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…