As the crew for the second Oktoberfest weekend began to enter the chalet, two things became clear. This was going to be another weekend full of booze, and that I do not have the youth, liver, or energy for this much drinking. There was a group of seven Scots, who were understandably drinking the bar dry, and taking the other guests along with them. They were a great laugh though and made for some very amusing moments, especially when one of them lost a bet and had to lose his kilt and shirt and run down the street in the raw. Of course, someone immediately stole his clothes, and therefore he stood around in the bar in the raw until the weight of public opinion demanded he be given back his clothes.
Saturday morning was the first beerfest trip for this group, but I was unable to attend due to having to pick up some people at Salzburg airport and drive them direct to Munich for the festivities. I then drove back to Kirchburg and thoroughly enjoyed the day on my own, skyping Trent and Tess, and also Paula for most of the afternoon. I was asleep by the time the bus got home, but when waking up the next morning I heard that I had missed quite a spectacle.
Apparently one of the Americans in the group had let the alcohol overcome his safety net and got a bit racist with a friend of the French Canadians, who was of an Arab background. When this led to push and shove one of the Frenchies cracked him in the back of the head with a stein, smashing the glass and cutting the Americans head open. He needed ten stitches after he had spilled his blood all over the place and got everyone kicked out of the tent.
Sunday morning I woke up refreshed after ten hours sleep and was ready for the craziness of another Oktoberfest day. The bus ride into Munich was boring and sleepy, the same as last week, but without the bus breaking down. When we arrived at the beer hall, it was nearly empty. The staff greeted us with a smile and asked us if we wouldn’t mind not breaking a stein over anyones head today. I had a beer with the work crew and then went to find Steph, Kat and Nikki at the Hoffbrau tent. I hadn’t seen these guys since La Tomatina, so it was great to catch up, knowing that I won’t see them again until May. As the day wore on I found myself wandering aimlessly around again, and like last week wishing that the bus would leave for home at 6pm instead of 8pm. Finally 8pm rolled around and I quickly fell asleep on the bus, waking up briefly to make my way to my bed and fell into the deep, sweet sleep that comes after a day of beer.
The next day I slept until 9:30am, before getting up and going for a run. I had managed to keep my weight pretty stable over my holiday because even though I was drinking a lot, I was also walking 15kms a day. Since arriving in Kirchburg I was drinking as much, if not more, but not doing any walking, and it was starting to tell on my body. After my much needed spot of exercise I had a run to Salzburg and then later in the afternoon a run to Munich. Both were very uneventful, except for when I returned home and did one of the most bonehead things of my life.
I arrived back into Kirchburg after a late run to Munich, and arrived back ready for a beer and running on autopilot. I got to the chalet, glanced onto our front yard, saw that the Blue van wasn’t there, and proceeded to back the white van I was driving right up to the back of the block. This stopped with a bang and I rammed the back of the white van into the front of the blue van. Apparently it was there after all. Shevy came out and was understandable pissed, and I felt like a total moron. I didn’t feel like a beer anymore, so I went to bed without my dinner so I could wallow in my own stupidness.
The next morning consisted of me doing a run to the tip after separating the rubbish and cleaning the vans. I tried to avoid the topic of the van with Shevy, as while I’m sure he’s not going to fire me for it, it is an incredibly dumb thing to do, and I don’t consider myself a dumb person. Later that day I dropped the French Canadians at the Munich airport, and came home, parking the van very carefully and chilling out for the rest of the evening. It looks as if the staff will be going mountain biking tomorrow, I am looking forward to this, but as my travel insurance ran out about two days ago, I am hoping I can come out of it unscathed.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Friday, September 25, 2009
Oktoberfest – My God, it’s full of beer…
The Friday before Oktoberfest started was full of pickups from airports and other busy work. Most of the guests seemed pretty cool and easy to talk to so the night kicked on pretty easily, and before I knew it, it was well past my bedtime, considering I had to be up before 6am to get on the bus to Munich.
Oktoberfest started with a snag, as our coach full of 50 excited yet still very sleepy people, broke down about 10kms out of Kirchburg. We waited around for about 30 minutes while a new coach was organized and we were soon on our way to Munich. We got there around 10am and the beer isn’t served until noon, so there was a fair amount of sitting around and waiting. The neo nazi’s (I’m not joking) were getting a little impatient on the table next to us, especially when the beer started getting served and their table was the last to get any. The day proceeded along a familiar plot line. That being; Christopher gets drunk. Christopher talks to random women (hopefully German). Christopher finds out random women are 17 and still in high school. Christopher considers his options. Christopher walks away. Okay, possibly that last one was more because we got kicked out of the Spatenbrau tent we were in and had to leave. Oh well.
So I went looking for Nicole, who was in the Lowenbrau tent, which was now blocked off so I couldn’t get in. She told me to say that I was in the Siemens Financial Services team in Box 15. It worked, after a fair amount of arguing with the door staff, and I found Nicole who told me that there is no Siemens financial services team. It was a stone cold lie. But it worked.
Nic and I had a stein and then went outside for a look around. We had both drunk all we could drink and were ready to chill out for a bit. We got to a grassed area and lay down and talked for a while. Then we play fought for a reason I don’t remember, which was when Nic knocked my phone out of my hand and it fell into pieces. The next thing I remember, she was gone, and I wouldn’t see her again until her birthday in Melbourne in May.
I walked back to the meet point where I found a girl on the verge of tears asking people if she could use their phone. She was from San Fransisco, her phone didn’t worked and she had lost her friends. My phone also didn’t work but one of the other guys from the chalet let her use his phone and we kept her company until her friend rocked up. I was very tired by this stage and slept pretty much all the way home on the bus.
The next morning I woke up quite late and was happy to see that the Oktoberfest bus had already left. About 15 people decided that two days in a row was just too much for them and were planning to go out for a walk/mountain bike ride. I was happy to have some downtime as I was feeling pretty sick in the lungs, due to my chest infection continuously following me throughout all of Europe over the past 3 months. I spent most of the day either on the internet or sitting around in the sun. That night the crew that didn’t go to Oktoberfest kicked on hard, with me working behind the bar. It was actually a lot of fun to be at the bar with people that had become my friends over the last few days. The bar was already pumping by the time the busload of Oktoberfestians returned, and once they joined the party it all went ballistic. People were drunk, dancing on tables, naked and noisy. By midnight when I went to bed due to needing to drive a 6am transfer to the airport, it was a den of noisy debauchery. My earplugs did very little to stop the noise and I had a very poor nights sleep. When I woke up at 5:30am the next morning, Shevy (my boss) and a few guests were still clinging onto the previous evening, even as Shevy’s wife Bianca set up for breakfast around them.
I did my airport transfers that day, and spent a bit of time on the net while most people watched movies as they were far too shattered to do anything else. The next day was a similar story as people were still recovering from a monster weekend, and I was still driving people to airports to be on their way home. We’re now pretty quiet, waiting for the next weekend crew to do the same thing all over again.
Oktoberfest started with a snag, as our coach full of 50 excited yet still very sleepy people, broke down about 10kms out of Kirchburg. We waited around for about 30 minutes while a new coach was organized and we were soon on our way to Munich. We got there around 10am and the beer isn’t served until noon, so there was a fair amount of sitting around and waiting. The neo nazi’s (I’m not joking) were getting a little impatient on the table next to us, especially when the beer started getting served and their table was the last to get any. The day proceeded along a familiar plot line. That being; Christopher gets drunk. Christopher talks to random women (hopefully German). Christopher finds out random women are 17 and still in high school. Christopher considers his options. Christopher walks away. Okay, possibly that last one was more because we got kicked out of the Spatenbrau tent we were in and had to leave. Oh well.
So I went looking for Nicole, who was in the Lowenbrau tent, which was now blocked off so I couldn’t get in. She told me to say that I was in the Siemens Financial Services team in Box 15. It worked, after a fair amount of arguing with the door staff, and I found Nicole who told me that there is no Siemens financial services team. It was a stone cold lie. But it worked.
Nic and I had a stein and then went outside for a look around. We had both drunk all we could drink and were ready to chill out for a bit. We got to a grassed area and lay down and talked for a while. Then we play fought for a reason I don’t remember, which was when Nic knocked my phone out of my hand and it fell into pieces. The next thing I remember, she was gone, and I wouldn’t see her again until her birthday in Melbourne in May.
I walked back to the meet point where I found a girl on the verge of tears asking people if she could use their phone. She was from San Fransisco, her phone didn’t worked and she had lost her friends. My phone also didn’t work but one of the other guys from the chalet let her use his phone and we kept her company until her friend rocked up. I was very tired by this stage and slept pretty much all the way home on the bus.
The next morning I woke up quite late and was happy to see that the Oktoberfest bus had already left. About 15 people decided that two days in a row was just too much for them and were planning to go out for a walk/mountain bike ride. I was happy to have some downtime as I was feeling pretty sick in the lungs, due to my chest infection continuously following me throughout all of Europe over the past 3 months. I spent most of the day either on the internet or sitting around in the sun. That night the crew that didn’t go to Oktoberfest kicked on hard, with me working behind the bar. It was actually a lot of fun to be at the bar with people that had become my friends over the last few days. The bar was already pumping by the time the busload of Oktoberfestians returned, and once they joined the party it all went ballistic. People were drunk, dancing on tables, naked and noisy. By midnight when I went to bed due to needing to drive a 6am transfer to the airport, it was a den of noisy debauchery. My earplugs did very little to stop the noise and I had a very poor nights sleep. When I woke up at 5:30am the next morning, Shevy (my boss) and a few guests were still clinging onto the previous evening, even as Shevy’s wife Bianca set up for breakfast around them.
I did my airport transfers that day, and spent a bit of time on the net while most people watched movies as they were far too shattered to do anything else. The next day was a similar story as people were still recovering from a monster weekend, and I was still driving people to airports to be on their way home. We’re now pretty quiet, waiting for the next weekend crew to do the same thing all over again.
Kirchburg – Working for the first time in four months.
Well, my worries about the stopover at the Madrid airport were partly founded, as mine and Nic’s planes were both delayed about an hour. Nowhere near as bad as the eleven hours when I was trying to get to Paris, but irritating none the less, as Paula had come down from Berlin to see me for the day in Stuttgart and I wanted to spend as much time with her as possible. I didn’t get in till after midnight, but every moment with her was fantastic. Unfortunately after 15 hours, I had to be on my way to Salzburg where Shevy was to pick me up from the train station and take me back to Kirchburg, where I would be working for the next 3 weeks.
My job with Alpen-rider is as a driver. I am writing this blog entry while sitting in my work van in a no parking area at the Munich airport. I’m an hour early for a flight from London that 4 customers are on, so I need to wait for them to take them the 2 hours back to Kirchburg. It’s not terribly interesting work, but I do get at least 3 days at Oktoberfest, and all accommodation, most food and all beer for free while I am at the chalet.
I got in quite late at night on Tuesday and didn’t really do anything except eat, have a few drinks with the other staff, all of which except for Shevy’s Austrian wife Bianca, and the token Canadian, Hannah, are Australian. The next morning the whole staff went out for canyoning. I hadn’t done it before as I knew I’d be doing it for free here, but after doing it, I wish I’d done it both times. It’s an absolute blast, abseiling down waterfalls, jumping into pools through waterfalls, sliding down waterfalls. Yeah, lots of stuff with waterfalls.
After canyoning it was my first opportunity to take the work van out and experience driving on the other side of the road. I may have hit a few kerbs, as the roads and thinner and the van wider than what I am used to. The weirdest thing is that I put the clutch down with the same foot, but I have to change gears with my opposite hand. I’m sure it wont take me too long to get used to it, however.
We had a big bbq that night as all the guests would be arriving the next day. It was good to just hang out with the staff and get to know new friends. After a fairly big night on the Jagies and various other weird shit, we all turned in, knowing it would be a busy day the next day.
My job with Alpen-rider is as a driver. I am writing this blog entry while sitting in my work van in a no parking area at the Munich airport. I’m an hour early for a flight from London that 4 customers are on, so I need to wait for them to take them the 2 hours back to Kirchburg. It’s not terribly interesting work, but I do get at least 3 days at Oktoberfest, and all accommodation, most food and all beer for free while I am at the chalet.
I got in quite late at night on Tuesday and didn’t really do anything except eat, have a few drinks with the other staff, all of which except for Shevy’s Austrian wife Bianca, and the token Canadian, Hannah, are Australian. The next morning the whole staff went out for canyoning. I hadn’t done it before as I knew I’d be doing it for free here, but after doing it, I wish I’d done it both times. It’s an absolute blast, abseiling down waterfalls, jumping into pools through waterfalls, sliding down waterfalls. Yeah, lots of stuff with waterfalls.
After canyoning it was my first opportunity to take the work van out and experience driving on the other side of the road. I may have hit a few kerbs, as the roads and thinner and the van wider than what I am used to. The weirdest thing is that I put the clutch down with the same foot, but I have to change gears with my opposite hand. I’m sure it wont take me too long to get used to it, however.
We had a big bbq that night as all the guests would be arriving the next day. It was good to just hang out with the staff and get to know new friends. After a fairly big night on the Jagies and various other weird shit, we all turned in, knowing it would be a busy day the next day.
Lisbon – The Jewel in Portugal’s Crown
Nic and I arrived at the excellent Poets hostel in Lisbon at about 6pm, still tired from the lack of sleep in Lagos and hungry for a feed. After checking in we went out into the streets of Lisbon and found a decent place to eat that wasn’t too expensive. It was immediately clear that Lisbon is a city with soul, the place seethes with culture, art and beautiful architecture. Little streets wind their way up and down Lisbon’s streets, tagged with graffiti and adorned with street art are dirty and grungy, but safe. Nic and I found ourselves walking down the main shopping strip at about 8pm on that Saturday night, and I was approached about 6 times in 5 minutes to be asked if I wanted Hashish. She blamed it on my new (awesome) hat, saying it makes me look like a tourist. I felt the fact that I was wearing Havianas and a wifebeater might have given that away even without the hat.
We got back to the hostel and Nic had a short nap, whereas I had discovered that the WiFi at Poets was the best we’d had at any hostel, so I downloaded a few things that I needed for my computer, before nodding off for a kip. We woke up at 11:30pm and after a short debate about whether we could be assed going out, got ourselves ready and started on the Sangria. After polishing off the Sangria, we were out into the Lisbon night, arriving at Lux at about 1:30am and finding that it wasn’t exactly pumping. We walked around the club, reportedly part owned by John Malkovich, and I was very impressed with both the layout and the quality. As the night wore on, the club quickly filled and by 4am it was absolutely jamming. Unfortunately the quality of music was particularly poor, but as I was partying in Lisbon, with Nic and a few German girls I had met that night, I ignored the shithouse music and just had a good time. Nic and I made our exit at 5:30am and got a taxi back to the hostel, deciding when we got there that we wanted some ham and cheese sandwiches which resulted in drunken cooking. Always a messy exercise.
We got out and about the next day at about 1pm, walking around town and looking at some of the areas we’d not gone through the previous day. I got some more credit for my stupid Spanish Vodafone, which proved to be a 1hour mission, but at least I had credit again. We then walked up to the top of the hill and went into the Castle. It was a pretty cool castle, however the entrance was not terribly well signposted and we ended up walking the long way around it before finding how to get in. It had a great vantage point out over Lisbon and the harbor, although the haziness limited how far you could see. We got back to the hostel and still hadn’t heard from the girls who we’d met in Lagos, who were apparently going to be at our hostel in Lisbon that night, so Nic decided to take a snooze. By 10:30pm we still hadn’t heard anything and we were both wrecked from the last three days so Nic and I made the decision to have a quiet one and stay in. About 5 minutes later there was a knock at the door, and I opened it to see Megan, one of the girls. They’d missed their bus and had to catch a later train, and were keen to go out due to it being Annabel’s birthday the next day. We went out at about 11:45pm, searching for somewhere to eat. On a Sunday night in Lisbon, this is not a particularly easy exercise. Eventually the girls met up with some of their other friends and we found a place to eat, but with neither Nic nor I being hungry, it all seemed like it had become too much of a production, so we said our goodbyes and happy birthdays and made our way home.
The next morning we had to drag our asses out of bed and get to the Lisbon airport. It all worked out pretty easy, and we were saying farewell and thank you to Portugal after an awesome week within her borders. I did have a 6 hour stopover in Madrid to look forward to and after the debacle that was the last time I was at Madrid airport, I was not exactly filled with hope that things would go smoothly. Nic only had a three hour stopover so I said goodbye to her as she went through security. I probably wouldn’t see her again until Melbourne in May, which is sad because we travel really well together, with a balance of downtime, sightseeing and partying. I’m sure we’ll be back to our old habits for her birthday in May.
We got back to the hostel and Nic had a short nap, whereas I had discovered that the WiFi at Poets was the best we’d had at any hostel, so I downloaded a few things that I needed for my computer, before nodding off for a kip. We woke up at 11:30pm and after a short debate about whether we could be assed going out, got ourselves ready and started on the Sangria. After polishing off the Sangria, we were out into the Lisbon night, arriving at Lux at about 1:30am and finding that it wasn’t exactly pumping. We walked around the club, reportedly part owned by John Malkovich, and I was very impressed with both the layout and the quality. As the night wore on, the club quickly filled and by 4am it was absolutely jamming. Unfortunately the quality of music was particularly poor, but as I was partying in Lisbon, with Nic and a few German girls I had met that night, I ignored the shithouse music and just had a good time. Nic and I made our exit at 5:30am and got a taxi back to the hostel, deciding when we got there that we wanted some ham and cheese sandwiches which resulted in drunken cooking. Always a messy exercise.
We got out and about the next day at about 1pm, walking around town and looking at some of the areas we’d not gone through the previous day. I got some more credit for my stupid Spanish Vodafone, which proved to be a 1hour mission, but at least I had credit again. We then walked up to the top of the hill and went into the Castle. It was a pretty cool castle, however the entrance was not terribly well signposted and we ended up walking the long way around it before finding how to get in. It had a great vantage point out over Lisbon and the harbor, although the haziness limited how far you could see. We got back to the hostel and still hadn’t heard from the girls who we’d met in Lagos, who were apparently going to be at our hostel in Lisbon that night, so Nic decided to take a snooze. By 10:30pm we still hadn’t heard anything and we were both wrecked from the last three days so Nic and I made the decision to have a quiet one and stay in. About 5 minutes later there was a knock at the door, and I opened it to see Megan, one of the girls. They’d missed their bus and had to catch a later train, and were keen to go out due to it being Annabel’s birthday the next day. We went out at about 11:45pm, searching for somewhere to eat. On a Sunday night in Lisbon, this is not a particularly easy exercise. Eventually the girls met up with some of their other friends and we found a place to eat, but with neither Nic nor I being hungry, it all seemed like it had become too much of a production, so we said our goodbyes and happy birthdays and made our way home.
The next morning we had to drag our asses out of bed and get to the Lisbon airport. It all worked out pretty easy, and we were saying farewell and thank you to Portugal after an awesome week within her borders. I did have a 6 hour stopover in Madrid to look forward to and after the debacle that was the last time I was at Madrid airport, I was not exactly filled with hope that things would go smoothly. Nic only had a three hour stopover so I said goodbye to her as she went through security. I probably wouldn’t see her again until Melbourne in May, which is sad because we travel really well together, with a balance of downtime, sightseeing and partying. I’m sure we’ll be back to our old habits for her birthday in May.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Lagos – Booze, Beaches and Boats
Nic and I got off our uneventful seven hours train ride from Porto into the blazing heat of Portugal’s Algarve region at about 6pm. We had written down directions to the Rising Cock hostel, but still had a few issues finding it, due mostly to the length of the walk to the hostel, from the train station. After checking in and dumping our stuff in our room, Nic and I were both famished so we walked down the road to get some of the famous Portuguese chicken we had been recommended. It was fantastic chicken, and we felt better after eating. Well enough in fact to go back to the hostel and start drinking the three litres of Sangria we had lugged from Porto. After a few hours on the Sangria spent acquainting ourselves with the hostel and the nearly entirely Australian clientele, we decided to go to bed reasonably early due to the fact that we were booked to do the infamous Rising Cock booze cruise the next day, and we felt that we should be fairly lucid before beginning that epic, alcohol fueled adventure.
The next morning we woke up for Mamma’s famous crepes. The couple who run the hostel are known as Mamma and Pappa, and every morning mamma cooks crepes for the guests between 9:30-11:30am. They were delicious and a great way to start the day, being tasty and free. Unfortunately, while at breakfast we were given the news that the boat cruise had been postponed until tomorrow due to bad weather. Nic and I then decided to walk around the town a bit, and then head down to the beach. The town is pretty touristy, filled with middle aged English couples and Australians in their early twenties. The beach was packed, and as with pretty much all other Mediterranean beaches, lacking any real waves. It was sand though, and being surrounded by sandstone cliffs it was gorgeous, and reminded me of the 12 Apostles section of the Great Ocean road.
We got back in time to have a shower and join the rest of the hostel guests in the common room where they were putting on beer and nachos as we all sat in and watched the World Cup qualifier between Hungary and Portugal. I was barracking for Hungary as I love Budapest and hate Cristiano Ronaldo, but, to the delight of most of the establishment, Portugal won the game 1-0. After the game had finished, Nic and I had downed about 6 beers each and had started on the homemade Sangria. After a few glasses of that, it was time to head out into the nightlife of Lagos. We started at Nahnahbah, which is a restaurant/bar over the road from the rising cock, before moving on the Joes Garage, which was an absolute shit hole, but Nic’s friend worked there last year so she was told she had to go in there. I think we must have been getting double shots in our vodka and redbulls once Nic introduced herself, as the night went pear-shaped very quickly after that. Neither Nic nor I have any clarity in our recollection of the night’s events, but what we can piece together is that Nic went to the loo, I disappeared, and we caught up with each other 4 hours later in the hostel. Hmmm….
The next morning we woke up still drunk and again found out the booze cruise had been postponed due to weather. We were the President and First Lady of struggle town and were not afraid to show it. After a few crepes we went back to bed for a while and waited for the drunkness to pass and the hangover to kick in. After awaking a few hours later with the hangover having definitely arrived we went to a café down the road for a full greasy English breakfast and felt much better after that. We then made our way down to the beach, where we both fell asleep for most of the afternoon. By the time dinner rolled around, Nic and I both felt that we could do with something mildly healthy, so after walking around for a while staring blankly at restaurants we decided on a Japanese buffet. It was better than it sounds, as they made everything for you as you ordered it, so nothing had been sitting in the buffet for hours. It was absolutely delicious, and because of the “all-you-can-eat” factor, we both left the restaurant absolutely stuffed. We didn’t feel like doing anything much, so we sat in the hostel, watched a movie and got an early night. Well, not an early night, but a night without drinking. That’s nearly the same thing.
The next morning we woke up for crepes and were delighted to hear that the booze cruise was definitely on. Nic and I went down to the beach for a morning swim (well, I swam, Nic lay on the beach), before getting back to the hostel in time for the 1pm start. The group met over the road at Nahnahbah and was given all you can drink sangria and beer and some fairly average curry dish for lunch before we all head out into the afternoon heat to get on the boat and make our way out into the Mediterranean. The sangria on the boat was made out of White wine, not red, and tasted like cheap goon mixed in a jar of ass. I quickly moved onto the beer as did most of the rest of the group. We all got turns to go out in the biscuit type thing and be towed behind a speed boat. It was really fun, but we managed to get massively airborne and flip it over. We hit the water hard, I felt like Jean Claude Van Damme had just kicked me in the chest, whereas Nic had hurt her neck and found it painful to turn to the left. We climbed back on the biscuit and nearly flipped it again a few times, but it was brilliant fun. After that we continued to drink and swim near the boat for another few hours before coming back to shore and returning to the hostel.
After eating, showering and buying more alcohol, we continued to drink on the Patio of the hostel. I started talking to a cool chick named Saskia about our mutual desires to become modern Pirates and pillage, plunder and loot for our own benefit. We were working out a ten year plan to make all this happen when we were joined by Saskia’s friend, Layla and the conversation moved onto less ridiculous topics. At midnight everyone left the hostel and went out to the pubs and clubs of Lagos. For some strange reason we again went to Joes Garage, which was full of world class fuckwits, mostly there for a bucks night, so I will excuse some of the behavior, but not all of it. Suffice to say that man, especially fat, unattractive men should definitely keep their clothes on at all times when in a public bar. I caught up with Saskia and Layla at the bar a bit later and we soon all left to go to InsideOut, a club down the road. On the way there it was Saskia’s brilliant idea to play “ultimate steal”. I gave her the challenge to steal a man’s shirt off his back and keep it. She got two shirts, but gave both of them back, although the photos are very amusing. Saskia wanted me to get a dude to buy me a drink. I failed. I guess I have no more luck with the lads than I do with the ladies. After a few hours of this ridiculousness, we all decided to make our way home. We left Layla with the boy she had been talking to for the last 2 hours and Saskia and I went out for a walk around Lagos.
We made our way down to the port where we found three British lads attempting to catch either fish or crabs with their bare hands. Both were right there for the taking, but their reflexes were not up to the task, muted by a lack of coordination and excessive alcohol consumption I imagine. We sat there and had a chat with them, while laughing at their pathetic efforts and girlish screams for a while before moving along the port to climb a tree and chat about piracy, life and family. All the important stuff.
We got back to the hostel at about 5am and I immediately passed out on my bead. Waking up 5 hours later, I again found that someone had eaten my ham and cheese from the fridge so I decided to go out for a big breakfast. Courtney and Jess joined me, as Nic was still fast asleep in bed, having only returned to the hostel at around 10:30am. Jess and Courtney were nice enough to share their stories of public vomiting while I was eating, but I was so hungry it really didn’t matter. We ate and then went back to the hostel, where Nic had woken up and began to pack. We would be parting with the awesome friends we had made in Lagos. It was a bit of a shame to be leaving really, as we really only just started to feel like one of the crew after the booze cruise and going out with everyone the night before. Oh well, some we will see again in Lisbon, and others will be at Oktoberfest. Travel friends come and go, but the bunch we met at the Flying Cock were as fun as any, so we said our goodbyes and got on the train to Lisbon, where we had a date with John Malkovich’s club, Lux.
The next morning we woke up for Mamma’s famous crepes. The couple who run the hostel are known as Mamma and Pappa, and every morning mamma cooks crepes for the guests between 9:30-11:30am. They were delicious and a great way to start the day, being tasty and free. Unfortunately, while at breakfast we were given the news that the boat cruise had been postponed until tomorrow due to bad weather. Nic and I then decided to walk around the town a bit, and then head down to the beach. The town is pretty touristy, filled with middle aged English couples and Australians in their early twenties. The beach was packed, and as with pretty much all other Mediterranean beaches, lacking any real waves. It was sand though, and being surrounded by sandstone cliffs it was gorgeous, and reminded me of the 12 Apostles section of the Great Ocean road.
We got back in time to have a shower and join the rest of the hostel guests in the common room where they were putting on beer and nachos as we all sat in and watched the World Cup qualifier between Hungary and Portugal. I was barracking for Hungary as I love Budapest and hate Cristiano Ronaldo, but, to the delight of most of the establishment, Portugal won the game 1-0. After the game had finished, Nic and I had downed about 6 beers each and had started on the homemade Sangria. After a few glasses of that, it was time to head out into the nightlife of Lagos. We started at Nahnahbah, which is a restaurant/bar over the road from the rising cock, before moving on the Joes Garage, which was an absolute shit hole, but Nic’s friend worked there last year so she was told she had to go in there. I think we must have been getting double shots in our vodka and redbulls once Nic introduced herself, as the night went pear-shaped very quickly after that. Neither Nic nor I have any clarity in our recollection of the night’s events, but what we can piece together is that Nic went to the loo, I disappeared, and we caught up with each other 4 hours later in the hostel. Hmmm….
The next morning we woke up still drunk and again found out the booze cruise had been postponed due to weather. We were the President and First Lady of struggle town and were not afraid to show it. After a few crepes we went back to bed for a while and waited for the drunkness to pass and the hangover to kick in. After awaking a few hours later with the hangover having definitely arrived we went to a café down the road for a full greasy English breakfast and felt much better after that. We then made our way down to the beach, where we both fell asleep for most of the afternoon. By the time dinner rolled around, Nic and I both felt that we could do with something mildly healthy, so after walking around for a while staring blankly at restaurants we decided on a Japanese buffet. It was better than it sounds, as they made everything for you as you ordered it, so nothing had been sitting in the buffet for hours. It was absolutely delicious, and because of the “all-you-can-eat” factor, we both left the restaurant absolutely stuffed. We didn’t feel like doing anything much, so we sat in the hostel, watched a movie and got an early night. Well, not an early night, but a night without drinking. That’s nearly the same thing.
The next morning we woke up for crepes and were delighted to hear that the booze cruise was definitely on. Nic and I went down to the beach for a morning swim (well, I swam, Nic lay on the beach), before getting back to the hostel in time for the 1pm start. The group met over the road at Nahnahbah and was given all you can drink sangria and beer and some fairly average curry dish for lunch before we all head out into the afternoon heat to get on the boat and make our way out into the Mediterranean. The sangria on the boat was made out of White wine, not red, and tasted like cheap goon mixed in a jar of ass. I quickly moved onto the beer as did most of the rest of the group. We all got turns to go out in the biscuit type thing and be towed behind a speed boat. It was really fun, but we managed to get massively airborne and flip it over. We hit the water hard, I felt like Jean Claude Van Damme had just kicked me in the chest, whereas Nic had hurt her neck and found it painful to turn to the left. We climbed back on the biscuit and nearly flipped it again a few times, but it was brilliant fun. After that we continued to drink and swim near the boat for another few hours before coming back to shore and returning to the hostel.
After eating, showering and buying more alcohol, we continued to drink on the Patio of the hostel. I started talking to a cool chick named Saskia about our mutual desires to become modern Pirates and pillage, plunder and loot for our own benefit. We were working out a ten year plan to make all this happen when we were joined by Saskia’s friend, Layla and the conversation moved onto less ridiculous topics. At midnight everyone left the hostel and went out to the pubs and clubs of Lagos. For some strange reason we again went to Joes Garage, which was full of world class fuckwits, mostly there for a bucks night, so I will excuse some of the behavior, but not all of it. Suffice to say that man, especially fat, unattractive men should definitely keep their clothes on at all times when in a public bar. I caught up with Saskia and Layla at the bar a bit later and we soon all left to go to InsideOut, a club down the road. On the way there it was Saskia’s brilliant idea to play “ultimate steal”. I gave her the challenge to steal a man’s shirt off his back and keep it. She got two shirts, but gave both of them back, although the photos are very amusing. Saskia wanted me to get a dude to buy me a drink. I failed. I guess I have no more luck with the lads than I do with the ladies. After a few hours of this ridiculousness, we all decided to make our way home. We left Layla with the boy she had been talking to for the last 2 hours and Saskia and I went out for a walk around Lagos.
We made our way down to the port where we found three British lads attempting to catch either fish or crabs with their bare hands. Both were right there for the taking, but their reflexes were not up to the task, muted by a lack of coordination and excessive alcohol consumption I imagine. We sat there and had a chat with them, while laughing at their pathetic efforts and girlish screams for a while before moving along the port to climb a tree and chat about piracy, life and family. All the important stuff.
We got back to the hostel at about 5am and I immediately passed out on my bead. Waking up 5 hours later, I again found that someone had eaten my ham and cheese from the fridge so I decided to go out for a big breakfast. Courtney and Jess joined me, as Nic was still fast asleep in bed, having only returned to the hostel at around 10:30am. Jess and Courtney were nice enough to share their stories of public vomiting while I was eating, but I was so hungry it really didn’t matter. We ate and then went back to the hostel, where Nic had woken up and began to pack. We would be parting with the awesome friends we had made in Lagos. It was a bit of a shame to be leaving really, as we really only just started to feel like one of the crew after the booze cruise and going out with everyone the night before. Oh well, some we will see again in Lisbon, and others will be at Oktoberfest. Travel friends come and go, but the bunch we met at the Flying Cock were as fun as any, so we said our goodbyes and got on the train to Lisbon, where we had a date with John Malkovich’s club, Lux.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Porto – Where a One Euro flight gets you…
The only reason Nicole and I ever went to Porto was due to the fact that Ryanair had a special of 1euro flights from Paris to Porto on the date we wanted to head down to Portugal. We had never really had the second biggest city in Portugal in our calculations, and after arriving in the city after the flight, there seemed to be little to change our minds. We walked up the hill towards our hostel, and we were stopped by a lovely old lady who thought we looked a bit lost, and even though she spoke minimal English, did her best to give us directions.
We arrived at our hostel, which was basically just a house in the middle of the suburban concrete jungle of Porto. Our host, Anna, was absolutely lovely and helped us with all the information we would need to book a ticket to get to Lagos the next day. We walked into the middle of town to get our train ticket for the next morning and had a little look around. It was quite hot and the city was pretty empty, so we got ourselves an ice cream and walked to the supermarket. We bought some food to cook for dinner, and found the bottles of sangria that we had fallen in love with in Barcelona, so we bought a few bottles of that too. We got back to the hostel and while Nic had a nap I pottered around on the net for a while. We then got up and went and sat out in the back yard of the hostel, where they had some day beds, and whiled away the evening drinking sangria and chatting about all the crazy people we had met on our holiday so far. After dark we got dinner sorted while we drank some of the free sangria that the hostel had made from scratch in the Porto style where they use Port rather than other Brandy or other alcohol. By this time we had started talking to Charlotte, a Kiwi who had been living in Madrid for a few months and had come over to Porto on a whim as the flights were cheap. After dinner, we all walked into town to go to the river, where apparently lots of people go to drink on a Monday night, as nothing else is open. When we got down there, it was really pretty, but not exactly pumping. We sat on the river bank for a while and looked around and the old port area and the restaurants which surround it, before heading back to the hostel. At this moment, Porto started to make sense to me. Firstly, it’s a night town, not a day town. It’s never gonna be a pumping nightspot on a Monday. It’s a place to chill, relax and enjoy some good company and some good food.
Nic and I woke up early the next morning to catch our train to Lagos, and the kitchen table was all set up for breakfast, with cereal, croissants and juice. It made us wish we were staying in Porto for a little longer. Not necessarily for Porto the city, but the Yellow house hostel, which was just a joy to be at. But, we had booked Lagos, and that’s where we were headed. Getting the train on that smoky Tuesday morning, I was glad I had seen Porto, but doubted I would ever return.
We arrived at our hostel, which was basically just a house in the middle of the suburban concrete jungle of Porto. Our host, Anna, was absolutely lovely and helped us with all the information we would need to book a ticket to get to Lagos the next day. We walked into the middle of town to get our train ticket for the next morning and had a little look around. It was quite hot and the city was pretty empty, so we got ourselves an ice cream and walked to the supermarket. We bought some food to cook for dinner, and found the bottles of sangria that we had fallen in love with in Barcelona, so we bought a few bottles of that too. We got back to the hostel and while Nic had a nap I pottered around on the net for a while. We then got up and went and sat out in the back yard of the hostel, where they had some day beds, and whiled away the evening drinking sangria and chatting about all the crazy people we had met on our holiday so far. After dark we got dinner sorted while we drank some of the free sangria that the hostel had made from scratch in the Porto style where they use Port rather than other Brandy or other alcohol. By this time we had started talking to Charlotte, a Kiwi who had been living in Madrid for a few months and had come over to Porto on a whim as the flights were cheap. After dinner, we all walked into town to go to the river, where apparently lots of people go to drink on a Monday night, as nothing else is open. When we got down there, it was really pretty, but not exactly pumping. We sat on the river bank for a while and looked around and the old port area and the restaurants which surround it, before heading back to the hostel. At this moment, Porto started to make sense to me. Firstly, it’s a night town, not a day town. It’s never gonna be a pumping nightspot on a Monday. It’s a place to chill, relax and enjoy some good company and some good food.
Nic and I woke up early the next morning to catch our train to Lagos, and the kitchen table was all set up for breakfast, with cereal, croissants and juice. It made us wish we were staying in Porto for a little longer. Not necessarily for Porto the city, but the Yellow house hostel, which was just a joy to be at. But, we had booked Lagos, and that’s where we were headed. Getting the train on that smoky Tuesday morning, I was glad I had seen Porto, but doubted I would ever return.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Paris – The City of Lights, Love and Baguettes
Waking up Monday morning after only having 3 hours sleep due to the Madrid airport debacle the day before, I assumed I would maybe get through half the day and then need a nanna nap to continue. Kate and I decided to walk into the city, check out a few things and then do the New Europe free (no charge, but you tip) Walking tour of Paris. As we walked into the city it is easy to see why people fall in love with this city, as unlike other major cities involved in World War 2, it had very little damage, and therefore has all of its amazing buildings still on show. It seems like every corner you turn, there is another beautiful old building to look at.
When we got into the city, we walked along the Seine towards the Louvre. The building of the Louvre, which is an old Palace, is massive and it needs to be as it now houses over thirty five thousand pieces. We sat around the fountain area in the centre for a while, dipping our feet in the water, as it was about 30’C, until we were approached by Lynden. Lynden is an Aussie who has been living in London for a while. It was his first day in Paris, and he noticed me wearing a wifebeater and Havianas and decided that I would be worth a chat. We talked for a bit about travelling, Paris and what to do and he decided to come on the free tour also.
When we got to Place St Michel, the meeting point for the tour, there were hundreds of students running around, sing dancing, getting people to write on them with magic marker and generally celebrating that they would be starting another year of University. St Michel is in the Latin Quarter and is a massive student area, due to one of the old historic Universities being right around the corner. One young guy came up to me and asked me to write something on his back. I figured I’d write what my tattoo means “This moment is your Eternity”, and had written “this” when he said “make it dirty, as dirty as possible”. I’m like “are you sure?” and he was, so I then wrote “this boy loves the Cock”. I could have been dirtier, but we were in public. His mate seemed to think it was amusing anyway.
So we headed off on the walking tour, seeing and learning little tidbits of information about Notre Dame, The Louvre, Paris’ beginnings, Modern Parisian life, The Arc de Triomphe, Tiulleries Gardens, The monolith, The Basilica of Sacre Coeur and heaps more. By the end, my brain was a little full of all this information, but I had had a fantastic time leaning about, and acquainting myself with the amazing city of Paris. On the way back to the hostel, Kate and I got some wine and cheese and had a night in on our balcony, discussing Paris and what we had seen that day and generally having a fairly quiet night.
I woke up on Tuesday morning as a thirty one year old. I wasn’t terribly pleased about this, but there’s no way to stop it, so all I can do is accept it. Father Time just keeps on rolling along. After breakfast I went to the internet café for a bit and it made me smile to see all the happy birthday messages from people, but also very sad because I miss all of my friends back in Australia and now scattered about Europe as well. I tried to reply to some messages and emails, but the French keyboard is all fucked up, switching a whole bunch of letters from the English one and therefore driving me fucking nuts when I try to type anything. After I had composed myself, I went back to the hostel and Kate and I went into the city once again. We had seen the Eiffel tower and Arc de Triomphe the day before, but we hadn’t gone right up to them, and we planned to do that.
The Arc de Triomphe is hugely impressive from up close. I had no idea how truly massive it is, and was also blown away by the intricacies of its decoration. The roundabout that surrounds it is also worth a few mentioning as it is a calamity of insane driving and balls in the wind aggressiveness. No insurance company in the world will cover you if you have an accident on that roundabout, because one happens about every few hours on average. The major problem is that the people on the roundabout have to give way to the people entering the roundabout, hence traffic flows and then stops along the roundabout with no determinable progression.
After the Arc de Triomphe, we had planned to head down to the Eiffel tower, via the Trocadero Gardens. It’s a fairly short walk from the Arc do Triomphe, but it started raining very heavily and we decided this might be a trip for another day. We jumped on a subway and went into the shopping area of town, as I had decided that I wanted some new clothes on my birthday and Kate was chasing some stuff also. I got myself a new jacket as my birthday present to myself and then had a Royal Cheese and a glass of beer at a Parisian McDonalds, in honour of the scene from Pulp Fiction. It was great! We then went up the top of the Printemps (like a Myer) building, where they had an observation deck. It was just one or two stories above the rest of the Parisian rooftops, so you got a fantastic view of the city, with the Arc de Triomphe and Eiffel Tower understandably dominating the skyline.
After all this, the weather had improved so we went back to the Eiffel Tower, and even though I had been looking at it for two days, it is still pretty amazing to look up to it up close and know that it the real Tower. We walked towards it, as did many other tourists, heads turned skyward in wide eyed amazement. After walking around the base, taking loads of photos and generally enjoying the fact that we were in Paris, we made our way up through the Trocadero gardens and sat on the steps for a while, soaking it all in. Some rollerblade kids were zooming around, doing tricks on the stairs while tourists watched them, or took photos of themselves in front of the tower.
We made our way back to the hostel and put some dry clothes on before heading out to Montmartre for some drinks and a birthday meal. On our way through the bohemian, artistic and seedy suburb, we walked up to the Basilica of Sacre Coeur, which sits atop Montmartre, named thus as it was the Mount where the Romans performed their executions, hence Mount of the Martyrs. This basilica is a brilliant white church which brings together architectural styles from the Gothic, Roman and Byzantine periods. There were hundreds of people out on the steps of the basilica as it has a fantastic view out over the city, and we sat around ourselves for a while, enjoying the night view of Paris.
Making our way down the stairs, we saw the police arresting some dude who had been causing trouble and it was clear that the Parisian police do not fuck around. This guy got owned, hard. We then walked through the streets of Montmartre, walking past many full bistros and bars until we came to one that had seats available, and they had crepes on the menu, so I was sold. Upon further investigation it was clear I had not chosen the cheapest place to eat, but it was my birthday and we were already here, so we stayed. I ate my excellent crepe and we shared a fantastic crème brulee before heading off to the Moulin Rouge, which is not very impressive at all, and then taking the short walk back to the hostel.
We woke up on Wednesday morning to hear that Thursday and Friday were going to be shit weather, so we decided to bring our Montmartre walking tour forward as we had originally planned to go into the Louvre today. The Montmartre tour was excellent with the sights including some of the places Amelie was filmed, where Picasso ate and lived, where Van Gogh lived and numerous other little interesting tads of information. At the end of the tour we sat down for a glass of wine with some of the other tourists and Alex, our guide and had a nice chat about Paris, and what it’s like to be a tour guide, as I have been toying with the idea of doing this myself in Berlin for a while now.
We came back to the hostel and had a quick nap before heading out again to do the Fat Tire Night Bike Tour of Paris. The night bike tour started with us nearly getting killed by a French bus as we followed our tour guide through an intersection and through a red light. Not the greatest start, but the tour itself was fantastic, and ended with a wine filled boat cruise down the Seine. Adam was a great tour guide also, with a humour and intellect that you don’t always get with Americans. The night ended as we once again walked past the Eiffel Tower, and this time we got to see it go all sparkly, which was pretty amazing.
Thursday morning was a fairly late start as we had a bit of wine the night before. We finally got up and to the Louvre at about 1pm and expected massive crowds, due to the weather being average. To my pleasant surprise the crowds were fairly low and I was able to walk up to the Mona Lisa and Venus de Milo with a minimum of fuss. The Mona Lisa was very impressive, and not actually as small as I had been led to believe. It was pretty awesome to know you were looking at the actual Mona Lisa, and it went a long way to ease the irritation I felt at the rude and pushy people jostling for a slightly better photo position around me. The Venus de Milo was also pretty cool, because of the “it’s the real one” factor, although I must admit I’d prefer the Gummy de Milo, from The Simpsons. One of the more interesting things about the Venus de Milo is that they don’t actually know who it is. They assume it is Aphrodite, but due the fact that the arms have never been found, and hence there is nothing to give away which goddess she is, they just don’t know for sure. After seeing the big two sights of the Louvre, we walked through the ancient Etruscan, Greek and Egyptian sections, then sculpture and then Napoleon III’s apartments. After that we decided we had had enough art and culture for one day and went looking for a beer and a meal.
We had our meal, and like everything else in Paris, it was pretty expensive. The weather had cleared a little in this time and we decided to go up to the top of the Eiffel Tower. The line wasn’t too bad as the crowds were relatively small due to the inclement weather earlier in the day. It was stupidly windy at the top, but is an amazing way to see the sprawl of the city. Plus, it’s cool to know you’re at the top of the Eiffel tower. After the freezing wind at the top, it was quite warm down on the ground as we passed through the Trocadero Gardens to catch the Metro to Blanche. At Blanche we walked up the hill, past the Moulin Rouge to the Café Des Moulin’s, this is the café used in the film, Amelie. We sat down, had a hot chocolate and a crème brulee, got some photos in the café, said hello to the gnome from the movie that sits proudly on the bar and we were then on our way back to our hostel. That night we got a bottle of red and stayed in, as we’d both been burning through the money over the past few days. It was nice to take it easy for a night, as Paris has so much to see, that it’s easy to be on the move all the time trying to see everything.
Friday morning came around and we weren’t exactly sure what we should do. I had noticed the night before that my bucket of shit camera had lost all my photos from the last few days, including the Louvre, the top of the Eiffel and Paris by night. I was understandably pissed and we spent the most part of the morning and early afternoon searching for a shop with the retrieval software to get these photos back. In the end, the language barrier proved too much and I gave up on this mission. I ended up just buying a new camera, the same model that was stolen in Barcelona, and then we went to Notre Dame for a few hours. Notre Dame is an amazingly beautiful cathedral, probably the most impressive I have seen in Europe, and is architecturally advanced for its time. The relic of the crown of thorns was on display, as it is the first Friday of every month. While it is not the actually crown of thorns, as the King who purchased it believed it was, it is still about 500 years old, and was pretty cool to see. After we left Notre Dame we headed home to get ready for the pub crawl.
The pub crawls started with us waiting in Place St Michel, watching some awesome break dancing while we waited to sign up. The first bar was crap, with expensive drinks and rude attendants, but we didn’t stay there for long and we were soon on our way to the next bar. This is where things got a little crazy as we were getting 5euro cocktails and a double shot with each drink. I was talking to a guy from Lebanon who says that the country is safer than France (good to know) and some girls from New Zealand and the UK. We then went to the next bar and were still getting double shots and reasonably cheap drinks. By the next bar it was all too much for Kate as shit had begun to lose her shit. I took her home on a very interesting Metro ride and we were back at the hostel by 1am. Somehow I had still spent 50euro, so it’s a good thing we never got to the club.
The next morning we both woke up feeling pretty average. It took us a while just to get out of the house and when we did we made it into town and got some food and just sat around on the grass near the Louvre. When you actually sit there for a while, you see a lot of sparrows, pigeons and rats. They’re everywhere. When we became tired of watching the rats chase the sparrows, we walked through the Tuilleries and then made our way back to the hostel. We chilled out for a bit and watched some movies on my laptop, before heading into town to have a bottle of wine and some food on Pont des Arts, which translates to “the Artists bridge”. It connects the Louvre with the Academy, and is a pedestrian only bridge where students and youth (I know, what am I doing there, right?) go to dink, play music, sing, eat and generally have a good time. It was great fun meeting a whole bunch of French kids and a few travelling Germans aswell.
Sunday morning it was time to get up and pack. Kate was flying back to England and I had to move to my other hostel where Nic would show up later in the evening before our flight to Porto on Monday. I spent most of the day using the WiFi at St Christophers Hostel to upload photos as the last hostel didn’t have WiFi. It was also awesome to be able to watch the MotoGp for the first time in ages, but unfortunately it was another procession for Rossi. When I checked into my room I realized that I needed a padlock for my locker (my old padlock was a casualty of the Barcelona bag stealing) so I went out to find one. Nothing was open, so no padlock, but I did see a scooter police chase, with a dude on a scooter getting chased the wrong way down a one way street by a French cop on a scooter. Amusing stuff. I then took a nap in my room before watching some tennis and some AFL in the chillout area while waiting for Nics Busabout bus to arrive. When she finally got there we arranged our check-in for the spastic Ryanair flights that depart from some random spastic airport that meant we had to be up and out of our hostel by 5:30am.
Waking up at stupid o’clock is never fun, and my last morning in Paris was no different. The good thing however is that the Paris metro is excellent. It’s a little pricey, but when it is running there are trains pretty much every 5-7 minutes. We got to the point where the Beauvais airport shuttle point by 6:45am and then we arrived at the airport just before 8am. After a bit of luggage juggling to get both our bags under the weight limit we were on the plane and on our way to Porto. Ryanair sucks balls. The seats don’t lean back and they’re trying to sell you some random crap every five minutes. Oh well, at least I wasn’t stuck at the airport for 10 hours like the fight to Paris, so I guess I should be happy.
My week in Paris was amazing in every way. I think possibly this was helped by nearly everyone I know saying that Paris was dirty, the people rude, the crime high and generally overrated. I experienced none of these things. Instead I experienced the beauty of the French capital, its great food, its lovely people and its safe, well policed streets. I think the French pastime is public shows of affection. You couldn’t turn a corner or walk through a park without seeing some very public macking going on. This could obviously be tourists, but I think it is the passion and lust sweeping through every alley, over every bridge and past every street lamp that fills locals and tourists alike with these feelings of affection toward each other. Paris is a just so full of history, beauty and love that one cannot ignore this. It is Paris’ gift to all who come here.
When we got into the city, we walked along the Seine towards the Louvre. The building of the Louvre, which is an old Palace, is massive and it needs to be as it now houses over thirty five thousand pieces. We sat around the fountain area in the centre for a while, dipping our feet in the water, as it was about 30’C, until we were approached by Lynden. Lynden is an Aussie who has been living in London for a while. It was his first day in Paris, and he noticed me wearing a wifebeater and Havianas and decided that I would be worth a chat. We talked for a bit about travelling, Paris and what to do and he decided to come on the free tour also.
When we got to Place St Michel, the meeting point for the tour, there were hundreds of students running around, sing dancing, getting people to write on them with magic marker and generally celebrating that they would be starting another year of University. St Michel is in the Latin Quarter and is a massive student area, due to one of the old historic Universities being right around the corner. One young guy came up to me and asked me to write something on his back. I figured I’d write what my tattoo means “This moment is your Eternity”, and had written “this” when he said “make it dirty, as dirty as possible”. I’m like “are you sure?” and he was, so I then wrote “this boy loves the Cock”. I could have been dirtier, but we were in public. His mate seemed to think it was amusing anyway.
So we headed off on the walking tour, seeing and learning little tidbits of information about Notre Dame, The Louvre, Paris’ beginnings, Modern Parisian life, The Arc de Triomphe, Tiulleries Gardens, The monolith, The Basilica of Sacre Coeur and heaps more. By the end, my brain was a little full of all this information, but I had had a fantastic time leaning about, and acquainting myself with the amazing city of Paris. On the way back to the hostel, Kate and I got some wine and cheese and had a night in on our balcony, discussing Paris and what we had seen that day and generally having a fairly quiet night.
I woke up on Tuesday morning as a thirty one year old. I wasn’t terribly pleased about this, but there’s no way to stop it, so all I can do is accept it. Father Time just keeps on rolling along. After breakfast I went to the internet café for a bit and it made me smile to see all the happy birthday messages from people, but also very sad because I miss all of my friends back in Australia and now scattered about Europe as well. I tried to reply to some messages and emails, but the French keyboard is all fucked up, switching a whole bunch of letters from the English one and therefore driving me fucking nuts when I try to type anything. After I had composed myself, I went back to the hostel and Kate and I went into the city once again. We had seen the Eiffel tower and Arc de Triomphe the day before, but we hadn’t gone right up to them, and we planned to do that.
The Arc de Triomphe is hugely impressive from up close. I had no idea how truly massive it is, and was also blown away by the intricacies of its decoration. The roundabout that surrounds it is also worth a few mentioning as it is a calamity of insane driving and balls in the wind aggressiveness. No insurance company in the world will cover you if you have an accident on that roundabout, because one happens about every few hours on average. The major problem is that the people on the roundabout have to give way to the people entering the roundabout, hence traffic flows and then stops along the roundabout with no determinable progression.
After the Arc de Triomphe, we had planned to head down to the Eiffel tower, via the Trocadero Gardens. It’s a fairly short walk from the Arc do Triomphe, but it started raining very heavily and we decided this might be a trip for another day. We jumped on a subway and went into the shopping area of town, as I had decided that I wanted some new clothes on my birthday and Kate was chasing some stuff also. I got myself a new jacket as my birthday present to myself and then had a Royal Cheese and a glass of beer at a Parisian McDonalds, in honour of the scene from Pulp Fiction. It was great! We then went up the top of the Printemps (like a Myer) building, where they had an observation deck. It was just one or two stories above the rest of the Parisian rooftops, so you got a fantastic view of the city, with the Arc de Triomphe and Eiffel Tower understandably dominating the skyline.
After all this, the weather had improved so we went back to the Eiffel Tower, and even though I had been looking at it for two days, it is still pretty amazing to look up to it up close and know that it the real Tower. We walked towards it, as did many other tourists, heads turned skyward in wide eyed amazement. After walking around the base, taking loads of photos and generally enjoying the fact that we were in Paris, we made our way up through the Trocadero gardens and sat on the steps for a while, soaking it all in. Some rollerblade kids were zooming around, doing tricks on the stairs while tourists watched them, or took photos of themselves in front of the tower.
We made our way back to the hostel and put some dry clothes on before heading out to Montmartre for some drinks and a birthday meal. On our way through the bohemian, artistic and seedy suburb, we walked up to the Basilica of Sacre Coeur, which sits atop Montmartre, named thus as it was the Mount where the Romans performed their executions, hence Mount of the Martyrs. This basilica is a brilliant white church which brings together architectural styles from the Gothic, Roman and Byzantine periods. There were hundreds of people out on the steps of the basilica as it has a fantastic view out over the city, and we sat around ourselves for a while, enjoying the night view of Paris.
Making our way down the stairs, we saw the police arresting some dude who had been causing trouble and it was clear that the Parisian police do not fuck around. This guy got owned, hard. We then walked through the streets of Montmartre, walking past many full bistros and bars until we came to one that had seats available, and they had crepes on the menu, so I was sold. Upon further investigation it was clear I had not chosen the cheapest place to eat, but it was my birthday and we were already here, so we stayed. I ate my excellent crepe and we shared a fantastic crème brulee before heading off to the Moulin Rouge, which is not very impressive at all, and then taking the short walk back to the hostel.
We woke up on Wednesday morning to hear that Thursday and Friday were going to be shit weather, so we decided to bring our Montmartre walking tour forward as we had originally planned to go into the Louvre today. The Montmartre tour was excellent with the sights including some of the places Amelie was filmed, where Picasso ate and lived, where Van Gogh lived and numerous other little interesting tads of information. At the end of the tour we sat down for a glass of wine with some of the other tourists and Alex, our guide and had a nice chat about Paris, and what it’s like to be a tour guide, as I have been toying with the idea of doing this myself in Berlin for a while now.
We came back to the hostel and had a quick nap before heading out again to do the Fat Tire Night Bike Tour of Paris. The night bike tour started with us nearly getting killed by a French bus as we followed our tour guide through an intersection and through a red light. Not the greatest start, but the tour itself was fantastic, and ended with a wine filled boat cruise down the Seine. Adam was a great tour guide also, with a humour and intellect that you don’t always get with Americans. The night ended as we once again walked past the Eiffel Tower, and this time we got to see it go all sparkly, which was pretty amazing.
Thursday morning was a fairly late start as we had a bit of wine the night before. We finally got up and to the Louvre at about 1pm and expected massive crowds, due to the weather being average. To my pleasant surprise the crowds were fairly low and I was able to walk up to the Mona Lisa and Venus de Milo with a minimum of fuss. The Mona Lisa was very impressive, and not actually as small as I had been led to believe. It was pretty awesome to know you were looking at the actual Mona Lisa, and it went a long way to ease the irritation I felt at the rude and pushy people jostling for a slightly better photo position around me. The Venus de Milo was also pretty cool, because of the “it’s the real one” factor, although I must admit I’d prefer the Gummy de Milo, from The Simpsons. One of the more interesting things about the Venus de Milo is that they don’t actually know who it is. They assume it is Aphrodite, but due the fact that the arms have never been found, and hence there is nothing to give away which goddess she is, they just don’t know for sure. After seeing the big two sights of the Louvre, we walked through the ancient Etruscan, Greek and Egyptian sections, then sculpture and then Napoleon III’s apartments. After that we decided we had had enough art and culture for one day and went looking for a beer and a meal.
We had our meal, and like everything else in Paris, it was pretty expensive. The weather had cleared a little in this time and we decided to go up to the top of the Eiffel Tower. The line wasn’t too bad as the crowds were relatively small due to the inclement weather earlier in the day. It was stupidly windy at the top, but is an amazing way to see the sprawl of the city. Plus, it’s cool to know you’re at the top of the Eiffel tower. After the freezing wind at the top, it was quite warm down on the ground as we passed through the Trocadero Gardens to catch the Metro to Blanche. At Blanche we walked up the hill, past the Moulin Rouge to the Café Des Moulin’s, this is the café used in the film, Amelie. We sat down, had a hot chocolate and a crème brulee, got some photos in the café, said hello to the gnome from the movie that sits proudly on the bar and we were then on our way back to our hostel. That night we got a bottle of red and stayed in, as we’d both been burning through the money over the past few days. It was nice to take it easy for a night, as Paris has so much to see, that it’s easy to be on the move all the time trying to see everything.
Friday morning came around and we weren’t exactly sure what we should do. I had noticed the night before that my bucket of shit camera had lost all my photos from the last few days, including the Louvre, the top of the Eiffel and Paris by night. I was understandably pissed and we spent the most part of the morning and early afternoon searching for a shop with the retrieval software to get these photos back. In the end, the language barrier proved too much and I gave up on this mission. I ended up just buying a new camera, the same model that was stolen in Barcelona, and then we went to Notre Dame for a few hours. Notre Dame is an amazingly beautiful cathedral, probably the most impressive I have seen in Europe, and is architecturally advanced for its time. The relic of the crown of thorns was on display, as it is the first Friday of every month. While it is not the actually crown of thorns, as the King who purchased it believed it was, it is still about 500 years old, and was pretty cool to see. After we left Notre Dame we headed home to get ready for the pub crawl.
The pub crawls started with us waiting in Place St Michel, watching some awesome break dancing while we waited to sign up. The first bar was crap, with expensive drinks and rude attendants, but we didn’t stay there for long and we were soon on our way to the next bar. This is where things got a little crazy as we were getting 5euro cocktails and a double shot with each drink. I was talking to a guy from Lebanon who says that the country is safer than France (good to know) and some girls from New Zealand and the UK. We then went to the next bar and were still getting double shots and reasonably cheap drinks. By the next bar it was all too much for Kate as shit had begun to lose her shit. I took her home on a very interesting Metro ride and we were back at the hostel by 1am. Somehow I had still spent 50euro, so it’s a good thing we never got to the club.
The next morning we both woke up feeling pretty average. It took us a while just to get out of the house and when we did we made it into town and got some food and just sat around on the grass near the Louvre. When you actually sit there for a while, you see a lot of sparrows, pigeons and rats. They’re everywhere. When we became tired of watching the rats chase the sparrows, we walked through the Tuilleries and then made our way back to the hostel. We chilled out for a bit and watched some movies on my laptop, before heading into town to have a bottle of wine and some food on Pont des Arts, which translates to “the Artists bridge”. It connects the Louvre with the Academy, and is a pedestrian only bridge where students and youth (I know, what am I doing there, right?) go to dink, play music, sing, eat and generally have a good time. It was great fun meeting a whole bunch of French kids and a few travelling Germans aswell.
Sunday morning it was time to get up and pack. Kate was flying back to England and I had to move to my other hostel where Nic would show up later in the evening before our flight to Porto on Monday. I spent most of the day using the WiFi at St Christophers Hostel to upload photos as the last hostel didn’t have WiFi. It was also awesome to be able to watch the MotoGp for the first time in ages, but unfortunately it was another procession for Rossi. When I checked into my room I realized that I needed a padlock for my locker (my old padlock was a casualty of the Barcelona bag stealing) so I went out to find one. Nothing was open, so no padlock, but I did see a scooter police chase, with a dude on a scooter getting chased the wrong way down a one way street by a French cop on a scooter. Amusing stuff. I then took a nap in my room before watching some tennis and some AFL in the chillout area while waiting for Nics Busabout bus to arrive. When she finally got there we arranged our check-in for the spastic Ryanair flights that depart from some random spastic airport that meant we had to be up and out of our hostel by 5:30am.
Waking up at stupid o’clock is never fun, and my last morning in Paris was no different. The good thing however is that the Paris metro is excellent. It’s a little pricey, but when it is running there are trains pretty much every 5-7 minutes. We got to the point where the Beauvais airport shuttle point by 6:45am and then we arrived at the airport just before 8am. After a bit of luggage juggling to get both our bags under the weight limit we were on the plane and on our way to Porto. Ryanair sucks balls. The seats don’t lean back and they’re trying to sell you some random crap every five minutes. Oh well, at least I wasn’t stuck at the airport for 10 hours like the fight to Paris, so I guess I should be happy.
My week in Paris was amazing in every way. I think possibly this was helped by nearly everyone I know saying that Paris was dirty, the people rude, the crime high and generally overrated. I experienced none of these things. Instead I experienced the beauty of the French capital, its great food, its lovely people and its safe, well policed streets. I think the French pastime is public shows of affection. You couldn’t turn a corner or walk through a park without seeing some very public macking going on. This could obviously be tourists, but I think it is the passion and lust sweeping through every alley, over every bridge and past every street lamp that fills locals and tourists alike with these feelings of affection toward each other. Paris is a just so full of history, beauty and love that one cannot ignore this. It is Paris’ gift to all who come here.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Madrid – Hot town, Cool reputation. Fucked Airport.
The bus rolled into a sweaty Madrid at around 7pm on the 27th of August. There were three full buses departing Valencia the day after La Tomatina, so the hostel would have nearly 150 people to deal with. Luckily, the bus I was on got to Madrid first so I was checked in by 8pm and out with some of the crew for a nice Thai meal down the road before going to bed and being out like a light the moment my head hit the pillow. Madrid seems to have a pretty dull reputation amongst most busabouters, being not a cool as Barcelona and a delay on everyone’s calendar on the way to the super hyped San Sebastian, I was keen to get out and experience the city and see for myself what it had to offer.
I was up early on the Friday, eager to beat the afternoon sun on a walk around Madrid to check out some stuff I had heard about. Matt, Sarah, Kat and Nikki tagged along, and we met up with some other girls that they knew along the way. We went to Plaza Mayor, where people were burned at the stake for having opposing religious views during the Spanish inquisition, and also where the oldest running restaurant in the world is, it’s been in continuous operation since the 13th century. We then went up past the Palacio Real and then up to the Templo de Debod, which is an actual Egyptian temple that was given to Spain by Egypt and now sits on a hill, looking out over the suburbs of Madrid. After that we walked through the Plaza de Espana, where I realized I need to brush up on my Spanish history as for some reason I thought Don Quixote was a Mexican, but being as there is a giant statue of him in Madrid, I am obviously wrong. We then made our way down the Gran Via and down through the Puerta del Sol before arriving back at the hostel.
That afternoon we did a tapas tour. For 8euro we went to 4 tapas bars, getting a glass of sangria at each one and a plate of tapas. It was excellent value and a lot of fun to hang out with the crew in real Spanish places. By the end of the afternoon, we were all pretty tipsy as we were buying extra sangria at most bars, and upon coming home we all retired for a siesta. I could get used to this lifestyle. That night we met at 9pm for a bit to eat before heading out to the hostel up the road that has a bar and is also the start point of the pub crawl. We were already pretty trashed by the time we left on the pub crawl at 1:30am, and headed out into the early Madridian morning. The pub crawl seemed like less of a pub crawl, and more of a club crawl as every place we went to was packed, loud and sweaty, hence by the time we got to the last place, a salsa club, we were already pretty sick of the crowd. We attempted a few hours of salsa, and it was made clear to me once again that I cannot dance for shit. At around 5am we stumbled back to our hostel, with the obligatory stop for a kebab along the way.
I woke up at 11:30am the next day and felt like four buckets of shit. I had planned to go to the Prado Museum today, but instead we all decided to get some food at the supermarket and go for a picnic on the huge Parque del buen Retiro, which was a giant park on the east side of the city. After a walk that took way longer than it should have, we arrived at the park and settled down in a shady spot next to the manmade lake in the centre of the park. It was a lot prettier than I expected, with rowboats making their way around the lake and people playing music on the fringes. Everybody was out enjoying the Saturday afternoon sunshine, and it was a great place to sit down and spend time with friends that I would soon lose as they head off to San Sebastian and I fly directly to Paris. After a spending most of the day at the park, we came back to the hostel where I had to confirm some things about my flight before going out for dinner with Nikki and Kat. I bade them farewell as they went off to a salsa night and I came back to my room to pack and ended up chatting to some American dudes in my room, about the states, travelling and living in New York.
The next morning I woke up refreshed from a decent night’s sleep, and ready to tackle the Madrid metro system, and make my way to the airport. As it turned out, I did not need to be worried about the metro system, it was as easy as pie, however the day was still young, and my 90 minute flight to Paris would turn out to be quite epic.
I arrived to the airport and found my check-in desk, no great dramas there, apart from the face that Spaniards (like most Europeans) dont understand the concept of an orderly moving line, and just think they can do whatever the fuck they like. But, I held back my annoyance, as it made no matter to me, we were all gonna get on the place, sooner or later, so I waited patiently. I went to the gate, and the gate had changed, again, not a huge issue as I soon found my gate, and even though boarding was due to be nearly over, there was still a long line of people trailing away from the gate. Forty minutes later, we still hadn’t boarded so we were all then told there would be a 2 hour delay, we were then given a 6 euro voucher to spend on a snack and drink of some description, and then I went back to my seat and continued playing my psp. Unbeknownst to me, they again changed the gate, and it was only purely by accident that I found my new gate while I had gone to get something to eat. We boarded the plane about 30 min late and then waited on the plane for another 30 minutes before taking off. It was now about 4:30pm and my plane was supposed to depart at 1:45pm. We flew for about 20minutes, I slept most of that time, then woke up and felt that there was something wrong with the plane. We had been flying for more than enough time to get up to cruising altitude, however we were still quite low. The plane seemed to be in turbulence and was trying to climb, but it was as if it just didn’t have the power to do anything about it. It was then announced that there was technical problem and we would be returning to Madrid airport. That 20minutes back to Madrid airport was the scariest time I’ve ever had on a plane. The plane wanted to buck and dive, and there were quite a few times where I felt it was losing power. We only seemed to be a few thousand feet up, so every time the plane turned you could get a very clear few of the ground below. We eventually got back to Madrid airport, and landed without any issues, and I was glad to still be alive. After landing I went to the Veuling airlines office with all the other passengers, and it turned out that we would have another plane at 9:10pm, about 2 hours away. I met Julie, a French girl wanting to get back home to Lille after a big weekend in Madrid, and we went to the bar to use our second 6 euro voucher on a few beers. Julie and I had a great time drinking some beer and discussing the travel habits of Australian’s compared to the French, and eventually we made our way back to our gate and boarded the plane at about 9:30pm. We sat on the plane for about an hour; always being told it was an issue with air traffic control before I again pulled out my psp and played that for an hour or so. At 11pm we would be getting a new crew, and when they arrived we could leave. I spent this time talking to Julie, and then by 11:30pm, we were told that we would need to get off the plane, again. However, 5 minutes later we were told that if we wanted to go to Paris, we could stay on the plane, or if we wanted to get off, we could do so now. This seemed like a weird thing to say, but as I found out later, it was because one of the fucking Spanish dickheads had called the cops from the plane and complained that were not being let off the plane. So there’s cops outside the plane doors demanding everyone be let off, we’re being told if we want to stay on we should take off in the next 35 minutes then we’ll go to Paris, otherwise we’ll have to get off then. What the Fuck? Well, 5minutes later the replacement crew shows up, and we’re told we’re going to Paris. Unfortunately the replacement crew fucks around for a good half an hour so when we finally take off it’s nearly 1am. We fucking finally take off and it is an uneventful 90 minute flight to Paris, and credit to Veuling, at least they fed us for free.
So I’m in Paris, at Charles de Gaulle airport. Julie is coming back to my hostel as she has well and truly missed her connecting train to Lille, and there are no metro trains running so we have to take a 40 euro taxi. We get to my hostel and the guy behind the desk doesn’t want Julie to come in and stay, even though I’m happy to share a bed, he expects her to sleep in the street. After much bullshit he agrees to let her stay till 7am, when the trains will be running again. I finally get up to my room by about 3:30am. About 12 hours after I should have been landing in Paris, had the plane been on time. Fucking Spain.
It’s actually really disappointing because I have had a great time in Spain, and part of me thinks I would really like to go back. But the bag stealing incident in Barcelona and the Madrid airport debacle has forever tainted my feelings toward Spain and I honestly don’t know if it can recover. Well, till next year anyway…
I was up early on the Friday, eager to beat the afternoon sun on a walk around Madrid to check out some stuff I had heard about. Matt, Sarah, Kat and Nikki tagged along, and we met up with some other girls that they knew along the way. We went to Plaza Mayor, where people were burned at the stake for having opposing religious views during the Spanish inquisition, and also where the oldest running restaurant in the world is, it’s been in continuous operation since the 13th century. We then went up past the Palacio Real and then up to the Templo de Debod, which is an actual Egyptian temple that was given to Spain by Egypt and now sits on a hill, looking out over the suburbs of Madrid. After that we walked through the Plaza de Espana, where I realized I need to brush up on my Spanish history as for some reason I thought Don Quixote was a Mexican, but being as there is a giant statue of him in Madrid, I am obviously wrong. We then made our way down the Gran Via and down through the Puerta del Sol before arriving back at the hostel.
That afternoon we did a tapas tour. For 8euro we went to 4 tapas bars, getting a glass of sangria at each one and a plate of tapas. It was excellent value and a lot of fun to hang out with the crew in real Spanish places. By the end of the afternoon, we were all pretty tipsy as we were buying extra sangria at most bars, and upon coming home we all retired for a siesta. I could get used to this lifestyle. That night we met at 9pm for a bit to eat before heading out to the hostel up the road that has a bar and is also the start point of the pub crawl. We were already pretty trashed by the time we left on the pub crawl at 1:30am, and headed out into the early Madridian morning. The pub crawl seemed like less of a pub crawl, and more of a club crawl as every place we went to was packed, loud and sweaty, hence by the time we got to the last place, a salsa club, we were already pretty sick of the crowd. We attempted a few hours of salsa, and it was made clear to me once again that I cannot dance for shit. At around 5am we stumbled back to our hostel, with the obligatory stop for a kebab along the way.
I woke up at 11:30am the next day and felt like four buckets of shit. I had planned to go to the Prado Museum today, but instead we all decided to get some food at the supermarket and go for a picnic on the huge Parque del buen Retiro, which was a giant park on the east side of the city. After a walk that took way longer than it should have, we arrived at the park and settled down in a shady spot next to the manmade lake in the centre of the park. It was a lot prettier than I expected, with rowboats making their way around the lake and people playing music on the fringes. Everybody was out enjoying the Saturday afternoon sunshine, and it was a great place to sit down and spend time with friends that I would soon lose as they head off to San Sebastian and I fly directly to Paris. After a spending most of the day at the park, we came back to the hostel where I had to confirm some things about my flight before going out for dinner with Nikki and Kat. I bade them farewell as they went off to a salsa night and I came back to my room to pack and ended up chatting to some American dudes in my room, about the states, travelling and living in New York.
The next morning I woke up refreshed from a decent night’s sleep, and ready to tackle the Madrid metro system, and make my way to the airport. As it turned out, I did not need to be worried about the metro system, it was as easy as pie, however the day was still young, and my 90 minute flight to Paris would turn out to be quite epic.
I arrived to the airport and found my check-in desk, no great dramas there, apart from the face that Spaniards (like most Europeans) dont understand the concept of an orderly moving line, and just think they can do whatever the fuck they like. But, I held back my annoyance, as it made no matter to me, we were all gonna get on the place, sooner or later, so I waited patiently. I went to the gate, and the gate had changed, again, not a huge issue as I soon found my gate, and even though boarding was due to be nearly over, there was still a long line of people trailing away from the gate. Forty minutes later, we still hadn’t boarded so we were all then told there would be a 2 hour delay, we were then given a 6 euro voucher to spend on a snack and drink of some description, and then I went back to my seat and continued playing my psp. Unbeknownst to me, they again changed the gate, and it was only purely by accident that I found my new gate while I had gone to get something to eat. We boarded the plane about 30 min late and then waited on the plane for another 30 minutes before taking off. It was now about 4:30pm and my plane was supposed to depart at 1:45pm. We flew for about 20minutes, I slept most of that time, then woke up and felt that there was something wrong with the plane. We had been flying for more than enough time to get up to cruising altitude, however we were still quite low. The plane seemed to be in turbulence and was trying to climb, but it was as if it just didn’t have the power to do anything about it. It was then announced that there was technical problem and we would be returning to Madrid airport. That 20minutes back to Madrid airport was the scariest time I’ve ever had on a plane. The plane wanted to buck and dive, and there were quite a few times where I felt it was losing power. We only seemed to be a few thousand feet up, so every time the plane turned you could get a very clear few of the ground below. We eventually got back to Madrid airport, and landed without any issues, and I was glad to still be alive. After landing I went to the Veuling airlines office with all the other passengers, and it turned out that we would have another plane at 9:10pm, about 2 hours away. I met Julie, a French girl wanting to get back home to Lille after a big weekend in Madrid, and we went to the bar to use our second 6 euro voucher on a few beers. Julie and I had a great time drinking some beer and discussing the travel habits of Australian’s compared to the French, and eventually we made our way back to our gate and boarded the plane at about 9:30pm. We sat on the plane for about an hour; always being told it was an issue with air traffic control before I again pulled out my psp and played that for an hour or so. At 11pm we would be getting a new crew, and when they arrived we could leave. I spent this time talking to Julie, and then by 11:30pm, we were told that we would need to get off the plane, again. However, 5 minutes later we were told that if we wanted to go to Paris, we could stay on the plane, or if we wanted to get off, we could do so now. This seemed like a weird thing to say, but as I found out later, it was because one of the fucking Spanish dickheads had called the cops from the plane and complained that were not being let off the plane. So there’s cops outside the plane doors demanding everyone be let off, we’re being told if we want to stay on we should take off in the next 35 minutes then we’ll go to Paris, otherwise we’ll have to get off then. What the Fuck? Well, 5minutes later the replacement crew shows up, and we’re told we’re going to Paris. Unfortunately the replacement crew fucks around for a good half an hour so when we finally take off it’s nearly 1am. We fucking finally take off and it is an uneventful 90 minute flight to Paris, and credit to Veuling, at least they fed us for free.
So I’m in Paris, at Charles de Gaulle airport. Julie is coming back to my hostel as she has well and truly missed her connecting train to Lille, and there are no metro trains running so we have to take a 40 euro taxi. We get to my hostel and the guy behind the desk doesn’t want Julie to come in and stay, even though I’m happy to share a bed, he expects her to sleep in the street. After much bullshit he agrees to let her stay till 7am, when the trains will be running again. I finally get up to my room by about 3:30am. About 12 hours after I should have been landing in Paris, had the plane been on time. Fucking Spain.
It’s actually really disappointing because I have had a great time in Spain, and part of me thinks I would really like to go back. But the bag stealing incident in Barcelona and the Madrid airport debacle has forever tainted my feelings toward Spain and I honestly don’t know if it can recover. Well, till next year anyway…
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