The Journey through Liechtenstein had not treated me well. I managed a poor
meal in town with my last remaining euros and was fighting with an ATM machine
that refused to convert me some Swiss francs. I was warring with this machine
for 5 or so minutes, before giving it a Tommy Lockett* to the mid section before
heading back to the bus with my tail between my legs and nothing, but failed
receipts from the dodgy teller in my wallet. I entered the bus saving face,
wondering how I was to keep my expensive lifestyle up of Pizza for lunch and a
few dozen beers by night. I had barely been seated when I was called upon to
perform the dreaded coachie-okie in front of the bus for being late the prior
day in Munich. Coachie-okie is a contiki rule, where the last person on the bus
has to get up the front on the mic, put some ear buds in and belt out a tune. I
was played by Millie the tour guide (that British, tea drinking babbler!) as I
had asked her whether I would be able to get a bottle of water while we waited
for the driver to finish packing the bags, to her all clear. Hustled! Alike all
bus trips I had forgotten to charge my ipod so I borrowed Georgies in front of
me and began wading through the unfamiliar pop, trying to find a track which
suited my rough and ready pipes. I settled on Big girls don’t cry by Fergie and
dedicated it to Millie as she had cracked it back in Liechtenstein at the
manager of the restaurant for their attempted efforts at service and meal
making. I was nervous, but quietly confident in my vocal abilities having
practiced at home in my spare time to one day live my dreams of becoming the
next Dallas Green or Mitch Miller. I was shaking a little bit during the first
verse, trying to prevent my voice from cracking and on pitch, but halfway in I
was growing in confidence and I could see that the crowd was beginning to give
me a more rousing reception then I’d expected. When the chorus hit I took it up
a notch and giving it a few extra decibels, before turning to Millie looking her
straight in the eyes, easing the volume and giving her a heart felt husky
falsetto of “and big girls don’t cry”. She couldn’t hide her cute little smile.
If I had of known I was going to be performing to an audience I would have gone
down to a small studio in the stein, cut a few tracks and sold them on a fold
out card table in the aisle for 5 euros a piece, hence solving my Swiss money
woes. Coming down from the high of my performance I noticed that we were now
crossing the border into Switzerland, the home of Roger Federer, cheese fondue
and everything overpriced. Millie described Switzerland as being a prosperous
country and after buying a coffee I realised why. It was in the ball park of 6
francs for a small cappuccino and as the lady spoke english as well as the dog
lying at the bar, I had to pour my own cap. It was one of the best coffees, I’d
had in Europe and I somehow place some of that success on the fact that I had
poured it. It was here I gained some wifi access to check my account to try and
solve the issue of me not being able to access any money. My account was empty,
needing mother to reload the rest of my savings into it. I borrowed money off
Mitch for the next few days and wondered the impending karma I was to face for
dishing out a plugga to that innocent ATM.
Switzerland sticks in my mind for two things. Having one of the best days
I’ve had over here on the mountain, getting wasted atop with the locals and the
second being Mitch browning himself after a day of slogging it out on the swiss
porcelain. The day starts with waking up after a rare sleep in and gathering a
crew to head for some increased altitude in Switzerlands Bernese alps. Mitch was
not looking the goods, but knew he could not miss a day like this, looking down
on the swiss valleys, watching the low fog settle and enjoying the green and
lushes offerings of Jungfraus mountains. We purchased tickets for 41 francs and
to save money bought baguettes, cheese, ham and water to repent a rash decision
in buying food for astronomical prices up there. We were packed and ready to
begin the walk to the cable car when Mitch turned to me in his brown t-shirt to
say “I can’t do it man”. He looked shabby to say the least, probably touching
cloth at the very moment, so I accompanied him back to the room. I was
disappointed that I was not going to be able to spend such a day we had both
been highly anticipating together, but it wasn’t long before it hit me that i
was now to be enjoying two lunches in his absence. He hit the bed and groaned.
“See ya knackers” I called as I shut the door on the sad and sorry figure. The
group was set and we walked the trails through the cottage town to the car. The
weather was glum and drizzly and I was worried that I was going to get highly
exposed pictures, which would have annoyed me no end, partly as I’m a keen
photographer and partly due to the fact I wouldn’t be able to rub it in Mitches
face with some spectacular snaps capturing all the beauty and aesthetics that
he was to miss. We got to the top and It was raining, cold and miserable. We
needed to get inside for some warmth and with the others peckish we settled down
at a genuine swiss restaurant. The genuine Australian waiter handed us some
menus and at first glance knew it was to be a side of chips and a table water
appearing on my bill. The restaurant made for some interesting conversations
with big V, the two Canadian girls and the ever complex Mish. As we conversed I
continuously looked out the window, where I began to realise some promising
weather sweeping in from behind a distant mountain as more and more time
elapsed. With the weather coming through, I also noticed a crowd of strangely
dressed people amassing on the streets in front of us. The crowd grew outside as
big V polished off an oversized bowl of sea food inside. I could hear the crowd
begin to cheer and as I looked closer I could see cows with odd flower head
dresses, clinking their large cowbells as they plodded along down the street. We
paid our bills, to see what was going on to find a full on festival underway to
the tune of the cows bells. It was so cultural and traditional, watching girls
walking by in lederhosen offering white wine, the blokes and older women with
trays of schnapps and a whole town chanting and laughing as they marched down
the narrow hillside streets. I was thinking of having a glass of schnapps to
turn around to Steve with an empty glass. This was were it began. We walked
taking photos of the now blue skies and picturesque ice capped mountain scapes.
I had my finger on the trigger more often than not, taking more photos than
anywhere we’d been previously. We followed the crowd, marching amongst the
floats, drinking white wine, to wash down the schnapps. The crowd went up the
hill and we stayed on the main street taking photos and soaking up the view.
Some decided to begin the descend, but being overwhelmed by the beauty of the
hill a few decided to have a few beers before saying our final good-byes. myself
and an unusual group of 4 remained. Andy and Steve, the two Manly meatheads,
Mish, the Perth IT consultant and the always pretty Darwin brawler Hannah. We
searched for a bar to drink in and look out over the valley to no avail. After
searching for a while we noticed the festival had settled in a hall on above the
town. People were selling traditional food, Sunflowers and what we were looking
for beer. The hall was packed and it was apparent that we were the only
foreigners in the hall. We drank beer, followed by beer, followed by some shots
(thanks to Hannah), then some more beer. we were looking worse for wear. Misha
bit toilet paper, Andy and I were dancing on the tables with the locals, Hannah
stole one of the band members hats and I don’t remember what Steve was up to,
but I’m guessing he was shaking his T-shirt to get some ventilation into his
famously salty pits. We left the hall completely sideways, having deep and
meaningfuls in the cable car, telling embarrassing story's like a bunch of plain
old drunks. We had a 40 minute walk back to the camp, which was filled with
Stevo vomiting to fit in another beer, some pissing in the woods, wearing a
jacket Hannah managed to swipe from a poor man named Grimwold and an
unexplainable position steve got himself into on the bridge. To say we were
bent, is an understatement.
Steve, Andy, Hannah and Mish crashed as soon as they got in due to their
Swiss alps annihilation. I was on my last legs, but pushed on, watching the
Olympics and talking some guff with the new Zealander's and Canadians. After
seeing Australia’s dismal medal tally I began going for Canada, by singing the
national anthem that Jaclyn and Kim had taught me in my drunken state. I began
singing it when they won, which lead to when the placed, which lead to every
time I saw the flag. I have no idea how I was still functioning at this point.
haha. alright here it is. I’m putting this together from what Andy and Mitch
have told me, but this is how it happened. Andy stumbled into the room and
crashed on the bed above Mitch, whom looked in the same state as he had in the
morning, spending most of his day in the third cubicle on the left, changing
from a seated position to a kneel according to which end was required. He had
managed to spit out 15 shits and couple vomits since we left for the Alps that
he could remember, but the 16th was the fatal blow. The room was full of people
checking up on both Andy and Mitchell as they lay there. Mitch with crippling
gastro and Andy from being plain old fashion pissed. The room was finally clear
and Mitch nodded off on the bottom bunk, while Andy lay on the top trying to get
some rest. An almighty smell arose through the bunk hitting Andy who couldn’t
believe the brutal stench that Mitch had manufactured below, so opened the
window and tried to sleep through the unpleasant odour. 5 minutes passed and the
smell was still as intense as it had been when it first presented itself, so
Andy decided to wake the sick Hatters up to get a better read on the situation.
Mitch awoke to noticed that in his sleep he had violently squirted himself and
had been lying in his own diarrhea. Mitch sprung to his feet after realising
that one had snuck through the gates and began dancing on the spot freaking out,
in his own hysterical way he does when he needs to vomit. He couldn’t believe
the guards had let him down. He rushed to the shower, washing the caked mess
from his body before returning to Andy in disgrace. Andy describes it as no
runway strip, but a full blown puddle left on the sheets. The average man would
have thrown their duds out after such an event, but not Hatley, just a rinse
under the tap would suffice before putting them back in the bag. haha. The sheet
was rolled up and left in the rubbish crate outside for disposed bottles.
Switzerland has a strict recycling scheme. This fitted in no category.
Embarrassed, Mitch went back to sleep trying to forget all that had just
happened. I had not idea what had transpired until morning and although I wasn’t
there it is still one of my favourite tales to tell from Contiki. Andy caught
the bug going on to misjudge one and liquid fart the following night, losing a
brand new pair of CK’s in the process. haha. What times.
*Tommy Lockett was Andy’s attempt at naming football player Tony Lockett,
which Hatley and I found hilarious. Any kick from then on was known as the Tommy
Lockett or the big Plugga.