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.