of stealing the bottle of water. A little surprised, I pointed back behind him to the general direction of the counter. He looked back, and the girl at the counter acknowledged that I had indeed paid for the water. Feeling bad about the accusation he’d made, his face softened, exclaiming “I am so sorry,” almost genuflecting. Back in the subway, I saw a magazine kiosk, where I found myself a sudoku puzzle book, along with a new biro to replace the one I’d accidentally unburdened myself of earlier in the trip.

I had a message from my new friend from Hanover (who I met in Munich), who was visiting Berlin with a friend, so we met up in the afternoon for a coffee. They were making plans to go sailing on the Baltic sea in a few weeks, and since I would still be in Europe, they invited me to go with. Cool!

Later in the afternoon, I sent Tina (T1) a message to see what was happening for dinner. They were heading into Hackescher Markt, so I arranged to meet them there. Arriving from the station at the ‘Markt, I found the others seated outside. While waiting to order, it was looking like it was going to rain, so we decided it would probably be a good idea to opt for an inside table. A couple of jugs of sangria were ordered for the table, making for a nice mood for the evening. Tina (T2) had to go through the usual ordeal of ensuring that none of her meal contained any wheat. Fortunately, she carried a multilingual card explaining her condition. Someone else ordered a massive seafood paella. I ordered “pigling”. After our enjoyable meal, we headed to the train station, where I parted ways to head back to my own hotel.

“Stolen water” – an unjust accusation.
Baltic sailing – what a great invitation!
Pen and puzzles I bought
For long-distance transport.
Ate at Hackescher Markt, close to the station.

Prague to Berlin

2 June 2007

Once again we all piled onto the coach, ready to set off for Berlin. Well… not quite all. After a headcount, it became apparent that Ben and Danni weren’t on board. After waiting for a few minutes, Susan said that we would need to leave shortly in order to keep to the driving schedule, whether Ben and Danni were on board or not. A couple of the guys went up to their room to see what was going on; after some loud knocks on the door, they woke up, and said that they’d make their own way to Berlin. So we set off without them. Susan had indicated earlier in the trip that if anyone wasn’t on time, they may be left behind, but she still wanted to make sure that no one felt like we were abandoning them. Once again, the day song was played and we got moving for our next destination. I had previously made mention to Susan (being Canadian) about the “Weird Al” Yankovic song, “Canadian Idiot” (parody of Green Day’s “American Idiot“), so as we were driving she came up and asked to hear it, afterwards commenting that it was so accurate it made her feel homesick.

At the Czech Republic-German border, we were stopped for a passport check. Once again, Susan instructed us not to smile or speak while the border officer came through. Our passports were collected and taken away for a while. As we waited for their return, I noticed that the buildings at the border had lawn on the roof. I wondered why more places don’t do that. After a little while, we were on our way, and in Germany again for the second time, but there were still a few hours ahead of us before we would arrive in Berlin. Susan put on a disturbing DVD – The Pianist – about the experiences of Polish pianist Władysław Szpilman during the Nazi occupation of Poland. (However, it wasn’t as disturbing as Meet the Fockers that we watched a couple of days prior.)

[gmap name='Berlin' lat='52.522906' lng='13.411217' zoom='10' desc='Berlin']

Once in Berlin, we picked up a local guide who told us of the city’s modern history – the rise and fall of the Berlin Wall, and the impact it had on people lives before, during, and after its presence. Though sections of the Wall have been preserved, most of it has been completely removed, though its previous position is indicated by a narrow paved line. We knew the history, but we were encouraged to think about what it would actually be like… for your location on the day the wall went up to dictate where you would live for the next 28 years, dividing family and friends, and forcing many to live under communist rule or risk death trying to leave. Rather than merely complain about the situation that affected the city, our local guide humbly admitted that the difficulties imposed – however extreme – were as a result of the nation submitting to Hitler’s party. We moved on to Checkpoint Charlie, where tourists could pose for photos with (imitation) guards – for a price; I opted for icecream instead. We then went to the exhibition at the former site of the Topographie des Terrors – the Gestapo headquarters during the Nazi regime. After this glimpse into the past, we headed to the city center – Potsdamer Platz. Where the Berlin Wall once divided the city is now a thriving commercial district, demonstrating the forward-thinking attitude of the German people. After our brief introduction to the city, it came time to head over to our accomodation.

Susan advised me that the hotel for the rest of the group – the Quality North – was booked out, so because Barry and I now had separate rooms, we would be staying at different hotel, as would Kevin and she. Susan also added that the hotel we were moved to was nicer. But before splitting up, we had our group dinner to attend. We left our luggage stowed in the coach and went with the rest of the group to their hotel, (at which point we were reunited with Ben and Danni who had taken the train), and then we all moved on to the restaurant. At dinner, I sat next to Tina, aptly designated T1, because when it comes to eating, she really is a machine. And for the life of me I don’t know where it all goes. I learned a new word at dinner, thanks to Kerry – “ullage”, the empty space in a filled bottle (usually of wine); he added that it can be used colloquially to refer to a person (i.e. ‘a waste of space’). Who says I don’t learn something new every day? Black forest cake topped dinner off nicely.

Once dinner was done, the bulk of the group headed to their hotel, and the four of us grabbed our luggage, called for a taxi, and headed for our home for the next two nights – the Hotel Berlin. I got the feeling that Barry was annoyed about being separated from the rest of the group, though he didn’t say as much, and I felt a little guilty that I had forced his hand in moving (though it had cost me, and was with good reason, so it was only a little). The foyer of our hotel looked much nicer than that of the other, commensurate with Susan’s earlier comments. But a combination of Susan speaking so highly of our hotel, along with the high quality of the rooms in the previous one back in Prague made for a slight anticlimax when I saw my room in the Hotel Berlin, though it was certainly above average. Feeling the effects of having a cold, I opted for an early night.

Leaving Prague, we’re in Germany again,
But this time, without Danni and Ben;
They were back the same day.
Tina puts food away!
Wo es geht, ich wirklich nicht kenn.

Prague – Czech It Out!

(Okay, that very bad pun deserves an apology.)

1 June 2007
[gmap name='Prague' lat='50.087547' lng='14.422302' zoom='10' desc='Prague']

Ah… sleep… glorious sleep! Finally, I was able to get a whole night of uninterrupted sleep (and then some). I was still feeling run down because of the bacteria that decided to firmly lodge themselves in my throat, but other than that I felt pretty good. I had been looking forward to Prague, having selected a tour specifically because the city was included. So, it was time to go and explore. In the hallway of the hotel, I met up with brother-and-sister team, Ben & Danni, and Julie, whose son Nick was still in bed, apparently nursing a hangover. We took the bus and train into the city, and headed for Karlův most, a.k.a. Charles Bridge. The pedestrianised bridge was packed with people, many admiring the works of the various painters and caricature artists. Ben and Danni decided to get a caricature drawn of themselves. Each of them posed for the picture separately, as we watched their image come together in mere minutes. It was hard not to laugh as certain features were emphasised by the artist. Among the artist’s previous work on display was a portrait of Brad Pitt, who had been in Prague a couple of weeks prior. Once Danni’s part of the picture was complete, Ben took her place, and the artist drew him in next to his sister. As he neared completion, he drew a heart between them with an arrow through it, as if they were star-struck lovers. Danni, taken aback, quickly explained that they were brother and sister. The artist said it didn’t matter. Once a finishing touch of hair spray was applied to set the image, we continued on the bridge a little way, to the statue of John of Nepomuk. Flanking the statue on either side are two images, which are rubbed by passersby for luck, evinced by a shiny patch on each. Many of the tourists were rubbing the images on both sides, however the wiser superstitious people avoided rubbing the oft-rubbed dog on the left side, which is believed to bring bad luck, cancelling out any good luck or granted wish that might be obtained by rubbing the falling priest on the left (so that’s why it doesn’t work).

It was a curious feeling being in the middle of Prague. The city was a lot more commercialised than I had expected, in keeping with the economy catching up to the rest of the EU. Still, it didn’t take away from its uniqueness. As we walked along, suddenly out of nowhere came a street parade commemorating… something. (When I took the photo, I was focusing on the horse, and didn’t actually notice Ben’s gesture in the background, right of centre behind the horse.)
We headed towards the Jewish Quarter, Josefov, where we came across Fran and Cel (pronounced as in “cello”). Julie separated from us, and the remaining three of us continued along. Danni was keen to find the Lennon Wall – a wall covered in Lennon-inspired graffiti, originally by Czech youths in the 1980s. We found the general vicinity where it should be, and Danni asked in a few shops about where to find it, but it seemed that no one had heard of it. But find it we did, and Danni was happier than the proverbial pig in swill, seeing the wall – and making her mark on it – being the highlight of her entire trip. I hadn’t previously heard of the wall, but Danni’s strong feelings about it gave it meaning, so I also took the opportunity to add my moniker. (Writing on the wall is permitted by the current owners.)

After the wall, I headed off on my own in the direction of the palace, which I decided was a bit of an anticlimax. So I headed for Petřín hill, taking a stroll up the winding path before finding a patch of grass to lie down on to soak up the atmosphere. I opted for the funicular to make my way down, and then headed back towards the subway. On my way, I was surprised to see a group of Hare Krishna doing their thing. I’m having trouble accurately recalling the placement of the next part, because I didn’t record it in my notes, but I’ll put it here for now. It was definitely on public transport, but I think it was later in the evening, requiring that it happened on a different day. Feel free to correct me… On the bus to the hotel, I met up with Peter & Tracey, and [someone?]. There was an option of a guided ‘ghost’ walk of Prague, so Tracey mentioned a peculiar experience she had had in the past with her parents (-in-law?) and grandparents on a ‘ghost walk’ in Sydney. They weren’t shown any ‘ghosts’; instead they were taken to a BDSM room. Very. Very. Strange. And probably not what the grandparents were expecting.

Back at the hotel, I decided to check out their health spa for a traditional Thai massage… no, not that traditional. There was required to put on shoe covers – which looked a lot like shower caps – to go into the spa area. The young Thai woman asked me to sit on a not entirely relaxing chair and started with a scalp massage, which was nice. As she massaged my back, she nattered with her two other friends, in Thai. There wasn’t much bone cracking, and not even any elbows (or feet) jabbed in my back. I’m not sure if I’m glad about that part or not. The massage ended abruptly – clockwatchers make the worst masseuses – diminishing some of the derived benefit. When I opened my eyes, I saw that Barry was also having a massage. I thought, “When did he come in?” Perhaps the massage really was more relaxing than I’d thought.

Back in the hallway, I saw Craig and Paul contemplating about where they would pick up some dinner (under direction from their wives). The three of us did some reconnaissance of the hotel restaurants before heading outside to see what other places were nearby. A couple of blocks away, we found a pizza place, “Pizza Go Home“. With a name like that, it seemed pretty obvious that they did take-away, but one of the guys asked anyway, which the staff had trouble understanding, but the obvious answer of “yes” was eventually obtained. As we waited for our pizzas, various staff members would occasionally come out the front to smoke joints (possibly the inspiration for their web page). I can’t imagine the staff of any of the pizza shops at home doing that – certainly not at the front of the store while on duty, and if they did, they wouldn’t be on duty much longer. Once we had our pizzas in hand, we headed to our respective rooms, where I gorged myself on pizza.

I decided to turn on the TV, but it wouldn’t work. I checked the bedside lamps and they wouldn’t work either. I had a cursory look for a fusebox in the room, but there wasn’t one anywhere obvious. I gave reception a call and told them there was a problem, and they said someone would come up. A little while later, there was a knock on the door. I opened it for the aged electrician, who said, “What is problem?” I explained that problem is ‘bad fuse make TV no work’. (I didn’t use those exact words, but I may as well have.) He reached up, pushed aside a ceiling tile, and reset the circuit breaker, then quietly left. I went back to eating pizza, and my original plan of seeing what was on TV. I came across “Who Wants to be a Millionaire”. Being in Prague, naturally it was the German version (of course?). Usually I’m pretty good at that game, but I had too much trouble with the questions to have much luck with the answers, not only in German, but also largely specific to German pop culture. One question I did understand was to name the person who famously said “Ich bin ein Berliner“. Supposedly, this line is funny among (non-German) pseudo-intellectuals because Kennedy supposedly called himself a jam donut (a “Berliner“), however the German grammar is accurate for referring to oneself as a person from Berlin.

I dozed for a little while – a massive sleep debt, a cold, and having walked around all day made it not optional. I had been out of Australia for two weeks and – despite my best intentions and to the great disappointment of some of my readers – I still hadn’t posted anything on my blog, so I bought some Internet time at the hotel’s Business Centre to make an entry for the first day of the trip, though I ran out of credit before getting them opportunity to publish it to the site. I rose to the challenge of including a limerick, setting the precedent to include one for each day… I also used the opportunity to leech some USB power to recharge my MP3 player – after all, I had to get my money’s worth somehow.

Prague: not what I expected, I guess,
Though it still didn’t fail to impress.
A city of mystery,
So full of history!
(I stole that from “Moscow” (the song), I confess!)

Budapest to Prague

31 May 2007

We were in for another long day in the coach – over 500km as we cross through Slovakia, into the Czech Republic. (Showing my age, I still think of it as Czechoslovakia.) Susan confirmed that I would have a room to myself for the rest of the trip (for AUD$356), so even though I was feeling run down, I had that thought to buoy me up. Because Slovakia had not been a member of the EU for as long as many of the other countries, I imagined that we would have a passport check at the border, but it wasn’t to be. It seems they’ll let anyone in.

We stopped for lunch on the outskirts of the Slovakian capital, Bratislava. There was an option of a supermarket or fast food (I think it was KFC, but I don’t recall because I opted for the supermarket). In the fresh produce section, I attempted to ask one of the staff where the bananas were. They didn’t understand anything I was saying, so I tried making gestures of peeling a banana, which didn’t work either. A few minutes later when I’d found them, the shop guy saw me standing there, and his face reflected the light bulb that lit in his head, accompanied by a nod and a grin. I’d been hankering for cherry tomatoes for a few days, and found some plum tomatoes (even better), making for an easy decision. Once I’d grabbed a few other bits and pieces, I decided to go with the credit card for spending because Slovakia’s hadn’t yet changed over to the Euro, and we wouldn’t be there long enough to justify a currency exchange. A traffic island made a great place for a picnic. The photo to the right is of the traffic island, looking roughly east; I managed to find the exact location for the map below using the word “Lavak” that appeared on my credit card statement.

[gmap name='Bratislava' lat='48.1760' lng='17.0658' zoom='17' desc='Lunch on a traffic island near Bratislava - click Satellite!']

We continued our journey, stopping near the border for a while, where we had the opportunity to exchange some Euro for Koruna. We didn’t have a passport check (at least I don’t remember a passport check at that point), but the coach had to wait a while for approval to go through. A few hours later, we arrived at our hotel in Prague, the Top Praha.

We were all given access cards for our rooms, and at long last, I would have a room to myself. There was a couple of minutes’ delay before I was given my access card. Once I got it, I headed up to my room, only to find that it was already occupied. I headed back down to reception, where I found Susan, and explained the problem. Because I only just arranged to have a room to myself, the booking change by the tour company hadn’t filtered through to the hotel. To make matters worse, the strict hotel staff would not give me a card, until they received some official proof that the additional room was indeed booked. It was rapidly approaching the time that we were due to head out for our group dinner, but Susan stayed and patiently sorted things out. Eventually I got my access card for the right room, leaving mere minutes for me (and Susan) to get ready to head out again. I went back to the girls’ room to retrieve my luggage, and then headed up to mine. I didn’t have time to savour it right now, but the rooms were the largest and best-furnished of the trip. After a shower and getting changed in possibly record time, I had to run in order to meet the bus that would take us to the train station.

Making our way from the subway, Susan led the group on a walkling tour of the city. As we climbed back to the surface, we saw a statue of a guy on a horse – a typical sight in many European cities, then we were taken to a much less typical statue, also of a guy on a horse, but with a distinct difference.

There were some unwholesome comments about the rider’s position. Next we headed past the Prague Orloj – an impressive astronomical clock showing not only the time, but the position of the sun, the position and phase of the moon, and the zodiac. And if that wasn’t enough, it also had mechanical figures that animate on the hour. Clever stuff! And the time was… dinner time. Susan continued to lead the way. We were told we were going to a place with “student food”. I assumed this meant the food was made “for students”, though it could have meant “by students”. Or “of students.” If the food we were served was typical of Czech cuisine, then I could really get used to eating there. We were served steak with gravy – nothing out of the ordinary there – topped… with jam and cream. The concept of jam on meat sounded a bit odd, but on reflection it was no stranger than having mint sauce on lamb or cranberry sauce on turkey. But whipped cream on meat was unusual too. Still, it made for a delicious combination. Dessert followed, with crépes with icecream and chocolate sauce… yummy.

After dinner, I deliberated whether I would stay in town longer, or go back to the hotel. I was very much looking forward to collapsing in bed, so it wasn’t a difficult decision. I left the restaurant with Kevin and Susan, and a few others of the group, and we headed towards the subway, stopping to admire the beautiful scene of Prague by night. (To do the scene justice, the photos below of Prague by night are from a Google images search.)

On the train, I chatted with Susan about my blog (this one), and she remarked that she’d be interested to have a look, so I gave her the address. Once back at the hotel, I headed for my room, eager for at least 8 hours of uninterrupted unconciousness. I still had some coins from Hungary, now useless to me, so I decided to leave them on the table, hoping that when I went out the next day the maid might steal them. Then I was off to the land of nod…

A day of Czech and Slovakian theme.
How’s your steak? Want some more jam and cream?
Lunch in Bratislava
Without pomp or palaver.
Prague by night – a photographer’s dream!

Tired and Hungary

30 May 2007

At about 1am, Barry’s intolerable snoring was once again in full swing. As I endured the disgusting noise, I recalled what Barry had said earlier about me supposedly having no right to complain because I was able to waste some of my daylight hours catching up on a fraction of the sleep I’d lost. I felt like throwing something at him. Something heavy. As usual I tried muffling the noise as best I could. After an hour or so, I took my bedding into the small bathroom and tried to sleep there. It was very cramped, and the thin walls didn’t do much to stop the god-awful noise. At about 3am, I moved outside to the balcony and closed the door. The noise of traffic wasn’t as bad as the snoring, but the cold hard concrete and chilly weather weren’t very conducive to sleep. At about 5am, I found a sofa in the hotel foyer, but by that time, there were too many people moving about the hotel to get any peace.

Seeing as I wasn’t going to get any rest, I decided to go for a walk instead. I ended up taking a train back to the market area of the city, where I had some breakfast. Then I found a chemist, where I bought a Hungarian version of something remotely similar to Berocca. Feeling completely drained of energy, with a considerably sore throat, I decided to head back to the hotel for some sleep, figuring that Barry wouldn’t be sleeping by now, and I’d have the room to myself. At the entrance of the hotel, I ran into Kevin. He made the mistake of asking how I was, and I complained about the intolerable situation with the snoring, (sorry Kev) and in desperation, asked how much it would cost to get a room to myself for the rest of the trip. Kevin told me he’d find out, suggesting that it would be in the realm of a couple of hundred dollars. It sounded reasonable, for the opportunity to get a full night’s sleep. Then I retreated to the hotel room, like a junkie looking for a sleep fix.

I considered what I would say to Barry about getting a room to myself. It wasn’t that I innately hated him, though he wasn’t at the top of my list of favourite people, but I just really, really needed to get some unbroken sleep at night. I wasn’t sure if me getting a room to myself would inherently force him to also have to pay extra, which could be awkward. Even still, I thought that since I was changing rooms for the sole reason that he was preventing me from sleeping, which he had acknowledged from the outset, it seemed fair that he supplement me for the extra cost. Finally asleep, and dreaming… and what a great dream it was. Barry was being thrown out of the hotel. Okay, a bit harsh, but it was a nice dream all the same. Then I dreamt that I was in an environment of snow and ice, surrounded by large spiders – each one over a foot across. They were plush, like stuffed toys, but they were actual live spiders with fangs and legs and spideriness. Weird! It was the first REM sleep I’d had in over a week, so I suppose even giant plush spiders were a welcome sight.

When I awoke, it was evening, so I went out for some takeaway dinner, a chocolate bar, and something resembling fruit juice. Then I headed to the hotel bar, where a few of us chatted about South Park and other important… stuff. I told Barry that I’d be getting a room to myself. He was apologetic about his snoring, and agreed to pay some money (at some point) toward the extra cost, and shouted me some drinks as a sign of goodwill. I had one more night of poor sleep, and though I was feeling very run down and my throat felt like sandpaper, at least an end to the suffering was in sight.

Feel like I’ll die from this sleep deprivation
I’ve gotta get out of this bad situation;
All the REM sleep I’ve lost…!
So whatever the cost…
I need some sleep to enjoy my vacation.

Vienna to Budapest

29 May 2007

I woke up with a very sore throat. The sleep deprivation was getting pretty bad after yet another night of about 2 hours of interrupted sleep. Once again, we loaded up our luggage and climbed on the coach, bound for Hungary. Once again, the ‘day song’ was played. It wasn’t that I was sick of it, but I wasn’t in a great mood so I didn’t enjoy it as much as the previous times. I tried to get some sleep on the coach with limited success. Soon enough, we were at the Austria-Hungary border – the first border crossing at which the coach had to actually stop (at least so my notes tell me). As we approached, Susan explained that the procedure was all very official, and that we shouldn’t smile or attempt to make conversation with the border patrol guards unless they initiated it. The slightly gruff looking border guard moved through the coach, taking each passport in turn, briefly looking at them, and then stamping them. He continued with the same serious expression all the way to the back of the bus, until he reached the last passport – that of Tracey – in the back left corner. Taking her passport, he stamped it, and then – with a grin – in quick succession rapidly applied another twenty or so stamps, turning the pages as he went. Needless to say (but I will anyway) Tracey was a little surprised, but on reviewing her passport, she found only one stamp: the guard had intentionally not fully depressed the mechanical stamp sufficiently for the ink to make contact with the other pages.

[gmap name='Budapest' lat='47.497256' lng='19.04068' zoom='12' desc='Budapest']

We soon arrived in Budapest (properly pronounced Budapesht), stopping near Váci utca to find some lunch and – for some – do some tourist shopping. I thought about buying a shirt, but then suddenly didn’t. We headed to a building full of fruit and vegetable market stalls. I had a hankering for cherry tomatoes but didn’t find any. There was no shortage of quality fruit and vegetables though. Susan had given us the unusual advice that food in Hungary doesn’t always taste like what it looks like… something we would soon find out. Upstairs were some fast-food vendors, where most of us headed. I ordered something based on cabbage and some generic kind of unidentifiable meat. Smothering the meal in sour cream was apparently not optional – good thing I like sour cream. The meal was fairly bland, but because there was so much of it, there was still an incredible sense of value. After lunch I took another look at some of the market stalls before heading back for the coach.

We were joined on board by a local guide, who explained some of the unique features of her city (or as she pronounced it, “tsitty”). She explained to us about the lengthy cleaning process of the limestone parliament building – a continuous process that requires some part of the building to always be decked in scaffolding. We headed over the bridge from Pest (the eastern part of the city) to the ‘old city’, Buda where we were shown the remains of buildings destroyed during World War II, as had been much of Budapest. We were prevented by police from taking the intended path as ’something’ was happening. We headed to a lookout that afforded a good view of the city. Camera in hand, Craig climbed onto a rock wall about 3 feet high, and fell backward, landing awkwardly on the hard ground. It looked like a potentially bad fall, but he was more concerned for his camera than himself. Once back on the coach we crossed the Danube River again, back to Buda. (We were told that the “Beautiful Blue Danube” would appear blue to us if we were romantic. I’m not. It didn’t. That’s proof enough for me.) As we went, we saw a cavalcade of visiting Spanish dignitaries, which was apparently the reason for the high security presence. Next, we were taken to the city square, where our Hungarian guide showed as a monument to an array of Hungarian ‘heroes’, though the claim to fame of most of them seemed to be that they suffered great defeats. One after another, she described loss after demoralising loss of what sounded like a fairly depressing history, often resulting in the country’s once much larger borders shrinking. Indeed, even the relatively recent difficult history of the country could be seen on the stern, worn and tired faces of many of the older people, in stark contrast to the more carefree and cheerful younger locals. Still, it’s probably character building. Farewelling our local guide, we headed in the direction of our accommodation. Susan put on a song for us by “The Cheeky Girls“, who she told us were Hungarian, though they are actually from Romania. The song was “The Cheeky Song (Touch my Bum)” – probably slightly less character building – voted by a UK television poll as “the worst pop record of all time”. It may have been simply my tired state, but a brief sequence of the backing track seemed strangely reminiscent of the soundtrack from the video game, Wonderboy.

I was fatigued from lack of sleep, and my throat felt like someone was in there with a rasp, so I was glad when it was time to check in to our hotel, the Ibis Váci Út. I headed straight to bed to catch a few hours sleep before dinner. After a couple of hours of much needed uninterrupted sleep, Barry had the audacity to tell me I had no right to complain about all of the sleep his snoring had prevented because I had the luxury of catching up on a couple of hours in the afternoon. Apparently 2 hours of sleep in one afternoon made up for the more than 40 hours that I had missed, having only had an average of about 2-3 hours sleep each night for the past 9 days. At this point, Barry was not one of my favourite people.

On the coach again, we headed for our Hungarian group dinner. Kevin masterfully parked the coach despite a very tight squeeze that took a fair bit of negotiating. In the dimly-lit restaurant, we were brought a small serving of beef goulash, consisting of oil, paprika, more paprika and some meat gristle. I can’t remember what else we had, but I remember that I enjoyed it. During our meal, the staff put on an impressive spectacle of traditional Hungarian dancing. But as is often the case with this kind of demonstration, it would require a primitive humiliation ritual of some of the unskilled guests. Tim was asked to volunteer, and then – horror of horrors – so was I. This would not be good. Even at the best of times, I don’t do anything resembling dancing, and if I do, it ain’t pretty. Being badly fatigued and a little ill, this was not the best of times. A few glasses were laid out on the floor, and a local lad showed us what we were supposed to do – making figure-8s around the glasses while kicking each leg forward, as high as it would go. To make my humiliation even worse, Tim had to go and do it well. Well not really ‘well’, but pretty good for a beginner. Then it was my turn – this was the single lowest point of the entire trip. Short of being injured, it went as badly as it possibly could have. But then Tim was blindfolded and asked to perform the stunt again – but after he was blindfolded, the glasses were surreptitiously removed, making him look a little ridiculous, taking the focus off me a little. For our trouble, Tim and I were both given souvenir plates imprinted with a photo of the staff, so it wasn’t all bad. Heading back to the hotel, I went to the bar for a drink before heading up for some badly needed sleep.

Had our passports all stamped while we waited
Lunch wasn’t great – a bit bland, but it sated.
You want me to what?
Well, I’ll give it a shot.
For a plate, got to be humiliated.