London Calling

So in between Amsterdam, regaining total bodily control and now i managed to lose my phone at a German fußball match, gain a skinhead, befriend Bochum's homeless and surface tour London.

Let's start at the start. Freiburg Vs Bochum, in Bochum. I, with that stupid traveller smile, agreed to don a Freiburg scarf and travel into town, stopping to meet friends and stand around drinking beer at the station, before heading off to Bochum's main stadium to experience a real piece of Germania! Let me just explain how this works. At home, you support Melbourne, your stupid cousin Collingwood and your mates Hawthorn. It's cool if you all go to a Melbourne Collingwood match together, drink a few beers, shout a few incoherent insults at both sides, pat eachother at the end and go home. That is not how it goes here. The fans of each side are separated by tall metal fences. Security guards pat you down as you enter the stadium one at a time and gruff looking policemen patrol the entire area. But once inside the stadium the air relaxes and you are among friends! Our tiny red and black Freiberg corner surrounded entirely by a swarm of roaring blue and white. About 6 or so beers later, a lot of shouting in english (and polish by that stage) i began to notice the German's love for unified hand movements. This worried me. All i was thinking was war, war, war, war...these are an easily arounsed people!!! A few dodgy umpiring desicions later and Freiberg walked away victorious. Never have i seen such elation. I was dubbed the good luck charm and was bought for a repeat event in Dortmund in December. Hours of crawling through Bochum's Bermuda Triangle...no it is really called that...drinking god knows what i found myself in deep philosophical discussion with a kid that looked like he was plucked straight out of This is England. I'm talking shaved blonde hair, braces, white t shirt and army jacket. If i had been sober i would have been terrified! Many hours later, stuffing my face with Mc D's i noticed i had a certain lack of phone...left my brother-in-law sitting on the pavement outside, draping his Freiburg scarf around his new homeless friend and searched in vain. Fail. Ah well...the polish say...one pays for stupidity!!

Anyway...longest introduction ever! London! Spur of the moment desicion, cousin was free, cheap AirBerlin flight done. Now i am not normally one to fear flying, i relish it...You're in a chair IN THE SKY!!! but for the first time something squeezed my insides when i saw what would be taking me over a sea and into another country. Picture a paper airplane, add some lego propellors, put a lick of paint on and you have a rough image of my international flight. No fear, got there in one piece and thrilled at the prospect of seeing English signs and hearing brit accents again. Disappointment at point 1. More migrants than Melbourne and even less English accents than home.

London itself felt like home, although Melbourne is like the smaller twin, the one that came out second when the parents were not even expecting twins. It gets the older, stronger, sportier brother's hand-me-downs. He looks the same but is skinnier and is not as popular with the girls at school because he likes playing chess. Again...distractions!

The amazing grey weather was not at all condusive to intensive sight seeing so i indulged in what i have dubbed surface tourism. I took photos of the important things but found excuses not to go in...'oh, what, Remeberance Day..means i can't spend the day in Westminster Abbey' or '4:30 and it's already dark, that means i can't do the tower either' but it was far too easy to dive into some underlit cavern of a bar and stare somberely at the football match on screen. I did battle ridiculous amounts of water pouring unrelentlessly from the sky to walk Southbank and see Big Ben and the Eye. I did try. No. I succeeded. I concluded my Bard experience with a tour of the Globe and its adjoining museum which rocked my nerdy literature loving world. But i still have time to try again right??

Amshter Damn girl! Sexy b%$*§!

Yes, in Germany that song is still being plugged as a wicked cool €5 ringtone!

This post will be quite short as, as it is, i am scratching my head as to recall the exact chronology and contents of the trip...

Anyway...the Netherlands! With Amsterdam a mere 3hr train trip from Bochum it would be criminal to miss this city and all its decriminalised criminality! Yee! The train system in Germany is so über fantastische, they have posters on the platform depicting colour-coded numbered carriages; first and second classes and most importantly, the restaurant cart, and information on exactly which section of the platform each carriage will stop, unlike Poland, whereby the tor, of which there are normally around 5 on a platform of around 200m in length, is announced approximately 30 sec prior to a train pulling in to the station. So one has about 15 sec to rush madly to their designated carriage, normally dodging a wave of people bolting in the opposite direction and irritated, screaming conductors, with oversized bag swaying the spine in a most precarious manner all because there is no poster!

I have been sidetracked!! Back to the trip. Arriving to the most ornate station i have seen yet, Centraal station, (they write funny and speak even funnier but i will return to that!) i was met by a most handsome chaperone who was to accompany me through Amsterdam's red light terrors, not a place you want to be alone and sober!

The time we did spend in a total state of awareness we decided to sightsee. We battled through the grey circling watery mist aand knee-deep puddles to get some culture in us! A tre touristy canal boat trip to the Rijksmuseum, Veneers, Rembrandts, Night Watch(es)..no really..plastic watches in the gift shop with Rembrandt's Night Watch on them! Get off your high horse...it IS funny!



The shopping is a strange experience as everyone speaks near perfect english and you forget where you are. You start to go all arrogant white at-home shopper on their ass and tisk impatiently when they try and upsell when you should really be standing gawking in amazement that thay have words such as 'gel-insole support' in their vocabulary! Labels are hilarious though. I could not stop laughing at the ridiculous sounding words!! For instance our museum tickets said 'voorfdekoop' or something equally humourous, implying we had prepurchased the tickets form the hotel! And i couldn't stifle my giggles when the amazingly smart hotel attendant approached us and asked us if we required anything more from the 'boo fett' or when he was looking for a 'shpoon' for someone....mean...but hilarious!

The red light district is a bizarre experience. The majority of our wanderings saw me gaping, mouth wide at half naked flouro bikini bottom clad women posing seductively in their own shop windows, the spell broken only when the occasional lady of all hours was seen scratching her ankle and spilling ash from the cigarette dangling from her mouth while slumped on a pvc chair on her break.

After having sampled from the cultural milkshake which is Amsterdam's day time, it was time to leave the comfort of the crispy white sheets and minibar, and wander through the pot paraphernalia and stoner food to find somewhere for afternoon coffee and cake.

Law and Order was ever so frightful afterwards.

Aaah Motherland!

Flight out of Fuimicino Rome. 25 deg. Sunshine. Left my jumper in a cab. Not too fussed as life is pretty, pretty, pretty good.

Flying shaky Hungarian airline, Wizz Air, to Warsaw. Begin our descent while captain reports a balmy 5 deg outside. Wait...WHAT?!! Here i am breathing steam, jumper absent, jacket deep in checked-in bag. Hmmm...welcome home!

I fare evade on the bus into town as i only have notes and the ticket machine requires the EXACT change...not a grosz more as you will not get change and perhaps the ticket will come perhaps it won't...ahh that's Poland! So here i am, shaking like a leaf, not only for the freezing air being blown into the bus every time we stop but in the fear that at any moment an iron boot clad ticket inspector will board, drag me off the bus by the hair for not having a ticket and then run off with my shoes. Got to the main station relatively unscathed, karma was on my side as i picked up a lay dee's dainty glove when the bus jolted to a stop after the driver decided that he should in fact stop when the light had changed to red, and it was time to use Polish for more than bitching about someone's ghastly fashion for the first time in my life ( although more often than not the one with ghastly fashion understands what you are saying as they are of Polish descent). Note to self, Warsaw station is a weird and slightly terrifying place at night. Although one can procure fresh smallgoods with surprising ease! Heading to Krakow, peering with nose pressed against the window staring at what my Australian brain was telling me was sand, it suddenly dawned on me that it was, in fact, snow which blanketed the forest floor. It was THAT cold. Eeek! Arriving in Krakow saw four of my cousins in formation waving frantically at the train before crushing my bones with hugs and love!!! Here is where i learn how 'hardcore' (said with a strong Polish accent it is mildly hilarious) my cousins are. Two take my bags, four talk at once and suddenly i find myself in an dimly lit, underground bar with beer in my hand. Hi! So I'm one of you're six uncles and you just missed our concert!...Where's your brother and why didn't he come? More beer? 1am rolls around and the day's excitement is tearing at my bones. One cousin takes me home, 3 stay behind. One cousin is unscathed, 3 return bruised, bleeding and one minus his specs! This is Polska! Hard core!


Life calmed down relatively quickly in the following days, if you ignore the litres of Vodka consumed, the late night nation sized pizzas and more bars visited in a week than in my entire drinking life back home. But a trip to Czestochowa to explore my mother's birthplace and meet more family was bound to mellow things out a little. Wrong. Take one phenomenal saxophone playing cousin in a folk/rock/metal band playing in the philharmonic hall; a gypsy-violin playing uncle and a troupe of around ten drunk Poles and trouble ensues. I vaguely remember something about seeing a Jamaican reggae act at yet another underground hovel, obscenely cheap beer and dancing to the wee hours of the morning in the house that my siblings were all born in. Just a regular Friday night apparently. I was due to return to Warsaw on the Saturday but was easily roped into attending an impreza in Czestochowa so stayed on to play hard with the cousins. Stumbling home through the forest at 5am, which was actually 6am with the end of daylight savings, nedless to say the next day was a write-off. Thankfully auntie Iza saved us with a ridiculous Christmas style breakfast with cheeses, hams, smoked fish and creamy salads so i was once again ready to tackle life on the road!

My return to Warsaw, when viewed in retrospect was a food stop. I stayed only long enough to enjoy my auntie Marilla's traditional barley soup and cheese filled, butter smothered, Russian style Pierogi. Of course the day was broken up with Polish chocolates, (Ptasie Mleczko), cheese platters, crusty brown bread and thick slices of smoked hams but tourism was off the menu!


The last of my time in Pooland was spent in Krakow, once again crawling the underworld beer in hand and hiding from the little daylight that was. In the search of tacky souvenirs, Lukasz pushed me onto the traditional form of transport in Krakow, one of the 30+ yr old blue trams to head into the old town. Laughing merrily in my silly way i suddenly notice smoke pouring from beneath the tram. I'm gazing horrified out the window, some others glance over but aren't too bothered by the fact that something is ON FIRE! We carry on as normal for a few stops but finally comes the point at which the billowing black cloud prevents our onward journey and the driver, obvjously annoyed by the inconvenience which has occurred on his shift, irrately informs us we need to disembark. All too gladly i fly off the tram, my cousin laughing that 'this is just what happens in Poland'. My final night in the magestic city of Krakow started with a meltdown when i realised my flight left not from Krakow airport but from Katowice, merely 2hrs away!! never fear. I made the 6am flight by drinking and dancing the night away before boarding the minibus to the airport, all in tears, perhaps from the overwhelming pain of being torn apart again or from the tiredness gnawing at our flesh. Either way, i made the flight, slept at the airport and fell into my seat on the plane, mouth open and snoring and finally arrived in time to wish my ever expanding sister a very happy flipping birthday!!!

When in Rome

Uh, Ron, that saying doesn't really apply here. Well, actually it kinda does. Rome. A lifetime would not be enough! But i will attempt to convey the sheer amazement which every single day brought on my Roman Holiday...not the film fool, my actual holiday!!

Day 1 in Rome...post sweaty arrival at Termini and an even sweatier bus ride to some obscure monument (which was to be a point of reference in finding one of the most elusive hostels in history), engtalian directions to said elusive hostel and finally arrival at hostel it was time to sight see. And see the sights we did. **Refer to previous post for wicked explanation of former death centre/amusement park.

Next came the Monumento Vittorio Emanuele II, a grandiose white marble beast, honouring the first king of a united Italy, which was dazzling when lit by the late afternoon sunshine.

Such a sight could only be topped by something delicious to put into my grumbling belly and it was henceforth we decided to venture to the Trevi Fountain in search of Gelato. And wow! I would give my left pinky to go back now. I mean...the left pinky is really kind of useless, no? Argh...i digress. Winding through narrow cobble stoned lanes, dodging scooters, shiny cars ( which i swear must have been enchanted; for their ability to be in such tiny lanes defied all logic...bus in Harry Potter 3 anyone??) and imigrants selling 'genuine' Dolce and Gabana (hello?) handbags, strategically laid out on blankets which could easily be swept up as the sellers flee from the Carabinieri, we found the place were wishes are made and our Gelato wishes were granted. The Romans have an uncanny ability to illumiate fountains in a way which gives a 5star hotel pool advertisement hue to the water and a most ominous presence to the crowning sculptural decoration. Sitting in a post-gelato sugar coma and throwing pennies over our shoulders into the blue abyss (the first to ensure your return to Rome, the second for a personal wish) i was horrified but simultaneously amazed at a roaming gypsy's ingenuity. Along comes beardy with an extendable rod with a magnet at the end picking out pennies from the fountain!!! I was so amazed by his device i failed to realise he was taking my wishes!! Never fear...the 2nd time i threw in so far he would require a life vest to go fishing for them!!! In your face gypolata!!

In an vain effort to walk off the gelato we climbed an excessively steep hill to watch the sunset over Piazza del Popolo, in the centre of which sits an Obelix pilfered from Egypt thousands of years ago!! At this point ´the lunch time pasta high had wavered and it was nearing the time to wind the backstreets of Rome back to our nun fortress of a hostel to prepare for the coming day of bliss!



Having explored a munite corner of the east bank of the Tevere, the following day was devoted to visiting the most religiously concentrated quarter in existence. The Vatican city.

An independent state with its own currency and police force. Brimming with devout Catholic pilgrims, religiously apathetic youngsters and vestment clad priests, this is an unmissable experience. The queues, the security, the strict dress code; when one finally enters the heart quickens at the opulence. Every corner of the Basilica San Pietro (burial site of one of Jesus# 12 apostles; Peter) is dripping in gold and religous art. History's popes are entombed within and for those Dan Brown fans out there, the altar which Ewan McGregor once stands beside in Angels and Demons, a four pillared obscure looking thing (baldacchino), is one piece of Bronze and was made, in part, by Michelangelo himself. TRIVIA!!! From the basilica a 3km queue around the walls of the Vatican city lead us to the Sistine Chapel and adjoining museum, where centuries of obscenely lavish treasures were gathered and stored by consecutive popes. An entire menagerie of carved marble animals in the first room is merely the beginning of a most fascinating and simultaneously frightful journey through the overt riches of the Catholic church. Beware of this journey though, as all individuality is sucked form you and the crowd moves as one. A bleating, photo taking herd being shepherded through kilometres of corridors, where every square inch of wall and ceiling is masterfully adorned by works of Michelangelo and his artistic counterparts of the day, including hundreds of square metres of Raphael's tapestries. It is a strange feeling when one finally descends the narrow stone steps into the silent hall of the Sistine Chapel, (the site of Papal Conclaves although more reknowned for being the home of Michelangelo's work 'Creation', whereby God's hand is giving Adam life). I could have spent days gazing, jaw dropped at the wonder which covered every space of ceiling and wall in the Chapel. I won't try and be witty here as it would be too disrespectful to the years of mastery which went into creating such a space.

On the eve of my planned departure it was time to let our hair down. Wine is cheaper than water and restaurants serve pasta well after midnight so we were set for a blast! The night saw us in the tre cosy Campo dei Fiori eating pasta and interrogating locals as to the reason behind uneven coupling ( whereby a fairly attractive male is seen with a ghastly female mate) and the rates of adultery. Results: Italian men will almost definately stray and only date ugly girls as prety girls won't mother them as well. Love it! But never fear, not all males in Italy are twats. The tourists are ok!

Here is the fun part...I had everything booked for Prague and was to fly out of Rome the following day. Didn't happen. Unable to tear myself away from what Rome had to offer i never got on the flight. I never saw the castles or the cheap beer, instead i romed hahah roamed the Pantheon and the Piazza Venezia, unable to remove the giant smile plastered fast to my pink face. I wandered the Roman Forum and tiny backstreets, so pleased with myself and utterly titillated at the thought of the extraordinary people i had met and sights i had seen.

The sky was a most vivid blue, the crumbling ruins blindingly white, the parks painfully green, life was marvellous!! The only thing that dragged me from my fantastical world of wine, british accents and history was the thought of meeting my family for the first time in Poland. Now i know why i m the way i am...