Our overnight trip to Cochin is hideous, to say the very least; literally crawling with bugs. And the prying eyes of Indian men, who stare at us all night. Lovely.
By the time we get to Cochin, we are kanckered and crabby, and resolve to do absolutely nothing, apart from watch dreadfully bad films. "Son of the Mask," anyone? (I know, who knew The Mask had a sequel?!)
When we do finally venture out, we discover that Cochin is actually a rather nice city. It's divided in to 2 parts; the more modern Ernakulum, and the older Fort Cochi. We are staying right by the boat jetty in Ernalkulum, but luckily our budget can just about stretch to the Rs 2.5 (2 p) ferry fee to get to Fort Cochi. Phewf.
Over on Fort Cochi, we wander around taking in the sights; the beautiful St Francis Xavier Chruch (and also burial place of the Vasco da Gama) the old spice markets and the Chinese Fishing Nets, which land catch throughout the day and sell fish and seafood to (mostly) tourists, who then take what they buy to nearby hotels, who are only too happy to cook the catch. It's a cool idea, though the seafood looks a bit limp, smells like hell and is covered in flies. Going vegetarian, for sure.
We discover that Cochin is one of the only places in Kerala where you can see traditional Keralan dance/theatre performances called Kathakali on a daily basis, so we find a performance to go to one night. Apparently it takes about 10 years to learn Kathakali, which is essentially a silent story told through the medium of dance, eye movements and hand movements. The costumes are incredible and really elaborate - men with thick (almost grotesque) facial makeup, heavy dresses with a wide skirt and lots of jangly jewellery. Unfortunately, our first experience of Kathakali is a bit disappointing. The venue is more-or-less a shed on the outskirts of Ernakulum, and there are 8 other people there to watch the one-man-show (which means escape without drawing attention to ourselves is impossible!). The actor also seems to be really bored throughout the entire performance too, and lacks energy. Throughout the whole thing, me and Lisa can't help exchanging confused looks, and mouthing "I don't get it" to each other. So when it comes to signing the visitors book, we both agree that "good makeup" is a diplomatic and fair assessment of the show.
The next day, due to a petrol-price hike there is a national strike in India, so most businesses and shops are closed. Much to delight though, we find a branch of Cafe Coffee Day - the Indian Starbucks - and head in for cake and coffee. Whilst there, we get chatting to 2 Indian guys called Paul and Joe. And this sparks of the strangest chain of events that can only be described as "classic Charlotte and Lisa."
First of all, they take us to a fake bookshop, where I can get copies of pretty much any book, at mega-cheap Indian prices. So i stock up, glad to have not been totally ripped off. From there, they invite us to Sunday mass at St Francis Xavier Church. As you do. Not usually how I get my kicks, but when in India....
The church is packed out, and as we take our seats, I can't help but feel like a total fraud. I'm not very good at religion, and I'm sure the priest will be able so sniff out my sins (of which there are many) a mile away. But we stick it out (the whole 2 hours of it!), whilst hymns are sung to the tune of Pet Shops Boys classics including "Go West" and a variety of old Elvis songs. Strange but true.
After the church-date Paul and Joe (who is has become apparent are mega-rich) take us to the Cochin Yacht Club for drinks. I look grungy and probably smell like feet, so not exactly the desired yacht club clientele, but on the promise of vodka I'm persuaded. We lounge around there for a couple of hours idly chewing the fat, before Paul and Joe invite us to Dreamz (yes, with a z...so pretentious that I am cringing thinking about it), a very exclusive nightclub in the city usually frequented by Bollywood stars. So, dressed in beachy clothes and flip-flops, the four of hit up Dreamz. Me and Lisa needn't have worried about looking out of place though, because (fashion-wise, at least) India is stuck in a time warp. Flares and inappropriately tight shirts are the order of the day. Sexy.
When Dreamz (still cringing) shuts at the very-late till of 12.30, we go back to Joe's house for some drinks (NB neither me nor Lisa had any say in this). What began the day as 2 nice guys helping some gals buy books has now turned in to a bit of a creep fest, and both Paul and Joe are pushing their luck (Paul: "Lisa, can I put my arm around you?" Lisa: "No. Don't touch me.") So we demand that they return us home, which thankfully they do. Though typically our hotel is now all-locked up, and in our drunken loudness, I think we manage to wake up half of Cochin trying to get in.
I warned you...classic Charlotte and Lisa!
Sunday, 25 December 2011
Monday, 19 December 2011
Mysore: Snake Charmers, Bribes and "Madam, I fuck you?"
We leave the comfort and solitude of Gokarna beach behind and head on the bus to Mysore, a city in southern Karnataka. Bus first, then an overnight train....
The bus journey takes us through fairly rural India, and every time we stop people smile, wave or stare at us. One woman even sends food over to us from another bus (which we accept, of course!) By the time we arrive in Hubli to catch our train, we think the attention can't really get any worse. But it does. And I am asked for my 'autograph' at the station. My first thought, obviously, is "whit?" Swiftly followed by "oh-god-am-i-in-a-porno...?" Hopefully the answer to the latter is no; like most people we meet in India, the autograph-seeker is just curious and wants to talk to us.
After a bit more pestering we catch our train and arrive in Mysore fresh and chirpy early the next morning (the last bit is a lie).
We find some cheapo accommodation in the city centre, and after a nap, head out to start exploring. First stop is the Maharajas Palace. Whilst expensive enter (if you're foreign, that is. One price for Indians, another for everyone else), it's a beautiful building architecturally, and decorated with such beautiful and elaborate designs inside. Naturally I want to take some pictures but as soon as I do the nasty wee guard appears and, this being India, I have to pay him an Rs 50 fine. Grudgingly I do, but I feel humiliated by the experience, not least because a crowd of around 20 people has stopped to watch (privacy is a thing of the past, relegated to memory. everything we do, from buying tea to tying a shoelace attracts an audience!).
Although I'm annoyed by having to pay baksheesh, corruption is endemic in India, from grassroots level right up to the very top. This is something that we witness more of later in our travels.
So, disgruntled by Mysore, we do the Western thing and go for a Dominos pizza and then to the cinema. The film itself is fairly shit, and all in Hindi, so mostly we have not-a-clue what's going on. But there is one blonde-haired western woman in it, who is essentially portrayed as a slut who sleeps around (rough dialogue - Man: "You want it?" Woman: "Ok") Both of us are pretty incensed by this to say the least, and wonder if, for some Indians, this is the only reality that they have of Westerners? It seems all too ironic when we leave the cinema and a man on a scooter kerb-crawls next to us, puts on his best sex-pervert voice and says, "Madam, I fuck you?"
Both of us are too stunned to retort, and cannot quite believe what he's said to us. But when it happens again (several times), we make sure that they know the only people they can fuck are themselves. With sharp objects.
So our experience of Mysore has been fairly disappointing; the produce market is so filled with meat (most of it rotting) that Lisa can't stop heaving. The streets are filthy and rain only makes it worse. It smells of pee. It's noisy; noisier than most cities we've been to so far. And there is only minimal evidence of the incense and sandalwood production that is so famous there. Perhaps the only redeeming feature is the snake-charmer that we see as we are leaving. It's a stereotypical image of India that's ingrained in my mind, and I'm finally happy to experience it for real. Albeit from a safe distance....
The bus journey takes us through fairly rural India, and every time we stop people smile, wave or stare at us. One woman even sends food over to us from another bus (which we accept, of course!) By the time we arrive in Hubli to catch our train, we think the attention can't really get any worse. But it does. And I am asked for my 'autograph' at the station. My first thought, obviously, is "whit?" Swiftly followed by "oh-god-am-i-in-a-porno...?" Hopefully the answer to the latter is no; like most people we meet in India, the autograph-seeker is just curious and wants to talk to us.
After a bit more pestering we catch our train and arrive in Mysore fresh and chirpy early the next morning (the last bit is a lie).
We find some cheapo accommodation in the city centre, and after a nap, head out to start exploring. First stop is the Maharajas Palace. Whilst expensive enter (if you're foreign, that is. One price for Indians, another for everyone else), it's a beautiful building architecturally, and decorated with such beautiful and elaborate designs inside. Naturally I want to take some pictures but as soon as I do the nasty wee guard appears and, this being India, I have to pay him an Rs 50 fine. Grudgingly I do, but I feel humiliated by the experience, not least because a crowd of around 20 people has stopped to watch (privacy is a thing of the past, relegated to memory. everything we do, from buying tea to tying a shoelace attracts an audience!).
Although I'm annoyed by having to pay baksheesh, corruption is endemic in India, from grassroots level right up to the very top. This is something that we witness more of later in our travels.
So, disgruntled by Mysore, we do the Western thing and go for a Dominos pizza and then to the cinema. The film itself is fairly shit, and all in Hindi, so mostly we have not-a-clue what's going on. But there is one blonde-haired western woman in it, who is essentially portrayed as a slut who sleeps around (rough dialogue - Man: "You want it?" Woman: "Ok") Both of us are pretty incensed by this to say the least, and wonder if, for some Indians, this is the only reality that they have of Westerners? It seems all too ironic when we leave the cinema and a man on a scooter kerb-crawls next to us, puts on his best sex-pervert voice and says, "Madam, I fuck you?"
Both of us are too stunned to retort, and cannot quite believe what he's said to us. But when it happens again (several times), we make sure that they know the only people they can fuck are themselves. With sharp objects.
So our experience of Mysore has been fairly disappointing; the produce market is so filled with meat (most of it rotting) that Lisa can't stop heaving. The streets are filthy and rain only makes it worse. It smells of pee. It's noisy; noisier than most cities we've been to so far. And there is only minimal evidence of the incense and sandalwood production that is so famous there. Perhaps the only redeeming feature is the snake-charmer that we see as we are leaving. It's a stereotypical image of India that's ingrained in my mind, and I'm finally happy to experience it for real. Albeit from a safe distance....
Thursday, 15 December 2011
Gokarna: The Worst Hotel in History, an Ant Infestation and Stranded Overnight on the Beach...
Our train from Palolem to Gokarna, although short, is a struggle. It's jam-packed and there are people spilling out from every seat, with people sneakily taking pictures of us (looking burnt and hideous, I might add!) Though, by now, this is just standard India.
Although Gokarna is 'beachy', it's a bit off the tourist trail and considered to be a very spiritual and sacred place in India. We arrive early evening and share a rickshaw form the station to Gokarna town with Marlise and Gaya, a Dutch mother-and-daughter who are living in Goa, but taking their Diwali holidays in Gokarna. We arrive in the town and fins the first 'decent' looking hotel possible. Which turns out to be the biggest rat-pit going. (I swear the concentration camp I visited earlier this year looked more comfortable...) Nonetheless we take the room, and suffer a very uncomfortable night sans fan. We leave quick-sharp in the morning and take a rickshaw to Kudlee beach, near the town, where we check in to a yoga lodge for a few nights (though I can assure you that no actual yoga took place during our stay there... Far too many dreadlocked neo pseudo hippies milling about for us to even attempt it right now...)
The yoga lodge is set in a tropical forest on a clifftop above the beach, and takes about 10 minutes to walk down to the sand, along a very rocky and very dark path. The practicalities of this do not strike us until later in our stay though, when we are having dinner at a restaurant right on the beach. We sit for hours, chatting, eating and reading, and as we are about to leave around 11 pm, we realise that the tide has come in. Right to the steps leading to the restaurant. And it's high; too high to walk in, especially as it's pitch black and the beach is deserted. Problem...
We decide to wait it out for an hour or so, and sit with a couple of Israeli guys who are staying in the accommodation next door. When they offer us a bed at theirs for the night (to spare us certain death-by-drowning), for some utterly inexplicable reason, we politely decline. Why, I have no idea. They are Hot Israeli Babes for one, and have a fuckload of ganga for two. (NB, 'Fuckload'; the technical term of copious amounts of cannabis. Equivalent of 2-3 ounces, at least).
Stubbornly, we decide that cos-we're-scottish-and-therefore-fucking-hardocre, we can make it back.
This turns out to be a hugely naive decision, and half way along the beach, we realise that we are definitely not going to make it back the hotel. The sensible thing to do is to admit defeat and turn back. Only we can't. The sea has surrounded us in such as way that we are now essentially stranded on a sandbar, on a beach in India, in the middle of the night. A little bit stoned.
Well, c'est la vie! Luckily, it's a beautiful night, and after my crabbitness subsides, the shooting stars that pierce the black sky, the lightning storms on the horizon and the lazy fireflies that drift past us more than make up for the waiting game we're playing.
About 4am, we do our best Bear Grylls impressions and brave the hike home. Success! And hopefully, lesson learned. Must not be so thick in future...
We manage an epic sleep, and all seems to be going just swimmingly again until we come back from the beach one night to discover a mass infestation of ants, mostly in and around Lisa's bag. They are swarming everywhere, and it takes a fair effort to get rid of them. Ok, so I know they're not exactly poisonous or particularly harmful. But they're a pain in the ass! Sadly though, this is just the start of many ant nightmares in India.
Bag cleared of creepy-crawlies, we pack up our lives again and get ready to go to Mysore in Southern Karnataka. It's city-time again, though only because it's fairly impossible to enjoy the beach with such bad sunburn....
Although Gokarna is 'beachy', it's a bit off the tourist trail and considered to be a very spiritual and sacred place in India. We arrive early evening and share a rickshaw form the station to Gokarna town with Marlise and Gaya, a Dutch mother-and-daughter who are living in Goa, but taking their Diwali holidays in Gokarna. We arrive in the town and fins the first 'decent' looking hotel possible. Which turns out to be the biggest rat-pit going. (I swear the concentration camp I visited earlier this year looked more comfortable...) Nonetheless we take the room, and suffer a very uncomfortable night sans fan. We leave quick-sharp in the morning and take a rickshaw to Kudlee beach, near the town, where we check in to a yoga lodge for a few nights (though I can assure you that no actual yoga took place during our stay there... Far too many dreadlocked neo pseudo hippies milling about for us to even attempt it right now...)
The yoga lodge is set in a tropical forest on a clifftop above the beach, and takes about 10 minutes to walk down to the sand, along a very rocky and very dark path. The practicalities of this do not strike us until later in our stay though, when we are having dinner at a restaurant right on the beach. We sit for hours, chatting, eating and reading, and as we are about to leave around 11 pm, we realise that the tide has come in. Right to the steps leading to the restaurant. And it's high; too high to walk in, especially as it's pitch black and the beach is deserted. Problem...
We decide to wait it out for an hour or so, and sit with a couple of Israeli guys who are staying in the accommodation next door. When they offer us a bed at theirs for the night (to spare us certain death-by-drowning), for some utterly inexplicable reason, we politely decline. Why, I have no idea. They are Hot Israeli Babes for one, and have a fuckload of ganga for two. (NB, 'Fuckload'; the technical term of copious amounts of cannabis. Equivalent of 2-3 ounces, at least).
Stubbornly, we decide that cos-we're-scottish-and-therefore-fucking-hardocre, we can make it back.
This turns out to be a hugely naive decision, and half way along the beach, we realise that we are definitely not going to make it back the hotel. The sensible thing to do is to admit defeat and turn back. Only we can't. The sea has surrounded us in such as way that we are now essentially stranded on a sandbar, on a beach in India, in the middle of the night. A little bit stoned.
Well, c'est la vie! Luckily, it's a beautiful night, and after my crabbitness subsides, the shooting stars that pierce the black sky, the lightning storms on the horizon and the lazy fireflies that drift past us more than make up for the waiting game we're playing.
About 4am, we do our best Bear Grylls impressions and brave the hike home. Success! And hopefully, lesson learned. Must not be so thick in future...
We manage an epic sleep, and all seems to be going just swimmingly again until we come back from the beach one night to discover a mass infestation of ants, mostly in and around Lisa's bag. They are swarming everywhere, and it takes a fair effort to get rid of them. Ok, so I know they're not exactly poisonous or particularly harmful. But they're a pain in the ass! Sadly though, this is just the start of many ant nightmares in India.
Bag cleared of creepy-crawlies, we pack up our lives again and get ready to go to Mysore in Southern Karnataka. It's city-time again, though only because it's fairly impossible to enjoy the beach with such bad sunburn....
Tuesday, 13 December 2011
Palolem: Ayurvedic medicine, Diwali and some very nasty sunburn....
So, it doesn't take us long to find accommodation in Palolem - as expected, there are oodles of people just waiting to take us to verrrry verry nice hotels madams, with running waters and fans in rooms. Imagine - running water! The luxury of it all!
We ditch our bags and head down to the beach for a paddle in the water and some food in a beach bar. As standard, the sunset here is beautiful, and we intersperse our evening watching that and ridiculing men on the beach who are wearing far-too-tight speedos. Sadly, this sight is all too common in India, and I fear my eyes may never be the same again.
Most of our time in Palolem is spent lazing on the beach, reading and (big surprise) wandering around the markets. We're barely there a day and I'm beginning to suffer from some pretty sore stomach cramps (oh the indignity of it all!). The pharmacy that I've brought with me doesn't seem to be helping either, so I decide to scrap Western medicine and go Ayurvedic. This means asking a little man (have you noticed that all my descriptions of Indian men start with "this little man"....? I digress...) on the street if he can fix me up with some herbal remedy. He mixes up a concoction of powders from unmarked tubs (they could be anything) and tells me to add the mix to hot water and drink 3 times a day. Duly noted, and I do so for the next few days. And to my delight, I genuinely do feel better.
Slightly disheartened by our respective lack of tans, me and Lisa decide to dedicate a full day to lying on the beach, trying to get some colour. But of course, the path of a golden tan never runs smoothly, and by nightfall, the extent of just how burnt we have gotten is revealed. Both of us are red-raw. Deep fried. Cremated. Not only is it hideous (we look as though we are wearing white knickers), but it is truly excrutiating. We can't sleep/shower/move without great difficulty, and I feel like an old woman hobbling about. But of the course, the worst thing about being this burnt is the fact that it is like a wearing a massive ID card, proclaiming "LOOK! WE'RE FROM THE UK!" The "Brit's Abroad" look is shameful, but we try to accessorise it as best we can. With alcohol, obviously. (Specifically, a couple of Wet Pussy's at a beach bar, watching incredible lightning storms over the ocean).
Whilst we're in Palolem, the Indian festival of Diwali is taking place. It's a pretty big deal here, and for the weeks in advance kids are out constructing paper mache demons, setting off firecrackers and decorating the streets with candles and tealights. It looks beautiful, but turns out to be fairly uneventful (for us at least) as we lie tending to our burns....
Lesson learned, and after a few night in Palolem, we're finally done with Goa. Next stop Gokarna, in Karnataka!
We ditch our bags and head down to the beach for a paddle in the water and some food in a beach bar. As standard, the sunset here is beautiful, and we intersperse our evening watching that and ridiculing men on the beach who are wearing far-too-tight speedos. Sadly, this sight is all too common in India, and I fear my eyes may never be the same again.
Most of our time in Palolem is spent lazing on the beach, reading and (big surprise) wandering around the markets. We're barely there a day and I'm beginning to suffer from some pretty sore stomach cramps (oh the indignity of it all!). The pharmacy that I've brought with me doesn't seem to be helping either, so I decide to scrap Western medicine and go Ayurvedic. This means asking a little man (have you noticed that all my descriptions of Indian men start with "this little man"....? I digress...) on the street if he can fix me up with some herbal remedy. He mixes up a concoction of powders from unmarked tubs (they could be anything) and tells me to add the mix to hot water and drink 3 times a day. Duly noted, and I do so for the next few days. And to my delight, I genuinely do feel better.
Slightly disheartened by our respective lack of tans, me and Lisa decide to dedicate a full day to lying on the beach, trying to get some colour. But of course, the path of a golden tan never runs smoothly, and by nightfall, the extent of just how burnt we have gotten is revealed. Both of us are red-raw. Deep fried. Cremated. Not only is it hideous (we look as though we are wearing white knickers), but it is truly excrutiating. We can't sleep/shower/move without great difficulty, and I feel like an old woman hobbling about. But of the course, the worst thing about being this burnt is the fact that it is like a wearing a massive ID card, proclaiming "LOOK! WE'RE FROM THE UK!" The "Brit's Abroad" look is shameful, but we try to accessorise it as best we can. With alcohol, obviously. (Specifically, a couple of Wet Pussy's at a beach bar, watching incredible lightning storms over the ocean).
Whilst we're in Palolem, the Indian festival of Diwali is taking place. It's a pretty big deal here, and for the weeks in advance kids are out constructing paper mache demons, setting off firecrackers and decorating the streets with candles and tealights. It looks beautiful, but turns out to be fairly uneventful (for us at least) as we lie tending to our burns....
Lesson learned, and after a few night in Palolem, we're finally done with Goa. Next stop Gokarna, in Karnataka!
Thursday, 8 December 2011
A Bumpy Ride, Palm Reading and a Slightly Gropey Massage...
Our last few days in North Goa are typically blissful, and spent lazing around the beach, zooming around the coast on our scooters, buying sackfuls of tourist tat and sitting around in beach bars watching sun-sets. It's a tough old life! So tough, in fact, that we decide to treat ourselves to Ayurvedic massages at a little clinic (aka shack) behind where we are staying. It's only Rs600 (about 7 quid) for a 1 hour full back massage, so really it would be rude not to...
We stride in and are taken in to separate rooms - Lisa gets a proper massage bed with a female masseuse, whereas I am stuck with a sheet laid out on the floor and a small suspicious looking Indian man. Nonetheless, I strip down to my knickers and lie on the sheet (oh the glamour!) whilst my masseur sets about working all the knots out of my back. Just as I am beginning to relax and actually quite enjoy it, my knickers are pulled half-way down and my bottom and inner thighs kneaded to within an in of their lives. My mind is racing. Is this normal? Is Lisa getting the same treatment? Why is he continuing to punch my ass? I swear people have less contact during sex.
When our time is up, we stagger out of the 'clincic' and can barely look at each other for laughing. Turns out, the groping wasn't just for me; Lisa has been equally violated. Not an entirely unpleasant massage though. Just a tad unexpected!
So the time has come to move on to South Goa, and a beautiful beach we've heard about called Palolem. We have to catch a few different buses to get there - out first Indian bus experience. And what an experiecne it is! Just when you think that they cannot possibly fit another soul on the bus they manage to squeeze and pack a few more on, and I'm pretty sure the drivers are half-drunk most of the time (or at least their crazy driving and complete disregard for road rules/safety/other traffic would suggest so). The buises here make for pretty uncomfortable journeys too - rather like sitting on a pneumatic drill for a few hours.
Our last bus trip is actually rather interesting though - for me at least. I wind up sitting next to a friendly little Indian man called Albert, who just-so-happens top be a palm reader. What are the chances! So over the course of the 2 hour journey, he studies my hands and makes some very precise and interesting predictions and readings. I won't bore you with the details (of which there are a lot!), but I am completely taken aback with some of what he has to say. As well as being pretty accurate in terms of my personality etc, according to him I've got a happy future ahead. Phewf.
I've also taken some time during our various bus adventures to try and consolidate a few thoughts on India so far....
* It is a lot dirtier and smellier than I imagined it would be. There's barely a bin in sight, so people tend to just throw rubbish wherever. And a lack of public toilets and sanitation means that there is an overriding stench of urine in most places. Men stopping for a piss in the middle of the street are ten-a-penny.
* My clothes are spattered with a small red dots that look like blood. Thankfully not blood, but paan, a red digestif that is chewed here by pretty much everyone, then spit out on the pavements. Have been caught in crossfre a few times.
* Seems that Indian men are perpetual masturbators. Seriously - everywhere we turn there's someone with their hands down their trousers having a right good fiddle.
* There are powercuts almost every day. And they enrage me.
* There are cows everywhere, and even traffic waits for them.
* If we have to answer question about jobs/salaries/husbands/boyfriends etc any more, we're probably going to scream...
Anyways... the time we arrive in Palolem, it's late afternoon, so we head off to find somewhere to stay. The search begins...
We stride in and are taken in to separate rooms - Lisa gets a proper massage bed with a female masseuse, whereas I am stuck with a sheet laid out on the floor and a small suspicious looking Indian man. Nonetheless, I strip down to my knickers and lie on the sheet (oh the glamour!) whilst my masseur sets about working all the knots out of my back. Just as I am beginning to relax and actually quite enjoy it, my knickers are pulled half-way down and my bottom and inner thighs kneaded to within an in of their lives. My mind is racing. Is this normal? Is Lisa getting the same treatment? Why is he continuing to punch my ass? I swear people have less contact during sex.
When our time is up, we stagger out of the 'clincic' and can barely look at each other for laughing. Turns out, the groping wasn't just for me; Lisa has been equally violated. Not an entirely unpleasant massage though. Just a tad unexpected!
So the time has come to move on to South Goa, and a beautiful beach we've heard about called Palolem. We have to catch a few different buses to get there - out first Indian bus experience. And what an experiecne it is! Just when you think that they cannot possibly fit another soul on the bus they manage to squeeze and pack a few more on, and I'm pretty sure the drivers are half-drunk most of the time (or at least their crazy driving and complete disregard for road rules/safety/other traffic would suggest so). The buises here make for pretty uncomfortable journeys too - rather like sitting on a pneumatic drill for a few hours.
Our last bus trip is actually rather interesting though - for me at least. I wind up sitting next to a friendly little Indian man called Albert, who just-so-happens top be a palm reader. What are the chances! So over the course of the 2 hour journey, he studies my hands and makes some very precise and interesting predictions and readings. I won't bore you with the details (of which there are a lot!), but I am completely taken aback with some of what he has to say. As well as being pretty accurate in terms of my personality etc, according to him I've got a happy future ahead. Phewf.
I've also taken some time during our various bus adventures to try and consolidate a few thoughts on India so far....
* It is a lot dirtier and smellier than I imagined it would be. There's barely a bin in sight, so people tend to just throw rubbish wherever. And a lack of public toilets and sanitation means that there is an overriding stench of urine in most places. Men stopping for a piss in the middle of the street are ten-a-penny.
* My clothes are spattered with a small red dots that look like blood. Thankfully not blood, but paan, a red digestif that is chewed here by pretty much everyone, then spit out on the pavements. Have been caught in crossfre a few times.
* Seems that Indian men are perpetual masturbators. Seriously - everywhere we turn there's someone with their hands down their trousers having a right good fiddle.
* There are powercuts almost every day. And they enrage me.
* There are cows everywhere, and even traffic waits for them.
* If we have to answer question about jobs/salaries/husbands/boyfriends etc any more, we're probably going to scream...
Anyways... the time we arrive in Palolem, it's late afternoon, so we head off to find somewhere to stay. The search begins...
Saturday, 3 December 2011
Goa: Scooters, the Sadness of Indian women and the Bloated Corpse of a Cow
After a sweaty early morning trek, me and Lisa arrive at the Sea Horse beach bar and check ourselves in to one of the bamboo huts they have there. Right by the ocean and free from creepy crawlies (mostly). Perfect! We ditch our bags and head for an early morning paddle (bliss!) then settle beach-side for some breakfast. We've barely started eating though, when a small boy, no more than 2 or 3, comes over to our table and dances to the beat of a drum being played by this mother (who is also carrying a new born baby), then literally climbs through a tiny metal hoop. Afterwards, his mother sends him round all the tables to collect money. Easily the saddest thing I've seen in a long time, but simply a way of life here. Something we quickly discover is the immense sadness of the lives of a lot of Indian women. At the flea-market, for example, we speak to one stall holder called Gita, who is only 24. Married at 15 (an arranged marriage) she is now 8 months pregnant with her 2nd child, and out working ridiculously long days in the blistering heat. When asked where her husband was, she just laughed and said that he lies at home all day watching cricket on the TV. In her next life, she hopes to be reincarnated as a western woman, because of all the freedoms that we enjoy. Another girl (Anita, aged 12) wishes that she could go to school, but instead she has to sell bangles and beads on the beach. School, she says, is preferential for boys. She has no choice but to work. Despite their circumstances though, none of the women or girls that we meet are particularly downtrodden or downbeat. They are resilient, strong and hopeful of something better for their own children. As cliched as it may sounds, I have never appreciated my freedom so much.
And deciding that we need to make the most of our freedom, me and Lisa rent out scooters, at the cost of about 2 pounds per day. Goa is the perfect place to explore on a scooter; OK, so the traffic is still typically Indian (ie mental), but the roads and long and wide and the scooters easy to use. We drive all over the Goa, exploring all the other beaches - Baga, Calangute, Arambol and even a lovely deserted beach on the far north called Keri, where we stop and sunbathe in total isolation. So far so stunning, until the bloated and absolutely rancid-smelling corpse of a dead cow washes up on the shore. Of course, Lisa whips her camera out, so I's sure pictures will follow. Needless to say, we don't stick around there long, both of us wretching and heaving as we zoom off on our scooters.
We decide to keep the scooters for the duration of our stay in Goa - they're too much fun and far too cheap not too. Back in Anjuna we decide to end our day with a few beers on the beach, and end up drinking with a couple of Swiss guys (more Swiss! Nice but dull...). They invite us to a Goa trance party at the far end of the beach. And oh-dear-god is is horrific. I can hardly find the words to describe how terrible the music was, how many fuckwits were there and how overpriced the whole thing was. I can't think of a single person I know that would enjoy it.
So we make our excuses and leave (the music isn't the only problem....the Swiss political and economic chat doesn't exactly enthrall either of us!), ready for bed and more exploring. We only have a couple more days in North Goa, and definitely do not want to waste them sleeping....
And deciding that we need to make the most of our freedom, me and Lisa rent out scooters, at the cost of about 2 pounds per day. Goa is the perfect place to explore on a scooter; OK, so the traffic is still typically Indian (ie mental), but the roads and long and wide and the scooters easy to use. We drive all over the Goa, exploring all the other beaches - Baga, Calangute, Arambol and even a lovely deserted beach on the far north called Keri, where we stop and sunbathe in total isolation. So far so stunning, until the bloated and absolutely rancid-smelling corpse of a dead cow washes up on the shore. Of course, Lisa whips her camera out, so I's sure pictures will follow. Needless to say, we don't stick around there long, both of us wretching and heaving as we zoom off on our scooters.
We decide to keep the scooters for the duration of our stay in Goa - they're too much fun and far too cheap not too. Back in Anjuna we decide to end our day with a few beers on the beach, and end up drinking with a couple of Swiss guys (more Swiss! Nice but dull...). They invite us to a Goa trance party at the far end of the beach. And oh-dear-god is is horrific. I can hardly find the words to describe how terrible the music was, how many fuckwits were there and how overpriced the whole thing was. I can't think of a single person I know that would enjoy it.
So we make our excuses and leave (the music isn't the only problem....the Swiss political and economic chat doesn't exactly enthrall either of us!), ready for bed and more exploring. We only have a couple more days in North Goa, and definitely do not want to waste them sleeping....
Sunday, 13 November 2011
Goa II: Anjuna: Boys, Beaches and Bed Bugs
We're hardly in Anjuna 2 minutes and I'm won over already. It's sunny, we have a super cheap place to stay and the beach is merely but a few minutes away. Bliss. It's off-season here too, so there's not so many tourists about, which means the beach is relatively quiet. And therefore I can brave the bikini for the first time.
After an afternoon nap, we decide to explore, and after dodging some particularly persistent market stall holders ("I give you good price; ASDA price. 2 for 1, cheaper than Primark" etc) we head to the beach. More specifically a beach bar. And unsurprisingly, that's us there for the night, drinking Kingfisher, watching the sunset and chatting with other travellers. I spend most of the evening talking to an ever-so-lovely Swiss guy (who shall remain nameless) and end up staying at the beach with him late in to he night talking (good looking and can hold an intelligent conversation! oh my!) having more drinks, and going a late-night paddle. I can't quite pinpoint what it is, but Swiss seems different to a lot of the guys I tend to meet; just different. I could go on, but I shall spare you the details.
Alas though, our fairy tale romance (!) never quite takes off as he has to leave the following day. So, as I bid farewell to my one-day boyfriend, I console myself by doing the one thing that always makes me feel better. Shopping. The flea-market at Anjuna is theee place to be on a Wednesday; teeming with market stalls selling anything and everything, and ladies trying to coax us over to their stalls with shouts of "hey Indian Barbie" and "White Chicken, come look on my shop!". Some are a bit more foreceful than other, and literally grab and pull at us until we agree to look. Needless to say, I leave the market happy with a substantial little bundle of stuff, from bangles to beads, all which cost mere pennies.
Back at our guest house, we are just settling down for the night when both of us are startled in to bolt-upright position by a little "thud" on the pillow between where are heads are laid. To our total surprise, a lizard has fallen off the ceiling and landed in between us. To be honest, I'm not sure who's actually more shocked; us of the lizard. And thats' only the start of it. Turns out, we are staying in a total rat -pit. The place is crawling. Ants, lizards, moths, crickets, spiders. David Attenborough's wet dream.
After a night of sleeping with one eye open, completely covered from head to toe, we resolve to find a new place to stay in the morning. Preferable one that's creepy-crawly free. And perhaps closer to the beach. I am determined to wake up early enough for a sunrise swim at least once....
Sunday, 6 November 2011
Goa: Part I - Amputees, Feni and Scooter Sillyness...
Our train to Goa from Mumbia is eraly in the morning, so we're up with the birds (and rats, stray dogs, degenerates, cats, cows etc) and off the the station. Strangely, the train station in Mumbai is one of the nicest buildings that it has to offer, and looks even more beautiful first thing, when the sky is a deep blue colour and the moon is still out. Our walk to the station isn't quite to nice though; after practically having to sprint to escape a rabid dog baring its rotten wee teeth at us, we are faced with literally hundreds of people sleeping on street corners, benches, shop doorways, kerbs; pretty much anywhere they can find.
Inside the station is even stranger, and there is a real mix of people around; commuters, market traders, schoolkids, a white lady being violently sick in to a bin, and even a disproportionate number of amputees (if you'll excuse the expression), who can only use there arms to drag themselves across the grimy floor. Needless to say, we are glad to be escaping Mumbai.
We find our seats (which resemble a couple of slabs of concrete inside a prison cell) and set off of the epic 14 hour journey to Panaji. The outskirts of Mumbai are absolutely fascinating, and despite being knackered, I can't take my eyes off the scenery; there are makeshift tarpaulin houses, shanty towns, slums, corrugated iron lean-to's (which house massive families!), people sleeping on the train tracks and platforms. As we get further away from the city, the scenery becomes a lot greener, and we see lots of lush forests, rivers, mountains, and paddy fields. Much easier on the eye!
We finally arrive in Goa, and decide to spend a couple of nights in Panaji, which is little town just inland from the beaches and the coast, set on a large river. It's scenic enough (anything is an improvement on Mumbai) and has a fairly relaxed vibe with lots of European influence, which can only mean one thing. Time to get the drinks in. After the stress of Mumbai, lord knows we need it!
Along with shopping and sleeping, sampling the local alcohol is our main activity in Panaji. We (typically for me and Lisa) even befriend the local off-license owner (Maroj/Masood/Joshi...I forget his name) and are invited to be his guests for a few fenis, which is the local cashew fruit liquor. We throw caution to the wind and accept, and a good few drinks later I find myself driving around Panaji on a scooter, with Maroj/Masood/Joshi clinging on behind me, barking directions in my ear. Perhaps not the best idea I've ever had. But hey - this is India. Logic and reason is officially redundant here.
The morning after our feni-fest (this sounds a lot dirtier than it was...) we are awoken ridiculously early by Maroj/Masood/Joshi banging on our door. We've been summoned for a brisk walk on the beach. Theoretically this is a lovely idea; to watch the sunrise, paddle, and wander dreamily along the sand. Realistically, this is never going to be the case. I am tired, crabbit, and look like a burst couch. But nonetheless we manage, and it's a blissful walk. The morning sun melts away my huff, and we enjoy our stroll. The water is cool , the breeze soft and the beach quiet apart from a few joggers (overkeen if you ask me) and men casting out fishing nets from the shore.
Despite being fairly relaxed, Panaji is essentially a town so we decide it's time to go to the beach. For a few days at least, I want to lie on the sand, read, swim and attempt to get a tan, and not have to think about one single thing.
Next stop, Anjuna!
Along with shopping and sleeping, sampling the local alcohol is our main activity in Panaji. We (typically for me and Lisa) even befriend the local off-license owner (Maroj/Masood/Joshi...I forget his name) and are invited to be his guests for a few fenis, which is the local cashew fruit liquor. We throw caution to the wind and accept, and a good few drinks later I find myself driving around Panaji on a scooter, with Maroj/Masood/Joshi clinging on behind me, barking directions in my ear. Perhaps not the best idea I've ever had. But hey - this is India. Logic and reason is officially redundant here.
The morning after our feni-fest (this sounds a lot dirtier than it was...) we are awoken ridiculously early by Maroj/Masood/Joshi banging on our door. We've been summoned for a brisk walk on the beach. Theoretically this is a lovely idea; to watch the sunrise, paddle, and wander dreamily along the sand. Realistically, this is never going to be the case. I am tired, crabbit, and look like a burst couch. But nonetheless we manage, and it's a blissful walk. The morning sun melts away my huff, and we enjoy our stroll. The water is cool , the breeze soft and the beach quiet apart from a few joggers (overkeen if you ask me) and men casting out fishing nets from the shore.
Despite being fairly relaxed, Panaji is essentially a town so we decide it's time to go to the beach. For a few days at least, I want to lie on the sand, read, swim and attempt to get a tan, and not have to think about one single thing.
Next stop, Anjuna!
Wednesday, 2 November 2011
Mumbai: Slums, Angry Monkeys and Rivers of Shit
Mumbai... What a total assault on the senses! After an epic flight, me and Lisa arrive in Mumbai, and are thrown right in at the deep end. It's rush hour, so the chaos is intensified; there are people crammed everywhere, cars veering in every direction, slums (the largest is right by the airport - an interesting welcome to the city...), shacks, dilapidated buildings, cows, crows, sheep, thick smog, huge heaps of rotting rubbish, rivers of shit....you name it and I'm pretty sure Mumbai has it. Wide-eyed, we take a taxi in to the centre, completely in awe of our surroundings. The heat and humidity is totally overwhelming, the smells are suffocating (namely shit, piss, and rubbish) and the poverty is relentless. There are people sleeping on every available bit of ground, performing their morning ablutions at the side of the road completely oblivious to anything else, scraping around in dirt, defecation and rubbish.
It doesn't matter what you hear or read about Mumbai; it's only when you see it - see slum babies and children filthy and begging - that you can even slightly understand the reality of this place.
We're staying in area of the city called Fort, which is allegedly one of the nicer parts (though judging by the myriad of rats, stray dogs and cats, faeces and mysterious smells, I'm not so convinced). Nonetheless, we resolve to make the most of Mumbai, however intimidating it is.
Our first expedition is to the Gateway of India, an Arc-de-Triomphe style structure right down by the water. It's certainly very beautiful, and the breeze off the water offers a little respite from the stifling heat (it's unbearable...I barely need to walk 30 seconds and I'm sweating). After a couple of chai's, we decide to take a boat trip out to Elephanta Island, about 1 hour off the coast. Albeit scorching hot, Elephanta is a lush island, with a series if intricately carved Hidni caves dating back to 4AD. Really beautiful, although we did have to contend with stray dogs, wild goats, ferocious looking monkeys with fangs (who kept stealing water from people...cue me and Lisa being pathetic and clinging on to one another) and worst of all, of people asking to have their picture taken with us. Yes, really. In India, we are the ethnic minority. We provoke stares, points and comments, and people want their photo with us. Some even sneakily do it when they think we can't see them. Very strange indeed.
Back on dry land, we dodge a variety of beggars (I'm sure they are being trained in the art of begging; they are stealthy, prepared and persistent) and head to the market. Instead of a relaxing afternoon of perusing actual-Indian-tat, it becomes and arduous task. You as much as make eye-contact with a trader and they've got you adorned in bangles, beads and shawls. Impossible!
Luckily, one aspect of the city that doesn't let us down is the food. Curry heaven. And it's ridiculously cheap too - a couple of pounds for a meal in a restaurant. Though it's a difficult experience, being a female going out to a restaurant in Mumbai. They are completely male-dominated, and in the 3 nights we are there, we never see another woman dining out. Generally, after some whispering, staring and questioning we can eat in peace, although one night we are given a particularly hostile reception; a couple of younger guys start throwing bits of food at me, and I'm pretty sure the waiter has to restrain an older male customer from lunging and spitting at Lisa.
With our time here drawing to a close, I am glad we have braved the insanity and seen what the city has to offer, although I doubt we'll be be rushing back any time soon. 3 nights is plenty!
It really is a city of incomprehensible contradictions; next to some of the worst slums imaginable, skyscrapers are appearing. Alongside ancient monuments, there are mountains of rubbish. Sacred temples share streets with human shit. Mumbai, you are a headfuck!
So we bid farewell to the stagnant, dirty, grimy dystopia, thankful to be leaving the madness behind us. Onwards to tropical Goa... :-)
It doesn't matter what you hear or read about Mumbai; it's only when you see it - see slum babies and children filthy and begging - that you can even slightly understand the reality of this place.
We're staying in area of the city called Fort, which is allegedly one of the nicer parts (though judging by the myriad of rats, stray dogs and cats, faeces and mysterious smells, I'm not so convinced). Nonetheless, we resolve to make the most of Mumbai, however intimidating it is.
Our first expedition is to the Gateway of India, an Arc-de-Triomphe style structure right down by the water. It's certainly very beautiful, and the breeze off the water offers a little respite from the stifling heat (it's unbearable...I barely need to walk 30 seconds and I'm sweating). After a couple of chai's, we decide to take a boat trip out to Elephanta Island, about 1 hour off the coast. Albeit scorching hot, Elephanta is a lush island, with a series if intricately carved Hidni caves dating back to 4AD. Really beautiful, although we did have to contend with stray dogs, wild goats, ferocious looking monkeys with fangs (who kept stealing water from people...cue me and Lisa being pathetic and clinging on to one another) and worst of all, of people asking to have their picture taken with us. Yes, really. In India, we are the ethnic minority. We provoke stares, points and comments, and people want their photo with us. Some even sneakily do it when they think we can't see them. Very strange indeed.
Back on dry land, we dodge a variety of beggars (I'm sure they are being trained in the art of begging; they are stealthy, prepared and persistent) and head to the market. Instead of a relaxing afternoon of perusing actual-Indian-tat, it becomes and arduous task. You as much as make eye-contact with a trader and they've got you adorned in bangles, beads and shawls. Impossible!
Luckily, one aspect of the city that doesn't let us down is the food. Curry heaven. And it's ridiculously cheap too - a couple of pounds for a meal in a restaurant. Though it's a difficult experience, being a female going out to a restaurant in Mumbai. They are completely male-dominated, and in the 3 nights we are there, we never see another woman dining out. Generally, after some whispering, staring and questioning we can eat in peace, although one night we are given a particularly hostile reception; a couple of younger guys start throwing bits of food at me, and I'm pretty sure the waiter has to restrain an older male customer from lunging and spitting at Lisa.
With our time here drawing to a close, I am glad we have braved the insanity and seen what the city has to offer, although I doubt we'll be be rushing back any time soon. 3 nights is plenty!
It really is a city of incomprehensible contradictions; next to some of the worst slums imaginable, skyscrapers are appearing. Alongside ancient monuments, there are mountains of rubbish. Sacred temples share streets with human shit. Mumbai, you are a headfuck!
So we bid farewell to the stagnant, dirty, grimy dystopia, thankful to be leaving the madness behind us. Onwards to tropical Goa... :-)
Tuesday, 4 October 2011
South of France, Barcelona, Pelvis Pain and a Dead Dog...
My last night in Rome was a lot of fun - ended up staying up till silly-o'clock drinking with Ash, Dom, Diego, Adam and a group of boys from Liverpool (turns out I have the same sense of humour as a 19 year old boy. obviously).
Head off on a late afternoon train bound for Nice, which stops at Genova for a few hours - another not-so-blissful attempt at sleeping in the train station. At 5 am I decide I need a chocolate fix (sleep is overrated!) and a cute old man buys it for me. I must look homeless.
Arrive in Nice around 10 the next day, having had to fend off an inappropriate Frenchman who keeps stroking my leg (a swift slap soon puts a stop to this...), and find a hostel close to the train station. I check in early, meet my German roommates Max and Mark (hilarious doesn't even describe these boys!) and head down to the beach to laze/sunbathe/sleep/read. After a few hours baking in the heat, I head to an Art Museum, then back to the hostel. Bizarrely, I find out that Lorraine Edgar - a university friend - is in Monaco and will be visiting Nice this week, so we arrange to meet up. Barely any use at meeting up with her in Scotland, so an impromptu hook-up in the South of France is going to be strange...
We have a lovely afternoon, sitting in a bar by the ocean, drinking carafes of red wine in the sun. Total bliss.
Over the next few days, myself, Max and Mark hang out a lot, going to the beach, a day trip to Cannes to visit their friend, lots of trips to the supermarket for booze, and midnight walks to take picture of Nice by night. Had such a relaxing time in the South of France - albeit expensive - but spending most of my time at the beach or drinking has been a welcome change from the craziness of Rome.
Next (and sadly last) stop is Barcelona. I am down to my last 30 euros, and anticipate that this is going to be difficult. 2 days and 3 nights in Barcelona on 30 euros. Can it be done?
Arrive late to my hostel, near the Sagrada Familia, and head straight for a shower and bed, ready for an action-packed day of exploring. Get up at 7 am (I know!) and head off, though I'm so unbelievably tired and confused that I walk smack-bang in to a metal bollard, which just happens to be at front-bum-height. Cue agonising pain, breathlessness and total and utter embarrassment. Find the nearest cafe/bar to inspect the damage (ironically called Bar Fanny...) and am horrified to discover extensive pelvic cuts and bruising. Ability to bear children rapidly depleting...
Mange to get my act together and see a most of Barcelona - cathedrals, churches, markets, parks, Gaudi architecture, and (my personal highlight), a dead dog being eaten by bluebottles... Mega efficient day.
And I still have money left.....here's hoping I can afford to eat/drink for the rest of my stay...
Monday, 3 October 2011
A Whistle-stop tour around Zagreb, Venice and Rome......
The rest of my time in Zagreb is pretty peaceful (minimal alcohol and lots of sleep), and I even manage to squeeze in a trip away for the day to Ljubljana, before catching a late night train to Venice.
Arrive in Venice at 7.30 am and look distinctly like a burst couch. Another uncomfortable "sleep" on an overnight train, with a surprise 3 hour stopover in Trieste listening the the woman in the waiting room snoring. Money is a critical levels (ie I aint got none) and I have to wait until 10 am until Western Union opens. Eugh. So, knackered, disgruntled and disheveled, I spend the morning wandering around a very grey and very wet Venice. Bump into a Australian couple that I met in a hostel in Berlin (bizarre!) and they tell me about a little shop that sells litres of any-wine-you-want for dirt cheap. Sold! Find it fairly easily, and at the grand old time of 8.30am, purchase 2 litres of Cabernet Sauvignon (decanted in to old squash bottles) for 3 euros 60. For later, of course...
Spend the day taking in the sights, (the piazzas, canals, shops, Jewish quarter, cathedrals) but decide to leave for Rome that night. Venice is REALLY expensive, and the weather is dire, so heading south for some sunshine. Despite that, it really is a beautiful and intriguing city. Though, the canals, sadly, smell/look about as clean as the Clyde after a rough weekend in Glasgow. Not exactly the stuff of epic poetry.
Head off on the train Rome, and luckily this should only take 5 hours or so. The journey is fine, and arrive at my hostel at about 8pm. It's in a more residential area of town, and this proves to to be miles cheaper to stay and go out than central Rome.
Spend the day night drinking with Ash and Dom, a guy and a girl from the UK who had been in Europe for Eurovision and decided to keep exploring. Naturally, out comes the Venice wine, and I arse a bottle of that, along with a bag of crisps. Nutritious dinner.
Crash out fairly late, but still manage an early start, and head out exploring about 11 am. It's a beautifully sunny day, and I end up walking around for hours and hours. Armed with a map, I start my own mini walking-tour of Rome. Manage to visit the Colosseum, the Forum and Palantine Hill,(man dressed as Gladiator asked me out for a drink here; had to refuse due to how RIDICULOUS he looked) the Vatican and St Peters Basilica, the Trevi Fountain, Piazza Novona and finally the Spanish Steps. Totally action-packed day, all of which was incredible. Round every single corner, Rome has something completely unique and breathtaking to offer.
Head out that night with Ash, Dom and a few others from our hostel, and find a nice little studenty bar/piazza to drink in. Drinks outside on a balmy Italian night. Perfect. Next day I go for coffee with Diego (a beautiful-but-sadly-gay) Mexican guy who I'm sharing a dorm with. We then head our separate ways, and I book my tickets to Nice (overnight, includes a lovely 5 hours stuck in Genova...) then head up to the Villa Borghese gardens. It's incredibly peaceful, non-touristy and ideal for sunbathing Views over the city are magical.
Decide to take another walk around the Spanish Steps area, when a rather handsome Italian man stops and asks me out for an afternoon drink. YES PLEASE. He has to return to work briefly, so I agree to meet him at the Pantheon in 40 minutes from now.
...40 minutes pass and I arrive at the Pantheon - i.e the stupidest place to arrange to meet someone. There are literally thousands of people there, talking photos and generally being tourist. Needless to say, we don't find each other, and I soon give up and head back to the hostel. Have had a brilliant time in Rome, but am looking forward to getting to the South of France and lazing on the beach for a few days....
Sunday, 14 August 2011
Zagreb... A Papal Mass Lightning Storms and an epic sleep...
Caught the train to Zagreb from Budapest, and luckily this journey is only going to take about 6 or 7 hours - hopefully! By the time I eventually arrive I will have been travelling for nearly 40 hours in total, and to say that I am an emotional wreck is somewhat of an understatement. I'm exhausted, smell like a tramp's feet and just want to lie down in a darkened room without having to share it with other people for a change!
Fall asleep for the first couple of hours of the journey, and wake up when I am joined in my carriage by a Dutch couple, Reuben and Aisha, who are also interrailing. We spend the next few hours chatting and looking out the beautiful Croatian countryside, and with nowhere to stay that night, they decide to come with me to a hostel that I have an address for, in the hope that there is space for all of us.
After a ridiculous number of passport checks, we eventually arrive in Zagreb around 7pm. It's an absolutely beautiful setting; a very picturesque town with steep mountains in the background. One of the first things that is apparent to us is just how may police there are on the streets here. There a literally coach-loads of police everywhere we look....turns out there is a Papal Mass on in Zagreb at 7.30 that night and the city is packed with "pilgrims", police, and of course, ignorant people like myself who has no idea that the Pope is in town.
After a bit of wandering, we arrive at the Hobo Bear Hostel, which luckily has enough space to squeeze us all in. I've no Croatian money (the exchanges are all closed because of the papal mass) but the lady in reception is lovely and says I can pay her tomorrow when they reopen. This does sadly mean no beer tonight though. Small sacrifice.
I'm given a pokey little room, shared with a group of middle-aged male German bikers (dear god, what have I done to deserve this!), but am so tired and emotional that I really don't care. After a very long shower, I climb in to bed and watch an amazing sky-splitting lighting storm from the window. It looks incredible, and there is something particularly poignant/eerie about it, considering the mass has not long finished.
Unsurprisingly, I get to sleep pretty quick, and don't waken again until after midday. Epic sleep is just what I needed.
Hopefully my quest to exchange money here will be more fruitful today...
Tuesday, 9 August 2011
Showering with a baby-wipe, more gypsies and a return to Budapest...
After what seems like years on the sweaty and uncomfortable bus, we finally arrive in Cluj, in the north of Romania. It's around midnight, darkness has fallen pretty rapidly, and I have no idea where I am... Eventually find somehow who doesn't look as though they are going to rob/stab/rape me (no mean feat at midnight in a bus station in Romania!) and ask directions to the train station. Luckily it's a five minute walk - sweet relief!
Decide I could do with freshening up, so head to the bathrooms where I barter with attendant and she lets me off with the pee fee. After a "baby-wipe" shower (this really is a grotesque as it sounds) and a change of clothes, I head to the waiting room/canteen area of the station and perch myself precariously on a plastic seat for a couple of hours. It's possibly the dodgiest waiting room I've ever seen and is filled with tramps, gypsies and homeless people, but on the upside it's well-lit and there are a couple of security guards who wander past every so often. Only 3 hours to go till my train....
Decide to relocate to the platform when a crusty old gypsy tries to use my backpack as a pillow, and it's actually a fairly breezy and refreshing night. I am absolutely ravenous too, and my stomach feels as though it could be eating itself. I have not a single morsel left either, and believe me, I have checked. Water will have to suffice until Budapest.
The train eventually arrives, and chunters along at snails pace for most of the way. Because the carriages are pretty much full of gypsies and undesirables, the ticket inspector bumps me up to first class, where I get a private cabin. Bliss. Manage a nap for an hour or two, before he wakes me up and demotes me again...back to the pleb wagon it is. It's around 5 am and we've crossed the border in to Hungary - thank god!
Drift off again, and when I wake up, it's light outside and the train is packed with commuters...very surreal. There are a couple of ladies opposite me too, who are gossiping about me in Hungarian - perhaps because I haven't washed in 3 days, look like a vagrant and smell like feet. Living the dream!
Arrive at Keleti station and go for food straight away - as much unhealthy junk food as I can possibly stomach. Pizza, chocolate, croissants; the works. Heavenly. Then make a quick change to another station, where I decide to catch a connection to Zagreb straight away...I don't think I can take the embarrassment of going back to Tiger Tim's in Budapest right now. I'm tired, emotional and feel bruised.
I'm pretty sure the past few days are up there with some of the most challenging I've ever had. Here's hoping Zagreb will be a bit more successful than Romania....
Monday, 8 August 2011
Bucharest: The Devil's Ejaculate on Earth...
I barely manage to sleep at all - big surprise - so end up gazing out of the windows for most of the night/morning, taking in the Romanian countryside. Everything is very ramshackle; there is an abundance of dilapidated buildings and crumbling houses, all punctuated by endless lush countryside. It really is the epitome of graceful wasteland here.
As morning arrives, mist descends, and lingers over the villages that we pass; everything looks eerie and quite beautiful. It's rather fitting too, given that I am making my way through Transylvania.
Eventually the villages turn in to towns, and the frequency of countryside depletes. Buildings start to lose the romantic Romany gypsy style, and instead are replaced by post-modern concrete Communist monstrosities. This can mean only one thing: Bucharest is finally here.
After 17 hours on what has been the strangest train journey of my life, the train arrives in Bucharest. Although somewhat relieved, I am simultaneously daunted. I can't pinpoint why exactly right away, but there is something really foreboding about Bucharest, and for the first time since I've been away, I start to get a bit scared.
Decide that I don't fancy hanging around Bucharest at all, so will catch another train to Istanbul as soon as possible; it may be another 17 hour journey, but hygiene, sleep and food is something I am willing to sacrifice to get out of here. Soon being to realise that the train station is maybe one of the least safe places to be - there are fake currency exchanges, unlicensed taxi's and makeshift "information" offices all over the place....and no sign/mention of the scheduled train to Istanbul.
Leave the station to try and collect my thoughts, when I am approached by a guy who has used his incredible powers of deduction to figure out that I am most definitely not a local. He tells me to get out of town straight away (as you do). Entirely naively, I listen. Apparently the police are on strike, the trains are on strike (which explains lack of Istanbul train) and "if the gypsies see you, they will rob you and kill you." Excellent.
Panic sets in and out of nowhere, I burst out crying. Though after the night I've had, a really good cry is just what I need. The man is clearly bewildered, and aside from chastising me for even being in Bucharest in the first place, explains to me that I have 2 options. I can either stay in Bucharest for 5 days until the strikes are over, or go back to where I came from....
So, back to Budapest it is! With no trains running from Bucharest directly, I have to spend a small fortune to take a bus to the Northern Romanian town of Cluj, and then catch a connecting train back to Keleti. This should all take another 17 hours, and the thought of it is a total and utter nightmare, but I so desperately want out of Bucharest that I no longer care.
With enough money for a few litres of water, some coffee and a few cigarettes, I stock up appropriately for the journey. I now have absolutely no Romanian at all...should I need to buy food, or run out of water, I am screwed. And it's pretty likely that food and water are going to be necessary somewhere in the next 17 hours....
The heat is almost unbearable too, and made worse by the cramped bus. We make a toilet stop, and not only do they try and charge me to pee (a kind lady in front of me offers to pay - eternally grateful to her!), but I have to do so standing up. The toilet is a hole in the ground, inside a cubicle. How undignified!
Bus journey is "hairy" to say the least. Aside from a bus driver who is clearly mad, there is car accidents, thunderstorms, torrential rain, lightning, and rather ominous looking mountain carriageways that look as though they may crumble away at any minute....
Overcome with hunger (it's now been 24 hours since last food). I rummage at the bottom of my bag, in the hope that I find some forgotten-about goodies. To my sheer delight I strike gold - one piece of stale chewing gum and a chocolate-coated peanut. A feast fit for a king!
With dinner now sorted, all thoughts of where I am going to sleep tonight and what I'm going to do when I arrive back in Budapest are momentarily pushed to the back of my mind. Instead, as I figure out how to make the peanut last, I suddenly can't stop laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of the whole situation.
Surely things can only get better from here...?!
Wednesday, 27 July 2011
Swollen Ankles, Thunderstorms and "I will make sex with you"...
Decide to head the to the train station and book my ticket for my journey to Bucharest later on tonight. But for some completely obscure reason, the train is FULL. I can't quite get my head around this. The train -to Romania - is full. Bizarre. So with my tail between my legs, I ehad back to Tiger Tim's and have to book in for another night. I have now stayed for 6 nights, despite only originally booking in for 2. Oh dear.
Starting to get the blues a bit form drinking too much....tired and emotional just about covers it. Decide I'm definitely NOT going out tonight; it may just tip me over the edge.
End up going to bed at a bout half 10, and for some reason, having a little pity party all to myself. Pathetic to say the very least! Eventually manage to get to sleep, but am woken up by the Australian coming in to my room about 3am. It was actually very sweet, and we decide to get up and watch Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (which we have been planning to do since I arrived), but the remote is hidden, so that plan is pretty much scuppered.
As we head down the stairs though, Australia, who is pretty drunk, trips on the stairs and goes flying over the banister. Not only does he knock me over (resulting in a big fat swollen ankle/cankle), but he almost knocks himself out....he's lying at the bottom of the stairs in a little crumpled heap, not really moving or making any noise at all. Problem.
He eventually comes to, and we head to bed, me with a bruised ankle, and him with a black eye. And of course I am awake most of the night in a constant state of flux and panic that he might die have a fit or something....
Luckily no deaths though. Phewf. We get up in the afternoon again and head for falafels again - my last Budapest falafels! Back at the hostel I get packed and ready, and head off for the train station about 5ish. Feeling a bit sad about leaving, and have another little pity party to myself on the train (cue a packet of kleenex and Damien Rice on repeat).
The train journey is going to be a long one; probably about 17 hours, so have a long night/day ahead of me. Up until 11pm, it's all fairly uneventful...eating, sleeping, listening to music, and watching the most intense thunder an lightning storm out of the train window. Then a member of train staff - a rather large, middle-aged Romanian man called Alex - comes over and tells me that the restaurant is open. I head through for a coffee, and Alex offers me his sleeper carriage, as he is apparently working all night.
I grab my rucksack (though there are a few alarm bells ringing in my head...) and head through. Before I know it, Alex has appeared with a bottle of red wine for me. I make light work of it, and he brings another. And bizarrely, a plate of sausages, just in case I am hungry.
And this is when it starts to get a bit too creepy, even for me. He beings to insist that I stay at his house while I am in Bucharest. Eh...thanks. But no thanks. Then he offers me a massage. Yes. A MASSAGE. Again, I politely decline, and ask what time he is due to start work again. It's just after midnight by now, with a thunderstorm in full force outside, and it strikes me that I am entirely alone on a train to Romania....
Alex says that he is not working tonight after all, and that if I fall asleep, he will "make sex with me". Apparently, he is "just a man," and that it would be impossible for him to not. By this point I'm actually getting a bit frightened, so I tell him in no uncertain terms that he's not going to make anything with me, and that I'm moving carriage. Luckily he seems to accept this without much argument, and I move a few carriages away from him.
Despite this though, I think I will be sleeping with one eye open tonight....
Sunday, 24 July 2011
Falafels, Karaoke and a day date....
So....I wake up in the hostel, which is a bonus, but sadly not in my own bed... instead I wake up in the bed of the 19 year old. In what can only be described as an attic room with barely the space to sit upright. Living the dream! Although I am fairly horrified by myself (though not much moreso than usual...), he's absolutely lovely, funny and makes me smile. So therefore I am completely justified in my outrageous and debauched actions.....right?!
Didn't emerge from his room till late afternoon (sightseeing? what sightseeing?!), and by this point we were starving so heading to the Hummus bar for some falafels. Just what I need. Falafel my life! Eventually decide to do something vaguely cultural, so head to Gellert hill, which has beautiful views over the city. Was lovely; so peaceful and a perfect place to chill out.
Manage a power nap before starting some solid drinking and heading back out, this time to an open mic night (thankfully no participation from me....). As standard, wake up in the Australian's bed again. Don't surface till mid afternoon, by which time I am almost ready for a beer again!
Head out for the afternoon with Seb, an English guy who is staying at the hostel. We wander past the parliament, then take the funicular up to the castle, St Matthias Church and the Labyrinthe Caves....amazing. We buy a couple of beers for the way back, which is totally necessary given the heat outside, then head back to the hostel. Another chill-out, then right back on the booze again, ready for a night of karaoke nonsense. Pretty sure I start the night defiant that I WILL NOT BE SINGING, and after a few beers/shots of whatever, the microphone practically has to be wrestled from my grip. A brilliant night all round though...it's Jaii and Amanda's last night in Budapest, so we kick the arse right out of it and make it a good one :-)
Next day is pretty much a repeat of the previous three....creep out of Australia's room in the afternoon then we go to the hummus bar for falafels. Decide we should go a walk up Gellert hill this afternoon, and it's sort of like a date. Do get some strange looks from people in the street, who can't quite figure us out (reminder...I am older, taller and bigger than him. we look odd to say the least...) but have a really nice time. I am very happy in Budapest; it's a brilliant place to party, relax, explore and meet people.
Supposed to be leaving for Bucharest tomorrow, but feeling a bit bittersweet about it right now. As per usual, I have become far too attached....
Thursday, 21 July 2011
Budapest.....Swedish boys, dancing, stolen wallet and 19 year olds...
Manage to squeeze myself in to a packed little carriage bound for Budapest. It only seats 6 - there is me, an old Hungarian man and 4 Swedish schoolboys, who look utterly petrified by me and can barely look me in the face. Though I do make the best of efforts with them (not sure if offering them alcohol from my stash is the way forward though....) they are all shy boys. Oh well...
Nonetheless, me, the Hungarian professor and the Swedes manage minimal conversation on the ENDLESS journey, and the professor warns me about thieving gypsies in Budapest, and insists that he will make sure I get to my hostel ok. Reminiscent of Dumbledore and totally adorable. We eventually arrive and the professor puts me on a bus in the right direction, and I find my hostel, Tiger Tims.
Immediately feel really welcome when I arrive; It's really friendly and homely, and the staff, Tim, Meg and Daniel are really lovely. Everyone is heading out later on, so definitely getting involved in that :-)
Shower, cup-a-soup (mmm, nutritious) and drinking games (ie jenga) ensue, and a whole bunch of us head out to an outdoor bar/club called Cha Cha Cha. Having a brilliant night chatting to people, when suddenly DISASTER. Daft, careless wino Charlotte has reared her ugly head yet again, and after having abandoned my handbag, suddenly realises that the purse (credit cards, ID, money et al) has gone. Oh dear.
Not one to let a minor incident such as this mar a perfectly good bev session, we keep on partying, though as the night progresses, I am acutely aware that I am not getting my purse back. Problem.
Back at Tiger Tim's, I fall asleep in usual style (on top the the bedsheets, fully clothed), pretty much oblivious to my stupidity. It's only the few hours worth of telephone calls the next day that makes me realise the gravitas of the situation....
Eventually manage to get a Western Union money transfer (thanks Dad!) and all order is restored. I shall party again, and my glass shall runneth over once more. So, with money once more, me Jaii and Amanda, two ace American girls staying at my hostel, head out for the day, to the Museum of Ethnography (basically the gypsy museum!) It's really good, and I am more than a bit jealous of the fashions on display. After, we head for some falafels, before going back to the hostel for a power nap, then more drinking/partying.
We all head back out that night, and the drinks are flowing far too easily....wine, palinka, beer, hookahs....whatever! And this can be the only rational explanation for what happened next.....
With all sense of dignity and self respect trailing about behind me somewhere (along with my liver), I hook up with a 19 year old. Yes. 19. Usually I would try to justify this by saying he doesn't look 19, so it doesn't really count. And he doesn't actually look 19....I would say more like 16. 17 at a push. This could be a new low, even for me.
And the best is yet to come.....
Tuesday, 19 July 2011
Gypsies, Missed Trains and Hostel Perverts...
Wake up early this morning and have massively stodgy breakfast, as I am so hungover. Basically ate my weight in carbohydrates. Much needed. Decide to head to Budapest later today, so check out the hostel and head top the train station to figure out times. Looks as though I can get a midnight train, so going to spend the day sightseeing and chilling out first.
Wander round the Jewish Quarter for a while, and then to the Old Town Square, where I stumble upon a parade celebrating gypsies and the nomadic lifestyle. There are hundreds of people playing instruments, dancing, chanting and wearing traditional dress, and it really is a sight to behold. The whole thing has made me beam from ear to ear; it's amazing to randomly encounter something like that.
Head to the Chocolate Museum in the afternoon (for a little bit of culture...?!) and manage to blag a few free samples. Much needed sugar boost. Head back to the hostel to get out of the sunshine for a while (I'm burning rapidly!) and am slightly creeped out by the receptionist, who is sleazing on me HEAVY. "You should take a train in the morning and we will go for drinks tonight...." Eh...tempting. But, no.
Head back out to get some dinner, and just when I think the day can't get any stranger, I bump in to Brazilian Alex AGAIN. This time, he concedes that out 2 chance meetings in Prague are really bizarre, and totally unlikely. He asks where I'm headed, and when I say I'm going to get some food, he invites himself along, and we end up going to a little taverna for Greek. He is actually as crazy as I first thought. Feel as though I am out for dinner with Borat.
Eventually part ways with him, and head to the Astronomical Clock to meet Ben and Graeme for one last drink before I need to go. We head to Medieval themed bar for a few tankards of beer, and of course this is when daft Charlotte appears. As she likes to do on occasion. A few drinks turns in to a few more and I end up pretty pissed and miss my train. OOPS.
Dash back to the hostel, and after some sweet-talking, I convince the woman at reception to give me a room for another night - luckily they have the space! Put my bags in and head back out to meet the boys....we decide that a night of dancing could be on the cards. Finding somewhere proves to be an arduous task though, but we eventually find a totally tragic little bar, which turns out to be a total laugh. Think I may have horrified/disgusted/defiled them with my horrid chat.
We say our goodbyes and I head back to the hostel...only to be greeted by the creepy receptionist from earlier on. He has been waiting up for, and I'd barely set foot in the door when he whisked me in to the common room where he has beers waiting. He descends in to total sleaziness rapidly...hand stroking etc, and I suddenly have visions of the film Hostel. Escape needed asap.
Quickly excuse myself and head to bed, hoping and praying that a) Mr Creepy doesn't follow me b) I manage to get up in time to check out and c) that I don't miss my train again.
Can this be done?
Monday, 18 July 2011
Czech it out....Tramps, Pints of Wine and Serendipitous Meetings....
Now on the train to Prague, and via Dresden and South Bohemia, and have managed to find an almost empty carriage, so crack open the uber-classy wine and put some music on. Happy daze. But before I can get too comfortable, I am joined in my pokey wee carriage by what I can only describe as a total halfwit. Despite the fact that I am looking out the window at the countryside (which is beautiful, by the way) and have headphones in, he is persistent in talking to me. Eventually I repent and switch my music off. Initially he seems "normal" enough (whatever that is!), but gradually things descend in to the realm of bizarre, as he tells me that everyone thinks he is a fool, and that it is his birthday but there will be no celebrations because he doesn't deserve any happiness....Starting to imagine my mum receiving individual body parts in the post now.
Manage to pacify him with some wine (decanted in to a plastic bottle!) and o return the favour he provides me with a Czech-Esperanto dictionary. Which will prove infinitely useful, I'm sure....particularly as I can speak neither.
Arrive fairly late and take the subway to my hostel (after copying the address down wrong I eventually find it!). Knackered after the journey I head straight to bed, ready for a day of exploring.
Manage to get up early (too early!) and head out to see Prague. It's really beautiful and well- preserved, and easy enough to see all the sites on foot. I sit by the river for a while, taking in the beauty of it all, and it really is quite breathtaking, with the castle on the hill. Perhaps only marginally spoiled by the reeking tramp asleep next to me. ..
Decide to do the free walking tour, and end up chatting to a few different groups of people; Amy and Steph (travelling together), Ben and Graeme (med students from England), and Mahmoud, Phil, Hank, and Tom, US engineering students. Once the tour is over we all head to get a carry out and sit in the park are next to the river.....50 cents for a litre of Staropramen? It would be rude not to! We all decide to head out together later on, so will meet at the Astronomical clock at 9. Meanwhile, I head back to the hostel for a power nap and some food (the most hideous salted cheese creation from Tesco Expressz) before heading to the clock.
We all decide to go on a pub crawl; for the equivalent of 10 euros we get 2 hours "all you can drink" and then entry to 3 nightclubs. Admittedly this is not usually my cup of tea, but when in Prague....
Since all the alcohol is "free", I start of with a few pints of wine (classy lady), and am pretty drunk pretty quick. Excellent. Me, Ben and Graeme find a seat in the corner and smoke some really delicious vanilla hookah before we hit the Czech nightlife....
And boy is the nightlife hilarious! I think 1994 has finally hit Prague.....certainly judging by the music and the fashion, anyway. And I love it! It's tacky, it's kitsch and it's full of cringeworthy people. A perfect night out. Bizarrely and by total chance, I bump in to Alex, the mad Brazilian that I met in Kreuzberg in Berlin. In a tiny back street in Prague. At 3 am. And while I am totally taken aback by how completely serendipitous this is, he doesn't seem too bothered!
Clubbing over, me and a few of the American boys make a late night/early morning walk to the Charles Bridge. It's amazing to see the city at night, looking so magical and peaceful. Back near the busiest part of town though, there are drug-dealers everywhere, offering us everything and anything. Usually I'd stop for a chat and a perusal of their good and services, but I'm really not sure I can trust a dealer with a business card....
Eventually make it back to the hostel, and as standard, fall asleep fully clothed, with a pounding wine/sambuca head. Pretty sure tomorrow is going to be an epic struggle...
Saturday, 16 July 2011
Squats, Concentration Camps and 1 Euro Wine....
Drag my weary carcass out of bed not-so-early and head down to Alexanderplatz to take and alternative walking tour....pretty self-explanatory; it takes in the alternative East Berlin sites; squats, the best street art, the East Side Gallery and the YAAM (Young African Art Movement) Beach Bar. Saw some unbelievably inspiring murals, tags and though-provoking political graffiti. This stuff really is echelons above and beyond the type of street art I have seen in any other city - "yer maw" scratched in to the side of a Glasgow bus stop really has nothing on this!
The tour took in one of the last working artists squats in Berlin, Tacheles. Set in an old ramshackle-looking house, Tacheles quite simply exudes character and cool. Reeking of the heady mix of incense and urine, it is quite simply COVERED in graffiti, and has loads of studio space, where up-and-coming and established artists can exhibit their work. Could have easily spent hours there.
After a few hours walking, we finish up at the beach bar; a really chilled out space right next to the East Side Gallery. A great way to spend a hot afternoon!
Head back to the hostel early evening for another uninspiring dinner of cheese, bread and salami. Living the dream! Head up to Prenzlauer Berg in the evening, to a little internet cafe, where I sort of my plans for moving on - Prague tomorrow evening!
Manage an alcohol free night so I can get up early in the morning and go to Sachsenhausen Concentration Camp in Oranienburg, about 45 minutes north of Berlin.
The camp itself is a very intense place, loaded with history. Set in sprawling grounds, preceded by the ominous "Arbeit Macht Frei", there are execution trenches, medical experimentation labs, gas chambers, gallows and cells. It's a very quiet, eerie site, and while I am thinking about how much death and torture and misery the perimeter walls have seen, I find one solitary red flower growing. It's ironic and totally paradoxical that that something so beautiful could ever grow in such a hostile environment.
Back at Alexanderplatz, I collect my backpack and head to ye-olde Netto to get a bottle of 1 Euro red wine for my train journey to Prague. It's the very least I need after a heavy day! So I'm sitting at Berlin Hautbanhof, people watching, waiting for my train to Praha. Yet again though, it will be dark by the time I get there. I just hope it's easier to negotiate than Amsterdam.....
Friday, 15 July 2011
Flea Markets, Thunderstorms and Terror...
Since it's Sunday, I decide to head to the flea market at Mitte this morning.....and I am not disappointed! It's a sprawling and bustling market, with people selling anything and everything, and for super cheap....50 cents of vintage clothes? yes please! There's also an ampitheatre next to the market site, where locals can get up and sing/dance/act/whatever.....pretty good way of entertaining myself in the sun for a while. And on the grassy areas, people are having barbequeues, sunbathing, drinking, listening to music; it's a really chilled vibe.
The Prenzlauer Berg and Mitte areas of Berlin are beautiful; there are hundreds of little cafes dotted along the streets, spilling out on the the pavements, adorned with street art. It almost feels Parisienne here, although much less self-aware, and infinitely cooler (hipster Berliners sitting smoking and just being....)
After a few hours, I head back down to Alexanderplatz; I've been told there may be a flashmob there at 3pm, so I lay on a bench people watching for a while. Sadly no flashmob materialises, but a brilliant little jazz/funk band pitch up, so I listen to them for a while; perfect Sunday music.
It's now ridiculously hot; almost beyond bearable, so I decide to head down to Potsdamer Platz, and to the Topography of Terror openair Museum. It charts the plight of the the Jews during the war, with photographs, documents, propaganda posters and artefacts and is really harrowing. There are pictures of women with their heads shaved, being publicly ritually humiliated for entering in to relationships with Jewish men ("racial defilement"). I feel a bit overwhelmed by the time I leave, but glad that I went. It's a really intense but important fragment of history.
Back at the hostel, I head to the bar for a Berliner and some chill-out time, after a long day of walking. Get talking to an Australian guy called Zach, who has just moved here (having bizarrely lived in Pitlochry previously....). We have a BBC cocktail (uber creamy....bleugh...) and sit by the top-floor windows, watching a truly epic thunderstorm. It was so hot that the weather broke, the sky turned black, and thunder and lightning drew in. The rain is so heavy that it's vertical, and is running down the street like rivers. Totally amazing.
Eventually it subsides, so me and Zach head out for falafels. We wander around the Alexanderplatz area for a while, trying to figure out just how Berliners are so inherently cool? Is it their ironic fashion choices? The hair? The attitude? The way they make smoking look film-star sexy? Probably a mixture of all of this.
Have promised Zach I will visit him at the coffee-shop where he works before I leave Berlin, so may do that tomorrow.
Off to bed, ready for a day of visiting squats, photographing graffiti and hanging out at the African beach bar....
Thursday, 14 July 2011
Techno Houseboats and Illicit Mojito Bars...
So, as predicted I don't emerge from my room until late, and I sadly have to check out the hostel today as it's so busy. Manage to find another place to stay, in Alexanderplatz, which is pretty lucky as the receptionist is convinced that I'm not going to find anywhere to stay at all....
Before I relocate, though, I go on a walking tour, which takes in most of the East Berlin sites; Brandenburg Gate, Holocaust Memorial, the course of the Wall, the Museums and University etc. Berlin is such as vast city, with no real centre, so my legs are knackered after a day of nothing but walking. Nonetheless I persevere and in the evening head to the East Side Gallery, which is beyond brilliant. Lots of great graffiti to take pictures of.
Head back to Kreuzberg hostel, collect my bag and relocate to Alexanderplatz hostel. It's very clean and has a bar; the basics are covered at least. Find a cheap supermarket nearby (hello Netto, I love you) and stock up on the essentials....wine, chocolate, cheese and crisps. The staples of every good diet, obviously.
Get chatting to my roommate Jorge, from Mexico, and we head to the bar for a beer (or 2...). We're joined by a few French guys who are beyond hammered (and have taken to calling me Cha-Cha - let's face it, I've been called worse...)and invite us out to a barge boat/night club on a canal in Kreuzberg....it would be rude not to, so we head over.
Berlin is absolutely buzzing tonight, and on our way there we stumble across a man who has set up a little table in the middle of a bridge over the river. He's using it as a makeshift bar, selling mojitos to people on their way to nightclubs. Great idea! We eventually arrive a the club; a very bohemian looking barge with fairy lights everywhere. It's so beautiful, especially with the trees from the embankment providing a canopy and the candles and lights dotted around the place.
And it's a techno-lovers paradise! Packed with people, all drinking and smoking and dancing and sweaty...it almost feels as though we are crashing a house party. Albeit a very welcoming house party.
We make it back to the hostel pretty late, though surprisingly not that drunk, and I fall asleep with a massive smile on my face. The total serendipity of tonight - and every other night so far - has made me happier than I've felt in a long time. :-)
Wednesday, 13 July 2011
Gay Bars and Heavy Metal....
I start walking in the general direction of Kreuzberg, and in a bizarre twist, I do actually appear to be going the right way. Unusual for me. I arrive on Skalitzer Strasse (the very street I'm looking for) and, just as quick as it descended, the thundercloud lifts, sunshine filters through and a beautiful rainbow bursts across the sky. A man on a bicycle stops right next me and insists I look at how amazing it is - and it really is; especially against the graffiti-addled industrial backdrop.
I find my hostel fairly easily (Berlin tip: stand for more than 20 seconds looking lost and someone will offer to give you directions) and dump my bag in my room.....which I am sharing with 14 other people. Cosy. First stop is for some food though, and I head for a falafel shop down the street. Already decide that I am going to get up super-early tomorrow to go photographing graffiti around the city, but of course the lure of an ice-cold Berliner is just too much, and as soon as I get back the bar at the hostel I can't resist.
I get chatting to a Spanish guy called Cesar and a Brazilian guy called Alex at the bar for a while, and we have a few drinks , before me and Cesar decide to check out the Kreuzberg nightlife. And wow, is the nightlife special!
First up was my choice, an amazingly tacky and kitsch gay bar called Rosie's, complete with pink furry walls, fairy lights, chandeliers, flashing Jesus icons, leopard print....the full gay shebang. And I love it. The clientele are an interesting mix... in fact, one semi-naked guy comes up to me and shouts "TAKE YOUR FUCKING CLOTHES OFF" in my face. Tempting, but no.
Next up is is a little club called Cake; again, interestingly decorated, and good for some dancing - which me and Cesar did plenty of (and very badly). We stay there till about 4am, but everything in Kreuzberg is still buzzing; Berlin really is a vibrant and energetic city.
Last stop before before home is a rock/heavy-metal bar....pretty much the total opposite of Rosie's, and an interesting way to end the evening.
Back at the hostel, I climb in to bed, fully clothed as usual, and managed to sleep. Though I'm pretty sure that my plan to get up really early to take pictures has gone right out of the window.....
Gay Bars and Heavy Metal....
I start walking in the general direction of Kreuzberg, and in a bizarre twist, I do actually appear to be going the right way. Unusual for me. I arrive on Skalitzer Strasse (the very street I'm looking for) and, just as quick as it descended, the thundercloud lifts, sunshine filters through and a beautiful rainbow bursts across the sky. A man on a bicycle stops right next me and insists I look at how amazing it is - and it really is; especially against the graffiti-addled industrial backdrop.
I find my hostel fairly easily (Berlin tip: stand for more than 20 seconds looking lost and someone will offer to give you directions) and dump my bag in my room.....which I am sharing with 14 other people. Cosy. First stop is for some food though, and I head for a falafel shop down the street. Already decide that I am going to get up super-early tomorrow to go photographing graffiti around the city, but of course the lure of an ice-cold Berliner is just too much, and as soon as I get back the bar at the hostel I can't resist.
I get chatting to a Spanish guy called Cesar and a Brazilian guy called Alex at the bar for a while, and we have a few drinks , before me and Cesar decide to check out the Kreuzberg nightlife. And wow, is the nightlife special!
First up was my choice, an amazingly tacky and kitsch gay bar called Rosie's, complete with pink furry walls, fairy lights, chandeliers, flashing Jesus icons, leopard print....the full gay shebang. And I love it. The clientele are an interesting mix... in fact, one semi-naked guy comes up to me and shouts "TAKE YOUR FUCKING CLOTHES OFF" in my face. Tempting, but no.
Next up is is a little club called Cake; again, interestingly decorated, and good for some dancing - which me and Cesar did plenty of (and very badly). We stay there till about 4am, but everything in Kreuzberg is still buzzing; Berlin really is a vibrant and energetic city.
Last stop before before home is a rock/heavy-metal bar....pretty much the total opposite of Rosie's, and an interesting way to end the evening.
Back at the hostel, I climb in to bed, fully clothed as usual, and managed to sleep. Though I'm pretty sure that my plan to get up really early to take pictures has gone right out of the window.....
Tuesday, 12 July 2011
Gutentag Berlin!
I head to the train station early and start the first part of my journey to Berlin - a short trip to Hilversum, where I'll make my connection. It's a beautiful sunny day, so I'm sitting outside the train station with a book and some music. As I was leaving the hostel this morning, I found a small bag of weed that the German guys in my room had left behind...if only I wasn't leaving the country too!
I've had an amazing time in Amsterdam; it's a really cool, vibrant and tolerant city. Diverse, super-chilled and absolutely stunning. And the people are not only genuine, but ridiculously attractive; inherently well-dressed and oozing cool. You can't help but feel a bit inadequate really!
There are a few other people sitting outside catching some sun too, and I am suddenly acutely aware that the 2 guys sitting across from me appear to be talking about me in Dutch (the staring and indiscreet pointing were a dead giveaway). Reassuringly, I have absolutely no clue what they are saying. Eventually they strike up conversation.
"Are you French?"
"No, I'm Scottish. I live near Glasgow."
"Ah! Glasgow! You have a religious war there between Catholics and Fenians?"
Eh...something like that boys! Eventually I catch my train to Berlin, but in typical dis-organised Charlotte fashion, I have no food, no water, no phone battery and no i-pod battery left. Excellent. Luckily a train attendant brings everyone some free chocolate coated nuts - the most nutritious of dinners!
With less than an hour till we arrive at Berlin Hautbanhopf, I am befriended by a rowdy group of football supporters (although they look a bit more like Hell's Angels to be honest...) Turns out there is a big game on between Duisburg and Schalke, and fans are descending on Berlin for it, so it should be pretty chaotic!
Just as the train pulls in to the main station in Berlin, a rather foreboding looking black thundercloud descends upon the city and there is a huge downpour of rain. Hopefully my hostel, which is in Kreuzberg, is not too far a walk from the train station....
Monday, 11 July 2011
A day of opposites...
I manage to drag myself out of bed fairly early this morning, and take the tram in to Dam Square where I meet Donna and Ellen at 11ish. First stop for us is Waterlooplein, and the vintage markets - could have EASILY spent all my money on hats, scarves, dresses and leather shorts - but I manage to resist and we go and get some food at a very bohemian/ramshackle little antique cafe.
Next stop - Anne Frank House. The queue to get in is massive, but luckily an American musical school group of about 30 people (you really couldn't make this up) who are at the front smuggle us in with them, so we manage to beat all of the queues entirely! The museum itself is brilliant; really humbling, well-preserved and presented. The house is a very intense place to be, probably because it is so steeped in history, and there are even copies of the original diary on display too.
So after a fairly sombre afternoon, we decide there's only one thing for it....we need to smoke the rest of our joint. First though, we head to the supermarket to load up on food for when the inevitable munchies come...
Joint smoked, food eaten and numerous bicycles avoided, the three of us decide upon an evening visit to the Sex Museum (pretty much the opposite of the Anne Frank House!) - and what a decision it is! (especially whilst stoned...!) There are sculptures, photographs, life-size models, larger-than-life size models....and all from the personal collection of one man. Really bizarre, but totally hilarious, and a bargain at 4 euros.
We finish our night off in Leidesplein, where much of the nightlife is concentrated, though I'm off to Berlin tomorrow fairly early, so it's a quiet evening all round. Back at the hostel, all my roommates are passed out surrounded by empty crisp-packets, and my pokey little windowless room reeks of weed. I think I will sleep well tonight.....
Friday, 8 July 2011
Amsterdam!
19.05
I arrive fairly late at Centraal Station (just as night is falling), so hope straight on a tram and hope for the best... Trams are an entirely new experience for me, so I'm a bit suspicious to say the least, but all goes well and I get off at Museumplein, where I know my Hostel should be. But anyone that says that Amsterdam is an easy city to navigate is lying. After some aimless wandering, I admit defeat and ask directions - turns out the hostel is down a side street in a residential area.
Decide to head straight to bed; the last few days of nonsense and debauchery have knackered me. Room is a 6-bed dorm, with NO WINDOWS. Which would usually be fine. Except that I'm in a room with 5 guys. Cue an uncomfortably warm sleep.
Next morning I make it up in time for breakfast (this is a first for me; I'm never up in time for breakfast!) then head in to the centre of the city to take a free walking tour. In the queue, I get talking to 2 Australian girls, Donna and Ellen, who are on an epic travelling adventure. The tour takes in all the usual places; Red Light District, Coffeeshops, Jewish Quarter, Flower Market etc. Really informative and a great way to get to know the city a little better.
The tour finishes, and me, Donna, Ellen, another Aussie called Daniel and 2 Mexican guys decide to head to De Dampkring Coffeeshop for a while. It's a seriously chilled out little place. Me and the girls get a couple of chocolate space cakes (delicious!) and a pre-rolled joint of "super-silver haze"....
And this is where is all gets a bit sketchy... Weed in Amsterdam is potent, and a lot stronger that the stuff you get in other places. After a few hours (maybe? I don't recall), me Donna and Ellen decide to head for some food. En route, an older guy on his bicycle slows down and asks us; "are you girls having a good day?"
"Yeah," the three of us reply, smiling like Cheshire cats.
"You guys are a little baked, huh?" he says. "Sweeeet!"
Cue much giggling from us. It starts to get dark again, so I decide to head back to my Hostel, which I manage surprisingly successfully. Ironically, this is the first time I am able to use a map correctly; I am rather stoned; note to self...smoke more!
Have agreed to meet Ellen and Donna tomorrow at Dam Square at 11 for some exploring, so slump in to my bed and am asleep pretty much instantly. Have planned a tough day of museums and vintage shopping tomorrow. And we still have a joint to smoke.....
Thursday, 7 July 2011
In vino veritas!
After a much needed power-nap in the afternoon, I decide to go a wander around the Montparnasse district. After much meandering, I bump in to Logan and Philip on the way back, who are with Ashley and Antonia (American and Austrian) and the 5 of us decide to go and get some food.
We eventually find a lovely little French brasserie in Montparnasse, and sit outside chatting and drinking wine (naturally, we split a bottle of red between the 5 of us....tres expensive otherwise!)
We decide to save our pennies and buy wine to take back to the Hostel, so stop in at the supermarche again and load up in a few more 2 euro bottles each. Classy.
Perhaps this should have been our first warning, but when we arrive back at the hostel, the receptionist is in a foul mood, and moans about noise levels and alcohol consumption repeatedly. This is prompty followed by a threat to call the police (though I'm not entirely sure what his line of argument would be...."Gendarmes! These people are having too much fun. And in a youth hostel of all places!....")
After some sweet-talk and compromise, we head to the kitchen area to have drinks, where Mike joins us, along with 2 guys who are in my room; Forrest and Denny (Hawaiian and Swiss).
A host of drinking games follows and we all get fairly drunk and talk utter nonsense for a few hours. When it's just me, Mike and Logan left, we remember about our teeny tiny bit of hash from the night before, and set about making a joint. Of course, what we don't quite anticipate is the CCTV camera in kitchen....
Yes. The moody receptionist has been watching us. Cue his arrival at the top of the stairs, shouting " What you are doing eez eeeleegal! I will call the police......You must get out!"
So me, Mike and Logan decide to let the receptionist calm down, and head out to smoke our (badly rolled) joint. After a bit of down time, we head back inside. It's about midnight/1ish by now, and Mike informs us that he has nowhere to stay; his reservation ended today...
Spurred on by red wine, I give Mike my room key and tell him to make a run for it while I distract the receptionist. In a scene reminiscent from Saved by the Bell, I ask the receptionist a series of inane questions (what time is breakfast? where is the nearest cash machine? etc) while Mike hides. Unbelievably, we get away with it; Mike has a free room for the night!
Feeling more-than-rough in the morning, I have to check out early. Today, I'm going to attempt to head to Amsterdam. I say my goodbye's to people at the hostel, and me and Forrest decide to get some greasy food near the Gare du Nord before I catch my train. Because of my serious lack of organisation, I miss all direct trains to Amsterdam, so end up having to make a stop over in Brussells. Should be in Amsterdam by around 9pm. I just hope it's still light when I get there - don't really fancy trying to find my Hostel in the dark.....
We eventually find a lovely little French brasserie in Montparnasse, and sit outside chatting and drinking wine (naturally, we split a bottle of red between the 5 of us....tres expensive otherwise!)
We decide to save our pennies and buy wine to take back to the Hostel, so stop in at the supermarche again and load up in a few more 2 euro bottles each. Classy.
Perhaps this should have been our first warning, but when we arrive back at the hostel, the receptionist is in a foul mood, and moans about noise levels and alcohol consumption repeatedly. This is prompty followed by a threat to call the police (though I'm not entirely sure what his line of argument would be...."Gendarmes! These people are having too much fun. And in a youth hostel of all places!....")
After some sweet-talk and compromise, we head to the kitchen area to have drinks, where Mike joins us, along with 2 guys who are in my room; Forrest and Denny (Hawaiian and Swiss).
A host of drinking games follows and we all get fairly drunk and talk utter nonsense for a few hours. When it's just me, Mike and Logan left, we remember about our teeny tiny bit of hash from the night before, and set about making a joint. Of course, what we don't quite anticipate is the CCTV camera in kitchen....
Yes. The moody receptionist has been watching us. Cue his arrival at the top of the stairs, shouting " What you are doing eez eeeleegal! I will call the police......You must get out!"
So me, Mike and Logan decide to let the receptionist calm down, and head out to smoke our (badly rolled) joint. After a bit of down time, we head back inside. It's about midnight/1ish by now, and Mike informs us that he has nowhere to stay; his reservation ended today...
Spurred on by red wine, I give Mike my room key and tell him to make a run for it while I distract the receptionist. In a scene reminiscent from Saved by the Bell, I ask the receptionist a series of inane questions (what time is breakfast? where is the nearest cash machine? etc) while Mike hides. Unbelievably, we get away with it; Mike has a free room for the night!
Feeling more-than-rough in the morning, I have to check out early. Today, I'm going to attempt to head to Amsterdam. I say my goodbye's to people at the hostel, and me and Forrest decide to get some greasy food near the Gare du Nord before I catch my train. Because of my serious lack of organisation, I miss all direct trains to Amsterdam, so end up having to make a stop over in Brussells. Should be in Amsterdam by around 9pm. I just hope it's still light when I get there - don't really fancy trying to find my Hostel in the dark.....
Wednesday, 6 July 2011
J'adore Paris!
16.05.11
The adventure begins.....
First hurdle over; I have successfully arrived in Paris, and used my superlative (ahem) French skills to navigate my way from Beauvais airport to the centre of town, and from the centre of town to Montparnasse, where my hostel is. No mean feat, especially with a raging hangover from the night before, and a general feeling of nervousness churning in the pit of my stomach...
Ditched my rucksack in my room and decided to bite the bullet and head to the Common area and attempt conversation/socialising. Much easier than expected, especially considereing that most other people there were already well-oiled with some vinegar-esque bottles of 2 euro red wine. Not one to miss out the vino action, I head round to the "supermarche" (aforementioned superlative French skills again) and buy 2 bottles. Well, it's so cheap it's be rude not to. Right?
Back at the hostel, I get chatting to a few American's, a Saudi and a Colombian (Mike, Philip, Logan Hassan and Santiago, respectively). Encouraged by copious amounts of wine and the desire to explore Paris by night, we decide to head for the Eiffel Tower (bottles in hand, obviously).
En route, I am struck by the fact that I am the only female in our group, and that I have known these boys for merely a few hours. Though, those that know me would probably be more concerned about the welfare of the boys than me....
After about 20 minutes of walking, we get a tad sidetracked, when I spot a group of people sitting on a patch of grass near the Tower and convince the others that we should join them. Turns out to be a great idea, and we spend the next few hours sitting with a fairly sizeable group of Moroccan, French and Sudanese guys who are playing guitar and didgeridoo, drinking whisky and sharing joints. (NB - 14 boys and Charlotte....)
Naturally, plenty of singing, talking, drinking and smoking ensues, and me Logan and Mike scraped together a few Euros each to buy a little bit of Moroccan Black from a cheery Sudanese man. Price-wise, perhaps not the cheapest, but hey - that's Paris for you!
Eventually we decide to head back to the hostel, probably about 3 or 4am. Strangely though, we get sidetracked yet again, and end up joining in a game of basketball (really, a late night game in a court in the centre of Paris!) for probably 30 minutes or so. As you do. By this point, we are well finished our drink, and are just about to discover the meaning of the expression "blind drunk".....
After walking (stumbling) for at least and hour without even the slightest inclination of where (or who) we are, and the total inability to read the crumpled map that's stuffed in the bottom of my handbag, we admit defeat and hail a cab. By this point, it's just me, Logan, Mike and Santiago left; the others having become casualties earlier on.
After a totally dead-sleep, where (needless-to-say) I wake up fully clothed wondering where I am, I force myself out in the bright Parisienne morning, to take in some sights and some culture, accompanied by some very dark sunglassed and an unquenchable thirst.
Despite a shaky start, I head for The Louvre. The queues are ridiculously long, but with a valid ID confirming that I'm under 26, I get in for free, it's most defintely worth the wait. The art and exhibits inside are undeniably beautiful, but would realistically require a few days to appreciate fully. And because it's such a huge tourist attraction, I often feel as though I am fighting crowds justto catch a glimpse of the art on show. Crowds and hangovers do not make an attractive partnership, so after a few minutes of "me time" in the toilets, I decide it's time to get some air.
Who knows what tonight will bring? But I have a feeling that, at this rate, I will be conducing a cirrhosis/binge-drinking tour of Europe.....
The adventure begins.....
First hurdle over; I have successfully arrived in Paris, and used my superlative (ahem) French skills to navigate my way from Beauvais airport to the centre of town, and from the centre of town to Montparnasse, where my hostel is. No mean feat, especially with a raging hangover from the night before, and a general feeling of nervousness churning in the pit of my stomach...
Ditched my rucksack in my room and decided to bite the bullet and head to the Common area and attempt conversation/socialising. Much easier than expected, especially considereing that most other people there were already well-oiled with some vinegar-esque bottles of 2 euro red wine. Not one to miss out the vino action, I head round to the "supermarche" (aforementioned superlative French skills again) and buy 2 bottles. Well, it's so cheap it's be rude not to. Right?
Back at the hostel, I get chatting to a few American's, a Saudi and a Colombian (Mike, Philip, Logan Hassan and Santiago, respectively). Encouraged by copious amounts of wine and the desire to explore Paris by night, we decide to head for the Eiffel Tower (bottles in hand, obviously).
En route, I am struck by the fact that I am the only female in our group, and that I have known these boys for merely a few hours. Though, those that know me would probably be more concerned about the welfare of the boys than me....
After about 20 minutes of walking, we get a tad sidetracked, when I spot a group of people sitting on a patch of grass near the Tower and convince the others that we should join them. Turns out to be a great idea, and we spend the next few hours sitting with a fairly sizeable group of Moroccan, French and Sudanese guys who are playing guitar and didgeridoo, drinking whisky and sharing joints. (NB - 14 boys and Charlotte....)
Naturally, plenty of singing, talking, drinking and smoking ensues, and me Logan and Mike scraped together a few Euros each to buy a little bit of Moroccan Black from a cheery Sudanese man. Price-wise, perhaps not the cheapest, but hey - that's Paris for you!
Eventually we decide to head back to the hostel, probably about 3 or 4am. Strangely though, we get sidetracked yet again, and end up joining in a game of basketball (really, a late night game in a court in the centre of Paris!) for probably 30 minutes or so. As you do. By this point, we are well finished our drink, and are just about to discover the meaning of the expression "blind drunk".....
After walking (stumbling) for at least and hour without even the slightest inclination of where (or who) we are, and the total inability to read the crumpled map that's stuffed in the bottom of my handbag, we admit defeat and hail a cab. By this point, it's just me, Logan, Mike and Santiago left; the others having become casualties earlier on.
After a totally dead-sleep, where (needless-to-say) I wake up fully clothed wondering where I am, I force myself out in the bright Parisienne morning, to take in some sights and some culture, accompanied by some very dark sunglassed and an unquenchable thirst.
Despite a shaky start, I head for The Louvre. The queues are ridiculously long, but with a valid ID confirming that I'm under 26, I get in for free, it's most defintely worth the wait. The art and exhibits inside are undeniably beautiful, but would realistically require a few days to appreciate fully. And because it's such a huge tourist attraction, I often feel as though I am fighting crowds justto catch a glimpse of the art on show. Crowds and hangovers do not make an attractive partnership, so after a few minutes of "me time" in the toilets, I decide it's time to get some air.
Who knows what tonight will bring? But I have a feeling that, at this rate, I will be conducing a cirrhosis/binge-drinking tour of Europe.....
Friday, 17 June 2011
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