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
Monday, December 29, 2008
Sunday, December 28, 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
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
Friday, December 26, 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.
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.
Monday, December 22, 2008
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.
"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.
Friday, December 19, 2008
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.
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!
Thursday, December 18, 2008
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.
I will type when I have a steady, free computer, until then - yes, I'm alive, ok and having fun.
Monday, December 15, 2008
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!
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!
Saturday, December 13, 2008
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!
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.
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.
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.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
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?
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?
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