Chapter 8: Part 2: Conversations with Chris

Spent most of the evening speaking with Chris, my new Canadian roommate who is living in Ireland while he studies medicine, while I wait for Anna's call, "I worked as a labourer for a while, while I waited in the holidays before school," he said, "and I worked with this one guy who was that little bit cool, and that little bit creepy."
"Whaddaya mean?"
"Well, he was really nice and really interesting, but he had a weird obsession with serial killers. So, you'd always catch him at the library taking out books on [Charles] Manson or Jeffrey Dahmer or something."
"That's kind of creepy..."
"Yeah, and he carried a hammer everywhere."
"...what?"
"Yeah, he always had one, you know, just in case he got in a fight."
"...righto. I reckon he'd win. That's pretty creepy though."
"Yeah."
"Never get in a fight with a guy with a hammer." I said.
"Well, that's a rule I live by," he said, laughing, "always that specific - he can't have a hammer."
"Yeah," I said giggling, "Crack. You're bound to come out of there with a broken bone."
"IF you come out of there."
"Yeah."
"This is by far," he said, "the strangest hostel conversation I've ever had."
"Well, I'm honoured." and we laughed.
"So, where're you from?" I asked.
"A small town of 1800 called Chase in BC, surrounded by 3 Native Reserves."
"Wow, what was that like, compared to this big city?"
"Well, it was different. My dad was the only doctor, so he knew everyone. It was a place where you didn't have to lock your doors and could leave your keys in your truck if you wanted," I couldn't believe what I was hearing, it was like a bad stereotype out of a badly scripted movie, "there was almost no crime, but there was a very aggressive attitude amongst the people, especially the youth. If there was someone they didn't know that came to town it'd be like, 'who the fuck is that?' and they'd probably fight them. They were big on fighting. On more than one occasion I saw some guys, who just came to town for a party or something, get the shit kicked out of them. And not just by a couple of guys, like a whole group of people."
"Woah, intense."
"Yeah, it was."
"So, you must know how to fight."
"I was never much of a fighter. I mean, I could, but that was mostly my friend. I still had the aggressive attitude, though. So when I got to university and I was really into meeting people and learning, everyone thought I was this aggrssive dick., Under the layers, I still have that aggressive streak." I found this really interesting, "My parents were from Montreal and my dad was a university educated doctor."
"You were a different kid."
"Yeah, I was always going to be a different kid, like you said. I wasn't homophobic. There was a strong sense of homophobia in the town there. But it's pretty picturesque. I show people photos and they go "wow" 'coz it's so beautiful. It's a place that's a part of me and I wouldn't mind settling there, you know, getting married, raising a family, stuff like that."
"So, when did you get into Paris?" I asked.
"This morning. I was REALLY drunk last night, though, so I'm actually still a little hung over," I laughed, "Yeah, I get to bed - or at least, last checked my watch at - 3:30 a.m. and I had to get up at 7:30. Lcukily my mom called me and she was the only reason I got up, ot I'd've slept through my alarm. I spoke to her and then called for a cab and he asked me something I've never been asked before."
"What was that?"
"Well, at this point, I'm still pretty drunk - because it was the last exam, right - and so, with the disgusting amount I had to drink, 4 hours or less isn't going to heal me. So, I call a cab and kind of roar hoarsely into the phone, 'I need a cab' and the guy asks me," here, he imitaes a pleasant Irish accent, "'Have you gotten out of bed yet, sir?' And I was like, 'Yes, I'm in my kitchen' 'Very good sir, a cab is on its way soon' and then he hung up. They must get a lot of drunk students around this time calling for cabs and then just passing the fuck back out. And I totally would have done that if my mopm hadn't called." I just laughed. We soon started talking about religion and our problems with its fallability when Anna finally called and Chris put in his headphones to give us some privacy.

- from The Journal December 18/19 2008

Chapter 8: Part 1: Last Day in Paris

FIRST TRAVEL FUCK UP. So, booking the trains has proven to be more of a disaster than I had intended. The train to Bordeaux is fine really, I just leave a few hours earlier than I intended but this just gives me more time with Mary, which is fine. Even the train to Montpellier from Bordeaux is really ok. Rather than arriving the evening of the 21st I arrive the morning of the 22nd, one less night with Guilhem and his family, but that seems an acceptable price to pay for getting where I need to go during the crowded Christmas train season. What REALLY fucked up, was the train Back to Paris from Montpellier, which was to be on the 26th - the day of my flight to Dublin - but they had NONE that day.
Bopkis.
Nothing.
Zip.
Nada.
Fuck.
So, I was forced to book a train on the 25th at midday, mening I can't have Christmas dinner with Guilhem's family like last time (turns out I worried for nothing, they celebrated the 24th as you'll see later), and will spend Christmas Day Even in a Paris airport (Charles de Gaulle) Novotel. Oh yeah, Merry Fuckin' Christmas. I can't say the girl at the counter was UNhelpful, but I wouldn't call her HELPful either.
"I have nothing, I mean NOTHING, on the day of the 26th - all the trains would get you back in the evening."
"But, I HAVE to be in Paris, at Charles de Gaulle, by 13h at the LATEST, I have a flight to Dublin at 15h!"
"I have nothing!"
She had no sense of creativity on the subject, so I asked, "Is there anything between the 22nd and the 26th I can catch to Paris?"
Tappa tappa tappa.
Oh look, a train at midday on the 25th - why didn't I suggest that to you when you were so clearly distressed? Oh, that's right, because I'm a useless French beaurocrat! The strange part is, she was being charming and almost sweet WHILE being useless. Tickets booked now anyway and little more to do.

After that frustration I decided just to move on with my day, buying Christmas presents for Mary and Guilhem and his parents; chocolate, a platter and a bottle of wine. I also finally got to a post office and waited in line for the one window that was open while 2 other useless French beaurocrats sat at theiur windows with the "window closed" sign up. Finally, a second window opened and I managed to send my Christmas gift to Anna back home - a silver ring with a small diamond engraved with "je t'aime" in light gold colouring. Damn I'm a good boyfriend. After convering with the jolly woman behind the counter ("I wouldn't mind going with this package to Australia!" she said with a cheeky smile) I went to a small bakery across the street and had a croque-monsieur, a coke, a chocolate eclair and a pain au chocolate while listening to French acoustic reggae.

It was around 14:30 when I decided to kill some of my time at the Paris Musee d'Eroticisme which, as it turns out, is in Paris' red light district - walking down Rue de Bruxelles and the Blvd de Clichy, a blonde erotic dancer or prostitute, I could not tell which, approached me with a "pardon" and I ignored her and hit the museum. There were lots of wooden and clay carvings and sculptures as well as paintings and sketches. Also, there were the first black and white porno films, which were kind of funny because they had those silent film black and white intertitles with names and positions or dialogue ("Enter the Monsieur", "The Milkmaid position", etc.). The actors even looked like cheesy old film comedians. Once I left there, past an older French couple buying a very intricate sex toy, and was back on the street, the same blonde approached me, "Come on in."
"No thanks." I said, my face scrunched in mild irritation, thumbing the ring around my neck.
"It's only 10 euro for entry and a drink. It's a night club, take a rest." It was 15:30.
"No, thanks, really." I said and kept walking.
"Okay, see you soon." she said. No, you won't, "Ok. Bye."
On my way to the metro a woman flicked her cigarette and it hit my shoe. I looked up to see where it had come from and she had a look of horror and apology on her face, so I jsut smiled, nodded and said, "Pas de probleme."
The metro was frighteningly crowded again, to the point where I feared not getting on or off the damn thing. I finally made it back to the hostel and took a load off my feet and took off my shoes. Heavens knows I was smelling rank from my feet and underarms, and given the dodginess of this hostel and the terrible plumbing in the shower - the water comes out in 15 second bursts so one must continually press the water to take a shower, and if you let it turn off, it cools down again and takes more than 15 seconds to warm up - made showering difficult. I can't wait for the security of Mary's and then Guilhem's place.

I arranged with Mary a time and a place to meet me at the Gare with directions to her place as she will be in class, "So, tomorrow, you'll be met by a blonde, with a cat, who will give you keys and a map."
"It's like something out of a spy movie." I said. It feels weird telling her, "I'll see you tomorrow." but I will.

- from The Journal December 18th 2008

Chapter 7: Second Day in Paris

I awoke to discover that the assassin had not returned home that night - killed on the job, caught or maybe he's fled - and discovered a message from Jane informaing me that her and the family would be going to the Louvre today and this was a good plan to me. I got dressed and headed out the door, handing the key in at the front desk to the friendly black man with a big smile, no front teeth and a practically non-understandable accent because of it. I took the crowded metro down to the Champs-Elysee and walked down the cool, drizzling streets to the Place du Louvre, picking up a breakfast crepe with Buerre de Maron (chestnut butter). For some reason, Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds was the perfect soundtrack to walking down the path to the Louvre as it rained, for some reason...
I arrived at that looming glass pyramid and entered the main corridors of the Louvre. Within 10 minutes the family arrived and we began our walk to our various favourite sections of the 18km of the Chateaux du Louvre. First stop, Mona Lisa. Along the road to the famous Da Vinci lay, at the top of the first staircase, Winged Victory, the headless angel. It stood there, as if blowing in the wind on the stone bow of a ship, looking majestic in all its glory. After we passed it, we headed down the corridor to the Mona Lisa itself encased in protective glass, and barred off by a barrier, separating it from the audience by almost 10 ft. It was not as small as I thought it would be. It was about A3 size. It was still magnificant in its smallness. The eyes did follow you as she stared directly outward at you, and today, she looked sad. Across from that lay the Wedding Feast at Cana, which is as big as the wall is hangs on and took 3 years to complete, an amazing masterwork with intricate detail in every body and face.
Off in the "Large Scale French Paintings" we saw the Raft of the Medusa by Gericault and the famous Lady Liberty by Delacroix. It was such an awe-inspiring moment to see these paintings in the flesh. I felt humbled.
After a brief repose we headed to the Ancient Egyptian artifacts where we saw the famous Seated Scribe which is 5500 years ol and whose eyes will haunt me for some time.
Flash.
Flash.
Flash.
Each time a flash hits a coloured piece of Egyptian work it's 200 years of degradation, give or take a decade or two. People kept using it despite the various signs imploring you not to, so, I told them off, "Stop using flash, please," I sasked them, which was more telling them, "every time you do, it degrades the colours by 200 years and you'll destory the work. Don't touch the artworks either, the oil from your skin destory's them."
"oh, ok." I sufficiantly put the fear of God into them and the slinked off, embarrassed and guilty.

Through the vauled and lavished halls, resting in the centre of a crowded corridor, lay the stunning and impressively beautiful Venus de Milo. Her shapely body beautiful in the natural light from outside as she gazed downwards into nothing, her arms both missing but she still embraces us.
We sat for lunch at the Louvre Cafe, which was a lot cheaper than we had assumed it would be, and quickly moved on to see Napolean's living chambers and the crown jewels of French Royaltym which were far more gaudi and outlandish than the beautiful gold and stone elegant royalty of Ancient Egypt. Napolean's chamber was lavish and decadant, as I expected, with a dining room for 46, enough gold to outweigh an elephant and a chandelier big enough to killone.
After we finished with that, the family and I were separated as I moved off to the Cemetiere du Pere Lachaise. The sky still overcast and a light rain falling, the mood was set even further by the cawing of large, black crows overhead.
Craw.
Craw.
Craw.
I lost myself in the world of the large, ornamented mausoleums and gravestones, getting lost as I visited the final resting places of Chopin, Jim Morrisson, Oscar Wilde, Delacroix, Gericault and Modigliani, and not being able to find Pissaro and yelling to the dead and the crows, "Ou est tu, Pissaro!? Merde!" (Where are you Pissaro!? Shit!) and passing a tomb which a cat had made its homely sitting place.
As I finished in the graveyardm stomping uneasily though the graveyard mud and most certainly over corpses of th deceased, I arrived at a small hilltop to rest and map out where to go from there. And as I sat on the hilltop, I noticed the clouds had finally cleared and the sun was setting over Paris, releasing the pinks, oranges and yellows which must have inspired the impressionists, as I looked at the Eiffel Tower high over the Paris skyline.
I called for help to a friendly Englishman who helped me find my way to the old side of the Bastille - which is now ust an obelisk-like monument to the dead and the day - and then around to Notre ame de Paris. They were basically a straight line from the Cemetary.
As the sun set over Paris and I approached Notre Dame Cathedral, the oranges and pinks set a backdrop for the Eiffel Tower as it flashed its rotating spotlight over Paris like a protective beacon, as the Cathedral rose in view before me. The building is simply, indescribably huge. Its enormity covering practically an entire city block of Paris with gargoyles and buttresses to create an ominous gothic appearance, the light shining up on it giving the building a heavenly glow, and I smiled wide and sung a little to whatever I was listening to. I walked inside to be hit by the smoky smell and taste of incense burning and the bellowing voices of gregorian chanters. I left the place with a light shudder and bought a lemon juice and sugar crepe from a nearby street vendor. As I began to walk away, back towards the Champs-Elysee and the metro home, I stepped into a small restaurant by the River Seine for a light dinner - and what a perfect dinner it was - a delicious and well-made onion soup - the bread, moist, the cheese creating a thick layer over the ctop - and, finally, a steak tartare that, despite being slightly overspiced, was delicious. And, of course, a good glass of red wine. The place was practically empty, but it was cheap and it had charm, and it played swinging jazz, blues and funk, including a brilliant song called, "Is it Because I'm Black?"
As I ordered the tartare the man, just like the woman the previous night, gave me a strange look implying, "You know what that is, right?" And I nodded, smiling wide, "I promised my dad I'd have a tartare in Paris." and as I ate the moutfulls, I raised my wine glass in a small toast.

Catching the crowded French metro back at 20h45 is almost ridiculous as no one seems to understand the word "full". People just kept getting on, despite the obvious lack of room. To the point I was spooning a middle-aged French woman who smelled like cookies and my shoulder was in the face of a young French woman wearing a beret.

- from the Journal 17th Dec.

Chapter 6: First Day in Paris

Walked along the Champs-Élysée today and bought a sugar crepe for my first French breakfast. I walked in and under the Arc de Triomphe and walked back to get another crepe and I ran into a close Australian family on vacation having trouble ordering their crepes, "What's the difference?" he said in broken French, pointing to the menus.
"One is waffles, one is crepes." The attendant said in French, but it was obvious our Australian didn't understand, so I translated.
"Oh, thanks, mate. And what are the choices?" So I told him, "Sweet, thanks."
"Are you guys Australian?" I asked, biting into my crepe.
"Yeah, from Melbourne."
"I'm from Sydney."
"Well, there you go!" And he introduced himself and his family; his daughter Jane, his son Sam and Sam's girlfriend Maddy, and he himself was Peter. We kept chatting for a few minutes outside the crepe stall when I finally said, "Hey, if it isn't too much trouble, would you mind if I tagged along with you for a while? It gets kind of lonely travelling alone."
"Hey, no problem." And now I was the family translator. We continued along the Champs-Élysée to the obeliskof Turin (?) and on to the Louvre, which was closed because it was a Tuesday.
We moved off, then, to a small cafe to get some eats where I recommended Jane and Peter's first onion soup, which they loved. I had a croque-complet which is a toasted sandwich with tomato and ham in the middle, and cheese melted on top with an egg. We moved on to the Musée d'Orsay which housed some amazing impressionist paintings and others by Renoit, Degat, Pissqro, Picasso, Courbet, Manet and Monet along with some ancient and modern granite and bronze sculptures. We had a drink in the incredibly decadent looking restaurant housed in silver and gold and paintings and mirrors and it felt like I was wasting a fortune just sitting in there. Soon thereafter we made our way to the Eiffel Tower, a truly magnificant end to a first day. And what a structure. It was bathed in blue light and the reflection of the foggy clouds created a beautiful atmosphere of awe around this incredible structure. Here, the family left me, and I climbed the tower on my own. At the top, to say the least, it was simply breathtaking and every photo I took looked like an impressionist painting because of the multicoloured lights reflecting off the cloud cover over the city. And I, and only I, your self-appointed narrator and hero, would be the one to almost trip and fall down the small staircase on this magnificant feat of engineering. I also happened to be lucky enough, my faithful readers, to be on the tower just as the light show began and the tower exploded in a million flashed of a million lights, providing a beautiful backdrop to this dream-like experience, but which I'm sure was equally, if not more, impressive from the ground. I descended the tower, less impressed to be back on flat ground, battling off souvenir salesmen on all sides, "1 Euro, come on, special discount!" I walked through the brisk Paris air, smiling.
When I reached the Champs-Élysée, it was lit up like a magnificant tree, and along it led to the brightly backlit Arc de Triomphe. I took the incredibly crowded Paris metro home, paying close attention to my belongings so they were not stolen, and got back to the hostel, bursting for a piss. I got back to the room to find my things had not, in fact, been stolen. I lay on the bed and rested my fee from another full day, soon to head out for dinner, I wonder what tonight...

Got to a restaurant for dinner that had tartare - and they were OUT! So I order the side of beef (cote to boeuf) to settle my hungry stomach. The waitress warns me of its enormity, "C'est tres grand!" but I pursue. She brings out a raw side of beef - "That's not what I meant by tartare!" I should've said - and a small stone slab hotplate, with a side of fries. I proceed to cook tiny pieces of beef as I cut them from the steak and season them with salt and pepper and various sauces provided. I polish it off rather quickly and am very satisfied. The waitress returns to take my plate, "C'est fait? C'etait bon?" - all done? it was good? - and I said "oui". She enquires about how well I speak French - at first when I order the tartare she stares blankly at me, "You know what that is, right? You know it's raw, are you sure?" I nod and tell her I know this, "Oh, so your French, not English!"
"I'm Quebecois." - and I tell her I am from Quebec and living in Australia, "Mais, ton francais est tres bien en tout cas!" - well, your french is very good anyway! - and she sounds surprised.
"Do you want a desert?"
"No thanks, I couldn't eat any more." I said, holding my stomach.
"Do you like champagne?"
"Well...I...yes..."
"Good, I'll bring you some, on the house." She said and sped off, bringing me a caraffe of water and a glass of champagne. How friendly.

NOTE: You'll never guess what song was playing in my first cab in Berlin, "coz it's too late, to 'pologize..."

Walking back to my room and after collecting my key, I notice there is no room 630, why?!

- from the Journal, 16th Dec.

Chapter 5: Day 6 in Berlin and First Night in Paris

Day 6: Sitting in Shodenfeld airport, almost time to fly to Paris, the second leg of this epic journey. I hope I meet some more interesting people in this youth hostel so that way it won't make the days drag. As much fun as I'm having, I want to go home - I want to see Anna really. Being along with nothing to do is bad for me - I start thinking too much. It hasn't been a week. Tomorrow it has.

Note: Germany has a special hatred for the Neo-Nazis as they represent the thing that brought they country down so far in reality and in the eyes of the world. Eddie told us a story about how, at a Berlin United football match, pockets of people began leaving, so he's like, "It's not going that badly - we're still up 2-1!" Then the people began reappearing as if nothing happened - turns out they had all heard of a Neo-Nazi rally in town and they went there, beat them all to a pulp, and came back to enjoy the end of the match!
We even had our own right-winger experience. Some guy came up to us, walking his bike, and said "What are YOU doing in Deutschland?" in a very disgusted way. So Eddie says, "What? What?" and the right-winger says, "Fuck you." So Eddie replies, "What was that, mate? Come back? Go fuck yourself." And the guy keeps walking, laughing creepily.

After waiting an extra 40 mins to an hour to get to the boarding lounge for the flight; we are herded like cattle into little holding pens for boarding groups A, B and C.
Finally on the plane at 17hr. A full 40 mins after we were supposed to TAKE OFF! But, I'm headed to Paris, and waiting for me there is a nearby steakhouse with a scrumptious tartare that I will thoroughly enjoy. FInally a country whose language I can speak, and that I love.
We're ON the damn plane but we can't LEAVE this fucking place for another HOUR! WHY?! Delays or some such nonsense! We're ON the damn PLANE, what's the delay?! Fucking control tower!
15 mins later, we are leaving in 2 mins. I'm sick of planes and airports.
The flight only seems to have taken about an hour or so, because by the time we're fully in the air he's already telling us we're beginning our descent soon - I'm thankful I won't have to deal with planes for another 2 weeks.
In Paris and got to the hostel - which looks great from the outside, but which is really quite dingy on the inside. The paint is peeling, the rooms are small and there aren't any lockers to secure your things. A little more nervous living here, but at least there are no roommates - yet.
I enquired at the front desk and yes, it IS safe to leave stuff in the room, but you know..."things happen". I do have roommates apparently, they just aren't in right now. I look forward to THAT meeting.
My first meal is at an Italian place across the road; soup a l'ognion; half a bottle of Chateau Gartonet Bordeaux rouge and a steak. I deserve to treat myself I think.

I think my roommate is an assassin: I get to bed at 22h30. At midnight; he walks in in a suit and coat and briefcase. He undressed, gets into bed. Fiddles with his phone. From the light, I can see he is a tall, white guy, bald with chiseled features. I awaken again at 3am to find him coming BACK into the room, fully dressed WITH HIS BRIEFCASE. He gets into bed, IN HIS SUIT QND BRIEFCASE, and goes to sleep. At around 6h30 he gets a phonecall, looks at the number, hangs up on it, lies there for a moment, gets up with his coat and briefcase, and leaves, having MATICULOUSLY made his bed. I get back that night around 20hr and he never comes back. Someone - or some PEOPLE - have died today.

- from the Journal 15th Dec.

Yes, I'm Alive 2

Made it to Bordeaux with no hiccups. Will post stuff soon - and I have a LOT to post!

Yes, I'm Alive

Apologies to those of you who atually track this blog, but as a result of a lack of net cafes in Paris and the horrible keyboards of the computers at the hostel, I have been unable to update, despite having a LOT to write.
I will type when I have a steady, free computer, until then - yes, I'm alive, ok and having fun.

Chapter 4: Day 4, 5 and 6 in Berlin.

As you may have read, day 4 was not a great day for me. I was feeling lonely and bored and tired of this so-called "Best City on Earth". After spending nearly four hours here in the net cafe I went back home and read my book (American Gods by Neil Gaiman). After some mental coaxing, I decided to call Alternative Berlin and ask about their 666 Anti-Pubcrawl, "Call back at 8ish to see if it's running." So I did. It wasn't. So I spent the rest of the night reading my book until 9, when I went to bed.

Day 5: I awoke at 8 and ddecided to call the family back home as it would be sunday night there. We spoke about the trip so far and what I was doing later and then we hung up. I decided to take a shower and then head out for breakfast and the Alternative Berlin tour at 9:30am. Despite having to meet at 11am at Alexanderplatz for the tour, I got there at 10am and got a breakfast bagel, donut and hot chocolate from one of the abundent Dunkin' Donuts there, when Crowded House began playing on the radio after some Christmas carols.
I left there after I finished and went to loiter outside the Starbucks coffee where we were meeting, "We're in no way affiliated with them, ok?!" I said ok. Soon enough one of the guys, Rudy, arrived and sat down at a table, holding up the Alternative Berlin leaflet. I sat down next to him and we began talking about the tour, about Berlin and about where we were from. He was Scottish. Eddie arrived soon after, an Australian from Melbourne - the main organizer of Alternative Berlin - and began regailing us with stories of how Neue Berlin was stealing their stuff and suing them and "raping us for fuck's sake!" Turns out this other company is running a tour with the same colour scheme and name and charging 12 Euros for the tour that only goes 3 hours and looks at squatters and some graffiti art they know nothing about, compared to the REAL Alternative Berlin which is free, runs for the whole day and takes you to crazy stores and markets, to see the best Street Art in Berlin (of which Eddie knows a LOT about) and to do...other things - I'll explain in a moment. Soon enough, Brad, an Aussie from Brisbane, Niam from Ireland and her friend, whose name I didn't catch, arrived and the tour was ready to go with just us four, "I like smaller tours," said Eddie, "you can do more and move more and it's just better."
Now, because it was Sunday, most of Germany kind of just shuts down, so we couldn't go to the Heavy Metal Bakery, the Absynthe Store or the second hand clothes warehouse where you buy clothes by the Kilo, but we did hit some amazing markets by day and night light, and went into some squat houses, abandoned buildings and graveyards to see some amazing street art. We also travelled across the city (in the very efficient German transit system) to an old, decrepid train station, left as delapidated as it was since the war. It was a transport and supply train station bombed by the Soviets. Next to which, was a skate park built by the street artists themselves.
Soon, it was time for lunch and we went to a New Zealand cafe where we had burgers and beer in steins, and were joined by a crazy Parisian who never wears socks (it was 3°C and he was wearing fucking THONGS!), had dreadlocks, prepared a few joints for the walk in front of us and was called simply, Frenchie. He joined us until the end of the tour.
Eddie brought us around town to see where the new Alternative Berlin headquarters would be and took us to a retro store where nothing in their was created past 1980. Pretty soon, though, it was time for the grand finale - we had a choice between seeing the 50 faces, an intense piece of street art, or climbing the West Side of the Berlin Wall. Which do you think we picked?
By cover of nightfall we passed behind the beach bars and onto the soft, small Berlin beach where, in the summer, it is a raving beach party, to a huge open bit of field, "Now, 20 years ago, if you were seen or caught here, you'd be killed immediately," Eddie explained, "they had landmines, trip wires and guards aimed to kill."
"...landmines?" I asked, tentatively looking where I was stepping, although knowing I wouldn't step on one, I still had a strange flutter in my chest whenever I put my foot down.
"Well, most trip wires that'd throw ball bearings at ya." He said.
"...claymores? These guys used CLAYMORE MINES?!" I said.
"Shit...once you're up against those, you better just call it quits." Brad said, and I nodded. Eddie brought us to the graffitied back side of the Berlin wall. We were in West Germany, "Now, what we're about to do is pure Fight Club shit, you don't talk about it," Eddie said, "Jordan, help me with this." and he gestured to an old gate on the ground. I got on the other side of it and together we lifted it against the wall, "Whose first?" He said and smiled. Niam took it and went first up the wall and marvelled at looking over the other side, "Wow..." she said.
"Yeah," said Eddie, "20 years ago people couldn't do this."
"This just something that doesn't happen...that you don't do..." Brad said, beaming. Soon, I climbed to the top and it was just...something else. I was on top of history. I looked over the wall at the other side of Berlin and felt strange. It was beautiful even though it was just the same city, but from behind a wall. I got down and helped Eddie take the gate down, "Now," he said, "we came IN through the beach. Now, we escape back to East Germany, under that gate." He said, pointing to the locked gate, and dropped his bags and went under. We all looked at each other, shrugged and proceeded to weezle under the gate, escaping back to East Germany.
"And that brings us to the end of the tour," Eddie said, "and I hope you had fun!" And we had. He thanked me later more personally, saying it was great to have someone who made it a mission to do Alternative Berlin and that they would've run the tour if it was just me. I smiled and thanked him. On the train back, I was getting off earlier than everyone else and so I shook hands with everyone. As I shook Eddie's hand, I slipped him a 10 Euro bill and he looked at me, "Thanks." and smiled. I got off the train and headed back to Kurfürstenstraße and back to the hostel, talking to Anna on the phone.
I went back to the 1 Euro mini-pizza place I had eaten at my first night in Germany for dinner. It felt appropriate to eat the same meal to leave as I did to arrive. I went back home and slept a good sleep, alone in the room, having prepared my bags and finished my book.

Day 6: Well, today I leave Germany and head off to the great land of France, to the City of Lights, Paris! (For those Da Vinciites reading this, imagine I said Paris in Aringarosa's voice). I sit in the net cafe, whittling away some time before I taxi off to the Shoeoenfeld Airport and off to my next destination. After the tour last night, I understand why people love Berlin. Time to sign off, and when we next meet, I will be in France. Au revoir, guten tag!

Chapter 3: Day 3 and 4 in Berlin

Day 3: This morning, I woke up at 10am and head out onto the freshly snow-laced Berlin to have breakfast in a small cafe - cold cuts, cheese and bread and butter. Delicious. And a giant hot chocolate with whipped cream. Soon, I will move off to the Holocaust Memorial and Jewish Museum, and maybe the Ramones Museum too (I didn't end up going).

As you approach the Holocause memorial - passing what once was Hitler's Bunker, but is now a parking structures - it seems flat and unimpressive. As you get closer, however, it's enormity consumes and looms over you, with the ghostly echoes of other voices anonymous directions from within the monument, an appropriate cocaphony of the abundent Berlin crows singing out in the sharp, cold air, the overcast sky, the leafless trees, creating an ominous, dark and powerful memorial to the fallen jews of the Holocaust, both haunting and beautiful.
Walking past there I run into a large, undestroyed section of the Berlin Wall and the Topography of Terror - the main base of the SS guard during the war which was unearthed just over a decade ago. It was creepy seeing the dead walls of the former base of such an evil force. Heading just east I got to Checkpoint Charlie, a main Berlin wall checkpoint.
On my way to the Jewish museum I stopped in on a small cafe for a coke and a small pizza - Berlin does pizza surprisingly well.
These thermal underwear were the best purchase I have so far made.
At the Jewish Muesum, they have something in the design called the Holocaust Tower, a voided void in the structure which is cold, and dark and tall, running the vertical length of the museum with no heating or light and only a small strip of a window to allow natural light to filter through from the dark, overcast day. A haunting and cavernous memorial to those fallen. Also along the way was the Garden of Exile, a slanted garden with tall concrete pillars with trees growing from them dedicated to those who had to flee their homes to escape certain death.
People of note from Museum: Jean Heinemann, Moses Mendelssohn (the German Socrates) and Dr Magnus Hirschfeld.
I saw a huge stack of kippot there, on with "My Bubby is Voting Obama" labelled Obamica '08, one with Batman on it and another with the cast of "Friends".

I spoke with Anna on the phone on my way home from the Jewish museum and because I wasn't concentrating I got a little lost, but made my way back to Potsdamer Platz.
When I got back to the youth hostel I red for a while and ended up falling asleep for an hour. I awoke with a start and I was sweating in the cold. I went to the bathroom and had my first proper shower since I arrived here and all of a sudden my head itched a whole lot less.
As I walked to the shower, I noticed a new roommate enter our room from afar. As I exited the shower I noticed a boatload of new kids playing in the halls and settling into their rooms - a boatload of Australian High Schoolers, and I sighed. I left to leave them behind. Oh well. I head back to the room and get ready to go. I didn't go far, I just headed down to the small pub called Cocktails down the road and ordered a tea with rum (by accident of miscommunication) and the most German meal I've had so far - sausage and potato salad. When I walked in, the place was empty except for the bar owner sitting round the front, watching the German version of "Who Wants to be a Millionaire?" She spoke little english, but we understood each other thanks to the few Yiddish words I managed to utter that were German.
Also, for all you lovers of BEERFEST - The Boot is REAL! It's on a shelf in this tiny bar...hmm...
As the host sat and smoked, she always checked the door for someone else, like she was expecting someone.
And she was.
Soon he arrived and they began talking animatedly in German and soon changed the channel to "Mein Restaurant| and began enjoying that as they smoked and chewed on sunflower seeds.
I left there, paying the 7 Euros due and walked back to the hostel - it seemed I was getting used to the cold as it didn't bother me as much to have my coat unbuttoned and hat untied and scarf loose around my shoulders - that or the thermal underwear was saving my ass. WHen I got back to the room my silent roommate was asleep, so I took my book and walked downstairs to read in peace as light rock, metal and ska played over the loudspeakers.
As soon as the computers freed up I went and read my emails and sent a couple back home. 22:30 rolled around and I grew weary and went back upstairs to shower and head to bed.

Day 4 so far: I woke early again this morning and read until sun-up, hideen once more by the everlasting carpet of clouds. I went to a small cafe near the hostel and ate a light breakfast of a salami baguette and a hot chocolate. It struck me, too, that this, my 4th day in Berlin, that I had not much left I wanted to see and grew weary of this dank city. Unless I get on the alternative Berlin tour tonight or tomorrow, the next 2 days will be very boring.

- from the Journal 12th and 13th of Dec.

And that's it so far, I sit here writing from a net cafe and soon I will move off to do...something. Until next time, guten tag!

Chapter 2: Day 1 and 2 in Berlin

First day in Berlin is dark, cold and overcast. My room won't be ready til 1pm so I started wandering the streets outside the hostel, but it began to rain so I snapped a few pics and went back into the warm. Soon, hopefully, I'll get to a net cafe and let people know I'm alive and well (sorry it took so long). The cabbie on the waz here spoke very little english but we still conversed well as he attempted to explain some things about Germany and German to me - it is a testament to how small Berlin is in comparison to Sydney, as, while walking the streets, I looked in the window of a turning cab, and there was the same cabbie.
The people look different here. Katie's comment was most apt, "they look cranky...and cold." and that's pretty right. They all look meanly efficient, if a person's face can betray that kind of description. Later that day I went to bed at 4pm and awoke at 9pm. I found that my new roommate is an old German man with a terrible cough and scrawled in the Journal is "Great. Fuck Berlin."

Day 2: Breakfast alone in a Youth Hostel is a boring, strange and lonely experience. Most of the people here are Germans on a school trip or in Berlin for a day or 2. I got up at 4am and couldn't sleep anymore, as a result of my bedtime the night before. I showered awkwardly, as I was unable to figure out how the showers worked so I washed my hair and face in the sink. I soon figured out the shower and hopped in for the 1 minute burst the water comes out in. I don't have a towel, so I used yesterday's t-shirt thus, in my mind, cleaning it.
I spent a few minutes on the internet downstairs after awkwardly clambering in the dark trying not to wake my old roommate.
Breakfast was various cold foods, none of which were particularily fun or exciting. After killing as much time as possible in the cafeteria, I left on my first museum expedition. It took me 20 mins to reach my first destination - which was closed so I killed time in a park til it opened. As I watched my breath condense on the air, I noticed it began to rain. But, it looked strange, the drops were falling clumsily. Side to side motions that didn't befit rain at all. I paid attention as the drops fell and landed on my scarf and I smiled. It was snowing.
The Gedenkstatte Deutscher Widerstand, or the German Memorial of Resistance Against the Nazis. It detailed the people within the Third Reich who attempted to assassinate Hitler or subvert the Nazi party, all of whom failed. There were also memorials to the men and women who helped save and shelter the Jews.
The floors all had a Swastika like pattern as it was once the Third Reich headquarters building - I will upload photos later.
After using the very limited english Audio tour, I stepped out and headed up to the Gemäldegalerie which was fille dwith 13th to 17th C European religious artwork - it was pretty, but after a while is all started to run together. At the least the audio tour was better this time. In the same building were two more museums, the Kanstgewerbermuseum ß of some modern art (an exhibit by Thomas Man or something, I don't remember his name) and of ancient European knick-knacks like drinking horns and chests - and the Kupferstichkabinett, Berlin's (or Germany's) biggest collection of ink and line drawings, which were very impressive. Across the row lay the Neue Nationalgalerie which had special Exhibits by Jeff Koons and Paul Klee. Further up the road I walked to the Legoland Discovery Center which was complete with a 10ft tall lego giraffe, an almost life-size firetruck and a couple of Santas to top it all off. Just up from there I climbed to the Museum für Film und Fernsehen which chronacled German film history and stars up until the Second World War. This took me to one thirta p.m. and I was hungry. I went to the ground floor of the building and his a small restaurant called "Billa Wilder's" which - as you may have guessed - is dedicated to and contains paraphenalea of, Billy Wilder. I had an Oreo Cookie smoothie and a steak sandwich. Now, this must be a German thing, but EVERY sandwich had Fresh Cream on it...it was fucking WEIRD, man. It even had a sweet salsa dipping sauce - a SANDWICH had DIPPING SAUCE! Okay. Sure. Germans. From there, I paid and went to explore the Potsdamer Platz shopping mall. It just reminded me of a German Westfield, but covered in Bright and appropriate Christmas decorations. I left there and decided to leave the Holocaust memorial for tomorrow and headed back into town via Potsdamer Straße, picking a second hand flap hat - picture Kyle from South Park, but grey - and a pair of second hand insulated boots - converse are NOT the best shoes for winter exploration. Afterwards I went back to the hostel for a mild repose before heading out again. I also met my new roommates for the night, Jan (Yaani) who was in Berlin for 2 days for a job interview and to find apartments, and a silent Asian fellow called Yeu (You). Jan and I arranged for us to meet back at the hostel at 7 to go drinking.

In addition to going to see the Erotik museum, I saw the Kaiser-Wilhelm-Gedachtniskirche which is the bombed out shell of an old church, charred and broken after WW2; a solemn monument. I removed my glove and felt the stone with my hand and felt strange.
Entering the Erotik Museum is probable the mose awkward part - besides exiting. The bottom floor is a Sex Kino (Sex Cinema) so it looks like your just walking in there - "9-24hr" it boasts. Once in, you walk up the stairs to Bar 69 and the Erotik Shop, buy your ticket and head up to the third floor in the tiny lift and begin the tour of the art (I will insert more info on this later, or if you really want to know, you have only to ask me direct).
I then descended the last staircase, to end up back at Bar 69 and I decided I couldn't leave the place without buying something. Unfortunately, without knowing Anna's g-string size off by heart, I ended up buying a stack of postcards with artworks on them. I walked down the stairwell to the Sex Kino only to realize, I'm walking out of a Sex Kino/Store with a bag. I've bought something, and people will assume the worst. Walking out is worse than walking in at this point. I step towards the automatic doors and they slide open to let me through; immediately people turn their heads to see who is coming out and there's me with my bright red "Bar 69: Sex Up Your Life" bag. Hi. I continue on the road back to the hostel which is the road I took TO the museum and pass another Sex Kino which I photograph. And guess what was next to that Sex Kino? You guess it, A Chinese Restaurant! What? Don't you see the relation between the two? I do!
My leg was playing up so I went back to the hostel to rest and at 7:30 Jan got back and it was time for beer and dinner. He walks in, brandishing 2 Becks beers - 510mL each.
"One for each of us" he smiles. I take the beer and marvel at it. He pops it open using the apartment keys.
"My house search has been successful, we go out now!" We pour over a map for a few minutes, plotting our night. We deicde to catch the U-Bahn to Alexanderplatz and walk to Hackecher Markt, allowing me to take in the Dome (cathedral) and the Neue Synagogue along the way - both magnificent, enormous stone buildings. We finish out first beers and passing throuh a Christmas market, "Have you ever had Glühwine?" Jan asks. I shake my head. He smiles, "Come with me". We weave through the stalls and he takes me to a stall marked "Glühewine", "it is hot red wine mixed with...urm...sugar and either rum or brandy."
"Rum." I nod, and he nods too. He orders two and we drink. It is a strange and wonderful drink, sweet yet potent. We finish those off in the biting cold of the night as walk to out destination - somewhere. As we walk, he gets a phone call and begins speedily speaking in German - and honest to God it sounds like there are no SPACES in German sentences. Along the side of the road stand groups or single girls who appear to be smoking and waiting in the rain with umbrellas, eyeing passers-by. I eye Jan enquiringly, "Yes," he says, "they are prostitutes." I turn back to look at them - all tall, platinum blonde (some more obviously dyed than others) and all wearing expensive winter coats and boots and tight jeans. If I didn't know any better, I'd say they were just trendy girls in fashion from back home. Compared to the decrepid, junkie prostitues from back home, it was very strange to see pretty ones. "Fancy a date with two German girls?" one leans in and asks as we walk by. I thumb the ring around my neck, "No thanks." Jan smiles, implying that if I were single I'd be tempted too, and I don't know if he's wrong.
We stop at a schwarma place along the way and fill up our stomachs before hitting a bar somewhere. I haven't had one since Israel and it tastes good.
On our journey we see a small, underground bar called X-Terrain. Outside another girl yelles after us, "Please! Stop! Come on..."
"Did she just really beg us to stop?" I ask.
"I...I think she did." Jan says and we walk into the bar.
The bar is tine and smoking is allowed. We order a couple of local beers and sit down. The guy at the cash is smoking a joint. On our table is a candle supported on a talle mound of dried, dripped wax, underneath which was a candleholder - somewhere. It must have been the wax of 50 or 60 candles, if not more. Candles just never cleaned up.
After our beers we left the bar, having spoken of our loves and our prospective careers and wander through the Berlin night. The streets are dead and the wind and air have become much colder and I shiver in my insufficient coat. We look for a good bar but find none as they're all empty. We come across a Uni party, that for 9 Euros you get entry, coat check and 6 drinks, "Don't you have a job interview in the morning?" I ask. Jan nods sadly, "Maybe another time, yes?" and I nod.
We get back on the U-Bahn back to Kurfürstenstraße and walk back to the hostel, picking up two more beers along the way. Back at the hosel we finish the beers and brush our teeth and tip toe to our beds, trying not to wake the sleeping roommates. We exchange emails and I fall asleep before my head hits the pillow.

- from the Journal 10th and 11th Dec.

Chapter 1: Part 2: The Flights and Landing in Berlin

Of course, the boarding was late - the boarding pass says boarding at 17:55, but at 18:15, the booming voice over the loudspeaker unemotionally informs us that there has been "a slight delay and that boarding will commence at approximately six thirty" - of course.
It's ten to seven and now I've boarded the plane and have settled myself semi-comfortably in the small cattle-class seat the same colour as my shirt and in the direct air flow of the HEATING SYSTEM.
As I sit on the plane before take-opff, I am filled with a vain hope that my aisle mates won't be joining me - when two blonde British women, one around 25, the other mazbe a decade older sit either side of me - and with them goes the hope of lying down across all 3 seats - and I'm STILL near a crying baby - the SAME crying baby. I then pull out pictures of Anna and me and I smile and I sigh and I softly crz - 5 months - it isn't forever, but it's long. Shortly after take-off the lady to my left quickly starts up a conversation as she notices my anxiety at the bumping, swaying take-off. Turns out she's Welsh and heading home for Christmas, after being in AUstralia for 10 months. My first single serving friend.

4 hours in I've watched a movie and eaten the bad pre-packaged meal. I listen to music and look at photos of Anna and all I can do is weep - I'm barely gone and I miss her so much. I brush my hair into my face to try and hide the tears from my row-mates.

I look out the window at a thunder storm which would usuallz bring me happiness - but now, as I watch the sharp glows of lightning appear in the giant clouds, I am only scared.
We got off the plane in Bangkok at the gate we were to depart from, but they forced us to take the walk across the terminal, up the stairs, and back again rather than just letting us through direct. I am now past anxiety of the length of my trip and just want to get where I'm going.
On the plane to London I'm sitting in a new seat (in row 69, if y'know what I mean) with new single serving friends. One man to my right was Scott - he had dreadlocks and rings in his hair. To the left was Walter, and older Jewish gnetleman from Northern London - he had recently been staying at his brother's house on the Central Coast who had been living there for 50 years. Scott, who had just spent time in South East Asia, was cutting his trip short because of the sudden death of his best friend Sol and had to return to London.
"I'm so sorry" I said.
"Don't be," he said, "it's a celebration of life - it's a time to remember and be happy." It's nice to meet someone with a positive outlook.
"You should get dreads he said, looking at my curls, "they'd suit you." Not the first and not the last to say so, and hell, maybe I should.
"Now you've got a friend in the UK, in Oxford." he said with a genuinely happy tooth-filled smile, "and I'll put you up if you come up."
"Thanks," I said, "I might take you up on that."
We spoke of our loves back home or far away and how lucky we were to have these loves - he said putting his hand over his heart, "it makes you feel special. When I met Snowy. I just had to be with her." The exact words I used to describe how I felt about Anna - I just had to be with her, "take her with you to Canada." he said, and I had already considered buying her a ticket. "I have a little piece of her with me always" I said, thumbing the small ring around my neck, "So do I" he said, pulling out a small, rose quartz heart, " she had an identical one." And I smiled broadly with him, simply beautiful.
As I write, Scott looks over my shoulder to see what I've written and apparently my handwriting isn't as illegible as I thought. "Would you like to read the whole thing?" I asked. Scott looks touched and touches his heart, "Really? I'd be honoured..." He begins to read the fledging beginnings of this rough manuscript, "Is it strange reading what someone's written about you?" I ask, "Is it weird sitting there, knowing someone is writing about you?" He gets to the part about his smile, "No," he says, "it's beautiful. And touching." And he smiles again, that great, big smile.
He finishes reading and puts his hand over his heart, "Thank you for letting me read this." he says sincerely. "That's alright," I said, "I want it to be publishes, so I might as well have an audience now."
"I expect a copy, even if it isn't published!"
"Deal." and I smile.
"You've got a lot going on," he said, standing for the bathroom, "and it's amazing how you can put it into words."
"Thank you so much." I say.
"No," he says, "thank you."

I ask for a rum and coke - white Bacardi rum - and the glass comes back half filled up with rum and they hand me a small can of coke, "Hell, that's huge!"
"I'll have one of those!" Scott says to the stuardess, laughing. A strong one, a good one.
Walter was a friendly old man, who talked to anyone who would li9sten, and the stories he told of growing up in East End and of the 1950s - 70s Australia - Sydney, Perth, etc. - amazing. He is 86 and still travelling the long yards, with the heart of a 20 year old - a bostrous fellow.

Near the end of the flight to London and it feels like a week since I've been off a plane, though I know it's only been barely a day. I kiss the ring around my neck and think of Anna. I exchange emails with Scott an although I am admittedly nervous about it - trust issues, etc.; paranoia - I feel alright. Mum would think I am too trusting, and that's probably true, but you only live once. I pull out pictures of Anna and smile sadly. Scott peers over my shoulder and we meet eyes and he smiles, his eyes look watery, as if he's about to cry, "I know how you're feeling" he says, and moves his hand to his heart, his, by now, signature move.

I got off the plane in London and it was an immediate mad rush from the boarding pod to the shuttle bus to the next terminal - we were at 4 and I needed 5 - which was 18 mins away by bus. Stepping from the terminal to the bus I got my first taste of European winter, 1°C outside, I could feel it in my bones, but it was still refreshing. Going through passport control at Heathrow was like cattle going to the slaughter, or what I imagine it was like being forced through to a concentration camp by the Nazis. People shouting at you, like you were a prisoner, as you fearfully joined the giant line;
"No liquids in your luggage except for in these plastic bags!"
"Take off your coats before you get to security control!"
"No belt!"
"No shoes!"
"Nothing in your pockets!"
I followed their orders and proceeded to step through the metal detector which, of course, goes off. I then proceed to have the most uncomfortable experience of my life as a small, bald, Middle-Eastern man with a soul patch pats down every inch of me. To be frank, it was like being raped and I was tempted to say, "Aren't you going to buy me dinner first?" But I didn't.
In the line through security, I met a couple of Austrians - Manuel and Katie - who had just finished a 4 and a half month sejour in Sydney were coming home to Vienna. We discussed the ridiculousness of the security and moved on to have coffee and hot chocolate at a nearby cafe. 3 Pounds - a 9 Australian Dollar hot chocolate, but it was great after the flights.
We proceeded to deal with "typical European" service of a waitress there who had such an attitude I felt like just leaving without paying.
Within the half hour my gate number finally appeared on the board and I moved off to it., "Hey, you were our last Australian!" Katie bellows through the airport.
"Yeah, I guess I was!" I yelled back as I went down the escalator.

While on the plane to Berlin, I marked out some sites I wanted to see on the map. I couldn't find the road my hostel was on, but I just imagined it was too small or insignificant for the map I had (I was right). Landing in Berlin, it's cloudy with sparse showers and 2°C. I have finally reached my first destination.

- from the Journal, 9th and 10th Dec.

Chapter 1: Part 1: The Farewells and the Flights

The past few days have gone by in a blur and nothing seemed real until last night. I walked Anna to the train station and there we both cried for we knew it would be the last time we saw each other for half a year. Tears flowed down our bright red cheeks through cried of "I love you" but I forbade the uttering of "goodbye". None of it seemed real until I sat there in the lobby lounge, leaving a phone call from Anna in the bustling airport lobby. I sat there and it still didn't seem real - I still couldn't believe I was about to embark on a journey that would being me back home in May next year - 2009. Having gotten through airport secturity and check-in without much upset - taking a couple of things out of my bag to make it a carry-on. Now, in this lounge, bad game shows play on the big TV as I prepared for the 24hr flight to London and then the short hop to Berlin. I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, but I'm sure that once I'm on the plane and get a stiff drink, I'll be alright.
I start reading my book for a short while, but can barely concentrate with the noise of the chatter and the television. I look up and see the news update to see the flaming wreckage of a plane and "details of the crash at 6" and I mutter "oh great" under my breath.
WaaaaanchaaaaaaaAAAAHH!! - why am I always near the crying, wailing baby whose parents seem unable to get it to shut up?

The Con itself

Stepping into a hall lit purely by fluorescent lights rebounding off of white and unpainted steel girders, before me are lines of ready-waiting geeks ready for a full day of gaming. And buying.
"This is going to turn into an orgy of spending before the week is out," Chris says.
"I hear you. My money's already low and this won't help." I say as I wait for the guard to open the barrier to turn us loose inside. Some of the patrons are dressed in gear representing their favourite game, comic or TV character - cosplaying, it's called - and some look good, and some don't. Mostly, they look good, because great efforts have been put into these costumes, and the vast majority of the costumed are good looking girls wearing very little. The ones who look not so good would be the overweight boys in tight, leather pants. Yes, it did burn my corneas.
Walking along the purplegrey carpet, I examine stall after stall after stall of nerd gear - magic cards, D&D miniatures, warhammer, warmachine, comics, star wars, star trek, anime, etc. etc. etc. - stretching far as the eye can behold. All at cheaper Con prices. To the fore and the left are giant screens, playing 24-hour Anime screenings, and screenings of the latest games and even some Anime karaoke. These areas are also used for lectures and seminars - two of which I went to, The Mistakes Most Writers Make, and Hot Tips for Fiction Writers. However, beyond all this, lies the land of games. A vast space of just tables and chairs, stretching to the far corners of the conference hall, five times the size of the stalls area. This is where the gaming takes place, some tables for trading card games, some for board games, but the most tables of all are reserved for the RPG - role playing game - players. Vast amounts of tables and chairs reserved purely for us to park our asses on and play in 4 hour gaming sessions to experience the new 4th Ed of D&D. With miniatures. We had 4 such gaming sessions planned, and not one of the DMs we had - not ONE - was not overweight. I mean these guys were BIG. Alex turned to me at one point and said, "This Con has seriously reevaluated my definition of fat." which, I had to say, was true. Most of the men were either scrawny and pimple-faced or fat. But, most of the girls were amazingly good-looking. Or fat. It was truly an eye-opener.
Besides from spending hundreds of dollars on graphic novels and useless junk, wasting away hours at RPG tables and gawking at CosPlayers, we also ate. And slept. Though, very little of the latter for we had to rise early after going to bed late as our buffet breakfast closed at 10, and we wanted to be in at the Con by 9. Sighs all round. Mostly, we ate Mi Goreng. For those of you unfamiliar with Mi Goreng, of which I am sure there are very few, Mi Goreng is the Asian equivalent of Maggi 2 minute noodles. But with better spices and more of it. We lived on two bowls of this more or less every dinner for an entire week. I more or less don't want to see any ever again.
All in all the Con was good fun and we were bummed when it ended. But we're looking forward to next year when we will all Cosplay...odds are Batman villains or something...I get to be the Joker...HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!

Does it smell like Nerd in here?

I'm an epic geek. I like fantasy movies (sometimes), and sci-fi (when it's good), magic cards and dungeons and dragons. Most of the time, I'm not embarrassed to say this. Except for when I'm trapped in a large conference hall with 10,000 other geeks who look and smell worse than a dragon's butt (yeah, I made a dragon joke, what of it?). Most of the following are just notes from my notebook on my impressions of the trainride there and back.

Catching a train half way up the measurable coast of the country may not be the best way to travel, but it’s far from the worst. It takes 14 hours to train from Sydney to Brisbane – which is about as long as a flight from Sydney to San Francisco or LA non-stop. Same amount of sitting and less distance covered, but it’s cheaper. Sort of. I didn’t want to fly because, well, I don’t like flying all that much, and I figure that if I was going to fly somewhere I might as well be leaving the country.

“It’s not so bad,” we said as we got on the train and began the journey. As it got darker, I figured we’d get more and more tired with the endless metal tube of the train. “First Class Seats” really just means “slightly better than economy seats that are next to the food and bathroom cars” but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t a worthwhile investment. Considering the length of the trip, any extra comfort was welcome. The design of the seat was obviously drawn up by someone who never had to sit in them judging by the material and the footrest concept. However, the constant hum of the train on the tracks and relative silence within the carriage made for easy relaxation. I finished the first half-read novel I had with me within the first couple of hours of the trip. I missed you already.

The meal was 8 dollars for a pre-packaged spaghetti bolognaise and was maybe worth about 5, if that. I’m generous. Better than most aeroplane food I suppose. I have a strange sinking feeling in my stomach. Maybe I’m nervous or sad about something. Or it’s the food repeating on me. We’ll soon see.

The people on the train are curious folk. Mostly old, some disabled. One of 2 especially bad mannered.

The train keeps stopping when I wish it would just have a straight run.

The bathroom is about as big as a plane’s. The toilet flushes in much the same manner but it has a 5 second delay before the WHOOSH! of water. Also the tap is harder to figure out. I know that sounds dumb, but there is a huge button next to the tap which says “Presto” on it repeated 3 times and you don’t know what It does until you take the leap of faith and push it.

I wonder what club you join if you have sex in a cross-country train bathroom? The mile per hour club?

The train horns sound out in the night. Listen to it, isn’t it beautiful? The trains are talking to each other – like giant, metal whales of the land.

“There’s space for a paper aeroplane race in the eye of a hurricane” – All There Is

Note for t-shirt designs: should the spray paint read “pre-packaged” or “damage control” instead? – Clothing line called Dented Matches (Harvey Dent and the Matches)

Easier to relax, but not so much to sleep.

For some shirts, use jeans material to patch holes and create parts.

Even through the mirrored glass it’s still easier to see the stars out here.

“They took my bananas!” he said as he sprang awake from sleep and rolled over, quiet again.

Sleep on a train – sucks ass. Napping is ok.

Walking on a train is like being a drunk – a constant struggle for balance.

Now travelling back and beige, flat pastures/fields and rolling, green hills pass the window in an endless motion blue – occasional breaks in the tree line cause light obstruction and causes a strobe light on my writing table.

Upset stomach – from the greasy breakfast or am I hungry? Because it seems that the smell of food isn’t making me sick (it’s enticing) but the pain in my stomach isn’t the friendly fire.

Just happy to be travelling back I guess. Midday means nine more hours…well, almost ten really…but I don’t want to think about it. – gave in and borrowed a couple-a-bucks from Francis to buy a bottle of water and a bad corn beef sandwich. My stomach feels better.

10:22 and we finally pull into Central station, all of us falling asleep in our luggage. Jesse wanders off to walk home, and Francis offers me a ride home which I accept. He and Jannali make out for several minutes, "Come on guys, save some for at home, it's not like her just got out of prison...it's been a WEEK!" It bothers me to note that the others - who flew back - had not only left much, much later than us, but arrived much, much earlier than we did. Sleep will come soon.

G'Day All

I write to you know from the pitch black 4am.

When I last left you, I was 8 hours away from a plane that would take me to Bangkok and then eventually, home. Well, that trip took so much longer than I ever imagined - for various reasons. First things first, I arrive at Ben-Gurion International Airport (Tel-Aviv) and go through security. Now this isn't normal airport security like you'd have here, this is like an intense gauntlet of questioning and x-ray scans to make sure you won't blow up the plane. First in line - and luckily the queue for these things was short because we arrived earlier than expected - was the passport check and the check-in baggage scan. They checked my ticket and passport and asked me why I was leaving the country, why I was there, how long I'd stayed, etc. etc. etc. Gran was there to make sure everyone knew I was her grandson from Australia, and SHE lived here and they shouldn't check me and all that. Well the passport lady was nice and laughed and told her she could stay with me throughout the check-in process - which even to gran. was unexpected. After they scanned the bags, we were led to another counter where pretty much their job was to rip open and unpack your bags to make sure everything is ok. I plopped my bag down on the table and he asked me "Do you have a flask in this bag?" to which I replied yes because I did indeed have one for dad and then he asked me more questions like "where did you buy it? was it always with you? etc." and I answered accordingly until finally grandma said "I'm his grandmother! I live here! It was a gift from me! Why are you asking him these things?!" the guy just smiled and said "ok ok" and he put the baggage tag on and sent us away - I was convinced that he only did this so quickly to get rid of gran. - which really wouldn't surprise me. Whilst in line for the check-in baggage grandma asked me "what was he talking about when he asked you what was in the bag?" and I told her it was the flask she had given me from her apartment - namely I said this because the guy HAD USED THE WORD FLASK (this becomes important in a moment). She said that I MUST be mistaken because the guy "wouldn't know what a flask is because there's no drinking culture here and he's probably never seen one in his life". I was so stunned by this - a flask isn't exactly something hard to understand, is it? So I told her no, that he meant the metal flask in my bag. She said "no, you're WRONG, he must have meant a bottle of alcohol, he DOESN'T know what a flask is!" To which I of course answered that I didn't HAVE a bottle of alcohol in my bag, so WHY would I say "yes I have one"? He meant the flask, damnit. We both said the other was being stubborn and moved on. Whilst getting my boarding passes and baggage checked I introduced the guy at the counter to the word "marvelous" which he then took to be his own, checked me through and that was that. So, now it was about 2 and a half hours before my flight, what to do? So we wandered through the airport to the only open eatery - a kosher McDonald's. Yes, kosher. So, my last meal in IsraelIsrael

was a KOSHER Big Mac meal...which actually, pretty much tasted the same as a regular one. When we finished, I changed my remaining shekles to Aussie dollars and went through to the gate - and away from gran for the last time that trip. When I walked through the gate and passed the duty free shops to my departure gate I sat down - and was right away bored, homesick and frustrated all at once. I felt like Kerouac in "Lonesome Traveller" - the frustrations of travelling alone. Of course I only felt this way while in transit - which WAS lonely - not while living with gran. - which was NOT LONELY ENOUGH. Though I had enjoyed my stay in very much - I missed home and was glad to be coming back. It's also kind of a blessing to be finally away from gran. and although I love her - she is just TOO MUCH. Especially after 2 weeks alone with her. Then came time to board the plan. It was 22:25.The first flight was surprisingly relatively painless. Considering it was 10 and something hours. Though it was mostly sleepless, it seemed to go by faster than the trip over. It was mildly turbulent, but mostly uneventful. Now off the plane, began the hellish stayover that was 11 hours in Bangkok airport. Though I was only away for 2 weeks it felt like an eternity - and judging by the length of this trip, it will feel the same in the airport for 11 hours. As it landed, the crowd of Israelis and Jews gave their customary clap - just as the plane literally skidded to a halt on the runway throwing some of us a little forward, but no harm no foul. As I sat in the uncomfortably warm - and humid - BangkokBangkok airport I was stunned at how difficult it had been to secure a good place to sit. Here's a little bit from my journal there: "I'm tired and drowsy and all I have is 20 Batt and the bottle of water I bought was 55 Batt - luckily I had that US$2 with me or I'd be FUCKED. Now I definitely just wanna go home. I still hate this airport (more on this later). I'm kind of hungry and I still have US$25 (which turned out to actually be US$16) but I don't know what I can get for that. If I get desperate I'll use it." Well, I caved sooner than expected in regard to food (after I wrote that it only took 20 mins for the desperation to kick in) and so I did what any self-respecting traveller would do; went and got a SUPER HUGE SUNDAE WITH TOPPINGS AND YUMMYNESS at the "Ice Cream and Fudge Factory" bar. It cost like US$8. I deserved that Sundae. Sitting in that restaurant and finishing that sundae ate up almost 40 mins. Woo. So, desperate to kill more time - I called mum at home to say I was ok. Just as I was hanging up the phone, who should I run into at airport? No less than Popi Silk and her family with Keely - friends from IGS. We were overjoyed to see each other and I hung with them for like 4 and a half hours until they had to board their plane and I had 3 and a half hours left to go.

While sitting in that airport - bored stiff and time seeming to move slower than ever before - I noticed and noted that Thai was kind of an ugly, strange but interesting language. My constant stream of thought was more along the lines of "Mustn't...fall asleep...in...AIRPORT!" So I decided to take some slow and gradual walks around the airport I hated so much. I realized something quickly though - every corner of the airport looked the same. I walked from one Gate to another, and it was EXACTLY THE SAME except for the Gate number. The shops, the seating arrangements with TV, the bathrooms, the security and the gate itself - it all looked the same. No WONDER I found it all confusing. Finally - and I mean FINALLY! - the clock ticked over to 11pm and I could no longer wait, I went and checked through security into my gate and sat.

On the Thai airways plane I noticed it was a lot more colourful than the last one and there was so much more LEG ROOM - which was very warmly embraced. Light jazz was playing over the PA and I felt relaxed. By about 1 and a half hours into the flight I had already had a rum and orange and a glass of wine with dinner - I was trying to sedate myself so I would fall asleep and wake up in Sydney - which didn't work as well as I had hoped. It was funny to note that they were very big on the wine pouring that trip, because usually they will pass once or maybe twice with the wine and that's it. This time however they went by at least 10 times. They must have figured if we were going to Australia, we must all DRINK. Sleep didn't come as quickly as I had hoped, but it DID come. I woke up to the lights all being on, breakfast being served and a warm wet towel being offered to me. I had been asleep for 4 and a half hours of an 8 and a half hour flight - not bad. It was now only about 1 hour and a bit until we landed and I was excited to be so close to home. When I awoke though my mouth was dry, having fallen asleep with my mouth open and subsequently breathed that way, and my feet had swelled up and felt like they were the size of my head - which they almost were. This was cured later on by my nap at home.

When we landed in Australia, it was easy sailing. I landed at 1:10 pm. I got through the passport control checkpoint in about 2 mins and waited half an hour afterwards for the baggage carousel to finally start vomiting out bags. 1:45 approx. my bag is finally spat out - being one of the last ones because it was one of the (if not THE) first bags to be checked in - being checked in over 10 hours before the flight. I get my bag and wheel my way over to Customs where a guy picked me out of the line and asked to see my passport and landing card, asked where I had been, for how long and if I usually travelled alone. I answered him and he took me aside - I was to be a random bag check. I put my bag up on the table and opened it. He went through my things, unpacking the bag I had worked so hard at packing, and of course having found nothing, let me go. It was 1:55. Very quick. As I walked out of the arrivals gate, I was greeted by...no one. No one was there to get me. So I called dad and said "I thought you were supposed to pick me up?" turns out he was just LEAVING the office because mum had told him that being there at 2:30 would be fine - figuring everything would be slow. At around 2:10 dad finally came around and got my and took me home where first thing I did was rip off my clothes - which I had been wearing for almost 3 days now - and took a nice, long shower. Then I talked with the family a bit, and took a nice 2 or 3 hour nap. Afterwards we had dinner and I gave out various gifts and that was that.

Soon 8:30 rolled around and it was time to attend Christmas drinks at the pub near my house - the Toxteth - with a few of the guys. It was nice to see them all again. Shame I was so blindingly tired though. At around 10:30 Tyson took me home and I went to sleep. Only to awake at 3:45am and not sleep and by 4am I was fully awake and decided to come onto the computer. Lucky I did because I had time to write this and to talk to Dom on msn - he's in Peru at the moment and sometimes it's hard to get to talk to him, so that was nice. It's now 5:32 am and I'm watching as the first rays of light come through the clouds onto a new day. My first day back home. It was good to be home. Though I was tired and drowsy, had been through frustrating airports and grandma, clearly had jetlag and was looking at a few tired days - none of that mattered now, I was home. I'm home.

Well, that brings to a close Jordan's Travels: Israel. I hope you all enjoyed it. I know I did. Thanks to all those of you who replied and commented on the emails and made me laugh - it was really great and I'm glad you like it. Next time I travel abroad, you can expect these kinds of emails to continue. Until I see y'all again, see you around, I have a headache.

Bokker Tov Everybody

I write to you on my last day here in Israel - 8 hours before I get on a plane and begin my long-as-hell trip home. But, before I talk about that, I have a lot of ground to cover about my final days here.

Impressions: This will be the last section of "Impressions" in which I detail my impressions of Israel, as it is my last day - and JUST when I was getting a normal sleeping pattern too. Oy. First off, what in the HELL is with elevators here? They are all the size of a tin can, for buildings over 5 floors high, and expect to fit 6 PEOPLE in them...and then on each trip, make horrifying noises as if to drop straight down the shaft. For a claustrophobic, not the best experience in the world - but even for the fearless it is a test of guts. Something else which I am surprised I never mentioned before, is the fact that - effectively - there is no weekend here. Sure they have Shabbat on Friday night and for all of Saturday, but Sunday is a normal work day. Nothing is open from Friday about 3pm til Saturday about 8pm. Practically the whole country SHUTS DOWN. There's no traffic which is nice though. Last of all, another little fact about gran. As a result of her being hard of hearing - with probably some part of her being self-absorbed too - she interrupts EVERYONE'S stories for stories she has to tell, or stories about her. Very enraging. When I last left you it was a Wednesday (my time) and I had just come home from the Dead Sea and Masada. Thursday was no biggie - a mid-week day of rest.

Pal Makh Museum, Jaffa Markets and Derek and Rachel's (Friday 14th - Day 11); This was one hell of a busy day. At around 10ish we went to the Pal Makh museum, which is an entirely automated museum describing the history and the story behind the foundation of Israel through the IDF (Israel Defense Force) and the Pal Makh (the previous encarnation of the defence force). The story was not only brave, heroic, inspiring - but it was also one hell of a depressing tale. It followed a group of 13 or so kids (16-19) who sign up for the Pal Makh and their lives after that. About 5 come out of it all alive. Oy gevault. There was a poem written by a war poet at the time detailing how the Pal Makh people saw themselves and their dead, and the line that best said it was "we are the silver platter upon which we serve Israel to the people" or something like that. When I was sufficiently depressed by this, we left and went out to the Jaffa flea markets. Now, the major difference between these markets and the others up to now, and those anywhere else, is the fact that you can haggle with the folk for their vendor-trash. The bidding will start at something like 50-90 Shekles (AUS$16-30) and through the techniques of calling the vendor crazy, him saying he has kids to feed, you saying so do you, him not moving, you walking away, and then him calling you back and giving it to you at your price, usually you get what you want. Sometimes they won't budge on a price, but that's pretty rare. In the markets, the vendors are usually, actually, pretty forceful. They'll grab your arm, or corner you so you can't escape their trash-hocking faces until you either escape or are forced to call for help from a nearby patron - whom the vendor then latches on to. Amusing to note, if they spot a pair of people and they notice one of them doesn't speak Hebrew (i.e. Me) they will hone in on this person and ask THEM to haggle, and in the confusion attempt to make a sale. Note: at this point it is NOT rude to push past them and flea for dear life. At one point, as we were heading to a different area of the markets, we passed a road we had passed before an a vendor we had dealt with before came running after us begging us to pay his trash at the low-low price of 10 shekles, but by then I didn't want it and he called us both crazy. When I had had enough of haggling, being grabbed and being yelled at in languages I didn't understand - it was time to head home. After a brief repose on the couch, it was off to Derek and Rachel's for a lovely Shabbat dinner. Here it is fun to note that the generous pouring of alcohol portions continues. "Whiskey and coke? Sure!" *half the glass is filled with whiskey, and is then shown to the coke for colour*. So, a good night was had by all and I got slightly pissed while we read the self-published poetry books of a friends of theirs. It was pretty awful stuff.

Dixie's Dinner (Sat. 15th - Day 12); Saturday - being Shabbat and the traditional day of rest - we rested. While I waited to get in contact with the twins or Ophira, we didn't bother making any particular plans. The plans I did have fell through for various reasons, and we decided to go out to dinner with some friends of Gran's. We went out to a place called "Dixie's". Now, Dixie's is Israel's only (I think) American themed, non-kosher, burger diner. We sat in a cubicle and ordered drinks - rum and coke - and a burger - meat with bacon, cheese, onions, quac., tomato sauce and mayo (the non-kosher special) - and waited. First the rum and coke arrived and this time 2 things were different. First of all, there was no ice, so it was warm, and tasted less good. Secondly, wouldn'tcha knowit - 3/4 of the glass was rum and the rest coke. Jesus I could've gotten tanked just on that on my empty stomach - but then the piece to resistance came. The burger. Sorry, THE BURGER. It was half the size of my head with all the fillings on it. The meat taking up half of THAT room. I admired it and smiled and a tear came to my eye as I feasted on its deliciousness. When I had finished with that and my fries, I ordered a New York, Strawberry Cheesecake - which was equally as heavenly and large as THE BURGER and damned if I didn't eat the whole thing. That put a very satisfying end to another day.

Gunshot and Shwarma (Sunday 16th - Day 13); Nothing much happened today except for going to the supermarket - but my day did start off very strangely. I had a dream during the night in which someone (one of YOU) said to me "Careful, there's gonna be a gunshot!" and then I woke up and outside I heard a gunshot echo through the empty, deserted, morning streets. Now, I know it could've been a car back-firing, but at like 5am and you're tired, and after that dream, and being in the country I'm in, your mind is pretty made up it was a gun shot. So I wrote a poem. Later that day I had my first, and last, Shwarma of the trip. A Shwarma is - for all intents and purposes - a big kebab, made in the hollow of a pite bread. But damn it was tasty.

Editorial Meeting and Marina (Monday 17th - Day 14); To start the day, I got to sleep in until around 10:30. Then gran came back home and took me out, because she had to attend an editorial meeting for the magazine she writes for and afterwards we were going to go to the marina near there, so there was no sense leaving me at home. While she was in the meeting, I moseyed over to the park across the road. No sense sitting inside when I could sit OUTSIDE. As I sat on a flat rock amongst the grass, I realised I was near a retirement home and there were young volunteers taking old folks in their wheelchairs out to the park where I was. Two of them went by me and sat on a bench about 10ish metres from where I was. There I noticed that these young folk were not even talking to these old people - as I assume they were expected to do - they just sat on the bench opposite the old folks in their wheelchairs and didn't say a word. After a while I looked up and both these young girls were playing with their phones, and one of them had the phone playing loud RnB music - oh yeah, which I'm SURE the older folks wanted to listen to. After about and hour and a bit of sitting in the sun in silence, they took them back inside. I felt a little unwell at the lack of interest these people were taking in their work - but it wasn't my worry. When the editorial meeting was over, we went to the marina. There, I first went into a shopping mall and got a couple of CDs of Israel punk/metal. One was hip/hop punk, which sounded like Linkin Park/Sum 41 and another had done a Hebrew version of Eye of the Tiger and the last sounded like an Israeli Evanescance. I was satisfied. We then went to a place called LONDON on the Marina and had lunch - mine was steak with mushroom/pepper sauce. Grandma complained about the heat of her fries. We went home. Then, after once more being unsuccessful at reaching the twins (they were at work) or Ophira (just wasn't answering phone/at school late) we went to...The Scrabble Club. I didn't think this would be too interesting either - but it actually wasn't so bad. I even got a list of 2 letter words which are in the scrabble dictionary, which sound so very made up, but in fact they are words. Like "mm = an interjection". Yeah, I know. Anyway, during this time I had my ass served to me on a platter by all 3 opponents - NONE OF WHOSE FIRST LANGUAGE WAS ENGLISH! They beat the pants off of me in their second language. Ouch is right. After suffering 3 humiliating defeats, the club was over and we went home.

Arts Markets (Tuesday 18th - Day 15); Today. First thing I slept in til 11:30 which was very nice and then we went off to the Arts and Crafts markets where I picked up another couple of trinkets. We came home about an hour and a half ago and now I await the next 8 hours until I get on a plane and come home. The beauty about my flight - I've discovered - is that I don't have a 7 hour layover in Bangkok, no no - it's 11 hours. Isn't that better? I thought so too. From 13:30 to 00:20. Balls. I thought it was 17:30 to 00:20, but I was mistaken. Oh well, I have like 9 books in my carry on to read. And my mp3. But 11 FREAKING HOURS?! Lame. Lame-core. Super lame-core. But for now it is just a lovely bit of relaxation before the whirlwind of security and waiting that is the air transit system.

Shalom on the Last Day of Chanukah

Now I know what you all must be thinking, "2 Chapters in 2 days? He must be crazy! There's nothing he could've done in that ONE DAY which could fill up another long chapter email!" Well you're wrong. There is. But first, some more observations:

A couple of small things I've noticed since yesterday or forgot to mention yesterday. First of all more on the drivers (I know, sorry!) they don't slow down for speed bumps...which makes for a bumpy ride! Also, it's incredibly amusing to me to note the Hebrew Graffiti on the walls here. It's not nearly as abundant as english graffiti is in Australia, and seems to much less threatening. On top of this, you'll all be pleased to know that I am not lacking in the feeling that Town Hall steps and the inner city arises in me - being amused by the emos and lads and scene kids. They have them here too, but to a FAR lesser extent. I have so far come across only 8 punks, and then maybe a few more emos - but the levels of lads are slightly increased, being that these ones actually look dangerous. Another thing which you will all notice if you ever come here, would be the number of guns. Every defence person, even mall security, has a gun. Army guys everywhere, security, even the school security and travel guides have guns!

Tuesday 11th (Day 8) Debbie's Dinner: When I last left you I was off to this dinner. It was to light the last Hannukah candle and catch up with Debbie, Joe and Daniel. And we were also introduced to a lovely young lady named Alyssa who is volunteering in Jerusalem doing charity work with after school kids from poor areas. The dinner consisted of Hummus and toast, soup, latkes and then ice-cream for desert. Though it doens't sound like much, I was so damn full. I also had another Jack (this time with Coke) which I poured myself, so that the level of alcohol wasn't so ridiculous. After the dinner, I spent most of the time outside with Daniel and Alyssa talking about all our friends and families, and then it was time to go home.

Wednesday 12th (Day 9) Masada and the Dead Sea: The trip started when we had to wake up this morning at 6am to get to the bus station by 7:30 and get on the bus at 8 and be in Masada by about 11ish. The trip didn't start off so hot, we coudn't figure out where the bus was, but we eventually found it, only to realize it had been sitting there the whole time - and none of the information people knew about it. Useless. Then as the trip began on the highway, there was some CD playing on the system and the woman next to us new every single one and either sang the lyrics off key, or just hummed along to the tune "la la lala la la"...good GOD that was annoying...for over and HOUR!
So then the tour guide began giving us interesting information on the way to Masada, for example: The Dead Sea is 400m below sea level and is the lowest point on Earth. The Judain Desert we were driving through used to belong more to Jordan, but was taken more by the Israelis in the battle for independance, and also the desert is all rock - no sand. Since its independance in 1948, Israel has planted more than 240 Million trees. There were many Bedouin temporary settlements along the route...and one of them had a camel in it! (Stereotype anyone?) We drove through the Syria Africa Rift Valley which is a crack in the Earth's crust which stretches from Syria through Lebanon, Israel, Ethiopia until Malawi and Mozambique.
We passed the sign which read "sea level" which was also marked by a tied up, live camel, and we continued downward. On the way we passed the city of Jericho which is the oldest city in the world, dating in at 10,000 years old.
Next, we had our pit-stop. As we drove into this gas station/restaurant, I saw a dead donkey. I also spotted a tied up camel nearby and asked the guy next to me to take a photo of me next to the camel, and he agreed as long as I did the same for him. As we were taking photos, the pit-stop owner's son came out and offered us to get on the camel. The camel growled and frothed at this idea - ill-tempered animal that it is - but we did it anyway and got some funny shots. As I was walking away, the fellow said I had to pay him for that. So, I asked how much and he looked away and said quietly, "how much do you want to give me?" we exchanged these 2 lines about 3 times until I just handed him 20 Sheckles, which is approximately $6.15, and walked away. He had probably never been given so much for such a thing. Then the other fellow on the bus, seeing that I had paid, offered to give me 10 Sheckles for he had ridden the camel too, so all up I only spent about 3 bucks on the thing. Yoffee (Excellent! in Hebrew)!
Back on the bus we passed the -400m mark and were on the straight bee-line to Masada and the Dead Sea. That Sea is god damn HUGE - 80km long and 20km wide. It's levels, however, have been slowly decreasing, especially in the last 40-50 years, so much so in fact that it is really now 2 separate lakes - the Nth and the Sth. The Nth lake, which is the one we went to, has a deepest region of 320m, and has a 32% salt level!
First, came the climb around Masada. The story here, is that there were 960 Jews inside the fortress being seiged by the Roman Army. They realized that fighting the Romans was pointless and decided rather to die than to become slaves. So they decided to all commit suicide. 10 men were selected and they were to kill the other 950 (including the women and children - some of whom were their own) and then one man would have to kill the others and when he was the last, fall on his sword. So around these ruins we walked, looking at the architecture of the place and learning it's various secrets and histories. But of course, this would not be complete without grandma. She, being VERY hard of hearing, was CONSTANTLY talking over the tour-guide - and she talks LOUDLY. And also she would often repeat things he had already said to me, and I would just nod and mention that he had mentioned these things. Also, in our tour group, there was this lovely French couple and even though they had informed us to wear light clothes and good climbing shoes - the French man had worn a full suit, minus tie, and a denim shirt...with dress shoes! But he seemed contented, so who am I to judge?
When we decended this mountain once more in the cable car, we made our way to the Dead Sea/Ein Ghedi Spa. Now, from here on, there is no grandma - she does not want to swim because of her cold, and is staying by the pool and reading. First thing, I put my clothes and belongings (except for camera) into a locker and get into the Sulfur Baths. Damn was it comfortable. Smelly as all hell, and so salty I could SEE the salt floating in the water, but warm and comfortable nonetheless. Of course, one could easily float in this shallow pool of sulfur. We were not allowed to be in more than 15 mins because the doctor's said not to (who knows why). Then I showered and moved onto the Mud Bath. This was by far one of the coolest parts of this trip. I smeared myself in the wonderful mud provided and stood in the sun. Then I showered myself in a sulfur shower and I felt like a new person. I felt light, refreshed and my skin was baby smooth. Next up I walked down the path to the Dead Sea itself. Here on in I regret not having sandles or swimming shoes. The reason for this is that the whole beach is made of a giant plateau of SALT. Hardened, sharp, beautiful salt. However, it was really only sharpest inside the water and it was smoother on the beach greater. I then walked into the water which was SO MUCH THICKER than normal water - you could FEEL the drag against your legs. Then I waded in to where most people were - which was about 1 foot deep - and then...I. Could. Float. I was lying there, legs up, or arms up, or sitting, and I was floating. It was glorious and bizarre. When I got out of this salt pool, I still had a thick layer of the stuff on me and I showered.
Then came 3:30 and it was time to go home. Because the sun sets earlier the further north you go in Israel, the sun had started to set and the vapers of salt above the Dead Sea had turned a beautiful pink. On the way, I saw an Ibek! Which is a kind of mountain goat, and you make shofer's from the horns (a ceremonial horn which is blown on passover). As the sun set over the mountains, we made our way back towards the city - towards home. I was beat. I could still feel the salt on my skin and my lips and on my tongue but I didn't care. I was beat. Never had I been so happy to arrive at grandma's apartment and rest and write to you.