Napoli

When I think back upon it, I realise that I really had no plan of what I was going to do when. I had a vague idea – meet up with friends, go travelling in a generally clockwise direction around Europe. Then it turned into a generally anti-clockwise direction. Then side-trips were added in – with the Raillons, Cousins, other friends… In the end, I seemed to do two loops of Europe. Well, a loop, swirl and a couple of frills. The point is, the whole travelling without a set plan could well have ended up into an aimless fiasco, but luckily it didn’t. In fact, probably my most spur of the moment decision, namely deciding on a whim to accept the offer of a place to stay in Napoli, Italy, from friends I had only met one night at a hostel in Prague. (Actually I met them the day before my 21st birthday, whilst stressing over the whereabouts of Bec and Tristan, who failed to find the hostel for a number of hours.) Napoli… I thought… Oh yeah, - southern Italy? Hadn’t really thought of going there… but why not! I had, by this stage, realised that travelling by yourself to a city where you know nobody isn’t quite so much fun. Quite stressful too, if you don’t speak the language, can’t find the hostel and don’t know who (or how) to ask for help. So Naples. Sound’s good!

I said as much to my parents. Needless to say, alarm bells started ringing in my mother’s head, but she decided the best course of action would be to let Sophia warn me about the wonders of Napoli. I had already told Sophia I was planning on heading down to Napoli and had asked for some basic Italian phrases to get me out of trouble. I had found, whilst trying to talk to the Italians I had met in Prague, that simply having an Italian dictionary was not enough. I received this from Sophia “Naples sounds like a fabulous idea! just remember to hold onto your handbag/backpack and don't show any jewellery or technology, they're the masters of muggings and pickpocketing. they will get your stuff if you're not careful. no joking. really serious problem.” I thought she sounded serious, especially with the combination of that warning and some of the phrases Sophia thought I would need, including “leave me alone. - lasciami stare.” And “I don't have any coins. non ho moneta.” She did, however, end by saying that she hoped she hadn’t scared me too much. “The neapolitans are a really wonderful warm people, heaps of fun to be around, and if you are hanging out with ‘the natives’ you are much, much safer than the average american bozo.” I figured that was probably a good thing, especially in light of the series of lectures that I was being given from Geney, mostly to the lines of Naples being the ‘black cat of Italy’, its inhabitants all “banditos”, and continually returning back to the question of “but WHY are you going to NAPLES?” given that there are so many more beautiful, better places to go in Italy. “But why NAPLES?” Eventually I managed to get him slightly off my case by giving him the name of the family I was staying with, reassuring him that they were a good ‘upstanding’ family, father a doctor, Valentino himself also studying to be a doctor, and letting him check to see if their address and phone number was registered etc. So you could see that I could have been a little concerned about where I was going.

Given the number of warnings I had received from various reliable sources, I decided not to dismiss them entirely. Luckily, my sudden fears along the lines of ‘I don’t actually know where I’m going or who exactly I’m staying with, and I can’t speak the language enough to get me out of trouble and how do I know that axe murderers aren’t really nice when you meet them for the first time?’ were all completely unnecessary. Valentino and his cousin Ivano who I also met in Prague were at the station to pick me up (the train was only 20 minutes late), and they took me home, through the amazing entity that is Napoli traffic. Cars and buses hurtled down streets winding around what may have once been a square but was now littered with apparently abandoned construction equipment. Scooters threaded through the larger vehicles in furious abandon, seemingly only restrained by barriers, walls and mafia-style street stalls on the pavement. After a little more experience in the rather daunting traffic swarm, I realised that although it seems like total and complete chaos, it seemingly works, and could certainly be worse. Paris, for example, was terrifying (not just because of Dan the crazy Man’s night tour) in that the traffic moves. Fast. And, even armed with my new licence, I felt sure I was far too incompetent to even consider the possibility of driving there. Here in Naples, there are no lane markings, rarely even lanes, more a see of cars, and scooters. There are stop signs and red lights everywhere, but mostly for decoration. As “suggestions”, as it was explained to me. In most cases people cruise through lights and stop signs, only slowing down a little. Scooters are not even constrained to driving in the direction the rest of the traffic is headed, or even on the right side of the road. Nor even on the road itself. This ‘omnidirectional travel’ also takes place on medians and sidewalks, through squares… pedestrian zones, markets… Even the grounds of the Napoli library (the once palace), as I discovered!

That was certainly a highlight of my week or so in Napoli - Private tours on the back of Valentino's scooter... Yes, first time on a motorbike and yes, I was terrified... but I survived. The first experience went something like this. We were going to a lookout, but had to go via the post office first. I was handed a helmet (I had noticed that most people weren’t using them and was silently grateful that I had one) but when I went to put it on, was told not to yet. I thought we might just be walking round the corner, so… OK. Then I was instructed to jump on the back of the bike. I didn’t have time to think, suddenly I was on the bike, helmet hanging off my arm, holding the bike, terrified that if I let go to put the helmet on, I would fall off. We were, as it happens, going down a steep hill, on a cobble-stone path. (road would be too generous a description!) We eventually stopped at a red light (I was surprised too!) and Valentino told me I could put the helmet on, since because we were entering an area where there were a few police officers), and only felt slightly safer... By the end of the week, I had abandoned all fear, embraced the feeling of the wind in my hair (even with the helmet on) learnt to tuck my legs in when we shot the gaps between cars… and even worked up the courage to film some of it. Good times… good times. :)

Over the week, I was introduced to Valentino’s numerous acquaintances – siblings, cousins, friends, friends of siblings/cousins/friends… and was amazed at how warm and welcoming they were to me, even through a fairly large language barrier. Despite Sophia’s cheat sheet, I found it quite hard to ‘converse with the locals’. This was, as it happens, one reason I hadn’t been planning on travelling much to Italy. With English, French and German, I figured I’d be able to get myself understood in most places in Europe, with the exception of Spain (where I went with Bec and her modest but oh-so-useful Beginners Spanish). So the thought of a week in a place where I couldn’t understand what was going was daunting to say the least. It was, however, actually a lot of fun! I did find it a bit scary at times when, over lunch, a stereotypical, Italian, passionate argument (complete with thumping of the wine bottle) seemed to be taking place, but was reassured when they all started laughing spontaneously! I also tried to learn a bit of Italian, the dutiful languages student that I am. By the end of a week I could understand a lot more than I could at the beginning – that’s for sure! I could also occasionally say things, which was cool! Unfortunately, everything I learnt was in a good Napoli accent – especially the vital sentence which, when translated, went something along the lines of “Ivano, you’re a complete idiot and need to learn to drive!” Very useful sentence, actually.

So, by the end of the week, I hadn’t done that much sightseeing – unfortunately didn’t get the chance to go to Capri, - I could have, but it would have been alone, and after travelling round a bit by myself, I had had enough of self-portraits and wandering aimlessly around a new place. I had, however, an authentic “Napoli” experience, which I found much more rewarding. Authentic, I say, right down to developing a taste for coffee. Which reminds me – I’ll leave you with a story which demonstrates, quite painfully one could say, the wonders of a language gap. Italians love their coffee – that much is sure. After every meal, and often before, I was offered an espresso. Eventually I got sick of just saying no, and attempted to explain my reluctance. “I don’t like the taste,” I said, “I just like the smell.” Valentino and Ivano looked at each other, then me, quizzically. “The smell,” I said, making wafting motions towards my nose. After a few repetitions, wondering what they were laughing at, they said ‘OOOOH odour”. I laughed, because they were laughing, and didn’t find out what was so funny for another few days, when Fabio (a friend who spoke English) explained that in the local slang, “schmell” means sperm. Yes. I had explained that I didn’t like the taste, just sperm, whilst making motions to my face. Fun times. Fun times.


That just about does it for Napoli, and for my gastronomic tour of Europe, also known as All Roads lead to Ausfahrt. I jumped on a train that was only two hours late when leaving, and three and a half hours late arriving at it’s destination, and was back in Berlin before I knew it. Then on to Potsdam and back to uni. More trials and tribulations awaited me there!

After about a week, Yani arrived, after a very eventful Mitfahrgelegenheit experience. Mitfahrgelegenheit is a sort of organised hitchhiking, with people advertising free spaces in their car on journeys they are making. Yani, like most young people in Germany, had opted to do this up to Berlin. She hadn’t banked on the car breaking down. Three times. And eventually exploding. Her description of green fluid spurting out from under the steering-wheel is hilarious to say the least - we giggled for hours, but eventually got to sleep because the next day Amy, Yani and I were off again – down to Dresden to stay with my host mum, Waltraud from my previous trip to Germany in 2001.

We also travelled with Mitfahrgelegenheit, but had a far less eventful trip. In fact, other than breaking the 200km/hr barrier, the trip was most uneventful, - which was probably a good thing! Our driver dropped us off in a hip part of town and we went into a very cool looking thoroughfare which actually is supposedly one of the places to ‘be’. We had a drink and entertained ourselves for about an hour, laughing at the numerous, blatant fashion crimes of socks and sandals walk past us. After seeing about ten in half as many minutes, we decided the only thing to do was collect images of this traditional German dress and make a collage. We continued collecting photos for the next few days, and lets just say the results are nothing but impressive. And numerous. My personal favourite was bright pink socks under dark pink sandals.

We did see a great deal other than socks and sandals, however. Waltraud works as a taxi driver, so she picked us up and took us to a gorgeous castle, then on a night tour of the Old Town, complete with a quick joyride in her Trabant when we got home! We were thoroughly spoilt! Then home to a wonderful meal and a good night’s sleep. Well, that was the idea at least. Waltraud lives in a little one-room flat in Dresden. It did have a bunk bed, but that meant that two of us got to sleep on the floor. As I wasn’t feeling too crash hot, I got the bed the first night, but realised we had positioned the top bunk (which came off) so that my head was in direct sunlight in the morning. There was only one thing to do – pull the covers up over my head and pretend the world didn’t exist! That day, Waltraud had somehow managed to get not only the morning off but also the taxi! So off we went to another palace, visited the world’s oldest Camellia, found out about the difference between edible and non-edible chestnuts, and then on to the Sachische Schweiz, - sort of like Germany’s answer to the Three Sisters, but evidently from a Catholic family.

That afternoon we met up with one of Amy’s friends, who took us on a tour of the Old Town again – this time by day – which was especially good for photographic results… We had dinner at his, rejoiced in his internet, and eventually made it home in one piece. The next day, I split up with Amy and Yani who were heading north to visit some more friends, and I headed down to Italy. Or at least I tried to! I had been trying, without success, to get in contact with my Cousins in Milano. I thought I would go to the train station nice and early to make a booking, given the last near-disaster, and use the phones there (since Waltraud also didn’t have a land line at home). Clearly, trains and me weren’t getting along. All trains to Milano were booked until one which left at midnight. It was before 11am. I had some time to waste, so I got out my phone card, cursed when it wouldn’t work and kept eating my credit, found a phone call center instead, and tried to get through to my cousins again. I eventually gave up trying to get through, left a few messages and called my parents instead. They said that they had heard from Geney a few weeks ago and he had said he would be in Milano, so they advised me to simply turn up on his doorstep, since I had the address! Easier said than done, but I went back and got a booking on train at midnight. I was hoping for a sleeper car, but, unfortunately, this was a regular train. So I hung around in the station for a good twelve hours before the train finally arrived and I managed to find three seats next to each other which I immediately bagsed by lying down on them. I fell asleep, to a certain degree, to be woken up occasionally by ticket collectors and then at 5am by commuters. The train was full – Monday morning rush. I plugged myself into my ipod and closed my eyes for another few minutes. Then on to make a quick change to another train through Switzerland, then on to another down to Milano. On the voyage I got a call from my Cousin, asking if I had organised accommodation. I laughed, and he said not to worry, he would organise everything! So on I went, eventually arrived in Milano, Geney took me out and showed me a few sights, and then we had a wonderful dinner. The next morning I realised I had bruises on my ribs and thigh, where the seat ridges of the night before had dug in. I resolved to be more organised in future in making train reservations, got up, and wandered around the castle in Milan. Now that’s what a castle is supposed to be like! Complete with moat! Complete, even, with tire marks or doughies in the moat pit! Milano was very nice, but I was eager to get out of the rain and down to sunny southern Italy, so I got another train down to Naples, where I was going to stay with Valentino, who I had met in Prague, and his family. I stayed in Napoli for a week and fell completely, and very unexpectedly, in love with the place. I promised that I would write all about Napoli properly, so I think I had better leave it at that for today and wait till I can dedicate more time! In the meantime, check out some photos! http://picasaweb.google.com/nickyringland

From Paris to Berlin...

Then, before I would have thought possible, my stop-off in Paris was at an end and it was on to Berlin for the start of the second leg of my Gastronomic Tour of Europe. David was a bit worried about my ‘she’ll be right’ attitude to getting reservations on the day, so we organised an internet reservation for a seat and off I went, carrying my 30kgs of luggage, leaving plenty of time. All I needed to do was stop off at the ticket booth at the little local station I was heading to anyway to get to Gare de Nord, and ask nicely to pay for and collect the reservation that I had a copy of in my hand. Roughly three minutes after walking out the door, dragging my sluggish suitcase, carrying my small by oh-so-heavy backpack and trying desperately to balance my big backpack on top of the suitcase but failing miserably, I had almost lost all will to live. Just as well, I thought to myself, that I left more than two hours to get somewhere which should theoretically only take me about half an hour. When I eventually made it to the station ten minutes later (it felt like I’d been walking for an hour!) and close to tears from exhaustion, I stopped off at the office, which was occupied. Ten minutes later I became slightly anxious, but soon after I was invited to come and sit down. I explained what I wanted, and, after explaining again a few times, was told that unfortunately, she didn’t really know what to do as she’d never had to do anything like that before, so she had to consult the manual. Ten minutes later, I was advised that you can’t make reservations for Eurail seats over the internet, since there is only a small quota allocated for Eurail-pass holders. I could feel all the capillaries in my face slowly filling with blood and fury. No other country in Europe has quotas. Nowhere on ANY of the multitude of information I had requested and received did it say anything about quotas. Simply if there was a spare seat on the train, I could reserve it. France, it seems, likes to be different. And difficult. After pointing out to her that in fact she was checking the quotas for Interrail passes, not Eurail passes, she checked connections for another ten minutes. I thought of how calming it would be once I got on the train and could think about nothing for a good ten hours, and tried to relax. No, I was advised, there were no spaces free in that quota either. I asked if there were any on any later trains. Yes, there was, but no, unfortunately that was for the Interrail quota, and didn’t leave for another few hours. I eventually looked at my watch, realised I’d been there for almost an hour, gave up and said something to the effect of, ‘Look, all I want to do is go to Berlin, - today. Is there ANY way to get there?’ She considered this, consulted her computer and told me that actually, in half an hour there was a train leaving from the other side of Paris which would get me down to Mannheim, and which I didn’t need a reservation for. From there, I could get a reservation for a train from Mannheim to Berlin… in the 13 minutes I would have, provided the train was on time. I thanked her, held back a sob of frustration, grabbed the piece of paper, loaded up all my bags, and ran down the stairs for the train which was due in one minute. By some miracle, it actually arrived on time! Unfortunately, it was so full I didn’t think I would fit on, and I had realised that I didn’t have the required arm-strength to lift my big suitcase over the large gap between the platform and the carriage. Thankfully someone grabbed my bag, lifted it in, and I collapsed onto it. I didn’t collapse very far, however! I literally was being held upright by people crammed in on every side of me. I consulted my metro map, figured out where I had to change, got off and realised that I had to be in probably the most un-disabled or pram friendly station in all of Paris. Stairs everywhere. EVERYWHERE! I looked at my watch and decided I was doomed. I trudged on anyway, recklessly forgetting I was carrying slightly breakable things in my suitcase which I was all but throwing down the stairs. When I found myself at the bottom of a very, very large flight of stairs I very, very nearly sat down and cried. And if two young guys hadn’t taken pity on me, I would probably still be there now, crying. They carried my suitcase up the first flight of stairs, and remarked, in rather unrefined but thoroughly justified words, that my suitcase was not particularly light. I thanked them profusely, and kept going, for about ten metres, whereupon I came across another staircase. Up. The guys had also gone this way, realised that I probably was too, and had waited for me. In fact, they accompanied me for another three flights of stairs, made sure I was on the right platform, was heading the right way, and were off. Words cannot express how thankful I was of this! So there I was, only a few stations off where my train left, and I realised that I actually had a whole ten minutes before the train left! With renewed hope, I struggled on, and on, and on, and on… I found my platform, and my train! I even asked someone else as I was running down the platform, whether I needed a reservation – I wasn’t quite sure I could trust anything that woman had said. But thankfully, I was assured that no, no reservation was required. I struggled on, found my carriage, loaded my stuff onto the carriage, and had taken a good five steps by the time the doors closed! I even found a little cabin with a few spare seats! (which was useful because my luggage needed to go somewhere, and there was absolutely no way I could lift it up to, or down from, the overhead storage area. I was still faced with the problem of no reservation for the next train, and that Amy, who was picking me up from Berlin, didn’t know that I wasn’t actually going to be on that train. But, there was nothing I could do about it then, so I tried to relax. When the train eventually stopped in Mannheim, only five minutes late, I had given up on being able to get a reservation and the train. I was heading towards the ticket office when I saw that the train I needed to take was just there, on my left, only ten metres away. I decided that it was worth a try, ran up to the platform, rejoiced to be in a German speaking area where I could explain myself adequately, and asked an advisor whether I needed a reservation for the train. She said she didn’t think I did, or rather, that she thought I could get one on the train, but she wasn’t sure, so… (and this really amazed me!) so she ASKED someone! She didn’t just assume it was my problem and that she’d helped as much as she needed to! No, it turned out that I didn’t need a reservation, that I could get one on the train if necessary, and so on I hopped! I also noticed in the compartment next to mine was a girl wearing an Australian Roadsigns t-shirt… I formulated a plan. After a few minutes, the train was underway and I went over and asked the girl if she was Australian. She looked surprised and replied no… but that she had been there. I said oh… because actually, I was hoping to ask a favour… outlined my problem and asked if I could borrow her phone. I offered her the bribe of a fuzzy koala and money for the phone call. She accepted the koala, but refused the money, and wanted instead to swap Aussie stories, so I pulled my stuff into her compartment and we had a good long chat about tourism, the weather, and, eventually, all the things one is warned against talking about. Yes, not two hours spent within Germany and not only had I mentioned the war, we were discussing it, consequences of it on Germany’s youth’s identity, the Gastarbeiter situation… everything! But it wasn’t a one-sided thing, - we also discussed all manner of things about Australia, including Aboriginal Customs, Mabo, John Howard, … yes, I truly felt that after a month of discussing food and places to go, I had switched on my brain again! A good many hours later, which didn’t seem long at all, we arrived in Berlin, fifteen minutes late. I was concerned that Amy was waiting for me, but needn’t have worried – she had found out the train was late so had used the opportunity to get an icecream. I, on the other hand, was given free juice and gummy bears by the rail staff as an apology for the fifteen minute delay. I could have had a flower too, if I had wanted, but thought it would probably get squished if I managed to hold it at all!

So there I was, Berlin! Finally! And, after more than a month of travelling around, after taking planes, trains, busses and boats, I was met at the station! Amy even got a picture of my train coming in! She bundled me onto a bus, and only when we were outside her apartment block did she tell me that she lived on the third floor. At this point, I felt I could achieve anything if only it led directly to my bed, so we managed half the stuff up the stairs, then went back and struggled with the big suitcase together. I called Paris to let them know I had survived, then Amy fed me, and put me to bed, and I woke up a long, long time later. :) When I got up, I realised that without a doubt I had come down with the cold that Charlotte and Emma were fighting, had some tea and promptly went back to bed. I repeated much the same thing for the next week, with slight exceptions of hanging out with some of Amy’s friends, going swing-dancing with Owen, a bike-tour of Potsdam from my tandem partner Frank, and brief but nevertheless exhilarating outings to the smoke-filled internet café across the street. I still can’t believe that people could survive in there for anything more than half an hour bursts. I stayed for an hour once and needed to wash my eyes out after! Not to mention my clothes! But the Berliners, it would seem, are immune to smoke. So much so that young mothers bring their babies in. Amy and I really had issues with that, but there’s not much you can do, other than cough loudly and get out as soon as possible.

Paris – Again!

We finally made it to Paris, completely exhausted, and proceeded directly to Amy and David’s shower, do not pass go, do not collect $200! I really have to say, there is nothing quite like a good shower after a month or so of backpacking! We didn’t hang around too long at Amy and David’s, however, as we were due to stay over at Leslie’s - one of Bec’s friends. What we didn’t know, however, that we were also being taken to one of her friend’s birthday parties. ‘That’s OK!’ we said, as we trudged along after her, fervently hoping that after a full day of work Leslie would also be exhausted and not want to stay too late. I warned her, in fact, that I was more than happy to go out, just so long as she didn’t mind if I fell asleep on a chair somewhere if it got past 12 or so! Leslie assured us that she didn’t want to stay out too late and that we would have an early night and hopefully catch up on some sleep that we’d been deprived of over the past month. That sounded fair, and indeed Leslie didn’t want to stay out too late, but unfortunately our ride home, another girl, did. Now, whilst my French had definitely gotten back up to speed, it was still not quite good enough to keep up most of the conversations going on around the table. That isn’t to say that Bec and I weren’t included, but there are only so many questions people want to ask two Aussies who are half falling asleep at the table. I say half falling asleep because, technically, only one of us did. Unfortunately, that someone was me. I made it to half past one, but by that stage I was really, really struggling! I eventually fell asleep, completely sitting up at the head of the table, head slightly down. Supposedly I had slept straight through people laughing at me, and eventually calling my name trying to wake me up to go. When I eventually did wake up, it was suddenly, and to the sound of a loud bang. I discovered everyone was standing on the other side of the room, looking in my direction. Everone, that is, except Bec, who was holding a cane woven chair – a chair with a big hole in the seat. I still don’t know exactly what happened, but Bec assured me it just spontaneously exploded. Personally, I think it more likely that she was about to smack me over the head with it in an attempt to wake me up, but she assures me that this would have been pointless anyway!

The next day we slept in, (THANKFULLY), had a wonderful Sunday lunch, and figured the best thing to do would be something which required as little brain-power as possible. Leslie had just the thing – an Olsen-twin movie about soccer. It was in French, but even despite theoretically improving my French, I could still feel my IQ points slipping away! Bec and I eventually went back to Amy and David’s, ate more, and packed Bec’s bag together – for the last time. The next morning, she was off back to the South of France. (There was more purpose to the brief visit than a dinner party – she had to pick up her other suitcase, which she had left with Leslie.) So I saw her off, went back home and rejoiced in internet. Despite rejoicing in internet for most of the next week, I somehow didn’t manage to update my blog, and for this I apologise again! I did have two very cute little girls keeping me on my toes! I can now sing a few French children’s songs, and am sure that I have a hilarious sprinkling of ‘kiddie’ French in with high-school remnants. The first word that comes to mind when I think of ‘knife’, for example, is Charlotte’s own invention “coup-coup”. As for ‘fork’, all that I can remember is Charlotte insisting that it was a ‘fork’ and most definitely not anything else!

So, for the next week I dallied around, recuperated, laughed in amazement at my Birkenstock tan on my feet, and tried (in vain) to avoid getting sick again. I also hung out lots with my friend Leslie and an old friend Eleni who I hadn’t seen for approximately ten years. Together with two of her other Friends, we went to Versailles and wandered around the gardens. I had been to Versailles a number of years before, but suffice to say that in mid-winter it possesses less of a ‘secret-garden’ charm and more of an enchanted ‘ice-queen’ sense of foreboding. Magnificent certainly, but this time the colour everywhere was breathtaking. In keeping with the Gastronomic Tour of Europe theme, we had Crepes in the town of Versailles, then after wandering around the gardens for a number of hours, spent an hour or so having a nap on the banks of the magnificent lake there.

I also had timed it perfectly to catch up with a big chunk of my Parisian family…
These kids are gorgeous, and I try not to be too disheartened by the fact that I’m having my French corrected by a two year old. It was almost time to move on, but David simply would not allow me to leave without sharing a glass of French red. He has vowed to do the same with cheese next time… so we’ll see how that goes!

catch-up... Valencia to Paris

To say that it is high time I updated my blog would be a serious euphemism, but I have been quite busy! Plus, the lack of internet hasn’t helped… but I’ll get to all of that in due time. First, I should start where I left of… but I might split up the entries into a few different ones so it doesn’t get so complicated…

Bec and my last day in Valencia was unexpectedly different! We decided to go to the City of Arts and Sciences, and after getting directions, set off. It was a beautiful, hot day, and within 5 minutes of setting out, Bec and I were regretting not bringing along portable airconditioners. After about 10 minutes, we were regretting getting out of bed. After 20 minutes, we were regretting not checking our directions.



After laughing at the statues outside the Museum of Modern Art, we asked some people whether we were getting close. We couldn’t really understand the answer, but by their laughter, we figured we were either really close or a long way off. Unfortunately, it was the latter. After another 20 minutes of walking, we passed someone wearing an Australian top. I immediately pounced on him, and asked him how far it was. He, too, laughed, and suggested we might want to take a bus. He didn’t know which bus, but pointed us to the bus stop. There, we happened across a woman who worked there, and got us on the right bus. 15 minutes later, we were really glad we decided to be “lazy”. It was a long way… but worth it! We watched a movie in the strange, circular Imax…. Well, by ‘we’ I mean I… Bec was asleep within 10 minutes. But we both enjoyed the air conditioning immensely! We then wandered around the science museum, which was very interactive, which is always fun! – Especially if all the instructions are in Spanish! We spent a number of hours there, and could easily have spent more! Definitely worth a visit! We eventually left at 9pm, jumped on a bus, ate a very nice rabbit, chicken and artichoke stew and stumbled into bed in that hostel for (thankfully) the last time.

Then it was up at 5 in an attempt to make the train at 6. We should have realised that to try for that would require much more effort than we were willing to put in… but as luck would have it, as we finally managed to get out the door at 5:35, there was a taxi right outside the hostel! So after a quick dash there, we made it to the station, only to be stopped after the security check because we had no reservations… so Bec dumped her luggage with me, rushed back to the ticket office, told the person behind the counter that yes, she DID know the train left in two minutes (so please hurry up), ran back, only to be stopped by a frightened security guard looking at a mad Aussie running through the security check, Love Actually style. We were allowed to proceed, ran up the platform, looking anxiously at our watches, jumped into our carriage, sat down and were off! Bec and I congratulated us on a job well done. It would only be one train change in Barcelona and another in Cerbere, and we would be back to civilization in Paris, all in a day. Or so we thought…

Upon arriving at Barcelona, we were told that we would have to wait four hours for the next train to Cerbere, and as far as a train from there to Paris goes, that was French rail, so they couldn’t do anything for us. That’s ok, we thought… We can figure it out once we get to Cerbere, our French is a fair bit better than our Spanish, it’ll be easier. So we wandered around Barcelona Train Station for a few hours, finally got the train, and were off to Cerbere, which is a one horse town if ever I saw one! We jumped off the train, and then proceeded to wait in line for the one ticket counter open. The woman told us that unfortunately, all the trains to Paris were booked out. That’s ok, we said… We have Eurail Passes, we don’t mind going via China, so long as we get there before midnight. Unfortunately, when the SFR representative said that all the trains to Paris were booked, she wasn’t lying. ALL possible routes were booked. The next possible way to get to Paris was a night train. Bec and I pondered the merits of staying the night in the train station, and opted for the night train. We entertained ourselves with cards and chocolate for the next six hours. Thankfully the waitress didn’t object to our only having one hot-chocolate in those six hours. Good times…. Good times…

Let them eat Tomato...

Finally found a moment to sit down and relate the continuing adventures of my gastronomic tour of Europe. I last left you on the 21st of August in Vienna fighting with train reservations and generally enjoying myself. I´m happy to say that not much has changed in terms of the enjoying myself, and that the trains all worked out fine... but back to the rigid structure of chronological order...

The 22nd of July was a sad day with the loss of Tristan, who had to return to Prague to get a plane on to his continuing adventures. (As it turns out he misread the date on his ticket and ended up spending an extra day in Prague, which you can read about on his blog. In fact, for the time we spend together, I must admit that his blog is much more entertaining than mine... so maybe check it out if you´re bored, or need to procrastinate more! http://tristan.travellerspoint.com Just go back a bit to August!) Thankfully Tris only had to leave in the afternoon so in the morning we visited the Palace, laughed at Japanese tourists taking photos in power-shot stances (so tried it out ourselves) and were amazed to hear of the feasts to which guests were treated - think upwards of 25 courses! Eventually when times were getting a bit bad, the emperor cut it down to only 15 courses... Also it was interesting to find out that Sisi, Austria´s favourite emporess, was actually an anorexic, ever-so-slightly suicidal fitness freak. (Think installing a gym in bedroom, and being strapped to a

chair on the bow of a ship when the sea was really rough). Strange... Anyway, after that, we escorted Tris to the train station. To console ourselves on our loss, Bec and I followed Tris´s instructions and had ice-cream. :) Then underwent a short dose of retail therapy (stationery, of course!) Still, there was an empty space with Tris gone, but Bec and I thought we might be able to fill it with food. We spotted a funky looking japanese restaurant, found out they had all-you-can-eat buffet plus freshly cooked noodles, and we were happy. We did pause, however, thinking that eating Japanese in Austria wasn´t really in the style of travelling, so we adopted an important part of Austrian culture which we had earlier learn about (namely having approximately 20 courses in a meal), and felt much better. Bec and I both had twenty dishes, forming two complete dinners each, ie entres, mains, deserts... entres, mains, deserts... It was good!

The next day, Bec and I visited Parliament and did a tour of the Opera House, which was really good! :) We then grabbed our bags and made our way to the train station for our mamoth 24 hour 6 train journey. Which we survived, and that was the main thing! We rejoiced at our night train NOT arriving late (we had precisely 12 minutes to make the next train) marvelled at passing scenery (between naps), laughed at two girls fixing their make up and telling (we assumed) their internet boyfriends that they weren´t looking their best because they were nervous. We drooled at food in Zurich after we realised that we had no Swiss Franks, stressed about train connections when trains were 5 minutes late (with 13 minutes to change trains or we were stuck in a border town with no place to stay) laughed at a rude french woman who saw Bec and me (both wearing our big packs) trying to explain to someone he was in our seat, saw that other people were stuck on the other side of us, (think playing chicken with people who feel like pack horses), and decided nonetheless that she would attempt to push past me. I said that I didn´t think she would make it, and she said ¨Je pense que oui!¨ ie, I think so! and pushed past me, only to get stuck behind Bec. I was rather tempted to stumble forward onto her, but restrained myself. At the end of the day, we got to Barcelona, found our hostel and rejoiced!

Barcelona is a strange, strange place! Full of crazy people, both locals and tourists! Though not quite as bad as the tourists in Prague, I realised nonetheless that I wasn´t really staying in Barcelona for the same reason as most of my roommates. Our hostel was in a great location, but the roommates, well they were entertaining! Lots of Aussies who liked getting drunk... to say the least! I think what really sums them up was the time one got home at 4:00 and the other at 5:30 (despite the supposed curfew from 4 till 6). Anyway, the second one woke the first one up and described the exploits of his night, the retelling of which included MUCH swearing, but not that much content. Basically he was angry that his ´mate´ left him behind and he ran everywhere, then men a crazy sunburnt Pom, they started trying to get a cab, ended up punching a passing car... It just went downhill from there. The highlight was when the two boys started arguing as to who had woken whom up, despite one boy still being in bed, and the other standing up fully clothed next to him.

We also had fun the next morning when some German boys came in at about 7:30, still very drunk, one went to bed, the other had a shower, then Bec and I got up because we were headed to a nearby monastery at Montserrat (definitely worth a visit if you ever find yourself in Barcelona! Just for the view and surroundings - think giant termite hills!) Anyway, the German boy Johanas had just got out of the shower and started talking to me. When he found out we were going sightseeing, he decided to come with us, had another shower (he had already forgotten he´d just had one!) and dragged his friend (who was very under the weather) out of bed. They then proceeded to ask everyone we passed what the way to Montserrat was, in multiple languages, multiple times. Eventually some old grannies took pity on us and basically took us to the train! :) The boys fell asleep on that train pretty quickly, but unfortunately we were separated soon after as Bec and I had decided to take a cable car up, but the boys had unintentionally opted for the train. Despite that, Bec and I still had an awesome day!

Well that covers the crazy tourists, but also the crazy locals. I´m running out of time so I´ll make it short. Anywhere that, in pet shop stalls on the street, sells baby crocodiles is MAD. Baby crocodiles, 150€. Yes, real, live, crocs. Why not! It´s not like they´re going to grow or anything!!!


We also met up with Shannon which was great fun! Went to Gaudi´s la Sagrada Familia, which was actually much nicer than I expected! Really nice inside! I now look on Gaudi as a sort of God-obsessed, slightly grotesque Hundertwasser. We then went back to Shannon´s hotel, rejoiced at tea!!! and were taken out to dinner by Shannon´s Mum! (Thanks again!)

Then it was off to Valencia! Again, with maddness on the trains, but we got here eventually. Found our hostel quite easily, and thankfully approached it from the right way (see the pix as to what is behind). Spent the first day in Valencia awaiting Ada´s arrival and, in true Gastronomic tour style, gorging ourselves. The hostel is really close to the markets so we stocked up on HEAPS of fruit and really REALLY good salami, proscutto.... *mmm* Bec and I also splurged on two slices of special 99€/kg proscutto (henceforth known as ´expensive pig´) - came out at about 2.50€ and it was sooo worth it! hehehe


The next day, - today - was the Tomatina. Not quite sure how to describe it. The world´s biggest food fight, supposedly. Think tomatos everywhere! The smell was horrendous! The worst bit was getting hit in the face with tomatos. The best bit was all the locals standing on their balconies with hoses, buckets, pots and pans, or anything that could convey water from their taps onto us! It was greatly appreciated! Really hot! We were really lucky and got the train home almost straight after, even though they were turning away people who were much cleaner than us! (the line for the showers was so amazingly long i didn´t even want to attempt it!) We returned to Valencia (about an hour away) at about 2 to eat and finally get to shower off at 4:30 when our hostel re-opened.. (yes, EVERYBODY has a siesta here!)...

Tomorrow is Bec and my last day here in valencia and, well, I can´t say that im really that sorry to be leaving it behind. It´s nice enough, the people are all friendly, but it´s just not the place for me. Too hot, I can´t understand the whole siesta thing... yeah... I CAN say that I´m very happy for this to be the last hostel for a little while... The hostel itself isnt that bad, the roommates are quite nice (at least the drugged-up french boy says interesting things in his sleep! Unfortunately in french a little bit too quickly for me to follow everything...) but the location isn´t quite ideal. On the first night, bec and I went out to dinner with a group of french pple from the hostel, (well mostly french speaking, also a brit and an aussie) but we were escorted home coz they were a bit concerned about us walking there alone...i thought they were just putting it on but..... evidently not... no seriously hobos and drug dealers and hookers everywhere... the view out our window is amazing - it's like we're in a war zone. Opposite us is a dilapidated, abandoned housing estate of some sort which is missing a few walls... sort of now a gravel pit, but with broken bottles instead of gravel. We went to sleep to the sound of not-so distant explosions... Not quite sure what was exploding and we didn't really want to find out!

Despite all that, I´m having heaps of fun! Even the horrible experiences will make good stories to tell the grandkids!

Well now I´m off to eat dinner with the gang! Next stop Paris! (Again!)

Continuing adventures!

Well it's been a few weeks since I managed to post on this, so I hope you haven't all given up hope!


It's been a busy few weeks! I left Paris with Leslie on an early train which I was determined to not miss. In order to get the TGV, I had to be at Gare de Lyon early - the train left at 8.20. I was staying in the suburbs so getting there involved a train and a metro. I JUST missed the first train, with the end result being I made it to the TGV at approximatelz 8.10, but still had to find Leslie, my seat etc... Thankfully someone took pity on me and let me use their phone so I found out Leslie was on the train already and all was good. Since then I've tried to be super extra early and all has gone well!




Stayed the night in Cagnes sur Mer with Leslie's family who took me to dinner in the old town, within the old castle. We were entertained by some local kids playing soccer in the courtyard. Then left the next morning for lake Como, via the Pavia Carthusian Monastery which was amazing!


Then off to Lake Como which was even more so! The first day included lots of ferry trips to visit some really amazing houses and gardens of various famous people... won't bore you with details but will include some pictures later. Then the second day was a 2 hour hike up to a lovely church with an amazing view!
Then we went to Bellagio (across the lake) to visit some beautiful gardens, and got stuck on the wrong side of the lake with 200 other people all waiting (well, waiting in the proper Italian style) for the ferry which was very late. We eventually managed to get back to the hotel and were on our way home. I was dropped at Milano and caught a night train to Wien, where I stayed for a fairly relaxing and uneventful day before heading to Prague where I was to meet Bec and Tristan.

I think half the Italian male population under the age of 30 have gone on holidays. Every train I've gone on I've been sitting next to some, they've been in all my hostels... they're everywhere! My non-existant italian is growing ever so slightly, especially with some help from Sophia over the net! (THANK YOU!!!) Even so I found it strange that when I arrived at the hostel in Prague (after being helped through the wonders of Prague public transport by a group of Italian backpackers) that I would find another group of Italian backpackers, only one of whom spoke any English. That being said, I hung out with them for a while, especially once they found out that a) I was alone since I had found out that Bec and Tristan would onlz arrive at 11, and b) in a few hours it would be my 21st birthday. We had cheap kiwi vodka, gummy bears and chocolate biscuits to celebrate. They were reluctant to let me wait for my friends alone, but failed to convince me to come out partying with them! Valentino (the one who did speak English) did manage to convince me to at least consider going to Naples... and it certainly is a tempting idea! (Since Bec has to be back at uni a whole month earlier than I do, I've got a few weeks spare.) Also in the hostel we met an eccentric group of Irish boys who celebrated my bday with me, as I was still waiting (more and more nervously) for Bec and Tristan to arrive. They finally arrived at 1:30am, the train had been delayed and then they hadn't taken the most direct route.


Prague itself for me was a mix of fascination, beautz and repulsion. The buildings themselves are amazing, but the people, mainly tourists, leave something to be desired. Within 5 minutes of arriving in the main tourist area, trying to find the hostel, I'd seen a dealer sell to two young parents (complete with toddlers in prams) outside a Maccas, as an English speaking tour of about 50 people walked past. Shops and the hostel itself regularly tried to rip us off. Our hostel was in a great location, - just near the main square, but also just across the road from Erotic City Supermarket! That being said, some of the Prague locals were very friendly - a few people tried to help me find the hostel, one woman even insisted I took her map. Another guy approached me as I was staring around and consulting the map saying, 'Don't worry I'm not trying to sell anything. I work around here and can maybe help you find what you're looking for.' He did, and it was greatly appreciated, but it's sad that he had to forestall my reply due of the multitude of people pushing a certain hostel, bar, pub, restaurant, strip club... black light theatre production... everything. The worst part about Prague was without a doubt the tourists. Hens nights, bucks nights, tour groups... cheap holiday, cheaper alcohol. Bad mix. Loud, rude, obscene, offensive and positively repulsive scenes ensued. And you should all know I'm not easily offended. I think the t-shirt on a group of women proclaiming "I'm 40 and very very naughty" really said it all. The men's were invariably worse.

Despite all that, Bec, Tris and I all had a really good time in Prague. It was nice to be travelling with someone else. Travelling by myself was getting a little bit lonely, especially eating alone! Bec, Tris and I went on a great walking tour of the city, got completely lost wandering around at night, ate WAY too much - constantly - but had fun and games getting any food at all at night. We seemed to be too busy doing things and only realised we hadn't eaten at 11, by which time most of the restaurants had closed the kitchen. We also went to the museum of Communism which was really really good! And our last night was also much better in terms of horrible tourists. Evidently they had all gone home, back to work, families... if they still had any!


Prague was not too bad, all in all, but we were ready to leave, so jumped on a bus to Vienna. Rejoiced at the prospect of a clean shower and sheets! Have been having a great time here, despite the fact it's been raining on and off. The rain forced us into the tram to do some sightseeing yesterday, but we ended up with the whole tram carriage giving us a guided tour, with one old granny staying on for the entire loop of the tram telling us about the most famous cafes, oldest churches, where the Gestapo used to work... it was great! Also visited the Hundertwasser house, had Kebab for lunch and Chinese for dinner. A great day all in all! Today we had fun and games at the train station trying to organise Bec and my trip to Barcelona. All in all I think we're taking 6 trains and the journey will take 24 hours, but at least I won't be doing it by myself! Then we went to the KunstHausWien, which has a large exhibition of Hundertwasser paintings, and also had a special exhibition of Giger's work, who designed all the aliens from Alien. Scary. No seriously, that guy has MAJOR unresolved issues... Bec's not sure that description expresses it enough but it will have to do - I don't want impressionable people like my parents and grandparents learning bad words.

Well, that will have to do it for this blog I guess! Got a few more days here in Vienna, then off to Barcelona (hopefully meeting Shannon there!) and Valencia for the Tomatina festival. Bec and I bought ourselves some 35csk (about $2.50) clothes in preparation! Then the vague plan is to go to Milano and maybe Naples! Then back to Paris to pick up my stuff, and on to Berlin and Potsdam to hopefully find a place to live! :) Thanks for all your emails! And if any of you want postcards, email or post me a comment with your address! :)