Struggling

Listening to some crack heads music at the train station at 6 am

Cannot explain the week I have had so far, but the fact that I’m writing this on the shitter drinking water concerned for my heart beating like a double kick should help set the scene. I’m on the French Riveria, one of the most beautiful places in the world, crystal blue water, lushes mountain ranges, rustic cafes, French perfume every where, but unfortunately I’m in a cabin, sweating buckets and watching myself cringe in the mirror as I befoul yet another ensuite. Maybe writing down what I have done for the past couple of days might help pin point the cause of my present struggles. I met Mitch at the hotel when he arrived. I was excited as hell as it had been 3 months with out seeing the greek bastard and 3 months is along time. In this 3 months he had managed to grow his hair to his shoulders and grow his stomach to the floor. Hahah I hope he reads this. We instantly were to go out for dinner next door, which I felt a little nervous for as I was about to make 51 one first impressions and I know that mine and mitches vulgarity can be confronting for a first timer. We nestled ourselves down at the finely laid table and ordered a few beers for courage. I instantly realized that of this 51 people only about one third are male and I instantly did the math and created a mental calculation as to my chances of maybe finding one I like. I like those odds. I instantly realized that this is basically an Australian group and that bar a few south African and US voices among the chatter, Melbourne was where the majority hails from. I chatted with a girl from Melbourne opposite me to find myself with the expected question “what part of Melbourne”. “I come from the Dandenng ranges” Ok, I know where Dandenong is. Fuck, Great start to the trip. For those who don’t know the area the dandenong ranges have tourists flocking and ogling it’s beautiful landscapes where as Dandenong is where the dregs of the suburbs, congregate to live and smoke bongs fashioned from coke bottles and sprinkler heads. This looker began to look elsewhere. Hahah good effort. After dinner straight to the Eifel tower. I as usual wasn’t listening so couldn’t get the canon to capture the spectacular sight that is the tower at night, but Mitch snapped a few on his newly smashed Iphone. We were walking on the second tear of the eifel when he lost his grip on the phone, smashing on the concrete then being stepped on byself dazedly walking and looking at the view. Haha I was glad that my trodding on it was the sealer. The tower was more beautiful than I had ever imagined. The place greatly exceeded my expectations. A great day of sight seeing and touring. The group seemed great with no dickheads or louts (Besides Hatley) and I was looking forward to how this tour was going to pan out.

The next morning we were dropped in the main section of Paris and set free to walk at our own device. The three of us walked around map in hand, twisting and turning it in attempts to make some sense of the thing. So impressed by the tower the previous night we grabbed baguettes, cheese and salami for lunch on the grass. Was one of the highlights of my trip so far, sitting in the shadow of the famous monument, eating the finest bread and watching the dumbass asians shoot thousands of photos of them 500 metres away to create the illusion they are holding the top of the tower. I obviously knew she wasn’t holding it as saw her take it, but I’m sure such trickery will be assumed legit by her pacific rim friends back east. I took some really good snaps, including one point of view photo of me giving the tower the bird. After the tower we headed to the top of the hill to a restaurant where we ate escargot and drank red wine. Me and O’dwyer sat talking to a few blokes Hung and Dan, who were great company and definitely as keen to suck down the bordeux as I was. After a bottle of red in the system we headed down to an irish bar a couple of doors up from Moulin Rouge. It was awesome and being the first opportunity we all had to party, we did just that. I was well oiled after the red, but a few pints in the guts put me over the edge. Everybody’s true personalities were appearing and I got to laugh and fool around with the whole group. The bloke on the tour we call Phelps due to his unbelievable resemblance to Swimmer and acclaimed bong head Michael Phelps, began dancing with a big bootied black woman and I knew the night was on. The place was awesome and some of the others from the tour were coming back from the Cabaret show( I gladly skipped on) and soon the entire group was dancing and drinking like animals. I knocked off phelpsy glasses and began trying to pick up women using extra intelligence I thought the glasses gave me (there was nothing of intelligence coming out of me I’ll assure you). Street florists where leaning over the smoking barriers and trying to flog roses to give to girls. I told a rose dealer to piss of like 5 times and wondered why he kept persistently asking me when I kept telling him no. I got a look at the sexy New Zealand girl. “Quick mate give me one of those”. Hahaha. She loved it, and danced with me for a while until she was flanked by another pissed romeo who gave her a second rose. The rose manouvre is a sure thing but I was out rosed. I was hammered so I thought it necesssary to buy a pack of cigarettes (I don’t smoke and after one puff I remembered why). I gave them away after one butt. Mitch in the smokers area got chatting to a homeless guy who looked like Morgan Freeman, and the resemblance compelled him to donate to his cause. Mitch dropped him a couple of Euro and said “c’mon mate get a beer”. Turns out he wasn’t a homeless guy and asked why he was given money. Haha. Mitch decided to buy a rose, but had different ideas of its use. He did not agree with my ways of finding a pretty girl and presenting it boyishly, he just ate it. I bumped into Dan at the bar and he shouted a round of tequila shots, which I fucked the routine of, by sucking the lemon first. This was lights out. Pissed as Frothies Mcbitters after breakfast, I walked onto the street for some air and to gather some composure, so as not to do something that could be used against me for the next 25 days. Out there I got chatting to a bloke and we worked out we were walking in the same direction. The hotel was an hour walk and I needed to work some of the beers out of my systems. My head was pounding and the taste of tequila loomed in the pockets of my mouth. So we bought a couple of beers for our journey home. Hahah what logic. The hotel is located in the roughest area of Paris, but managed to avoid being mugged, raped and/or murdered. Phelpys turned up to breakfast with his glasses bent out of joint and I immediately thought of my escapades playing the drunk scientist may have played a rolein the damaged optics. Turns out he dropped them and some girl (probably the curvy black chick) had danced right over the top of them. Hahah fuckin Phelps.

Paris behind us and the trip to Beujolais in progress I decided that this will be the death of me. The body bent out of joint from the previous night and Bangarang amongst other dance songs filling my head with a dull ache. I will probably murdeer nicky minage if I bump into her. I was working out that the bus rides are going to be a tedious task and that forgetting to charge my ipod to be the costliest mistake I’ve made on the trip so far (although an ipod is no match for the bus speakers playing skrillex). I tried to sleep but I knew it was going to be a tough gig. I thought of home a little bit and the thought of my couch watching Simpsons, with the warmth of my dogs. I missed home a little bit the night before Contiki as I knew I was lone wolfing it to Paris in the morning. I think leaving Kris and Trent was the cause as it might sound weak, but those two people are home to me. You cannot say you don’t feel a little homesick at points, but loving it to death, experiencing this is worth it. I feel guilty that I’m not home as my brother has just broken his wrist and helping him out with some support and morale I feel is a duty as the big brother. hours, seems like days when such a preoccupation hits. We arrived at beujolais at around 5 o’clock and got it under way with some wine tasting. Some arrogant Canadian from another tour kept cracking gags and his lack of ability to realize that he was a moron peeved me.  a good call or quip cannot be manufactured at the rate he was trying and I hope we don’t see him again to soon. The smell in the air of the Vat rooms made my head spin, but I tasted the red and I’ll assure you it had nothing on bowlers run. The chateu is fucking awesome, the building the views, the pool. It is paradise. The night began with the fall of the sun over the vineyards and such a place has to be soaked from a far. You can only be startled with such a joint. I quietly eazed myself back onto the suds and before I knew it me and Mitch were singing, could have been champions songs. Fuck, this place is classy and singing “Deep in our hearts everyone barracks for Fitzroy” could be seen as a sub class. The new joke was everytime the sensor light gave in we would clap and when it came back on. We’d say it’s a clapper. Childish stupid, but intrinsically funny for us. 2 girls came up to us that hadn’t spoke a word and introduced us with the phrase “I feel like taking a shit in the pool”. Fucking rad. I kept offering to walk her down so she could carry out the ghastly act in the deep end but she was all talk. I was disappointed. Got a little tipsy, had a great night. Met a few people, made up a few new gags to run and had an all round blast in the French countryside.    

Typical Tourists on the Eifel Tower (L-R myself, Mitch H, Chris O)

A girl patting a goat after a boy in her class hit him in the head @ Munich Zoo

Leipzig shop window. Seen too much good street art over here. 

The Night of all Nights.

I know this is going to be the most enjoyable entry to write and I am going to try and leave no detail of the night out. This was not only my favourite night here but also one of my favourite nights of all time. It starts in Joel Pennings living room drinking beers and watching 300. The flow of German lagers and Captain and drys commenced at 5 o’clock to the war crys of King Leonadias and Australian David Wenham (Best known for his role as diver Dan in seachange) as they fought to secure the longevity of Sparta. I couldn’t help think of the honor of Leonadias and the Spartan society, compared to today’s Greek society of riots, unpaid debt and cheap souvlaikis. If such a battle was to be carried out today, Xerexes could take the land in the hours roughly between 1-5pm, when the nation stops spreading the yoghurt sauce and lays down for a hard earned nap. Such a movie is great for beers as it’s all action, leaving plenty of dialogue to talk over with our regular drinking guff. During the flick I looked up the route for my first leg of the night and also to avert my jealousy toward Gerald Butlers masculine physique. I was to leave at 7.30 for an estimated arrival time of 8.30 to see defeater and to catch all the brutality of openers Code Orange Kids. I knocked 3 tergsteen hell beers (my favourite German beer to date) and dabbled in a few smooth captains before setting of for the Bus. I knocked the top off a beer to go and double-checked I knew my route before setting off. I was a little tipsy and ready for action, a combination both dangerous and exciting when you are alone in a foreign city. On the train I was really bored, no ipod to occupy my mind so I decided to open notepad on my phone and do what has been entertaining me a lot of late and write. Here are some excerpts.

- “fat man with a scooter just got on the train, he is puffing for dear life. Looking around at some of the body types here it’s safe to say Gerald Butler as Leonidas could pillage munich alone”

- “Guy carrying a new color jet printer. I bet his afternoon has been cleared for printing”

This is only some of the pointless minutia I wrote, but it always kills the time. I asked a man for some bearings when I got off at the stop and he pointed me in the right direction. I must have been in the hardcore district as this place had three small buildings. One contained local HC, the other hack punkers poison idea and the third and final gig I tried, Defeater and supports. I was already sobering up so I decided to get a pint of augistiner, not to get futher drunk but to prevent the collapse into tiredness that comes from a sober up. I entered the venue to find the perfect small stage and ground space a successful and intimate HC gig needs. Being at a gig alone is something I’d done only a week prior and I was definitely looking for a companion to share the experience. I searched around but no possible buddies were in the area so I decided to drain the old sea monster. Descending to the bottom of the stairs where the toilets were I noticed there was no signs just a D and a H. I thought H was for Herr (mr in german) but was unsure of the D. Knowing a wrong entrance could be embarrassing I froze in front of them both sidling toward H but then pulling back every time I looked like committing. The American merch guy saw me, laughed and told me he’d had the same problem. Good advice and a new buddy. I chatted with him for a bit at the stand and noticed the chick guitarist from Code Orange Kids was selling merch. I chatted with her awkwardly for a bit before buying a T-shirt. I’m not sure why I was nervous because I did not find her that attractive, more star struck by the small time band member. What the fuck is wrong with me. I left the stand and sat on the skirting of the wall where I met a dude from Austria. He was a rad dude and had never heard of COK, but I informed him they were awesome. We sat at the bar while the tidal sleep finished and he bought me a beer. A genuinely good guy who played in a few bands himself. We got good positions for COK and from the first notes (a chaos chord) you could tell these kids were not here to muck around. I thoroughly enjoyed them and Austria (can not pronounce his name) concurred. Following the COK’s performance of anarchy and female vocals, average band Former Theives came on, so we decided to grab that Beer I owed him. After this bev I was definitely loose and got myself prime posy for Defeater. They came on with a burst and knowing every word (also being in a country speaking deutsch helps) I got about 5 mic grabs in the first song. After doing some improv HC dancing and a few stage dives at opportune times. I saw the acoustic come out and got all teeny bopper in the front row. He played and extremely slow version of I don’t mind, which I sang to and then a rocky version of But Breathing. Finishing up they played Prophet in plain clothes, which is probably my all time favourite song, so I decided to jump on stage for my favourtie verse. The singer gave me the mic and I turned to the crowd and yelled “Homes never, Home”. My all time greatest gig moment. After the gig I said my fair wells to Austria and headed for the station as quickly as possible to meet up with Finch, Cocka and Joel at the clubs. Fuck I was sweaty.

Getting off the train, before meeting up with the others I decided to have a piss behind a lone tree. Being in agony to piss, I hurriedly jerked at my pants to get them open, resulting in the central button going flying into the bush. No biggy still the inside one.  50 metres down the track I could see cocka waving so I picked up the pace before noticing my pants heading south. The inside button had given way and I was outside some pretty suave (by my standard) looking clubs. I found a maccas straw and tied a make shift support to hold up the trousers. Sweaty as fritzl at a family reunion and a maccas straw holding up my duds, it was a safe bet I wasn’t picking up tonight. I ordered a Vegetarian kebab at the stand (which I copped a lot of shit for) and put my game face on to tackle the clubs. Haven’t been clubbing in a while but I watch Jersey Shore occasionally, so am pretty familiar with the fist pump among other patented guido moves. We got in there and ordered a hoard of drinks. Long island ice teas for 3 euro was a delight and it wasn’t too long before finch and I were slurring words into girls ears on the dancefloor. Joel had equipped me with a pick up line. Du bist sehr schoen (you are very beautiful), which was working a treat as a few took an interest in us. We chatted with them for a bit but they had to leave as the had uni in the morning. Confidence high and a some vodka redbulls under the belt we began dancing like absolute gumboots, which people began to enjoy. The sight of us doing this resulted in Trent running onto the dancefloor busting out the Will from the inbetweeners movie. Was a bad option watching that movie the day before. We kept dancing and I for once was actually enjoying a boogie, which isn’t always the case for me. I tried the old ‘Du bist sehr schoen’ on a pretty blonde girl in a blue and green dress, she laughed. We went and sat down at the back of the room and chatted. She in was indeed very beautiful, with the most amazing smile when she laughed. She told me she was driving and I instantly began to act sober. Was hard but I surprisingly wasn’t feeling intoxicated and spoke confidently, without really too many signs of prior drinking. I put my arm around her and she responded exactly as I had hoped. She told me she was a flight attendant and lived near the airport, and was interested in eventually coming to Australia. She said it would only cost her 100 euro and I forwardly invited her to stay in the hills with me. She laughed again. She put her name in my phone to add on facebook. Mara Blabla, sounds fake. The others left for the saint rippers, but I was well occupied and stayed. I asked her what she was doing the next night and whether she had time for a drink somewhere before I left for Paris, to the reply ‘I’m not sure my boyfriend will like that too much’. Shattered, a string of bad like, the button on my pants and then this gut-wrenching discovery. I continued chatting with her for the rest of the night at the back and I know it sounds gay, but I just enjoyed holding this beautiful girl. I thought about the goodnight kiss when we decided to leave at around 6.30 am, but I knew she wouldn’t and I respected that she was taken. We got out the front to find it completely light outside. As my eyes were adjusting to this rush of light to my brain, I saw a bloke in a blue t-shirt at the Kebab shop annoying the owner with drunkard speak. It was finch and apparently he had been waiting, badgering the greasy kebab man for an hour and a half. He was clearly angry at me, but I swear to this day he never said that he was going to wait. Finch, Mara, her friend and I were chatting, and I was wondering how the hell to get home. Mara offered us a trip to maccas and as I was in love with both Mara and the idea of a big mac, we headed for the car. Her friend called ‘shotgun’ to which finch retaliated ‘double shotgun’ and jumped straight into the front. Mara laughed but her friend did not. She called him a dick and then complained to me, to which I naturally replied. Sorry love, ‘I believe the man called double shotgun’. She instantly hated me. I made a crack about her unsuccessful attempts to fuck the DJ and her hatred for doubled. She was nothing but a stuck up bitch so I had not a care at all for giving her some dry Aussie flack in the backseat. Finched chirped to Mara all the way to maccas. When we got to maccas and realized it was closed Maras friend made us both get out for my words in the backseat and that was it. Me and finch were loose and getting home didn’t bother us at all. We took heaps of pictures of us with bums, riding a statue of a pig, listening to some junkies head phones and just causing a ruckus. We got home at 7.30 greeted Mr. Pennings having a regulation Friday breakfast and fell asleep as soon as our head hit the pillow. An Amazing night.

+ in the morning Kris looked at his phone, to see a message from Trent saying I’m shitting so much. He informed us it was sent from the Cubicle at the dingy German strippers. Another weird and wonderful bowel conversation

+ Me and O’dwyer looked up the name today. She is real and her boyfriend is a Policeman hunk. O’dwyer said that he had a better head on him. I undoubtedly agreed. 

Munchen

Leipzig is home to not much. Johan Sebastian Bach comes from here and one must wonder if the endless hours of tickling the ivory and writing beautiful scores of music was through boredom rather than inspiration. His name is everywhere around the platz, outside the oldest coffee house in German and the second in Europe. I was interested to stop and have brew at the kaffee baum, and see if it was the coffee that gave him the mindset to make beautiful pieces, but the coffee was shit and Leipzig was off to a poor start in my book. The oldest coffee house, an icon and historic venue for coffee is just producing the same loveless shit they produce at Asian takeaway joints and milkbars. The place was pretty dead for night life but come nightfall we decided to find a drinking hole to wet the whistle. We found nothing but sitting restaurants and settled for a shisha bar, where I had a coffee and got sick of the watermelon infused bong after a while. The coffee was also shit. We stayed in a 6 bed dorm with Wifi that cut out every 5 minutes. Two Germans from north stayed with us, both around 30-35. They were instantly nicknamed chaddy and big sauce, based on a player at our football club and sauce because he was a genuine fanta pants. Along with chaddy and big sauce we have enjoyed the company of the Lesbos, Sleeves, Curls (or Krusty for a brief period) and the bowl destroyer that is the entity known as Irish (Irish made some horrendous sounds when punching out a turd in the small ensuite in Frankfurt). In Leipzig Trent and I made use of the chess board in the games room, nutting it out with a few German beers to deactivate the area of brain responsible for logic and reasoning. We decided our last night in Leipzig should be spent playing Monopoly and drinking colas from the lobby. The monopoly was in German and it made for some difficulty come a chance or community chest card. We had the translator out but the Wifi was about as reliable as reliable as Irish not leaving a heinous smell come my morning shower. After cornering the two bozos with a long line of Barnard brand highrise hotels on the blues and purples, they could not avoid staying at my chain of over priced hotels (in which I let Irish have a session on the shitter in everyroom) and I strangled their funds to victory.

We traveled south, leaving Leipzig in our dust and Munich in our sights. I took photos from the train to capture the German countryside in all its beauty and eeriness. It’s hard to imagine smoldering craters in fields and the bodies of young men and women spread across these lush fields of green and mountain ranges of pine trees and yellow daisies. It’s a hard to comprehend that such atrocities were carried out here and I hate to think of the fields some 70 years prior. I find the train journeys a bit chilling when I think of such images. Arriving in munich we stayed at an expensive and extremely shit hotel called Haus international. The place is a hell hole that should be burnt too the ground. We left the depressing shithole for some dinner, which saw us dining at a little Italian pizza joint. The place made a mean slice and it was refreshing to sit and have a good feed with some good conversation. Good conversation can sometimes be tough as we have been together for a while and we have basically told all our best stories and jokes. All there is to talk about is what is happening and the present. I guess this is what is meant by the experience. One sure fire way to strike a conversation is the topic of our bowels. We eat and drink the same yet our bodies process the same ingredients in different ways. I’m a little hypocritical in saying that Irish is the worst on the can as we have caused some pain for the ensuite goers at various places. At the ritzy Berlin hostel I gave life to a stool that would not disappear without a fight. I think it had a diameter greater than the pipe but I managed to dispose of it (or most of it) with a few precision prods with the toilet brush. Trent is the opposite to me as he suffers from shy bum when unloading in the unfamiliar surroundings of a hostel. This has been causing a lot of hassles as when the bank is full he can be seen running to the nearest lavatory. He tells a story of where he got to the point of no return at a club and was running the streets of Belgium physically clamping his cheeks together to stop the flow. He says the mutton (how he refers to his cheeks) held out, but I’m not sure I believe him. Finch is a mixed bag in this department. He is usually of a homeostatic state, but after a night on the town the smell in the can that he left me made me weak at the knees. We laughed at the smell for ages, I was physically crying with fits of laughter. He could not believe such a thing came out of him. Enough potty talk for the minute.

We met up with Joel Pennings, a BHSSC exchange student that I became friends with at his uni in Munich. It was great seeing him and after a short trip to his house, he handed the beers around and we reminisced. It had been 3 years, but nothing was lost. I showed him some pictures from a racy photo shoot album on facebook of girl we used to go to school with. He approved. His old man came home from work and it didn’t take us long to start joking and laughing. He is a great man, but is into some whack Norwegian metal bands, which have lambs heads on pikes to set the scene. After some German bread and wieners for dinner we hit a bar in the Village. The bar was empty apart from around 8 boneheads drinking and acting like fools. We played some pool and had a few pints before starting home. On the way out these tossers began mimicking us and when we had some distance Coxhill decided it was necessary to inform them that he had indeed fucked their mothers. This act resulted in us running along paths of cornfields to evade these losers. The bed was setup and it was great to be out of the hostel room. The next day we got touristy as hell and went to the zoo. We got to the station at heimstetten and unfamiliar with the machines decided it best to wait a few stops and talk to an information desk clerk. As we hopped on the train we were trounced by Germanys remaining nazi unit or as we call them at home ticket inspectors. A bit of common sense can be a virtue in these situations, but these were heartless Hitlerists whom did not believe in such things. It just proves that these low life pieces of shit are unavoidable anywhere in the world. A pack of soulless cunts that should be reserved a seat next to Lucifer in hell. The young inspector said passport, passport, passport over my attempts to reason with him, which made me furious. We were dished fines, 40 euros apiece, a figure worth more than these peoples lives in my opinion. I did not feel in the wrong. If I was at home and didn’t have a ticket, that is fair game. I would cop the fine and move on. We had every intention of buying a ticket and they should be more accommodating to tourist who need a hand. After the shiteaters left we talked about punching the young one in the balls. I vowed to the others if I saw him out I would do it. After an expensive day of fines and walking the zoo we turned in for an early one. A psyche refreshing sleep, in which I dreamed of punching that prepubescent inspector in the plums.

Berlin/Leipzig

The past few days have been a bit flat due to an incredibly dumb error by myself, a thunderstorm and the adjustment of inner city living. I have enjoyed Berlin no end, It’s a great place with heaps to offer, but I think I speak for the three of us when I say “it’s time we freshened up the scenery”. Our last few days were spent in the Friedschrian district, which is the arty, alternative side of Berlin. The starving artists get by around here by living cheapl, giving them a relaxed no strings attached lifestyle. I really envy this lifestyle, although the Australian standard is to work hard, tuck away some money and start a family, these people live by a different motto and I   the feeling that this bohemian mind set is as permanent as the tattoos that so many bear. So many seem to enjoy living free, creatively and day by day. You could consider this unproductive depending on you background, but  I think it’s real cool and commend them for being different. This hipster community sees most of it’s residents with arms bound with tattoos, ear stretchers and R rated haircuts, interacting within the various coffee shops and small restaurants, drinking beer and smoking weed. I made these observations as I walked through the packed streets of East Berlin getting to God is an Astronaut in town. The venue was obviously planned by these lazy dope fiends as I couldn’t find the fuckin’ place anywhere, I asked people, argued with my map and the street signs, but ended up at the station every time. After half an hour of searching (missed my favourite song) I located the venue. It was situated directly under the station. Ridiculous! This is the point in which I can truly say that my music is you know kind of underground. I mean you can feel a train pass overhead your between songs. The gig was great, although being late, I managed to worm my way to the front where I had perfect view of the guitarist, which is the spot that I always want to be at a post rock gig. They played most of my favourites and ending with the song all is violent, all is bright (a rarity), was an excellent note to start my return trip. I enjoyed having the night to myself, I felt very perceptive walking the streets of a foreign city alone. The place despite being of lower rent is not dangerous in anyway, I guess everyone is too happily drunk or stoned to cause any trouble. Being eastern Berlin the Russian architecture is most evident on the bridge, where brick towers with pointy bulb roofs create moonlit shadows over the street light performers. Crowds of people sit on the pavement and watch the performers on the bridge, one girl with a hollow electric managed to gather about 50 or 60 people enjoying her talents. She was brilliant but the traffic and the constant sirens of ambulance and police seemed to frustrate her. Was an interesting night, not a drop of alcohol consumed and it has been my highlight so far.

The no alcohol side of things is contrary to the previous night. We grabbed a bottle of Captain morgans Rum (equivalent of $15) and some ginger ale to enjoy and afternoon of drinking in the hostels sun soaked beer garden. Drinking with the Captain is not an unusual thing for me but at the $35 bucks a pop I drink it only when financial and in moderation. The night was off to a good start and before too long we had met a couple from Canada and some girls from Holland. The Canadian dude was a mass stoner and I enjoyed talking sports with him, his knowledge of basically everything was outstanding and I felt our conversation on WWII was interesting for the both of us. He loved talking about spinning one up, which I could only partially relate. The Dutch girls were good fun and the taller one was very attractive. I thought finch was in for all money, but she sprung the dreaded boyfriend card on him. Unlucky finch! We were getting pretty sauced by this point and the conclusion of happy hour saw us with nothing but a drop of morgans left. I walked down to the supermarket to see the last bottle being purchased by some aussies. Shattered. I asked a security guard who looked like he knew his liquor (probably because he was drinking a beer on the job) what similar tasting bottle was still available. He handed me Barcardi gold. I hate Bacardi but I bought it any way. I had a block to walk so I bought myself a beer for 50 cents for my journey home (drinking on the street here is legal and fuckin’ awesome). I got back to some happy faces, but unveiling the Bacardi soon changed their delight. How bad could it be a few ice cubes, some dry we’ll be laughing. This shit was not worthy to be on shelves especially next to the captian. I let the team down and I had to turn the empty bottle of the captains away as I felt ashamed to look into the captains eyes. Although it tasted like the captains pantaloon sweat after a heated sword fight, we soon knocked over the whole bottle. I enjoyed talking to the small dutch girl, she was a shadow of the physical beauty of the taller girl but she possesed an amazing personality. She joked with us, sculled beers (put trent to shame) and was great company. The most interesting thing about her was a permanent lump on her head from being sconed by a hockey ball. Without bringing attention I would have never noticed, but now I couldn’t look anywhere else for the remainder of the night. She was real cool. After the drinking I was feeling pretty solid and I thought I was going to be fine the next day. I lay down and my bed and before long my head began to spin out of control. The captain was at the helm of my brain and was leading it into some rough seas. I ran to the bathroom feeling ill. I remained here for most of the night. Even so I still look forward to partying with the captain again.

We are now in a town called Leipzig, stopping over for a few nights on our way to Munich. The hostels great but the nightlife here is like clubbing on the main strip of Poweltown. We found only restaurants (packed, but not what we were after). It’s the sort of place that would be ideal for taking a long time girlfriend or partner. Although Trent and Finch are basically that I figured they didn’t eat strawberries and kiss under the moonlight, as it would have been awkward now that I was on the scene (they would have done plenty of that in their previous month away). Tomorrow we plan on hiring some bikes and visiting the oldest coffee house in the world, which as a coffee lover am excited as hell to go to. The coffee over here is shit. Starbucks is the only place that you can get a decent cup and I hate that as you get that anywhere. Where are the European blends I imagined? Surely I can get a decent cup tomorrow. I’m tired good night.  

Frankfurt > Berlin

After spending the arvo drinking colas and commentating the winos below it became evident that they were whooping it up, whilst we wallowed in the heat above. We decided although it seemed like a blast smokin’ duzzas outside the abandoned supermarket, we decided it might be a little more tasteful and constructive to shoot some pool and have a few tall ones. Cock got it under way with a fresh airy on the break, followed by a quick make up connection, which saw the ball bounce twice and land straight into the left pocket, formation still intact. Useless! We played pool for a few hours, before our empty stomachs initiated some talk amongst us for some dinner. Being a self confessed scrooge, I lead the boys along to an inexpensive Asian buffet opposite the hostel I liked the look of. After climbing a flight of stairs to the restaurant (above the abandoned supermarket where the junkies hung out) we had an awkward conversation with the host before grabbing some plates and diving into the food. Between the dodgy airline food and the beers, nutrition was atop of my priorities so I loaded a plate of broccoli and started for the main dishes. After lifting the top off of a few trays I quickly realized that there wasn’t one main dish under the lids and that this was in fact the worst buffet in the history of smorgasbord dining. Offering only a small tray of vegetables and salads we decided to save our 6 bucks, return the plate of broc and sneak out the door undetected. After learning a very valuable lesson with cheap dining, I lead us to a noodle joint 3 euro cheaper. Perfect logic. A few mouthfuls in of the suspect dish coxhill discovered that the sauce emitted a strong scent of urine and after giving it a whiff I had to agree. After finishing the PHONG/PISS noodles we thanked the man for excreting on our food and headed for the hostel where we turned in early, priming ourselves for the train ride to Berlin the next afternoon.

Berlin

Between train delays and my unrelenting blocked ears I was not in the greatest of moods. Besides the three of us ogling a woman who was dressed like a porn star with cut in half dodgeballs for a chest the train journey was uneventful. I used the time on the train to read some more of Kingdom of fear by Hunter. S and take coxhill to the cleaners in cards earning myself credit for 2 morgans and dry. After searching around the berlin bahnhoff for some bearings, we were put on course and our undefeatable/ignorant youth mentality saw us attempting a 5k walk with our 15-20kg backpacks. Half way in we swallowed some pride as he-men and thought fuck it and hailed a cab. My first impressions of Berlin only made me come to the realization of how poor of a town Frankfurt is. Berlin was an instant breath of fresh air and seeing small coffee shops and rustic cafes occupied by cute girls laughing and bicycles chained to trees (which weren’t vandalized) excited me for our upcoming stay here. Our hostel is this really sharply furnished joint, which is on a nightclub. The upright circle couches and weird down lights give it an over the top modern vibe (sort of a bit po-mo or Weird for the sake of being weird if you know what I mean). A very decent place none the less at a great price. First night we headed to a bar called Palm Beach, which gimmicked sand on the floor. I was taken by the gimmick a great idea. We drank a bit but called it relatively early, probably due to being knackered from the walk. The next day we headed to the Berlin museum where we spent hours looking at all the ancient historical pieces and reading the information cards. We still managed to find a few laughs especially a majestic portrait of a kings favorite midget. The museum was pretty decent although it lacked a bit in the world war II category, which has been one of my great interests of the past few months. I guess I expected a Luftwaffe stuiker or a panzer tank, but my hopes for this along with hitlers or Goerings head preserved in a jar of vinegar were not forthcoming. We went out searching for a bar to play pool in but no such place exists over here so we decided to turn in for a quite one. Lying on the beds finch and I decided it was a little early for the hay so we thought we would have a couple of beers down stairs. We sat next to a Finnish guy and we chatted for a while, but I suspected his stories were totally made up or extremely embellished. The irish guys we were staying with came over to have a drink. They had planned to hit the town but James the red head had gotten way too drunk and was being forced by the bar staff to drink some water before carrying on with the brews. We chatted about broad subjects for a while trying to find some common interests and it turns out that these guys were neighbor’s fans from way back. What a ridiculous topic to find some commonality in. We discussed the crazy plots and scripts of Ramsey street for over an hour. I don’t watch neighbors anymore but growing up our family would watch it most nights whilst eating dinner. Not a planned ritual just something on whilst dinner was served, so following the lives of the scully's and kennedy's is a strong point for me and especially the period in which these guys watched it. Liam the dark head Irishman was adamant that if the opportunity ever arose that he would go down on Susan Kennedy in an instant. He liked the way she was put together I guess, a normal guy with an abnormal taste in broads, I couldn’t agree with that one but each to their own. James also confessed to seeing Carl Kennedy live in an Irish pub, playing guitar and singing once. He  thought that he was a great performer and said he even dedicated a little number to Susan for a laugh. When they found out that Coxhill was once a neighbor to toadfish (Jared Rebbechi) they were gob smacked and hungry for stories of Toady, especially his law degree that we all agreed was probably phony, sort of just for the show. They also were heart broken when I told them that Harold had died and they were curious as to whether the salvation army had footed the bill. This kind of speak and some carlsbergs on tap made for a fine night. Was good to meet some new faces from different backgrounds and I must admit I was enjoying the neighbors banter.

 And I forgot Trent stepped on a safety pin in the park whilst kicking the footy in Frank/Junkyfurt, which went all the way into the fore of his foot. He will now be referred to only as Tetnus Trent.

Trent dressed for night out at palm beach

    

Church in Berlin

In the ghettos of Frankfurt

17th century German knight (Berlin museum) 

Frankfurt

Flights; Melbourne-Malaysia, Malaysia-Frankfurt:

Mum held her arms around me, after having what she said was a sleepless night of worry and angst. I myself slept like a bub and didn’t see the worry. I broke from her grasp and aimed the hand at the old man, which was met by his gorilla grip for a firm shake, followed by the advice of ‘Be smart’, a short motto I will need to remember if I’m to have a safe and enjoyable 4 months away from the Melbourne burbs. A wave to the bro and I was on my own. Uneventful processing, two bomb checks and a pat down, but what else to you expect when you have a little hair on the face. This leg of the 20-hour plane trip was the worst, as I struggled to get comfortable and had to deal with the elderly Indian passenger I’d been paired with. She was lacking English skills possessing only the only words ‘vegetarian’, for the meal she hadn’t ordered, ‘coke’ for a beverage as well as a grunt when she shook me mid sleep to indicate her headphones weren’t working. She also kept turning the light on and off and unknowingly kept pressing the service button to which the hostess soon began to ignore. 2 hours in transit at K.L was boring but was livened up by a WWE title match on TV, which helped alleviate some boredom. I also met an Aussie in the terminal, who was alright, but loved himself to pieces and I struggled to chat due to some partial deafness from the flights pressure, causing myself to struggle to talk as not being able to hear yourself is tough on the brain, and my was at exhaustion. Frankfurt flight was same ol’ and a few beers with my passenger buddy Klaus was nice, and refreshing. Klaus and my language difficulties forced only non-verbal communication, which only extended to a chink of glasses. 2 blocks of 2 and 3 hour sleep provided some reprieve from my exhaustion, ready to meet the much missed Finch and Cocka.

Frankfurt day 1:

After indulging in some of the worst coffee (and most expensive) in the world and being fleeced by a cab driver to the hostel I felt that Frankfurt had full heartedly welcomed me to Europe. Things could only get up from here. Finch and cocka chaperoned me to the hostel where I checked my bags in, but with a 2 o’clock check in and my watch saying 7:15 some hours in limbo were imminent. We proceeded to finch and Cocks Hostel, where they had stayed the previous night to which I was warned was not the classiest place. How bad could it be a 7:20am. At 7.20 There was two drunk teenagers staggering around with jugs of wine, a man with long hair and a sailors hat stuffing his pipe with a unidentifiable substance and countless vagrants boozing on to the back drop of sex shops, whore houses and Casinos. I put my camera bag out of sight and kept my head down. fight or flight activated at 7am in the fucking morning! It was indeed a notorious red light district and this place needed a clean on too many levels. Finch told me of a man the previous night when they were getting in to there hotel who in fact was doing his best to give it a much needed clean. Too bad he was a pissed up, homeless man waving a homemade broom, whom a gentleman decided was a blight on the a fine stretch of road and took it upon himself to hurl a bottle at him, connecting right on the renegade Janitors Funny bone. Remember to keep your head down at all times. Drinking a beer on the streets at wee hours of the morning, is a quite acceptable practice here, with a booze culture that I can imagined is rivaled only by their eastern sparing buddies Russia. After hanging out eating tacos and bottled coronas we decided to search for some beers and our keen noses for a lager, lead us to a small beer fest outside the state library, where we carelessly drank bittewurten beer, threw down some authentic German Bratwurst and got pretty well oiled. With a few under the belt it was time to hit the main drag, but to our disappointment the main drag consisted of tiny bars where locals drank with no mood for music and fun, but merely old men sucking on thick cigars. Finch said he knew of a hostel that doubled as a club of an evening. The lights were luminous and the place looked promising until we had looked inside to find acne ridden teenage dude sitting at a table stalking facebook. With the Shisha bar closed all that was left was a few captain morgans and some drinks at the hostel before turning in. First impressions of Germany; great beer and beautiful architecture, but an alarming amount of homeless, drunks, drug fiends and seedy individuals running the place.