Bye sun, hello rain - Strasbourg

Strasbourg was a very strange place for me. After a whole weekend of sunshine and friends in Munich, the drizzle of Strasbourg and the lurch away from familiarity left me fed up and with absolutely no desire to explore the town. Usually, when I go away with friends, returning to normality and not having everyone around me anymore leaves me feeling incredibly lonely. It wasn't like that in Strasbourg; I just felt bored. The hostel didn't help either, being incredibly impersonal and lacking any character; it needs to decide what it wants to be, as it advertises itself as a hostel but also claims to be a conference centre. The guy on reception said they didn't have internet, which I couldn't quite believe; every other hostel I've been to in the past month has had internet, even the one where it was broken, and it makes no sense for a place offering conferencing services to not offer such a basic one.

I had been recommended Strasbourg by a few people as they had said the old town was incredibly beautiful. They weren't wrong there, with so many of the medieval timber framed buildings still standing, but, unlike most of the old towns I've seen on my trip, nothing very much seemed to be happening. I arrived about 2 o'clock but there was hardly a soul around, with everything seemingly prepped to open later in the evening. I decided to head back to the hostel and, with the bar not opening until later and no entertainment and no internet, I went for a sleep instead. Back in the old town at half 6, the weather had cleared a little and there seemed to be more life to the place. Well, a bit. I spent ages wandering around trying to find somewhere that had WiFi and ended up having the most expensive beer of my entire trip just to be able to get online.

The evening in Strasbourg never seems to pick up. As soon as cafes and restaurants start putting out their tables and chairs, they're packing them away again. I managed to find a bar Peter had recommended, Academie de la Biere, and ended up having a goats cheese sandwich as it was the least American thing on the menu. The bar was a pretty cool place, with a huge selection of beer not just from France but from all around the world. I didn't see anything from England on the menu, however. With little else I could see to do in town, I just waited it out there until it was less of a pathetic time to go to bed.

The hostel bar, which is supposed to open at half 6, was still closed when I got back. The only good thing about the place was the night watchman, who was very pleasant and chatty and insisted on opening the bar and getting me a beer, even though I kinda just wanted to sleep. Back in my room, no one else had arrived and I looked forward to a night with the place to myself. Unfortunately I was woken at God knows what time by someone arriving, who then proceeded to unpack their bag in the dark with what I assumed was some sort of hammer. After a good 10 minutes of farting around, including having a pee with the toilet door open, they finally settled down to sleep. Then they started snoring. Great.

The shower in the room didn't have a door, just a curtain, and I was woken by my late-arriving room mate using it in the morning. It was one of those stupid timed push-button ones, so after every 10 seconds or so it cut out, meaning there wasn't even running water to mask all the other sounds. I'm no snob, but I don't think it's pleasant to be woken by the unmistakable coarse scratching sound of someone lathering up their pubic region.

I could have given Strasbourg another go today, but with my Interail ticket running out and the Eurostar prices doubling on Thursday until well after the weekend, I'd decided to bring my trip to an end and head to Paris. On the train I got seated next to an American girl who was obviously the sort of person who would describe herself as a 'free spirit'; she had the obligatory Chinese tattoo, spiritual symbols and the phrase 'Purpose of Unity' on her T-Shirt, and I'd be willing to wager a fair bit that she had a Dream Catcher in her bag. She got out her right-on MacBook Air, her anti-corporate Beats headphones and started throwing shapes right there in her seat to some dubstep music like she was at her own private rave. After a while she got out her spiritually-themed book, Tears of Love, of which she had already made it all the way to page 31. I spied a quote from it that went something like this; "Think of a piece of paper. One side faces you and one faces the beloved. You can read the side that faces you, but more importantly you should be able to read the side that faces a true friend, the beloved." Fuck. Right. Off.

After 4 pages of that, she went back to her MacBook music and had a little snooze to such classic hits as 'Healing Frequency Sounds', 'Native American Earth Drum', 'Chakra Balancing Meditation Music' and 'IQ - Intelligence Increase Tones'. When she woke up she spent some time putting on a fair bit of her (I assume organic) make up, then, when she saw what I was reading and realised I spoke English, bent my ear for the last 15 minutes on what she's been doing on her travels. She told me that she'd spoken to the universe and asked for one of her 'bitches' to be sent to visit, and, like, 2 days later one of them got in contact and said she was coming over to meet up. What an arsehole.

Hottest day in Munich in 9 years

I've been staying with my awesome awesome friends Peter and Anne, who are two of the nicest people you could ever hope to meet, and they always come up with fun stuff to do. Peter and I went to the BMW museum, then up to a beer garden on top of the hill next to the Olympic Park for a couple. Later in the day we headed to a Greek restaurant with some of the gang from Friday and also our friend Merik, who was also happened to be in Munich. Afterwards, Niño and Silke, friends of my old colleague Marcel, invited us back to their house where plenty of wine, grappa and English bashing was to be had. It was a really fun evening and Niño and Silke are wonderful hosts. It didn't feel like we'd done a whole lot, but with the heat, we were absolutely knackered by the end of the day.

On Sunday, after a traditional Bavarian weißwurst breakfast (boiled white sausage, pretzel, sweet mustard and a weißbier - trust me, it's amazing) we headed to the Allianz Arena to watch 1860 Munich play FSV Frankfurt. It reminded me of going to see Brentford vs Carlisle in the Johnson's Paint Trophy final at Wembley, because the ground was just over a quarter full, but it meant we got the premium seats, almost on the half way line and 3 rows back, only the day before. I came up with the genius idea of checking where the sun would be during the match so we could sit in the shade, for which Peter was very grateful. I know they're a second tier team, but it still makes me want to puke that the most expensive seats in the place are £35 each while the cheapest seat at White Hart Lane is around £40. The Premier League needs to buck its ideas up.

The busy home end

Fair play to the guys on the pitch, because, with the temperature peaking at 36 degrees, you could really see it affecting their game, but they run their hearts out nonetheless. I was very impressed with their number 29, Yannick Stark, and the number 10, Moritz Stoppelkamp, and they combined to score the winner in the last few minutes. They're both new signings as well, so maybe this year will be a good one for München. Oh yeah, and FSV are a bunch of dirty bastards.

We got back to Peter and Anne's and the guys were kind enough to let me use their apartment block's washing machine, as I suddenly realised I had nothing left to wear. Then we headed out to a beer garden about 20 minute walk from place for a quick drink and some food. That's when the wind began to pick up, the clouds rolled over and I saw my first rain since leaving England 3 weeks ago. It didn't last all that long though, and we were able to take a nice stroll, with a lovely cooling wind instead of a hot one for a change, back to the flat. We were all pretty wiped and after some ice cream (vanilla, of course) it was most definitely time for bed.

If you're ever in Munich, look Peter and Anne up, because they're truly special people. I feel bad for taking up their time on a weekend so hot, all they probably wanted to do was absolutely nothing, and also because I know I would never be as wonderful a host as them. But no one ever wants to visit Slough, so it works out for everyone.

Friday - Salzburg to Munich

Normally I avoid sightseeing tours because I prefer to explore a city on foot; it's a more leisurely way to experience a city, instead of speeding through it on a bus and being bombarded by info from a tour guide as they desperately try to keep up, and I think you get to see more of how a place really is. I most certainly wasn't going on foot today however, and instead took an hour's guided bus tour of Salzburg to get as much in in as little time as possible. It wasn't your average impersonal open-top bus journey though; our guide drove just me and a girl from Turkey around the city in a beautifully air conditioned people carrier, in which we were free to ask as many questions as we'd like. He was such a nice guy, very funny and chilled out, and he treated the Austrian rules of the road with a charmingly laid-back attitude. My ticket also got me up the lift to the cafe at the Museum der Moderne, high up on one of the hills, for a free coffee and applestrudel, and from there I was able to enjoy one of the best views of the city. In the shade thankfully, as it had got to 33 degrees by lunchtime.

My strudel view

Back in town, I walked around the Mirabell palace and gardens, featured in The Sound of Music, then sat in a cafe in town for a couple of drinks while waiting for my train. I like Salzburg a lot, as there always seems to be something sweet going on, and everyone seems genuinely happy and glad to be living there. As I mentioned before, it is an incredibly beautiful place, and that goes for many of the people as well; I challenge any straight man to see a smiling girl wearing traditional dirndl cycle past on her basket-fronted bike and not want to instantly marry her.

The palace

The fountain from that famous scene in The Sound of Music.
So I'm told, I've never seen it.

I realised I'd left myself too little time to walk to the station (that, and I didn't want to) so I found a cab, which was just dropping off a little old lady, and the driver said he was free to take me. But with time ticking down, the old lady took her sweet goddamn time getting out of the cab, stubbornly refusing the cab driver's offers of his arm to help her out or to take her bag for her. I continued to smile politely as she gradually eased herself out over several minutes, but the urge to scream some key German phrases I'd learned from old war films at her was almost too much.

Eventually I was able to get in and made it to the station just in time. The train journey was another wonderful trip though the Austrian and Bavarian countryside, and the view of the Alps as we rolled past them was absolutely stunning. I've only ever seen them from the air before, so it was nice to finally get to see them up close. That was until the stupid old bitch sat over the way pulled down the window shade. "What are you playing at?!" I wanted to shout, "they're the fucking Alps!!!"

I had a wonderful evening in Munich. I'd aimed to make it here for this weekend as my pal Mike has quit his job with my old company and I really wanted to see him and his lovely wife Erin before they move back to Seattle. It was great to see so many other old work colleagues too, catching up in a Bavarian beer garden well into the evening. I've realised the best thing about traveling is that when I meet people I haven't seen in ages and they ask what I've been up to, I actually have something more substantial to say other than "oh, y'know...working n'that". Am I becoming interesting?

Edelweiss! Salzburg

The A&T hostel in Vienna was a very nice place; new, clean and with very friendly staff. The only issue was that the cleaners were very persistent about entering my room, way before the allotted 10am to 2pm slot, and I had to tell 4 different women to go away before I was ready to leave. I don't think so many women have seen me in my underwear in such a short space of time before, but it was all very sexy, trust me.

Due to some very enthusiastic recommendations, I made my way to Schönbrunn, via the train station to lock up my luggage, to visit the palace there. Built by the wife of the Holy Roman Emperor Ferdinand II (not all by herself), the 1441-room palace is so exuberant and vast in size, it would have taken many hours to experience it all. All I really wanted to do was check out the gardens, but it was utter pandemonium there and the ticket office was like a disorganised cattle market, only with less shit on the floor. The ticket purchasing system seemed overly complicated for most, with several different combinations of attraction passes on offer, and each person spent a good 5 minutes at the ticket machines trying to work out what they wanted. After 20 minutes of queuing, having hardly moved at all, I decided to knock it on the head as I was hoping to get to Salzburg early enough to at least see some of it during the daytime.

The journey through Austria by train is a very pleasant one. It's the stuff postcards are made of. Chalets scatter the incredibly lush countryside, either collected together in little villages or standing all alone and proud in the middle of nowhere. I imagined some bearded lederhosen-wearing Austrian father deciding that that spot was the perfect place for his family's home and just built it, free of planning permission applications, civic ordinance or a care in the world, and I liked that.

Salzburg nestles beautifully within the Alps, and is definitely the most scenic city I've visited so far. I thought my blisters were easing, but the walk to the hostel, due to the public transport being jammed up by some tie-dyed hippie-led protest in the city centre, enraged them further. The hostel is a lot further from the centre than they'd have you believe, and I was in a bit of a sweaty bad mood by the time I got there.

It was later than I was hoping for by the time I was ready to head out again, and I knew I wasn't going to get to see anything cultural when I got back into the city. I certainly wasn't up for the walk again. Thankfully the hostel rented bikes, and I hopped on one of them to make it back to the centre of town. It was the best decision I'd made all day, because it gave my feet a rest and also got me into town within 10 minutes.

I made my way to one of the cafes by the river to get drink, enjoy the scenery and get some much needed people-watching time in. Heading down the cycle path, some dozy bint stepped right into it without looking, causing me to break suddenly. She shrieked unlady-like and shouted "achtung!" at me. I thought "you bloody achtung!"

A drink by the river

I had some amazing food at a nice decked-out garden bar called Zirkelwirt; smoked pork with white bread dumplings in broth and a side sauerkraut with bacon and chives that was swimming in oil. Pretty epic. They had a very nice beer called Kaltenhausen, and I had a few of them while I watched the world go by. Its a phrase I've used again and again in this blog, and I'm not sure if it's just one of the exclusive perks of being an Englishman, but there is a wonderful amount of pleasure to be had in just 'being'. The comedian Mickey Flanagan talks about the joys of doing fuck all (not 'nothing', but actually 'fuck all'), and sitting alone with a pint just staring at existence is the next step on from that.

One thing that's almost as good as just 'being' is cycling through a European city in the summer at sunset. Much cooler than during the day but still pleasant, I actually thought for a brief second "I could happily do this for the rest of my life". I got a little lost through the winding old town streets, but that was ok because I was just having too much fun. Eventually I found my way back, but I suppose nothing good lasts forever.

All things considered, I've been pretty lucky with my hostels. Until now. I don't know in which hostel they took the photos they used on their hostelworld webpage, but it definitely wasn't this one. Looking like a communist leisure centre/ministry, there is nothing welcoming about the Muffin (?) Hostel, and the lengthy check-in process felt more like applying for a soviet block visa than anything else. Only accepting cash is getting rarer in hostels, and, if you do only accept cash, make sure you're near a cash machine or actually have plenty of change when people do give you cash. Alternatively, don't make every price require stupid amounts of change - round those prices off! Also, I've never had to mess about with my internet proxy server settings to get on to WiFi before, but apparently that's just the done thing here. Even after following the stupidly complicated instructions it didn't work, and the lobby is full of people desperately trying to get online.

At least the hostel has a bar, which they proudly advertise on the hostelworld website. What they don't tell you is that it doesn't open until 10pm, and it resembles the most desperately pathetic working mens club you've ever seen. There are hundreds of miniature bottles of something called 'Klopfer' pressed into the polystyrene ceiling tiles as if many a crazy party night has happened here before, but the lack of any other booze behind the bar apart from warm cans of beer and one lone bottle of Bombay Sapphire suggests that's never been the case. They hadn't switched on the oldskool DJ traffic lights by the time I'd left though, so it could've all kicked off later. But I doubt that.

Party central

A very long day in Vienna

Discovering Vienna on foot is a very nice experience, but it comes at a cost; mega mega blisters. I had to chuck my old shoes out as they were just about to fall to pieces, and my new ones have very nearly destroyed me. I am 5 minutes away from just cutting my legs off, and anymore sightseeing, at least for the next few days, I think will be done exclusively via open-top bus.

Priscila (did I mention she is very lovely?) recommended that I explore the centre by walking, so really it's her fault. The Austrians go all out for the Roman classical style architecture, and its Imperically disconcerting but incredibly beautiful all the same. You don't have to plan your route all that intricately to happen upon the Burggarten, Volksgarten, Rathaus Park and Sigmund Freud park, along with all the stunning museum buildings and the Austrian parliament, in one extremely pleasant stroll. For a city in which he only lived for 2 years, Vienna goes a little overboard with their Mozart connection, and every street in the city centre has a 'Simply Mozart' souvenir shop on it. It makes me very curious about how crazy Salzburg will be with him.

The national library. Or uni. I dunno.

The parliament building

Dude punching a horse

There's currently a film festival running in the evenings outside the city hall, and throughout the day the world food stalls and beer tents continue to operate. It was a lovely place to sit for a while taking in the setting, and, more importantly, some beer, while listening to the local radio station play British hit after British hit. I didn't realise Making Your Mind Up by Bucks Fizz was even a thing outside the UK anymore. Then I walked up to the Votivkirche church, which unfortunately is under major renovation work, so there isn't much to see inside apart from a load of sweaty shirtless workmen hammering and slinging scaffolding about. I don't know how people managed to pray with that going on.

Heading back into the centre of town, I walked through what appeared to be the main shopping district to the Stephansdom. The strange thing about the cathedral is that it is a lot less ornate than the first church I visited, lacking the intricate stained glass windows and surrounding murals of the Votivkirche. Along from there, the buildings and statues of the Hofburg, the former imperial residence, continue the classically violent theme, with many depictions of heroic beatings, courageous slayings and general historical shit-kickings.

Stephansdom

Brave.

I jumped on the U-Bahn to Prater, which is the location of the world-famous Ferris wheel and surrounding gypo-like fairground. It would have been a right laugh with some mates, in an ironic way, but I just felt a little bit of a weirdo wandering round a fairground by myself, like some pervy Scooby Doo villain. I went on the Ferris wheel though, purely because it was the setting of one of the most iconic scenes, and speeches, in movie history; Orson Welles explaining his logic behind his penicillin racket to Joseph Cotten in The Third Man. Watch it now. WATCH IT, I SAID!

or if you can't see it, click here

I got back on the U-bahn and headed to Alte Danau: the Old Danube. The canal is famous for its purity and, on a day like today, filled with peddleboaters and swimmers. I felt like finding a shop to buy some trunks and a towel, because the urge to jump right in was almost overwhelming. Instead I sat alongside it for a couple of beers and some pretty good schnitzel, and tried my very hardest not to stare at every bikini-clad girl that walked past. I need to buy the inventor of sunglasses a drink.

Back at the hostel, I watched the first half of Bayern Munich vs Barca, then went for a shower. I thought I'd end up going out to see more of Vienna in the evening, but, after my massive trek today, I just went to the hostel bar again. It involved a lot less walking. I chatted to Priscila and the hostel owner's daughter for a good while, then ended up talking to a very nice couple, James and Lily, from London, and shared a few stories from our respective trips.

After a while Lily went to bed, and James stayed for another drink. A group of young Russian lads came in and generally made nuisances of themselves; they were loud, boorish, obnoxious, and when they started pissing about in the women's toilets, Priscila went to kick them out. James and I went with her as backup, but there was really no need; she well told them where to go. She marched after them down the corridor shouting, and for one minute I thought she was going to get in the lift with them so she could shout some more. What a girl.

I am still alive!

Turns out they've never heard of wifi in Salzburg, but I will post something substantial when I get to Munich, in a proper country.

Budapest to Vienna

I wasn't hungover when I woke up, but I was definitely not 100%. I don't recommend staying out until dawn when you have to checkout at half 10 the next day. I decided to at least try to find the ruin pubs, even if I didn't get to go on the pub crawl. While I was searching for them, I stumbled across a little street market, selling the general tourist crap that's found everywhere in Budapest, but which had a funky little beer shack and it was nice sitting in the sun listening to the chillout house music they were playing through their sound system. I was sure the ruin pubs were just round the corner from there but it took quite a while to find them, because, as I slowly realised, the street names on my map were different to the actual road signs for some mental reason. I ended up walking around in circles like a dick for a while.

It's a bit cheeky to still advertise the ruin pub area as an attraction, as it's clear that most of the area has been redeveloped in recent years, and I very much doubt the remaining places will exist in a couple more. I did find a nice beach-type bar, which reminded me a lot of Yaam in Berlin, where I had a drink and some lunch. BBQ beef and potato salad - nice.

I picked up my bag and jumped in a cab to take me to the station. My taxi driver wasn't anywhere near as crazy as the other I had, but spoke a lot less English. We managed to cobble something together though and, through some shouting, thumbs-up motions, chest pounding and other passionate gestures, I got the impression his favourite Premier League team is West Brom because of the Hungarian player Zoltan Gera, even though I think he's just been released by them.

It's nice to be back in a German-speaking country, where I feel a bit more comfortable talking to people. I got to Vienna at around 6 and headed straight for my hostel. After a much needed shower I went down to the hostel bar as, with an entire day in Vienna to follow, I'd decided to just relax indoors for a while, do some writing and get an early night. I got chatting to Priscila, the very lovely Spanish barmaid, then sat through the mad rush of happy hour; it was easier to do that than fight my way out of the bar, honest. I was just about to finally go once happy hour cleared out when I got talking to a couple of Danish guys. I didn't end up leaving until the bar shut at 2. I had my 4 bed dorm room all to myself, which was awesome.

Budapest drama

Talking of tips, here's one that's worked 3 times out of 3 for me; if you are in a European country that doesn't use the euro and you're not sure about the conversion rate, go to a kiosk at a train station and look at how much a bottle of coke costs - that cost tends to equal around one Euro. In the Czech Republic, a coke was 23 Kc, and the conversion rate is around 24:1. About 5 Polish Zlotys is equal to a euro, which is what a coke cost in the station. It's 300 florints for a coke in Hungary, and you get about 330 to the Euro. I'm not saying it's full-proof and works for everywhere, just that it's been a good barometer for me on this trip. Tell your mates.

It's been 32 degrees in Budapest. Hot. The station into which all the international trains come isn't anywhere near the centre, and, not seeing any clear public transport links, I decided to jump in a taxi and try not to worry about the cost. The cost was the least of my problems, as the driver was an absolute nutter who slung his cab in and out of the tightest gaps and almost-gaps through the traffic of lunchtime Budapest. He took great joy in pointing out 3 different Ferrari's to me which I was very grateful for, but would have been more grateful for a guarantee that I wasn't going to die. I should have been worrying about the cost after all it turns out, as it was £20 for the arse-squeaking privilege.

After sorting out my stuff at the hostel, I walked over the Margaret Bridge to the Buda side of the city and took what felt like a million steps in the heat up to Buda castle. Its a nice place to be, with some beautiful architecture and a fantastic view over the city, and I think I unintentionally but successfully photobombed about a thousand different tourist snaps. I also got to see changing of the guard at the Presidential Palace, which is nowhere near as grand and massively pompous as our own, but equally as rifle-spinningly silly to watch.

The parliament building

At the castle

Jesus on his horse. Or someone, at least

My tour of some of the other landmarks wasn't so successful. I walked back to the Pest side of town over the Szechenyi bridge and up to the cathedral, but it was closed for a concert. Heading north, I made my way to the parliament building, which is totally cut off while they're doing major renovation work to the surrounding grounds. I mentioned in my last post about how it's a small world...well sometimes it's too small; at Katowice, waiting for my train to Bratislava, there was some hippie div on the platform playing with one of those diabolo things. I've just seen the same arse pissing about with it on the lawn outside the American embassy here. Maybe they'll shoot him.

Strictly for arseholes.

There was a pub crawl setting off from my hostel of the ruin pubs, which are a bit of a social landmark, and I thought it would be a good way to see something I had been recommended and also to meet some people. Unfortunately the girl at reception told me the wrong start time and I missed the set off by 15 minutes. I was absolutely gutted, as, having kept myself to myself in Bratislava, I was really up for some human interaction. I went for a bad-tempered walk instead, hoping to at least see the ruin pubs, but I realised after a little while that they were a hell of a long way away, and I felt a bit pathetic walking around on my own. I bought some cans of beer (much less pathetic) and headed back to the hostel.

Sunset on the Danube

When I got there at around half 10, everyone who hadn't gone on the pub crawl was sitting round playing drinking games and having a whale of a time. For fucks sake! I'd missed out on the pub crawl and now I was the outsider here too. I sat in my dorm room seething for about 10 minutes, until NO! I thought, I'm not going to be intimidated by 12 strangers, I'm going out there and muscling my way in! I didn't stride up to them as powerfully as I would've liked, and my 'hello' to everyone was a little sheepish, but at least I'd asserted myself. 3 hours later I was at a rooftop bar listening to repetitive trance music.

The club. Sponsored by Spar, weirdly.

I didn't get to talk to everyone in the group, but everyone I did chat to was awesome. There was Alastair and Rebecca, a couple from Scotland; Matt the Canadian, who said 'eh' a lot; Max the Arsenal fan from North Carolina, but we won't hold either against him, and a group of student lasses from Sheffield. Obviously I refused to tell the girls my age, but the general consensus between them was that I was 23, tops. I shall marry each and every one of them.

Once the rooftop bar kicked out, we managed to find a bar with no roof at all. They definitely play weird music in bars and clubs in Europe, and on this occasion Perfect Day by Lou Reed didn't really set a party mood, but it was still great fun. A lot of chatting later, it was time to leave there too and we made it back to the hostel just as the sun came up. A disastrous night averted.

A cack evening in Bratislava

I didn't end up seeing much of Bratislava yesterday. I had a bit of a snooze when I got to the hostel and then made the massive mistake of deciding to wash my clothes. I'd booked the Freddie Next to Mercury Hostel (don't ask me why it's called that) because reviews online said it was new, clean and, most important to me at the time, had a laundry. What it had in actual fact was one crappy old top-loading washing machine with no instructions that didn't tumble dry. I tried to work out the symbols as best I could, then, expecting the cycle to take about an hour and a half, wandered through the presidential palace park to the Old Town. I thought I'd have plenty of time later in the evening to explore more of the Slovakian places, so popped into an Irish bar to watch a bit of the cricket with a load of Yorkshiremen before heading back to sort my washing out.

When I checked my clothes I found that the machine had wet some of them a bit and then dumped undiluted washing liquid on top, so that stuff was lovely and slimy. There were quite a few people in the hostel living area by that time, so I asked one of the guys if they knew what to do and apparently he'd worked it out the day before through trial and error. I started the machine again and decided to wait around until it finished to make sure it had actually worked this time. I could have tried chatting to the people in the living area, who were all separate travelling groups but had joined up into a big gang at the hostel, but I was still so unbelievably knackered and probably incapable of holding any kind of normal conversation that I just sat in the corner, writing and trying to ignore the utterly shite music they had blaring. To be honest, I don't think I would have got on with them anyway as they were all a bit excitable, and I didn't mind being that one weirdo who creeps everyone out for the evening. More so than normal.

The clothes came out washed, but drenched. The spin cycle seemed to max out at around 1 RPM, and I had to wring everything out in the sink before hanging them up. By the time I was done, it was gone 10 and I had to rush back to the Old Town to find some food. The centre of Bratislava doesn't seem like it's the place to be of an evening, and some places were already shutting up at that time. I found a place called Slovak House that did traditional food, and a particularly surly waiter brought me beef goulash with white bread dumplings. It was pretty bloody awesome. It was then I realised that the hostel gang were sat behind me at the Turkish hookah place next door, and there I was, eating dinner by myself like a loner before murdering them all in their sleep. The waiter brought my bill without me actually asking for it, so I took that as a cue to leave, and I headed back to the hostel.

The presidential palace at night

Not sure what's going on here, but I
definitely didn't have the roast pork

My clothes still weren't dry this morning, but I had a bit of time before having to catch my train, so I took them out to the roof patio, while everyone else was still asleep, and lay them out in the sun for an hour while I organised the rest of the stuff in my bag. I have most definitely learned a lesson there; wash clothes in hostels with more organised and modern facilities. That's going to be a top tip in my guide "Stating the Bleedin' Obvious for Backpackers".

Springfield. Or Leopoldov

Not everyone at Auschwitz was a dick. I met a very nice family from Canada at Oswiecim train station on the way to the camp, who ended up with the same tour guide as me and with whom I took the train back to Krakow afterwards. The local trains in that area of Poland are utter crap and worryingly ancient. With no apparent suspension and axle bearings made out of rocks, the trains jerk, judder and jump over every imperfection in the tracks and go painfully slow. What would be a 30 minute trip on a train back home was over 2 hours, and each of the 3 trains I caught were well over 15 minutes late getting to their destinations on top of that. Admittedly, some trains at home are pretty horrible, but most date from within the last 50 years at least and I'm not in constant fear that they're going to leave the tracks at any moment.

The train to Katowice, from where I was getting the overnight train to Bratislava, was horrendous. It was disgustingly hot and I sweated profusely throughout. It was rammed with backpackers and crawled through the countryside at a pace not even sufficient enough to get a good breeze through the windows. The overnight train wasn't much better, on which I shared a cabin with 5 drunk Dutch guys who proceeded to have a party in the corridor for most of the night. I had about 3 hours sleep.

I got to Bratislava at around half 5 in the morning. There really is nothing to do at that time here and, as I wasn't staying the night, I didn't have a hostel where I could at least sit until there was. I also felt pretty disgusting, having not been able to shower since the morning before, so tried to clean up as well as possible in the train station toilets. I know, yuck.

I wandered the Old Town for a few hours, which I assumed would be a lovely place to be once things opened, until it was time to get the train to Leopoldov, where I was staying with my friend Miriam and her family. The train was pretty swish and air conditioned, which was such a blessing after all the crap ones I'd been on in the last few days, and I even managed to grab a little snooze on the way. Miriam met me at the station. Eventually.

Leopoldov is a village of about 4000 people. Miriam took me on a bit of a walking tour through the town and the surrounding countryside to show me the sights; there's the nuclear power station about 20km away, the artificial lake which was once a gravel mine and now contains a dead horse and the maximum security prison for Slovakia's most extreme criminals. Go, it's really lovely.

We had a BBQ when we got back to the house, where her parents plied me with food and booze. I keep thinking about the smoked sausage wrapped in bacon they served and I want to cry. Neither of them or their friends that came speak English, which was a nice relief as I didn't have to pretend to be interesting for a few hours, and it was fun to just listen to the pattern of their conversation. After a shower, which I really didn't want to get out of, we headed to the local bar (a shack) to meet some of Miriam's friends and her brother. I don't quite know why we were drinking straight rum, but when two quadruples of that, a quadruple vodka and a beer costs 4 euros, you tend not to question things. It was much easier to talk to people there as everyone's English was pretty good, and I even got chatting to some people outside of Miriam's friendship circle; one guy, Michal, knew Slough because he used to visit his ex-girlfriend in Egham, 10 miles from home, when she was at university. Not something you expect to hear in a Slovakian village of 4000 people. It's a very small world.

Miriam's brother, Roman, and I headed home when the bar kicked out at God-knows-what-time; I'd been up for about 22 hours and desperately needed sleep. Miriam stayed out until 7am, drinking in a field. Classy girl. We sat outside in the morning chatting, recovering and eating watermelon. Hungarian watermelon, because apparently their climate is better for it. I put it off for as long as possible, as I didn't really want to go, but I had to man up and get the train back to Bratislava, so Miriam and I left a little earlier to take a leisurely stroll to the station in the sun. I'm sure she cried after I left.

I hate people.

My Irish room mates didn't bowl in until around half 5, way after sunrise. Of that I was grateful, as it meant I got a better night's sleep than I expected, but once they turned up they proceeded to slam doors, chat louder than any reasonable person should have to, and then finally snore and fart their way through the next few hours. I was aiming to be up at half 7, so when it came to the time, like a courteous roommate, I sorted myself out as quietly as possible, packed my bags as quietly as possible and cleaned up the stuff I wasn't taking with me as quietly as possible. I'm not quite sure how the dorm room door stayed in its hinges after the force with which I slammed it on my way out, but it was pretty satisfying nonetheless.

I wasn't going to write about Auschwitz at all. Before my visit there, I was fully expecting to be in pieces, utterly distraught and in a desperate mind to just quit my trip and head home for some familiar company and comfort. But I wasn't, and I'd like to talk about some of the people I saw there that might explain why.

I was very concerned about what I should wear. Showing the proper respect and decorum was imperative, I thought, but apparently not. People were there in garish t-shirts, flip flops, the shortest shorts you've ever seen and some were even wearing Israeli flags as capes like a bunch of football hooligans on tour. I took 1 photo, just one, as I didn't feel right recording everything I saw to share with other people later. I completely understand why people take pictures, because it is such an important and fascinating subject, but when the tour guide tells you where photographs are not permitted I'd expect you to respect the rules. People were laughing, joking, eating ice cream and I thought they really weren't taking in the graveness of the setting, like it was a theme park they were visiting, not the site of the extermination of over a million people. I've just been sat in a bar next to a bunch of middle aged blokes from Bolton who were reminiscing and laughing about how much they'd dicked about on the camp tour, and I even saw a stag do on a day trip there, who all constantly talked about where they were going to get their next drink.

On my train to Bratislava later in the evening I talked to an American girl who said she went to Dachau in winter and it was bleak, cold, silent, nothingness. She said it really creeped her out and in that setting I completely understand the effect an atmosphere like that can have, but in the summer these camps are very different places.

The day I was there was the 70th anniversary of the biggest mass hanging at Auschwitz.

Friday

Krakow

The overnight train wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be. I was in a 3 bed cabin with a couple of young lads from Liverpool, and we chatted for a good while, swapping experiences and anecdotes of our respective travels. It was absolutely sweltering in there, so we propped the sliding window open, which kept springing shut of its own accord, with a couple of plastic coat hangers. I'm pretty sure the conductor would have shouted at us for that one if he saw. But he didn't. It wasn't the greatest night's sleep, due to the heat and me being a bit too long for the bed, and also it was a little inconvenient getting into Krakow at half 6 in the morning when everything's shut, but it was a good way to do an 8 hour train ride and saves on accommodation for a night.

It was another clear blue day, and the main square in Krakow looked absolutely great in the early morning haze. All I could do was wander about, exploring the streets of the old town and learning my way around, as it was way too early to get into my hostel. As a medieval town, I was told it was very traditional, but in all my hours of walking I didn't see one 'Polski Sklep' sign. Lies!

A bit later I decided to walk up to Oskar Schindler's factory, now a museum, and did my best to stay in the shade all the way. I was already conscious of a rather grubby feeling, having not been able to shower since my night on the train, and thought that baking in the sun probably wouldn't improve matters. At least no one crowded round me in the museum.

His desk. Supposedly.

Poland has had a pretty crappy time in modern history. The museum doesn't focus all that much on Schindler himself, but chronicles the horrendous plight of Krakow through the Second World War as a whole, particularly the fates of its Polish and Jewish inhabitants. It wasn't just an occupation, but an entire rebranding of the city as a German one, totally erasing the Polish history within Krakow, importing German culture and place names and even planning to redesign the city's layout and architecture to encompass a facist-Roman influence. It very nearly could have been gone forever.

A 30 minute movie in the very comfortable cinema screen there focused a lot more on Schindler, taking first hand accounts from those who were once workers in his factory to really highlight on an emotional level how much he protected and how much more he provided for his workers than any other Polish or Jewish workforce in the country. By no means a perfect man, his determination to prevent his workers from being sent to the concentration camps saved dozens of lives, and is a moving testament to the good a person can do, regardless of their political allegiances, history or vices. A plaque outside the museum reads 'Whoever saves one life, saves the world entire'.

I was finally able to get into my hostel room when I got back into town, and thankfully the shower was actually a half decent one. I stayed in the hostel for a little while, writing and sorting a few things out on the internet, until it was a little later and a little cooler in the afternoon. I took a stroll around the market square for what ended up well over an hour, just being; it's a great place for that. As it got busier, I wandered more of the side streets again, generally just people-watching, seeing all those heading off on their evenings out. The market square is incredibly busy, especially on evenings as lovely as yesterday's, and getting a table for dinner looked extremely unlikely. Instead of waiting around, as I had to be up early, I grabbed something on the go and headed back to the hostel. No one sharing my room was there yet, which didn't bode well for my good night's sleep. But I had to wait to see...

View from the hostel Window

Last day in Berlin and Prague

The last day in Berlin was by far the hardest day of my trip as of yet. After 4 days of fantastic company and so many funny in-jokes and anecdotes that just wouldn't make sense if I recounted them here, it was time to head off alone again. I had to mentally drag myself to the train station because I just wanted to stay, but I've got along way to go still and its way too early to cop out just yet.

We had breakfast in the hostel in the morning, then the 4 of us walked to the museum island. There was something very specific Sach wanted to see in one of the museums and I probably should have gone with him for a bit more culture, but I wanted to enjoy the sun as much as possible before my 4 and a half hour train to Prague, so Amy, Sara and I sat on the grass by the cathedral. After so little sleep, my brain didn't have the capacity to make conversation anymore, but that was OK, it was nice to just sit in such lovely company.

I'd put it off for as long as possible, but I couldn't wait any longer, as I had to go get my bag and then get to the station with very little time to spare. Saying goodbye to everyone was heartbreaking, especially as I was just about to be thrust way out of my comfort zone again, but I'm sure it won't be long before I see Sach again and I get the feeling we'll both be keeping in touch with Amy and Sara. I really think we've made some friends there.

It was hard to be enthusiastic about a train journey that I've been told is absolutely beautiful when you hardly have the energy to turn your head to look out of the window. The train follows the river Elbe for much of the way, and on a better day I'd have really taken in the cliff-faced sandstone valley the river runs through, the Bastei and its Middle Earth-like bridge, the picturesque villages lining the river (that a month ago had to be evacuated when the river breached its banks) and the massive mountain-top castle that no one had a clue what it was. The German part of the Elbe valley is known as 'Saxon-Switzerland' while the Czech part is known as 'Bohemian-Switzerland', even though, as far as I can tell, neither are actually in Switzerland. I don't have time for this nonsense.

The train was delayed by quite a while, so I already had the arseache by the time I had to haul my massive rucksack to the hostel that wasn't as close to the station as they'd made out. My plan was to just get there and go to sleep immediately to catch up on my rest, but they had a laundry and I was (almost) in desperate need of clean clothes, so instead I stayed up until midnight washing and drying my stuff. While I was waiting, I sat in the hostel bar for a couple of beers and watched Middlesex beat Sussex in some t20 cricket match. I don't know why they had it on, but it was the most random sporting event I've watched on my travels so far.

Near sunset in Prague

I'd planned to set off to explore Prague as early as possible, as I was getting the sleeper train to Krakow later in the evening. However, when I went down to reception to check what to do with my linen, there was a massive power cut in the area and all my stuff was trapped upstairs, with the dorm room floors only accessible by elevator. By the time I was able to set off, it was nearly 11. I wandered through the shopping district first, finding a comic book-themed bar to check out, before heading up to the old town, over the Charles Bridge and up to the castle to walk through the gardens and get a view of the city from above. I went into a medieval themed pub called the Tavern of Seven Witches, that was almost pitch black apart from candle light. I felt a little guilty asking if there was a place I could sit where I could plug my phone in to charge, but they had wifi so I guess they weren't strictly authentic. Back outside, I spotted the menu board of the Old Star Hotel next to the castle and had to go in for dinner; I had smoked pork with white dumplings and pickled cabbage And. It. Was. Incredible.

Definitely better than the menu at Andy's

A thing in Prague

From the castle

I had time to wander back to the old town and have one more drink before realising, soon after buying one, that I didn't have time at all and had a frantic dash to find a cab, scarce in the pedestrianised cobbled streets of the old town, to take me to the station. Word of advice; don't get cabs in Prague, they are a rip off.

The castle in the evening

Having had my exploring time cut short by the power cut, I avoided spending time inside churches and museums and instead tried to see as much of the city as possible. I know I didn't leave myself anywhere near as enough time to really see the city properly, but I have a few deadlines to hit and I spent a few more days in Berlin than I planned to at the start of this trip. Prague is an incredibly beautiful place though and I will most definitely visit it again, hopefully with a companion and plenty of time to experience the culture and social scene in equal measure.

Berlin, day 4

We were all pretty wiped in the morning. It was such a hot day again and the room was so stifling that there was no chance of lying in, so we all ended up having to operate on very little sleep for the whole day. Again, I thought we'd say our goodbyes and all go do our own thing, but was very pleased when we all headed out together. As the barely-knowledgable tour guides, Sach and I suggested visiting the Stasi Museum to the others, which I had not got round to seeing on my 2 previous visits to Berlin. As a subject I have read a lot about, I find the Stasi and the East German DDR a constantly fascinating subject and I consider my tedious catalogue of trivia on it better than most, but the museum was so stuffy and hot that even I was glad of the large sections of German text that we could skim past.

Stasi HQ

Erich Mielke's desk (the big man)

Afterwards, we suggested heading back to the cafe by the river next to the East Side Gallery, and after a few beers and some much needed food, we strolled along the wall to take in the fantastic artwork on display that I'd brazenly ignored 2 days previously. We then took the girls to Yaam, found some chairs on the sand and watched the pyjama-bottomed hippies go by with a few more beers. I think, probably due to our fatigue, we had some of our strangest conversations there. By the way, and I have no idea when I'm going to get the time to write it, but be on the lookout for my trilogy of stories about Bennett Neesom and his continuing struggle against his evil nemesis, the Poo King. They will be written under my pen name, Jack Sharkrider. Yeah.

We went back to the hostel to clean up and change before heading out for the rest of the evening. I suggested Potsdamer Platz as, being the financial and more commercial area of town, it would be very different from everything else we'd seen. Everyone took the piss out of me and accused me of talking rubbish when I pointed out the building at Potsdamer Plat 5 and explained its disjointed lines and optical illusion-esque perspective was why it is one of my favourite buildings in the world. They claimed they couldn't see what I was on about, but as we crossed the square more of what I'd described became apparent to them, although I'm still waiting on apologies.

We headed to the Sony centre and found a place to have dinner, where both Sach and I ordered the pork knuckle, purely out of curiosity. It looked a lot more manageable in the menu pictures, but when it turned up, I found myself staring at a whole joint that would have done a family of 3 for Sunday roast. It was accompanied by potato dumplings and sauerkraut, which didn't make it any easier to tackle. We both tried our best, but hardly made a dent and the waiter mockingly scoffed when I made the universal sign of "I'm so full I may die".

The Sony Centre

We popped into Andy's diner over the road from the Sony Centre for another drink. I know going to an American theme place in Germany is pretty lame, but it was on the way and nothing else appeared to be open. We spent a long time mocking the artwork on their menus, which, in retrospect, was maybe why the waitress was so cold with us. Then we hopped into a cab back to our hostel, hoping the bar would be open, but it wasn't. After a wander round Alexanderplatz, we found the only place still serving drinks; a kebab shop. Yes, we sat in a kebab shop drinking beer. And not just for one either; we stayed there drinking until the sun came up. The others kept saying how terrible a situation it was and how we shouldn't tell anyone about it, but I loved it as it was such a random end to the night and, again, a perfect example of how you never know what you will end up doing in a city as spontaneous and free as Berlin.

The finest clipart on show at Andy's

Berlin, day 3

It's up against some strong competition, but day 3, Sunday, was by far my most favourite day. Firstly, we actually went and did some sightseeing. We headed up to Mauer park for the open air market and spent an hour or so wandering around there in awe of the great crafts and utter crap on offer. Up the road from that is the Wall Museum, that chronicles the course of events leading to the building of the Berlin wall, its function as and symbol of totalitarian oppression, right through to its destruction. It has a replicated stretch of wall and 'no mans land' over the road, complete with watchtower, that can be observed from the top of the museum.

We'd planned a route to walk back towards the Brandenburg Gate and, completely by accident, stumbled across the Topography of Terror, an outdoor and indoor museum charting the Nazis rise to power, located on the previous site of the SS and Gestapo headquarters. I know my pre-world war 2 history pretty well, but it is such a captivating and informative exhibition that I was overwhelmed by so much I'd never heard of before.

We finally made it to see the Brandenburg Gate, after our abandonment of it the day before, and then wandered round to the Bundestag, the parliament building of the German government. On my previous trip here we just had to queue up the steps at the front to wait for our turn to go up into the building's observation dome, and that was even during election time, but now access is permitted by reservation only and the entire front of the building is fenced off and heavily policed. Instead we walked to the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, a striking and imposing monument of 2711 concrete blocks. It's almost pleasant and communal in spirit on the edges, where the blocks are low and accessible, but as the ground slopes down towards the middle of the monument and the blocks rise higher into oppressively large and claustrophobic obelisks, it creates an overwhelming and isolating atmosphere that is only relieved as you approach the other side and the outside world and traffic thankfully come into focus again. Or until your respectful mate jumps out at you from his hiding place behind one of the blocks.

The gate

The Reichstag Bundestag

The memorial

We headed back to our hostel to collect our stuff, as we were booked into a different hostel for our final 2 nights, and then made our way to Alexanderplatz. I'd chosen the One 80 Hostel on the sole basis that it looked utterly cool from the pics on the internet, and in that respect it did not disappoint. We dropped off our stuff in our room and in the process woke up a poor girl who was having a nap on one of the bunks. To make it up to her, we invited her down to the hostel bar for happy hour, and instead of swearing at us for disturbing her, she actually accepted.

Amy was waiting for her friend to join her before starting their week's holiday in Berlin, and we learned a lot about her in the meantime. I quickly realised she was insanely cool, and I do literally mean 'insanely'; do any of you know a white girl who made a conscious decision to move to Iraq for fun?! I thought we'd all go our separate ways after Sara (pronounce that any way you want, she won't mind) turned up, but we just continued drinking together for the rest of the night. The hostel had a photo booth in which we messed around for a while, and pretty soon (well, 4am) the bar was closed, so we ventured out to find a place to keep going.

Sach had been given directions by the barman for a club, and he adamantly lead us out into the night to find it. After a while our confidence started to wain, so we stopped at a kebab kiosk that sold beer, thinking this was the best we were going to get. But no, 'onwards' cried Sach, and eventually, after getting some pointers from some pissed Aussies, we found a place Sach assured us was the one we were looking for. He tried to act like he had been vindicated after we had all doubted he knew where he was leading us, but I could tell he was just relieved.

The bar was an utter hole. We came to a unanimous descision that every misshapen dropout there was on day release from either prison or a psychiatric ward, and the DJ played the worst possible songs in an even worse combination. We still drank and danced like idiots though, and asked a random stranger to take a picture of us all with Sara's phone, even though he could just have easily done a runner with it. We even asked for one more song when the crap DJ stopped, but I think he had lost the will to live with his performance that night long before we had the chance to. We finally headed back to the hostel just as the sun rose, even though I definitely did not want the night to end. But I needed the rest, as I would find out the next day.