Travel Pixie

Is it a bird...? Is it a plane...?

2007-01-02T04:35:00.000+01:00

No! It's an update! It's taken me by surprise too.

I am no longer full and filthy (well, slightly filthy as I've just returned from helping to sand the floor of the yoga studio I go to and am kinda covered in sawdust) and I am no longer travelling (for the time being...). I'm quite sure that most of the people who read this blog are aware of the fact that I'm back in Melbourne now (I returned in October), but just in case: I'M BACK IN MELBOURNE! The capital letters and exclamation mark are a little misleading, as I'm finding that being back in Melbourne isn't all that exciting. I'm over the initial shock of of being back, of course, but I'm still feeling a little lost and unsure of what to do with myself. Any suggestions...?

It was strange seeing Melbourne again after such a long absence. Everything looked so...colonial. I'd never noticed before just how many roofs and verandahs were made of corrugated iron! It's not just a stereotype! The amount of space, trees, seeing so much of the sky through the sparsely situated (single-storey!) buildings. The quietness. The casual, laid-back, slow pace of life. The sound of an easy wind on a warm and otherwise still and quiet day. These are just a tiny handful of the things I'd never consciously noticed before about Melbourne. Never noticed, or forgotten.

Sometimes I try to look at Melbourne again through that same lens that I viewed it on my first few days back, to capture those sensations, the effects of those observations. But the moments have inevitably passed. Those few days were fleeting and therefore precious. It was only during those first few days that I could really experience Melbourne afresh (or refreshed?), juxtaposed against my memories of all the other places I had seen, against living in Berlin. It left me feeling a lot of (strange) things, but above all, I think it left me feeling a little uneasy. I don't think this unease has left me yet and I haven't quite worked out what it means. Perhaps it's just a result of my not feeling 'settled' yet? No, it's definitely more than that.

I feel I should give a very brief outline of where I had travelled to after writing my last post. Don't worry - I wont go into descriptive detail of any of the places (this post would turn into a novel if I did). I'll just mention the places I travelled to, the paths I took. Like lines and dots on a map. So this can be something of an exercise in cartography (for beginners).

So. I think I wrote my last post in Piran, Slovenia. Yes, Piran. Full and filthy. I remember now: the buffet breakfast.... From Piran I embarked on a twelve hour bus journey (with changes at Koper and Rijeka) that took me down the amazingly gorgeous Adriatic Coast in Croatia, to finally finish up (at about 9.30pm) in Split. Arriving in the evening was great. The centre of Split is built in and around the remains of Diocletian's Palace, which is lit up at night and swept me off my feet. I felt like I was in una Roma piccola.

After a few days and nudie swims in seaside Split, I continued south along the Adriatic Coast to Dubrovnik. Upon disembarking the bus at the bus station I was attacked by a gaggle of women offering me sobe zimmern camere rooms. I haggled with a highly amusing little old hunch-backed woman named Rosa, who took me back to her place where I enjoyed a private double room. Dubrovnik is one of those cities where you find yourself taking a ridiculously excessive amount of photographs (I'll eventually get myself together enough to post some of these, in absence of any written description on my part).

From Dubrovnik I rather spontaneously decided to catch a bus to Sarajevo, Bosnia. This was one of the most worthwhile things I did throughout my entire travels. I could write essays on the bus trip (sometimes incredibly beautiful, sometimes unbelievably war-damaged) and my four days in Sarajevo, but I promised I wouldn't. Suffice it to say, that Sarajevo was the only place I visited in my two and half years in Europe where I felt that this was turf not well-travelled, that this was a city that was still trying to figure out how to deal with western tourists - indeed, tourism at all! - where the locals looked tired, spent, beyond tourism. I guess recent war does that.

Back on the bus. Back to Split. Straight onto the overnight ferry to Ancona, Italy, where I still didn't stop, but cotinued north by train to Bologna (where I would have liked to have stopped, but my arrival there coincided with the International Trade Fair and there was not a reasonably priced bed anywhere in the vicinity of the city) and spent a couple of stressful hours at the train station: all of the trains to my ultmate destination - Verona - were sopresso - cancelled - so I frantically chose a different, random destination, begged strangers for money, bought a phone card, booked a bed, bought a new train ticket and hopped on a train to Padua.

Shakespeare territory. Lovely. My third separate visit to la bella Italia. Oh, the food. The morning coffees and pastries al banco. Yum.

A couple of days in Padua, then on to fair Verona, which is very fair indeed. Something corny, but fun that I did in Verona: left a love message on the (unbelievably love-message grafittied) wall of the Capulet's house (pics to come).

Verona to Milan. My second time in this city. I didn't much like it the first time (the only place in Italy I didn't like), but I found a one cent flight (evil fossil fuels, evil me) from Milan to Oslo, so there I was again back in Milan. Totally different experience this time: I stayed with a local family, the son of which I met in Spain months back. Home-cooked Italian meals, the woggiest apartment in the world, cats, cats, cats, and getting around town on a Vespa! Weaving through peak hour traffic in Milan on a Vespa - so frightening, but so exhileratingly fun!

Then a bit of plane hopping: a flight from Milan to Oslo, another one from Oslo to Stockholm, a third flight from Stockholm to Copenhagen and finally from Copenhagen to Berlin (and then the mega flight back to Melbourne...). My travels through Scandinavia were brief and I'm reluctant to call that kind of plane/city hopping 'travelling' at all. Unfortunately I was running thin on time, money and energy at this point and a few days in each of th capitals was all I could manage. My five days back in Berlin before the flight to Melbourne were simultaneously wonderful and sad. I remember a moment during that time when I was waiting for the U-bahn at Goerlitzer bahnhof, looking down at the tiny wine bar on Skalitzer Strasse, at the major intersection where Skalitzer, Wiener and Oranien Strassen meet, further along at how the new mosque was coming along, at the ever-present grafitti and realising how much I loved this city. Berlin. More familiar to me then (and now?) than Melbourne.

Yet here I am. Pining. Berlin (constantly) on the brain.

I wonder if anyone still checks this blog. Hello out there in etherland!

Full and filthy

2006-09-17T14:04:00.000+02:00

I am so full. You know the kind of full where you stuff yourself beyond your stomach's capacity? Where you can feel the food backlogged all the way up to your chest, almost right up to your neck, so that you feel if the food doesn't manage to find a way into your stomach somehow then at any moment - any moment now - all that food might be gurged back up again? I feel, in essence, like a foie gras duck.

It was the breakfast that did it.

For about a week (more?) now, I've been living off bread rolls (with various, unexciting fillings) and fruit for breakfast, lunch and dinner (the bread and cheese for lunch and dinner stolen from the hostel breakfast buffet). So imagine the state of delirious, wide-eyed excitement I was in when I went down to breakfast this morning to find a veritable feast of culinary delights laid out on a long table before me. Oh, I wasn't dreaming, nor hallucinating under the duress of hunger. This food was real: grilled and seasoned aubergine and capsicum; scrambled eggs; three kinds of cheese; a variety of rye breads and cereals; grapes and apples; orange juice; a variety of hot drinks, cookies and cakes...

It was all I could do to stop myself from impatiently shoving everyone aside and piling as much food onto my plate as possible. Exercising all the self-restraint I could muster, I gradually filled my plate (only a close observer would have noticed my slightly shaking hands, the maniacal glint in my eyes...) - not conspicuously so - and walked over to an empty table at an almost leisurely pace, before devouring what was on my plate. It was then, I am sad to say, that the cords of my self-restraint snapped and I went back for seconds, thirds, fourths - even fifths!- before I had even finished what was on my plate. I was afraid, you see, that some of the food would run out before I had a chance to nab some! As it turned out, my fears were unfounded, as the moment a dish ran out it was promptly topped back up again by an angel from the kitchen. Oh, blessed heaven above - an overflowing, infinite cornucopia of food, food, food!

It was clearly more than I could handle.

So now I sit and wait for the food to digest beofe I'm physically able to go out and wander through the red-roofed Old Town of seaside Piran (Slovenia). I was hoping to go for a swim today, but the weather isn't the best and I'd be sure to vomit anyway.

Back in Budapest I swam - or bathed, rather - at one of the many thermal bath complexes in the city. This one - from both the outside and the inner courtyard - looked more like a Baroque (Rennaissance? I can never tell the difference) royal residency than a public bath. Highlight of the day (not breasts, I'm afraid. There were none to be seen except those of the male variety and I did see some whoppers, which to be fair, were highly fascinating in and of themselves): one of the outdoor baths was a bath within a bath within a bath (hello Baudrillard). The most inner bath was a small spa with a variety of massage jets. The most outer bath was obviously the largest, more pool-like, but with random powerful jets that shot straight up from the floor of the bath so you could lean all your weight right into it as though you were sitting in a (vibrating) chair. the most exciting bath, however, was the middle one. From afar it looked perfectly ordinary - merely a ring of calm blue water separating the inner and outermost baths. Try to traverse between the two however, and you get sucked into the middle bath and carried all the way around and around and around by what I can only guess are super-powerful jets! You could just sit there, legs afloat, and be sped around the whirlpool. Such fun! Until too many people get in and some of the weightier bathers aren't carried around as quickly as the others and you smack into them, full-bodied (there's no way of stopping!) and a pile-up inevitably ensues. Such fun.

The water in all the baths are supplied by the hot springs that occur naturally in Budapest and the minerals in the water are supposed to help cure various aches and ailments (although they do nothing for period pain, as I unfortunately discovered...). I did feel good afterwards. Clean. No need for a shower (interesting how one's personal hygiene drops a level or five whilst backpacking...).

Budapest in general: I love the bigness and the unkemptness of it (and the fact that the sun was shining when I was there). I was disappointed that it wasn't as 'exotic' (or cheap!) as I was led to believe it was (two and a half years and still these naive notions!!!).

Zagreb, Croatia was my next stop. Small for a capital city. Lovely Old Town with some funky pedestrian streets and cafes (an observation: the Croats are way funkier than the Hungarians. Generally speaking). If Zagreb was small, then Ljubljana was miniature. The capital of Slovenia has nonetheless, I thought, an even lovelier Old Town than Zagreb.

I headed north-west to Bled next, a town situated on the idyllic Lake Bled, with water more blue than Budapest's thermal baths. Indeed this water proved too tempting to resist. Halfway through my lap around the lake I found a secluded spot on the grounds of a private villa. Largely obscured by a sloping bank and a thicket of trees, I stripped off and went for a quick dip. La-la-lovely.

After two days in Bled I now find myself in Piran (belly settled, though still quite full). The sun seems to be making intermittent appearances through the clouds and it's deceptively warm. I might be optimistic and grab a towel and my bathers on the way out (no private spot for a secret nudie swim here).

Before I do, let me relate two curious and not entirely dissimilar incidents that have occurred of late:

1. Budapest. I was standing on the Elizabeth Bridge pulling my camera out of my bag to take a pic of the Danube, when a middle-aged man, evidently a tourist from somewhere else in Eastern Europe, approached me and started gesturing to me emphatically. Confused, I stepped back. He continued gesturing and moving closer. I thought perhaps he was offering to take a photo of me with my camera. When I indicated, no, I didn't want a photo of myself, he only came closer, put his arm around my shoulders and pointed to a woman standing in front of us - presumably his partner - wielding a camera. More confusion. He wants a photo with me? Evidently. He stood there, arm around my shoulders, grinning broadly at the camera which his partner willingly snapped away at, while I stood eyebrows furrowed, utterly confused, looking from the man to the woman to the camera she pointed at me, my own camera held limply in one of my hands at chest height. I'm sure it made for a peculiar shot.... Picture taken, they backed away. "Thank you, thank you!" the man said in heavily accented, struggling English. "You look very nice!" Okay...

2. Ljubljana. Sitting on the steps of a church, upon which the sun was shining, reading my book (Lolita). I had just finished my lunch (a roll with cheese - stolen from that morning's breakfast - and avocado, washed down with tap water acquired from the hostel showers. A plague on hostels with no kitchen!). A Slovenian man appoaches me and asks if he can take a photo of me! Confusion, suspicion. "Why?" I ask. "I'm a photographer," he explains timidly. After pressing him for what he planned to do with the photo, I let him take it. What do I care what he does with it, after all? He showed me the picture - very National Geographic.

It occurred to me that maybe these people think I'm some sort of gypsy-type character: a dark-skinned girl in Eastern Europe whose clothes look a little worse for wear, not to mention her hair and general levels of cleanliness and personal hygiene (which tend to deteriorate to even worse levels than mentioned above when you're travelling alone...).

And Rae - on both occasions I was wearing The Earrings...

Suddenly Budapest

2006-09-06T23:25:00.000+02:00

It feels as though lots of time and many places have passed since I last posted. This sense may be heightened by the fact that I've just flown right across the continent from Dublin to Budapest (I flew with the very tantalisingly named Irish airline, Aerlingus...). I've just spent the whole day travelling and arrived in Budapest this evening, so I haven't actually seen any of the city yet. So I'll talk about what I've been up to between Inverness (where I last left you) and now...

I embarked on a very scenic train journey across Scotland from Inverness to the Isle of Skye. I based myself in the tiny coastal town of Kyleakin and explored the island by bus from there. It was on this island (not to mention during the journeys to and from the island) that I experienced the beautiful highland wilderness that Scotland is renowned for: hills reflected in astounding mirror-images in the ever-so-still lochs below; dramatic rocky coastlines and rock formations; and a pervasive sense of remoteness. Certainly very dramatic scenery, but somehow also slightly depressing. This may possibly have had something to do with the constant greyness overhead. To be fair though, the sun did (rather miraculously) break through the clouds a couple of times and cheer the landscape (and me) up a little.

After a couple of days and a couple of hikes in Skye, I caught a bus down to Erin's hood - Glasgow - and spent a lovely and rather luxurious couple of nights in her plush abode. Staying outside of the city centre meant that I was fortunate enough to encounter some regular Glaswegian Joes, including:
1. a girl on a bus who so uncannily resembled Vicky what's-her-name from Little Britain (in both appearance and behaviour, but slightly more aggressive and obnoxious, if you can believe it) that Erin and I weren't sure whether to laugh or cry. We did move to the front of the bus to get as far away from her as possible, though.
2. chatty taxi driver with an indecipherably thick Glaswegian accent. I was glad it was Erin who was sitting in the front seat, obligated to chit chat and answer his questions because I could barely understand a word. Round of applause to Erin who very impressively managed an entire conversation with the man!

I farewelled sweet Erin after a couple of days and spent my last night in Glasgow in The Worst Hostel Ever before getting up early the next morning to catch a flight to Belfast. My two days there were less eventful than I'd hoped, especially when I decided to do a political tour to learn more about the Catholic/Protestant conflict and the tour guide failed to turn up. I walked along the alleged former "war-zone" myself, saw the murals and memorials dedicated to the so-called freedom fighters (strange) and became increasingly annoyed at the guide for not having shown up. Never mind. It was off to the Antrim Coast with me to chill out for a few days.

I stayed in tiny Bushmills (the entire town consisted of one road and had not a single public internet terminal anywhere), famous for its Irish Whiskey distillery - the oldest licensed distillery in the world. I took a tour of the (smelly) distillery on my first day in town and was one of four people to volunteer for a whiskey tasting session afterwards. I was fed four shots of Bushmills Irish Whiskey, one shot of scotch and one shot of bourbon. In the space of ten minutes. Needless to say, I was a happy lass. Especially after I was awarded a shiny gold tube containing a certificate which merited me as being an "official Irish Whiskey taster"! That's going on the CV. After the tasting session I staggered to the nearest fish 'n' chip shop (chipper!) and got some greasy, vinegar-soaked chips into my empty belly to suck up all that alcohol.

The next day I visited the sights along the coast: Giant's Causeway - hexagonal basalt columns which occurred naturally some however many years ago (a looooooooooong time ago *nods wisely and knowingly*), which are really quite amazing (obviously I'm in something of a lazy mood at the moment - I have been travelling all day - so rather than going into intricate description, I'm going to let those of you who are interested to just look it up online); Carrick-a-rede - a little town sitting just off a dramatic cliff coast. The main attraction here is the rickety bridge that connects a small island off the coast to the mainland. 'twas fun to cross - ocean roaring beneath, rain pouring from above, bridge a-wob-wob-wobbling. I felt like Indiana Jones.

Where did I move onto next...?...?.... Ah, yes - Dublin, where I hooked up with Rachel Bowen. I could hardly believe it was she in the flesh! I had to spend a few minutes pinching and poking her just to make sure (it'd been a while since we'd seen each other).... So nice to catch up with friends. Over a pint of Guinness. I think I quite like the stuff. I'm sure I like it more than regular beer.

The most exciting thing that Rae and I did in Dublin: we both mounted a reclining statue of Oscar Wilde perched on a slanted rock. Not simultaneously (although we thought about it). How could something so silly be so much fun?

Rae also happened to be staying at the same hostel as Andy and Pam (Andy's mum), who were also in town! So we all hung out and drank pints together (on Pam! Thanks again Pam! Thanks!)! Dublin was indeed the city of friendly encounters, as I also very randomly happened to run into Edo and Stefka (friends from Berlin, for those who don't know)!! Very random! I was standing on a street corner puzzling over a map when they suddenly appeared before me! So we all went out for pints too!! Actually, I believe Corona was the beer of the day. I'm getting a bit excited with the novelty of pints of Guinness. In Ireland. Yes, Dublin. Random. A whole bunch of friends in a random city. Again, random. But so delightful!

From Dublin, Rae and I bussed it across the country to Galway. This is where we heard about the very tragic and dramatic death of Steve Irwin. Rae happened to catch it on the TV in the hostel common room. It also made front page news (in tabloid newspapers) the following morning. I wont describe what mine and Rachel's initial reaction to the news was, as some may find it offensive. Suffice to say it was a good thing that we had each other there to lean on...

On our second day in Galway we caught a ferry across to the Aran Islands (both of us managing not to puke. The sea was rough. Congratulations us!), where we met all manner of delightful animals!
1. a very handsome cock whose bright colours were co-ordinated with those of the house he was sitting in front of.
2. the fattest slug in the world who, incidentally, owes his life to Rae and I, as we suspect he was going to be the cock's lunch before we distracted the bird, allowing the slug to make a slithery escape.
3. a wonderful brown horse (or was it a pony?) with nettles in his fringe. We shared our apples with him and ended up with horse-slobber all over our hands. Mmmm...horse slobber...
4. an amusing black dog who was looking very pleased with himself indeed, strutting up and down the seafront as though he had somewhere very important to go. He came over for a good scratch behind the ears and then tried to follow us into the B&B, where we shared a pot of tea and had a not so nice scone (microwaved) and piece of carrot cake (have I missed any animals, Rae? There was the cat and the lobsters, but we didn't actually meet them, as such...). Oh! The cow that we thought was dead because a whole bunch of crows were standing all over it pecking at it! It wasn't dead - it was just happy to have the birds eating its fleas.

The actual island we were on was the largest of the three - Inishmore (people speak Irish Gaelic here! We heard them!). The island is grey and bleak and feels very, very remote. So many gutted, abandoned, falling-down houses. Lots of low, grey, slate walls dividing property. Lots of grey slate in general. It may very well have been depressing were it not for all the animals and each other. We caught the ferry back at the end of the day and once again, succeeded in not puking. We parted ways the following morning, which was sad, as it was fun travelling together for that period, brief as it was.

Now I find myself in Budapest. I was met at the airport by a man holding a sign with my name on it, who drove me to my hostel. I couldn't speak to this man because we didn't share a common language. The driver's seat in the car he drove was on the left-hand side. He drove on the right-hand side of the road. I couldn't understand any of the signs on the street, nor the voices on the radio. And all this was strangely comforting. Things felt right again somehow.

I must say, I am ultimately glad to have left the UK and Ireland. It's nice to be in a place where the sun shines for more than a few minutes at a time. And I think Brits are a bit strange...even you, Dan, even you...;-)

There's no place like home?

2006-08-19T14:59:00.000+02:00

I'm in Inverness at the moment. Home of the wonderful and much revered Ali Smith. I'm using the free internet at the local library except that I can only use it for 15 minutes at a time before it automatically logs out and I have to go over to the main terminal and log in again...every 15 minutes. This post might take me a while...

I walked for hours and hours along Loch Ness today and there was no sign of Nessie. Or Ali.

I arrived here from Edinburgh yesterday morning. Arriving in Edinburgh was strange, knowing that this was the place I'd chosen to live (without ever having been there before!). When I first arrived I was given an unrealistic impression of what the city is usually like, as the Fringe Festival (actually, seven different festivals) was/is on. I'm glad the city isn't like that all the time - I was a little overwhelmed by the masses of people who all seemed so much happier and more comfortable in this city that is supposed to become my home. In the five days that I was there I managed to put things into perspective a little and gradually ease my anxieties. The prospect of starting up in a new city, a new country is always a little daunting and stressful. At least I speak the language in Scotland though.

During my visit I stayed with a friend of a friend of a friend (a friend twice removed! I don't even know the middle man - or woman, in this case), so it's also encouraging that I'll know at least a handful of people (and very nice people at that) when I move back. Another happy thought is that Erin will very possibly be moving there too. We in fact spent a rainy day together in Edinburgh when she popped in from Glasgow. Drizzle was trudged through, felafel was eaten, VB stubbies were drunk (yes! VB stubbies! We couldn't believe it either!). Also making me feel more at home was Andy's arrival. We spent my last day in Edinburgh together - strolling the (rainless) streets, drinking chai from her IKEA thermos and lemon-lime bitters in a bar brimming with dykes (Erin, you visited on the wrong day!). Spending the day chatting with Andy felt so normal and everyday (she was always there in Melbourne, in Berlin) that I almost forgot that I was on the move and had to wake up early the following morning and hop on a train to Inverness...

I did manage to do a bit of sightseeing in amongst these little reunions: I visited the castle (oh so dramatic, with great views of the very amusingly named Firth of Forth), the National Portrait Gallery (free!), a Ron Mueck exhibition (this guy's work is gob-smacking. Incidentally, he's also originally from Melbourne!). And let's not forget - the Fringe Festival was on! As overwhelming as I found it when I first arrived (for various reasons), it is indeed a great festival.

Shows I went to see:
1. Tha Tha: music/theatre/dance group from Zimbabwe (a promoter gave me a free ticket because I look like a sad little pov)
2. Jack the Lad: gay male prostitute divulging his twisted adolescence and adventures with various cleintele to one of his sadomasochistic clients. Father-son lovin'. Death by axe.
3. My Brother's Keeper: religious farce. Loosely based on the true and recent incident surrounding the last two Jews of Afghanistan.
4. ReDreamt: physical theatre. One long, continuous dream/nightmare based on those of the performers themselves. Random occurrences. Recurring characters and incidents. Hilarious, frightening, sensual. My fav.
5. Trans World Orchestra: musical duo (from Byron Bay!). With only drums and a didgeridoo, these guys spontaneously improvise some of the most wicked trans tunes I've ever heard. So totally danceable. Look them up - they're great (although I'd imagine they work best in a live environment).

Edinburgh City itself? What people say of it is true: it is beautiful and dramatic. I love the time-blackened buildings, the narrow (almost secret) gangways and alleys and stairs and passages. I love the strange, time-warped feeling that around the next corner I turn, a cavalry may be gearing up to charge me. Indeed, walking through Edinburgh is like going back
in
time
...
Manchester. My last night there was spent at an intimate house party with a bunch of Ross' friends. I felt like I was in a sitcom (in fact, my entire time in England was like strolling through a sitcom. I think I just associate the various English accents with comedy). The two bottles of red Ross and I shared between us (one Australian, one Bulgarian) and the seemingly infinite supply of weed probably didn't help matters (or helped quite a bit, depending on your point of view). We woke early the next morning and hopped on a bus. Me to the train station, Ross to work. Neither of us feeling our best.

I got off the train at York. Another walled medieval city. Why do I keep going to these places? Haven't I seen enough of them? They're all very cute and pretty, but never so much to do. So I did a ghost tour. It was actually quite good. The guide was a great storyteller and all the stories he told were based on incidents that had actually occurred in York at one time or another (and I don't think he was lying. Then again, he was an exceptional storyteller...).

My next destination was somewhere I hadn't originally intended on going to, but every Brit I spoke to was so overly enthusiastic about the place I thought I should check it out: the Lake District. I based myself in the town of Windermere and each day I hopped on a bus and got off at a different town and embarked on a hike into the mountains. Indeed, I saw what all the fuss was about. These hikes, these views are simply magnificent. Spectacular. The kinds of views where you expect orchestral accompaniment. The Lake District really is an incredibly beautiful part of the world.

The towns throughout the area are also gorgeous, largely comprising grey slate cottages. This is Beatrix Potter's hood. Her house, apparently still exactly as she left it before she died, is open to visitors. Indeed, one can easily se how these little towns and surrounding countryside inspired Peter Rabbit and friends.

On the slightly more dramatic side is William Wordsworth, who lived (and is buried) in Grasmere, another one of the towns in the district. I stopped here and had a freshly baked fruit scone with strawberry jam and clotted cream, along with a pot of tea. Very nice, thank you.

I left the Lake District for Edinburgh when the bed bugs started biting (my feet, legs, arms, neck). You already know the rest of the story from there.

I've had to log in anew three times to finish this blog.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand once more to review what I'd written. I'm done now. The library is about to close, so I'd better skidaddle!
XO

Manchester: sans soleil

2006-08-10T18:10:00.000+02:00

There's no sun in Manchester.We're supposed to be at the height of summer! It's starting to dawn on me that this is the height of summer anywhere north of London...

No matter. Grey skies can't dampen my mood. I arrived in Manchester yesterday and spent the day wandering around the centre (which is remarkably small! I always thought Manchester was HUGE!). A couple of highlights: 1. Manchester Art Gallery - FREE! - and currently hosting a temporary exhibition celebrating Miffy's 50th birthday (which was actually last year)! 2. Canal Street, centre of the queer district and where the Brtish Queer as Folk was largely filmed (so Ross tells me) 3. Ross(for those who know him)!!! I met Ross in the evening after he had finished work. It was really great to see him again. I was afraid we wouldn't recognise each other, as I hadn't seen him since he left Melb the first time! He still looks very much the same, but sounds quite different: he seems to have adopted a northern English accent! Osmosis? I think not. He tells me he worked hard on that accent!

There's been lots of queer action during my Brit travels so far. After London I went down to Brighton (lovely, lazy, laid-back beach town) and happened to be there during Pride. I caught the parade and the festivities later on, which were much fun, as one can imagine. It was a bit strange being at a festival alone though. Not really the kind of thing one usually does solo.

Whilst in Brighton I spent some time on the 'naturist beach' which I randomly happened to stumble upon. I was walking along the seafront and saw a sign on top of a massive pebble dune (Brighton beach is a pebble beach) indicating the nudist zone. I climbed over the dune and realised that I could just strip off completely and lie there in the sun and wind and no-one would arrest me. So I did.

After a few days in Brighton, I headed over to Bath. I stayed at a hostel which was actually housed in an old Mansion on Bathwick Hill (east of the centre). My fav part of Bath was the 20 minute downhill walk into town through the green green green National Trust meadows which overlooked the city. It was incredibly beautiful. That setting really made me feel like I was in 'England'!

Whilst in Bath, I also day-tripped (well, half a day really, at best) to Stonehenge. Once I arrived there I wondered why I bothered to go at all! There it is. We've all seen pictures. Handy hint: if you do ever visit Stonehenge don't bother paying the entrance fee, as you can see the stones just as well from behind the fence (as you will no doubt immediately realise if you ever do go). If you're really keen though, you can walk down the road a little and jump the fence from behind a very conveniently placed tree...

From Bath to Cambridge. Being a bit of a nerd, I was expecting to be very impressed by this university town and its famous colleges. But I wasn't. The pomp of the colleges was laughable. But then maybe I am, perhaps ironically in this case, a bit of a snob (if you see what I mean). The historical centre was pretty enough, as historical centres tend to be, but not as pretty as the pretty little pixies I met up with aka Julia and Erin. We all happened to be in Cambridge at the same time so we spent the evening together in the beer garden of an English pub. Julia was given the responsibility of ordering beer for everyone but there was a massive selection, all unfamiliar so she just ordered three random beers which did the rounds around the table. I liked the dark beer. Mmmm...burnt marshmallow (actually, I didn't really get the burnt marshmallow thing, guys...still yummy though!).

Now here I am in Manchester, eagerly awaiting Ross' return from work. I catch the train to Windermere in the Lake District tomorrow morning, where I intend to do some Serious Hiking. Yes indeedy.

Oh! A bit of a newsflash: I wont be returning to Melbourne by the end of the year after all. Charlie and I have decided to live in Edinburgh for a little while! I'll probably go there and look for a flat and an apartment sometime in mid Sept and then Charlie flies over at the beginning of October! What craziness! I'll be sans soleil for a while yet!

Ye Olde London

2006-07-30T23:07:00.000+02:00

I started writing this as a comment but began going into far too much detail about things so decided to create a new post...

I'm in London at the moment and am staying with my wonderful friend Henry whom I met in Berlin (a native Brit, though). When he moved back here he took his computer with him so I'm having to adjust to the German keyboard all over again. Damn it!

I'm liking London a lot more than I thought I would. I'm staying in the East End, only a couple of streets away from Brick Lane (I haven' visited it yet though!) and not too far away from the street called Little Britain! Ha!

I arrived yesterday on a RyanAir flight (my first ever!) and spent the afternoon following Henry around the Westend, including Soho. If I were a zillionaire I would like to have had a drink at every funky little bar/cafe/restaurant we passed (that's a lot of drinks and a lot of pounds!). We bought a four pack of no-name beer from Sainsbury's and drank that instead. So many people, so many pasties. Yes, pasties. I had spent the afternoon telling Henry how I've been craving pasties for the last two years and haven't been able to have one and must indulge in London, when we turn a corner and find not only a pasty store but a pasty festival! They knew I was coming. They. Knew. I. Was. Coming. I had a pasty. A big one. It was gooood.

Weird and disturbing fact about London: they speak English here. I hear they speak it all over the UK. I'm still getting used to being able to understand people on the street, on the TV (which I've already been watching too much of - British Big Brother, Spaced, Top of the Pops - OMG the last Top of the Pops ever was screened tonight! It's been axed even though it still has a massive following. Nice one iTunes, MTV, etc...). Let's not forget that it's been over two years since I've been in an English speaking country! Not since I left Melbourne! It's actually a little disorienting. I keep speaking to people on the street in foreign languages (nein danke, gracias, s'il vous plait,,,) and then feeling terribly silly about it afterwards. I can read signs on the street and in the tube! Understand voiceover announcements! These latter two I seem to be finding particularly hilarious and when I hear an announcement or see a sign on the tube I start laughing at how absurd the meaning is and look around expecting others to be laughing at it too, but apparently notifications of which floor to get off at on the elevator or reminders to mind the gap between the train and the platform don't seem to be funny if you've been able to understand them all along. Did you know that last year there was one fatality and over two hundred injuries in London resulting from people not minding the gap? Ha ha! Today I actually followed a couple down the street so that I could continue to listen to their conversation! It's crazy, really, being able to understand everything with absolute certainty, with no guesswork required. I think it may be driving me a bit nutty.

I seem to have diverged a little bit. Today is Sunday so I went to three markets: Spittalfields (just down the street from where I'm staying), Portebello and Camden. It was a good day. I also walked through Hyde Park which was devastatingly disappointing, but when I made it to the Speakers' Corner (in the north eastern tip of the park?) there were several people 'speaking' (ranting, preaching...) to crowds of people. Most people seemed to be discussing the current Israel/Lebanon issue and I ended up listening to one particularly charismatic speaker for about an hour. Until I went and sat right underneath him, it was difficult to hear him for all of the other people around who were yelling and arguing. People were getting very emotional about the things that were being said. It was interesting (to say the least) to witness.

One thing that bothers me a little about London: no-one seems to smile at each other in the street. Coming from Spain I had become quite accustomed to making eye contact with people and having them grin at me. I've made eye contact with people on the street here in London but when I smile at them they glare back at me! Not so nice.

I've only been here for a day and a half, so still lots to do. I haven't even seen the Thames yet! I plan to do that tomorrow and also splurge a little and go on the London Eye - it costs a ridiculous twenty quid!

Love to you all
XO

Bullfighting should be illegal!!!

2006-07-28T19:46:00.000+02:00

I am in Granada but I really want to be in Morocco or Egypt or somewhere in the Middle East that isn't being occupied or blasted to bits. Granada, culturally speaking, is the closest I've come to being in an Arabic country (although I'm sure that it's a far cry from actually being in the Middle East or Morocco, etc.) and I've been swept away. I love the architecture (my goodness, the Alhambra - so wonderfully elegant), I love the music, I love Arabic script, I love the clothes, the furniture, the dancing...

Granada is such a wonderful fusion of people and cultures. There are so many Moroccans and Egyptians living here, many running tea houses or Halal kebab shops and restaurants or market style shops. I went a little crazy in said shops today and bought so many things I had to send a box back to Melbourne. I'm staying at a fantastic hostel in the Arabic quarter, so these shops are just a footstep away.

I'm hoping to catch some street bellydancing (Yes! The joy!) in an area called Sacromonte tonight, which is renowned for its 'gypsy' population. On my first day here I walked up to this area and climbed as far up the hill (a series of small mountains, really) as one could go. I'm talking dry, steep, dirt paths in full exposure to the sun (it's been reaching high forties here in the south of Spain recently - I'm actually really loving it!), cacti growing wild, not a single person in sight. Just lots and lots of caves hand dug out of the mountain, furnished with old car seats, mattresses, half burnt sofas.... It's the cave dwellers who treat people to bellydancing performances in town. Being up there was really one of the highlights of my trip. I couldn't believe I was in Europe and Western Europe at that! I didn't encounter any people whilst up there but I did run into a mule. What is this funny creature? I thought to myself. Not quite donkey, not quite horse...my goodness, I thik it's a mule. End of the line.

I also encountered a couple of horses and two dogs who were unfortunately not of the man's best friend variety - at least not of this man (?!). Trained to kill, these dogs. I acted cool and nonchalant, but it must be said, I was more than just a little worried. I chose a path that led up, up and away from the crazy killer canines (of death).

Despite the dogs, Granada is great. In fact, I've enjoyed being here as much as I enjoyed being in Barcelona. Mental note (colon, can't find the colon) must come back to Granada...

...but not necessarily to Madrid. It was fine, nothing wrong with the place at all. I just didn't feel it had that much to offer me. I did happen to catch a massive rally on the street below my dorm room blacony - a rally for peace in Lebanon. Bless the Spanish and their passion. It made me ashamed to come from a country where the vast majority of the population are complacent, pampered brats (let's face it, eh?). This rally was such a celebration of peace - no tension, no hostility at all. There was music and dancing and applause and laughter without trivialising the issue at hand....Bless them, I say, bless them. It made me want to be Spanish.

I left Madrid quite willingly and headed for Cordoba where I stayed for two days, but soon realised I could've done it in one. The main attraction was the Mezquita (mosque), which has now long been a Catholic place of worship (blah), but still retains most of its Arabic architecture. The space inside is vast and is entirely comprised of a forest of arches and columns. It's wonderful. It made me think that Gaudi must surely have been inspired by Arabic architecture - inspiration drawn from nature, like so much Arabic architecture, the tile work...

Cordoba to Sevilla. Such a vibrant city. Everything stereotypically Spanish came from here - tapas (of which I've eaten waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too much during my time in Spain), flamenco, bullfighting.... I did a tour of the bullfighting stadium where I was convinced more than ever that bullfighting should be illegal)!!! I wont go on a rant but it should be illegal!!! Did I already say that bullfighting should be illegal!!!

I also went to a flamenco show - a paid one, so the standard was high. So high in fact that the female dancer held the national prize for flamenco dancing. It was very intimate - held in the courtyard of a traditional Spanish building with two rows of audience seated on three sides. It was honestly one of the most exciting things I've ever seen in my life. And so simple - one singer, one guitarist, two dancers. Their voices and amazing sense of internal rhythm. At times the male dancer's legs were moving so fast you couldn't even see them properly - they were a blur. I kid you not. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Was this real? Indeed. No cinema screens here.

There's a long line of people waiting for this internet terminal (it's free! The internet is freeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!), so I'm going to hop off now. Dinner is almost ready anyway. Yes, they cook massive veg dinners for everybody at this hostel, all for a mere three euros fifty. All the sangria you can drink. Dear lord.

I fly to London tomorrow morning. Yes, I'm finally making my way to the UK. I'm already cringing at the thought of all the ockers I'm bound to meet...

¡Hola!

2006-07-18T14:37:00.000+02:00

Now that I'm feeling much less inebriated than I was whilst writing those last two posts, I though I'd better sit down and write something semi-decent.

I'm in Madrid. I left Barcelona rather sadly and wondered how the days there managed to fly by and wondered again why I was even leaving at all! Madrid is ok but just doesn't have the vibe that Barcelona does!

Let me just backtrack a little bit and make up for those two rather appalling drunken posts...

I mentioned that I'd done some daytrips whilst on the French Riviera (colon. I can't find the colon)
1. Cannes (see below)
2. Eze - ridiculously precious, really. for those of you who have been to Mark and Sandra's house in Malta, it's like that but the size of a village atop a mountain on the French Riviera. Ridiculous.
3. Menton - a typical beach town until you start walking up the mountain into the old residential area. The streets get narrower the higher you climb. Stone steps. Front doors on either side of you. Houses in various states of decay. Light orange, ping, yellow paint peeling from the walls until you find a bright one that has had a recent facelift - jumps out at you like a sudden burst of joy. I was sad to come back down the mountain - back into the world of wide-open streets, cars, shops and noise.
4. Monaco - a strange little country. Public elevators have been built into the mountain to help people get around without having to walk for ages along the winding mountain roads. The centre is fortified, tiny and pretty. The buildings look like they're made of icing. Grace Kelly's tombstone was a main tourist attraction, of course (did you know that she died in a car crash too? Seems to be the fate of much-loved princesses).

I left the blue, blue beaches of the Cote d'Azur for Avignon, where I caught the beginning of the performing arts festival. I'd booked my bed in Avignon about 3 months before leaving Berlin, knowing that the place would be teeming with people there for the festival. I saw two shows, both dance so I didn't have to contend with the French language. the best show I was though was a street performance by a circus troupe. They were great. Better than great.

On my third and last day in Avignon (I was sulking about having swallowed my tongue ring the day before - I've had it for 7 years and now I swallow it! I've since had it replaced though. All is restored to its natural balance...), I couldn't be bothered walking around anymore, so I simply sat in the main square all day and was entertained by street performer after street performer - for the entire day. It was great. I didn't even have to move (but why oh why was I sitting and watchin instead of performing? Woe is me).

From Avignon to Barcelona. The train trip was more pleasant than I expected, as I met the beautiful Lindsey and Brandt, who ended up staying at the same hostel as me in Barcelona (hey guys, if you're reading! I hope your trip ended without any crazy asthma attack induced train delays...!). Yes indeed, I love Barcelona. People speak of the energy that makes this city buzz and it's true - it's there, but it really starts to fizz and zap well after the sun goes down. The people emerge from their siestas and roam the warm streets, opening themselves to each other. Poeple smile and drink and talk to each other. The seedy underbelly of the city gradually exposes itself as the night (morning) wears on.

On my last in Barcelona I met an Algerian guy (now living in Tolouse, France) called Mehdi in Plaça Reial. He was lovely. He'd been to barceloan several times before and we had coffee in a bar that he said was owned by Manu Chau! He lives in Barcelana and apparently hangs out in the streets around his bar and busks. No Manu Chau that night, but lots of other interesting characters...

After comparing Maltese and Arabic and being delighted at how much of the other's language we could understand, Mehdi and I headed to another bar for a beer (I could only drink half of mine, as I could still feel the vodka in my body from that morning...). We met a lovely Argentinian guy called Fernandez who lives in Barcelona. His English was atrocious but he was so delightful! People are so warm in this city - it injects them with some love vibe (or maybe everyone's on happy drugs...). In this bar we witnessed a collaborative theft fo a girl's purse, so surreptitious that we only realised what had happened after the fact. Fun and games in Barcelona
We walked the streets a little more (more crowded than during the day) and I started heading in the general direction of my hsotel. Sudenly, with a "Bye Punkita!" a quick hug and a kiss on each cheek, Mehdi disappeared down a long, narrow street in the Gothic quarter. Easy come, easy go.

It's encounters like that that give me the spirit to keep travelling solo, that make a place all the more memorable.

When I arrived in Madrid, I discovered that Lindsey and Brandt had arrived at the hostel just before me and had dinner ready and waiting for me. What luxury - to turn up at a random hostel and have dinner there for you. So good.

I'm about to time out at any second so I'm going to post this right now!

Adios!

Me again

2006-07-16T03:47:00.000+02:00

I should be in bed now.

Did I mention that EVERYONE here is drunk and that I cannot find the question mark or numerous other punctuation marks...

Did I mention that I visited Eze and Menton in France which are so picturesque you will just have to look them up online and then just wish you were there...

Did I mention that Gaudi is great and that it is a pity about his Jesus fixation and that he is dead...

Did I mention that I should be in bed...and that I cannot find the question mark or numerous other punctuation marks...

Did I mention that I shared a six bed room with a family of five and that there were three CHILDREN in my room...

Did I mention that the father of the family was a bit strange and gave me his telephone number and address and said that I could stay with them whenever I was in Denmark...

Did I mention that dirty old men of any nationality are diry old men...

Did I mention that I should be in bed...and that I cannot find the question mark or any other punctuation mark or the question mark...or the exclamation mark...oh woe is me...

a tad drunk

2006-07-16T01:40:00.000+02:00

yes indeed i am a tad drunk in Barcelona. A tad drunk at 1:36am. Russian vodka in Barcelona. Free internet. Dear me. This post is going to take me quite a while to write - I can´t find any of the keys.

So. I feel like I´m being a little rude abandoning my newfound friends for free internet. This will be a short post to say the least.

Barcelona is great. I love Gaudi.

Oh. The last time I left you I was in France, right? So, I did some daytrips. Cannes. Let´s face it - Cannes is a small city made famous by the film festival. There´s really nothing much to set in apart from the rest of the towns on the Cote d´Azure. Palm trees really cheapen the aesthetics of a city. Except for Barcelona. They work so very well in Barcelona.

Monaco. I also went to Monaco. Weird. A country unto intself even though it only takes up less than 2km of the French Riviera. One has to take elevators to get from one road the next, in order to avoid walking all the way around the mountain to get from...one road to the next.

Dearie me. I´m giving up on this post now. I am way too unfocussed (is that a word?) to focus (is that a word?).

Adios.

Hot and festive

2006-07-05T15:19:00.000+02:00

Guess what I saw in Nice?

The beach.

The blessed ocean. I wasn't even aware that I was all that attached to it until I got all teary on the train to Nice at the sight of it!

So obviously, I am in Nice on the Côte d'Azur in France. But before I fill you in on my adventures so far in this crazy little city, let me backtrack a little...

I left you in Geneva. From there I headed back into France - to Dijon on the Côte d'Or. The hostel I stayed at was more like a 300 bed psych home (lots of strange characters wandering about) about 2km out of the centre, but unfortunately it's the only hostel in Dijon. After I was finally checked in, I hopped on a bus and discovered the 17th century gorgeousness that is Dijon's centre. The sheer beauty of the place made me feel so joyful! Most of the buildings are made of limestone (I think, or some kind of sandstone in any case) and several of them also still have their original half-timbered façade. Old style street lamps line the streets and pink and red flowers (petunias?) overflow from cast iron balconies.

I managed to sneak into a 17th century 'hôtel' (former aristocratic townhouses now divided into apartments. My goodness - the glamour of living in a building like that...!) as a resident was leaving. I snuck through the door to the building just before it closed behind her and nosed about in the courtyard. Lovely lovely creepers growing wildly over the walls; an unkempt little garden; semi-deteriorated old wooden window shutters; and roof so old that it's actually gone wavy. I managed to get friendly with an old man later on in the day who let me into the courtyard of the hôtel he lives in (much to the alarm of the woman who was with him). This one was a little grander than the first - bigger garden, plus a fountain. So so nice. It's the evident age of these places that make them so appealing.

As I was wandering through the streets I noticed some action (preparations, people setting things up) in the main square (actually a big semi-circle surrounded by a palace complex). By a stroke of lucky timing, I discovered that I was in Dijon for the inauguration of the newly renewed square (this is quite an impressive square, so a big deal). Fun and joy. Celebrations in the evening. In the meantime I thought I'd chill in a small garden nearby.

As I entered the garden I passed a wedding party and noticed a child of about 3 staring at me in fascination. I get this a lot from kids, so I didn't think much of it. That is, not until the child started following me and sat down in the garden right next to me before snuggling up to me! I was somewhat alarmed, not only because this little stranger was coming in for premature cuddles, but also because children usually seem to find me quite frightening (I guess the glares and faces I pull at them don't help). The boy's grandfather was also quite alarmed and came running over and tried to coax the child away. But no! He wanted to play! He started raving away at me in French, to which I could only respond with random noises, gestures and facial expressions. Then he ripped up handfuls of grass and threw them over me (probably because he'd just seen wedding guests throwing confetti over the newlyweds), so I did the same to him. We were having great, grassy fun, but apparently this was too much for the grandfather to bear. He hauled the child off, wailing and screaming (the child, not gramps), but I managed to calm him with some reassuring waves and au revoirs. I was a little disappointed that he'd gone. Who'd have thought - some children can be endearing (believe it or not, nix).

I wasn't alone for long though. Other characters that I met in the garden:

a French poet swathed in many a colourful skirt and reading British poetry. He wanted to read me some (shall I compare thee to a summer's day...).
a somewhat inebriated man who wanted to know if, of all things, I wanted to dance. Random.
another slightly inebriated man (friend of the first) who wanted to know where I was from. "Australia! Are you Aboriginal?" I can't tell you how often I've been asked this since being in Europe. Apparently: Australian + dark skin = Aboriginal.

By this stage, other people in the garden were looking at me rather sympathetically. I realised it was about time for the festivities to begin in the main square, so I was able to make a getaway without seeming too rude about it.

The festivities were, it must be said, spectacular. They involved:

a 15m x 15m golden praying mantis which made its way through the city (it had been built around a truck), with separate mechanical moving parts and a navigator lodged between its green eyes (that's how big it was - one of its eyes was the size of a grown person!). Sounds tacky in description, but it was actually utterly impressive and very cool. It also had pyrotech feelers (feelers?).
pixie trapeze artist/contortionist - doing her stuff in a hoop hanging about 13m above a concrete ground (no net) from the head of the mantis.
a very hairy angel doing similar things as the pixie.
stilt-walkers with bouncy stilts bouncing all over the place, jumping rope, juggling, spinning boes, etc. and wearing wicked Moulin Rouge/hippie costumes.
live ska band and African drummer (playing from the back of the praying mantis).
pyrotechnic show i.e. fireworks, coloured smoke and confetti, streamers, etc. being blasted out of these canon things (funny how lots of colours can distract people so).

Very festive.

Indeed. An evening of festivities. Down the street was a big screen showing the Brazil vs France soccer match. Hundreds and hundreds and hundreds (possibly thousands, no MILLIONS!) of French people in front of this screen watching the match. I don't think the French expected France to beat Brazil, so imagine the elation (to put it mildly) when they did. People were crying. People were hugging and dancing and singing and throwing beer everywhere, thumping cars as they hooned down the streets with people hanging out of them beating saucepans with wooden spoons, tooting car horns, doing monos, stopping traffic...

Yes. Stopping traffic.

Traffic of which my bus was a part. My 15min wait for the bus turned into an hour and a half and still my bus hadn't arrived. I would've walked back to the hostel if I'd known the way, but I didn't and it was off all of my maps.

But sometimes the gods take pity.

I happened to ask a random girl a question and we eventually discovered that she lived right across the road from where I was staying. She invited me to walk with her. I thought she was an angel. My own personal Gabriel (never mind that our bus actually passed us when we were halfway home).

The next day was a hot, lazy Sunday. Perfect.

The day after that I visited Beaune - another cute little town on the Côte d'Or. After wandering around the town itself, I rented a bike and did a round trip through some vineyards, wineries and small wine-making towns (about 15k all up, but thankfully, the bike was actually the right size for me and the seat was padded! My feet could actually touch the ground! Happy crotch). I stopped at one winery for a free tour and wine-tasting. After a glass of pinot noir, sparkling white, chardonnay and cassis (I'd never taste real cassis before - syrupy!) on an empty belly on a hot, hot day, I was feeling rather tipsy as I hopped back on my bike and rolled down those green green hills. Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!

The next day brought me to Nice. An unexpectedly manic place. Ocean clear and blue (probably something to do with the pebbles i.e. no sand clouding the water). I wandered around the labrynth-like narrow streets of the old town, climbed the hill to be rewarded with an amazing view of the city and went for a quick dip in the sea (salty!). I treated myself to a meal (lordy, a real meal! Actually, it wasn't. It was only an entree. But good!) in a cute little rustic restaurant. The proprieter was an olive oil distributor who treated all of his guests to a free tasting (Charlie, where were you?!). I've never seen anybody get so enthusiastic over olive oil before. Bless him.

Today I went to the market. This is what I bought:

a crusty baguette
a locally grown tomato
two nectarines
one peach
a piece of Roquefort cheese (Esther, I saw this and thought of you, so I bought it)
one avocado
one croissant cafè (disappointing. I thought the texture and taste would be like an eclair [Charlie what've you done to me - I'm craving eclairs!], but they weren't. It was more like cold pastizzi filled with hard, fake coffee praline. One bite and in the bin.)
one sugared pink rose petal (musky)
one sugared mint leaf (disappointing. Two nibbles and in the bin).

After a yummy breakfast I went to a contemporary art museum. It was very 'contemporary art'.

Tomorrow I'm day-tripping to Monaco. Exciting.

Now I'm off to the deep, blue sea (to see what I can see see see).

A race against time (how terribly cliched)

2006-06-30T22:42:00.000+02:00

I just popped the last of my Swiss Francs into the slot machine and I have about 38mins and 48secs to write this blog. I can do it...I know I can...

I am indeed in Switzerland. In Geneva, in fact. Coming into Switzerland from France was the fourth border I'd crossed since leaving Berlin and only the first time my passport was checked! Since then it's been checked a second time - at the UN headquarters, but I'll get to that in a second.

After I checked into my hostel (yesterday) I meandered down to the Lake Geneva which is really more like a small sea. It's huge. And lovely. Surrounded by moutains and rich people's houses. Whilst walking along the banks, I happened upon a free bike rental place and decided to hop on one. I've had many bicycle experiences in Europe and they've all ended with me having a very sore crotch. I'm not a tall person and bicycle manufacturers never really seem to consider the more vertically challenged of us out there.... This experience ended no differently. I'm still suffering. Anyway, I did get to see the centre of Geneva by bike, which was, truth be told, a little awkward as the bike paths in the centre are non-existent and there are people people everywhere not really looking out for cyclists at all. Considering I was trying to navigate my way around a foreign city on a bike and dodge people and cars and all manner of crazy things, I don't feel I really saw as much of the centre as I could have.... Never mind, never mind. I really only came to Geneva because of the lake and the UN anyway.

I did pop into the UN headquarters this morning. As I mentioned earlier, you have to present your passport even just to visit as a tourist. Security is pretty tight, as I'm sure you can all imagine. You go in through the visitor's entrance (aaaaaaaaaaall the way around the back of the humungous [this is such a strange word] building) and approach the security desk where they take your passport, record all the details on a computer, take a photo of you (yes a photo) and issue you with an ID card on the spot which must be worn at all times (even at home). The chap who processed my details took my insinuations about me being some kind of terrorist quite well. I think he felt some kind of affinity towards me because we both share the same birthday, as he commented upon when he was nosing about in my passport. You get to keep the ID card in the end. Bonus.

Nobody is allowed into the UN building without a tour guide and so I took the tour (which was quite good). However, as the tour progressed, I couldn't help thinking how very token the UN as a world organisation seems to be. It was really quite a downer. The more I heard about the way things are done in there, the more hopeless I felt about the possibility of progressing towards world peace and a better state of affairs regarding human rights. I wont go into it all though - the timer on this computer is ticking away.

After planting a suspicious-looking package in one of the key conference rooms, I got the hell out of there, slipped into my togs and spent the rest of the day swimming in the lake and sunbathing lizard-style on the rocks lakeside. I don't usually like swimming in lakes - I much prefer the sea, but like I mentioned before, this lake is so very big it almost is the sea! So much so, that I was surprised not to taste any salt when I jumped in. I was a bit disappointed really. I miss salty water. I haven't swam in the ocean for............oh, such a long time. I think I waded in the Baltic Sea in Poland about a year ago, but the jellyfish cut that very short indeed. I didn't even get to taste the salt water. My goodness - I think the last time I really swam in the sea was in Malta. Horrendous, I tell you, absolutely horrendous. I'm craving salt now.

And now I'm ranting.

I'm off to Dijon tomorrow to get me some mustard! And some wine. Indeed, allegedly the best wine in France comes from the Cote d'Or region (that is, unless you're a mega Bordeaux fan) and I'm planning on doing a daytrip to a winery. Scrum-diddly-umptious.

Lookie here...I've managed to wrap this up with eleven minutes remaining.
Until next time, my friends, until next time.

XO

P.S. See my comment on the last post about pics. Computers should all die and go to hell. No, they don't even deserve hell. Beezelbub would be quite a cool eternal companion. They deserve...I dunno...help me out here...

The day I fell in love with a sculpture...

2006-06-28T12:34:00.000+02:00

...was a rainy day in Paris. A museum day. The Musée d'Orsay, to be exact. I'd just visited the Impressionists on the top floor - delighted by Degas' dancers, wooed by Monet and Renoir. I descended a couple of levels and entered a former ballroom cum (hee hee) exhibition space.

And there she was.

Reclining on a rug, back slightly arched, body facing one direction, head tilted back towards the other. Both knees bent, with one cocked slightly higher than the other. Marble skin (marble everything, in fact) glowing.

I circled her. Slowly. Then I circled her again and again. I was temted to run a hand along her smooth, rounded belly, but a sign in French forbade me to touch (it's always the forbidden that's most alluring).

"Maybe if you gave her a kiss she'd come to life," Charlie suggested. Mmm. That face tilted around towards me, grinning cheekily, was indeed beckoning a kiss. I imagined it. I imagined that marble body coming to life, limbs softening, breasts and belly drooping slightly as she sat up...

I circled her again, this time looking at her via the LCD screen of my digital camera. I'll post some pics of her as soon as I find a computer that supports my camera and that doesn't cost a million euros an hour. Be warned though - the pictures really pale against her image 'in the flesh' (in the marble?).

It's funny that when you start taking photos of a piece of art in a gallery people come rushing up, glancing frantically between the piece and the plaque displaying the artist's name, recognising neither, confusion ensuing. "What is it? Who's the artist?"

I don't know. I just want to ride her.

(I don't even know her name).

************************************

In other news: Charlie flew to Spain a couple of days ago and is currently melting away in Madrid (he tells me that he's already lost one foot to the heat). I'm still in Paris staying with an Australian guy (from Nimbin!) called Martin, with whom I almost had fisty cuffs with last night during a two hour 'discussion' about sexual/gender identity and identity in general. I finally ended the conversation and told him I'd prefer to read my book (but I really just wanted to shove it up his arse. On second thought, it is Ali Smith's 'The Accidental' and I haven't finished reading it yet, so losing it to his arrogant, passive agressive arse really would have been a shame...).

I went to Versailles yesterday and couldn't believe the queue to get in. Fortunately, I spotted a high school group about halfway up the queue and very surreptitiously slipped in with them. Hee hee. Visiting the inside of the palace itself was highly unpleasant due to the vast amount of people pushing around in there. The highlight for me was Marie-Antoinette's bedroom and the little disguised door in the corner of the room through which she escaped the night an angry mob stormed the palace during the revolution. It was off with her head anyway, of course.

The gardens where a little more pleasant. Absolutely ENORMOUS, but pleasant. My fav part of the day was visiting the Queen's Hamlet - a tiny little fake country village that was built for Marie-Antoinette to play in. A little weird, really i.e. la la fantasy world.

I'm off to Geneva in Switzerland tomorrow morning. Only for a couple of days though before I head back into France. Gotta get me some Swiss francs.

Au revoir and much l'amour (I'm just embarrassing myself now, aren't I...?).

Chocolate, chips and dead people

2006-06-24T14:37:00.000+02:00

Happy days are here again.

I am in Paris. With Charlie, whom I've been travelling with since my last couple of days in Holland. We met in Amsterdam and after some hugs, some tears, some talk and a slight case of hyperventilation everything is rosy.

Could Holland be home to the loveliest, warmest, kindest and most generous people in Europe? I think it could. One supporting example: I was on a train having a little cry one day, when a lady sitting in another section of the train noticed and got up out of her seat (twice!) to come over to me and pat my arms and shoulders and tell me to take care, that life was not always easy but that I'd be happy again some day and other things of the like. Her kindness made me cry all the more. I loved her so much right then. I was sad to leave the land of the Dutch. Nonetheless, off I went - with Charlie - to Belgium.

We arrived in Antwerp on a day so hot the air felt gooey. After checking into our hostel (which had a witch theme and was run by a friendly witch), we went to get some food and discovered the joy that is Belgian food and service. Oh my oh my oh my. After living in Berlin for 14 months where customer service barely exists and you simply get what you're given, eating out in Belgium was heaven. The consistently high quality of food, service and presentation was delightful. One need only go to a sandwich bar to be spoilt to bits.

Then there's the chocolate. OH MY ohmyohmyohmy! We stocked up on so much Belgian chocolate that we only just finished the last of it today.

So - Antwerp. Despite the heat, we explored. After leaving the cobbled streets and squares, old buildings, restaurants and cafes of the immediate centre, we stumbled across the 'seedier' side of Antwerp: starker, tackier, and not as well maintained. That is, until you reach the vast shopping mall of women. Antwerp's red light district seemed to me to be a step up from Amsterdam's. Wide, pedestrianised streets (no tiny alleyways here), where not only are the ladies' windows framed by fluorescent red lights, but there are also red street lamps and entire buildings painted red (can you tell I'm getting a bit over-excited about the colour text feature...?)! All of the window shoppers also looked serious - we seemed to be the only tourists around. We wondered why Amsterdam was so famous for it's red light district when Antwerp's was equally as (more?) impressive.

On we walked. By this stage we had both almost completely melted away because of the heat, but we managed to make it back to the main sqaure where we gleefully cooled off in the fountain.

Just to mix things up a bit, the next day was cold and pouring rain. The museum we walked miles to get to (in the rain) was closed, but the big umbrellas we borrowed from the hostel were fun and every bit of food we tasted was oh so yum (sorry).

Then we went to Brugge. Pretty, picturesque, quaint little Brugge. We barely ate anything beyond chocolate and chips here (because of course, Belgium is also the home of hot chips). I'm still not so sure about the whole chips and mayo thing though.... Chips should be eaten drowned in vinegar or not eaten at all!

On our second day in Brugge we hired some bikes and rode to the beach via the teeny-tiny town of Damme. Such a lovely ride through the Belgian countryside (albeit a little longer than we were told - about 20km to the beach and 20km back again!), where we saw all manner of farm animal grazing the green green grass (the white cows is where the white chocolate comes from. The brown cows is where the milk chocolate comes from. The white and brown cows is where the marble chocolate comes from...)

We chilled out in Brugge for four days (although I went on a daytrip to Brussels) on one of those days), before catching the train to Paris. And here we still are, in this city where everyone walks around holding a baguette as though it were their life support.

I spent our first three nights here at Amaury's - a friend of Cat's (Cat being a friend of mine from Berlin. Hi Cat, if you're reading!), whilst Charlie stayed at a hostel. Amaury lives at the edge of the district of Montmatre, which is where the Moulin Rouge is. Now, I know that my idea of the Moulin Rouge has been completely warped by the film, but the disappointment hit me hard. Where were Ewan and Nicole atop an elaborately docorated Indian elephant singing their hearts out into the night? Where was the massive neon "L'amour" sign on the building across the road? Where was Kylie Minogue flitting about as the fiery green fairy (so I could squash her underfoot)? Oh the disappointment.

Anyway.

We are in Paris and we've done all of the things one would expect a person visiting Paris to do: climb the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe, visit Notre Dame and the Louvre (which is so ridiculously huge it's a joke). We plan to visit Versaille tomorrow. Last night we hung out at the Eiffel Tower until 10pm, as every night at that time it lights up with what appear to be glittering fairy lights for 10 minutes. Lovely. It's Christmas every night in Paris. We also happened to be here for the Fête de la Musique (annual music fest marking the first day of summer), with free concerts and musical performances all over the city. People, people everywhere. After being a little overwhelmed by all the people we thought we'd go and hang out with a more quiet variety of folk. Namely, the dead ones. We visited Paris' largest cemetary and paid a visit to eternal residents such as Jim Morrison (there were actually people walking around the cemetary wearing The Doors t-shirts, which I thought was a bit much) and Oscar Wilde. The latter's (massive) headstone was covered in lipstick-stained kisses. Kinky Oscar still gettin' some luuuuuuuuurve.

This is our sixth day in Paris and I will be here for another four. Charlie leaves for Spain in two days, so we'll both be travelling solo again soon, but with the intention of meeting up again soon enough (probably in Melbourne).

From now on, I plan to update my blogspot more frquently so as to avoid MASSIVMO posts like this one! I hope at least some of you have made it this far...

I'll post pics soon(ish).
Love muchly XO

Red lights, red lights...

2006-06-10T13:31:00.002+02:00

So I'm finally sitting my bottom down long enough to update my blog. Let me just recap what I've been up to since the last post...

On my third and fourth days in Luebeck I actually caught a train to Hamburg and spent my days there. I began just by wandering around the centre and randomly happened upon a beach volleyball match in the main square in front of the town hall! A small, temporary 'stadium' (sand included, of course) was set up for what I think was the European beach volleyball championships. There was a section of free seating, so I watched the match between Germany and Belgium. I think I was the only one in the crowd barracking for the Belgians. They lost.

Then I wandered some more. I eventually made my way to a district called St. Pauli (sorry Lukasz - I didn't visit the soccer club!!), famous for the Reeperbahn, but I'll get to that in a moment. I initially went there to seek out a festival that I was told was happening that day. A guy from Hamburg was staying at my hostel in Luebeck and he told me about it. Strange guy. He opened the conversation by telling me that he was a conservative right-winger, "like the Republicans in the US". His words!! Interesting way to open a conversation. Anyway, I'm diverging. So I checked out this music festival. The music being celebrated was 'Schlager'. For those who don't know (I didn't!), Schlager is a kind of German folk/pop music. Very daggy. At least I thought so. Some of the songs kind of sounded like ABBA in German, but worse. The festival itself had me cringing. It seemed to comprise a whole lot of middle-aged to ageing people dressed up in flourescent, flower power gear trying to relive their not-quite-there hippie days. There were also some sad youths there who also thought it was cool to dress up like this. Am I being too harsh? No, really. I'm not being harsh enough. That'll learn me to take the advice of a Republican...!

I did a lap of the main festival ground and got the hell outta there. Then I strolled down the Reeperbahn, which is a long, busy road that happens to be the main the red light strip in Hamburg. Imagine: almost a one kilometre stretch of sex bar after porno cinema after sex shop, etc. etc. on both sides of the road! There was seriously no break in between except for the occasional kebab shop. The side streets leading off from this road were just as crazy. I don't mind red light districts, in fact, I quite like the red light district in Amsterdam - it retains a kind of seedy charm and romance - but the Reeperbahn is simply ugly and garish. Interesting to see though. Just not a nice hang-out.

I then made my way to the Schanzenviertel - an area of Hamburg that turned out to be very funky indeed. It has a very alternative, arty vibe about it. I spent the rest of my time in Hamburg exploring this area. Nice nice nice.

After my visits to Luebeck and Hamburg I then left Germany altogether! Finally! I knew I had crossed the border into the Netherlands when I looked out of the train window and everybody I saw was riding a bike. Everybody. I don't just mean a few people here and there, but reams of people on bicycles. Nothing out of the ordinary in the Netherlands, but remarkable to me.

I caught the train to Utrecht and met Chris, a friend of Edo's (hi Edo!), at the main train station. Chris had super-duper kindly agreed to let me stay at his place for a while Chris talking to his mum in Leiden during my stay in the Netherlands. I'm actually hogging his computer at the moment (thanks Chris!). Utrecht is just south-east of Amsterdam and only about 35 minutes away by train, so I spent my first two days in the Netherlands there. I really like Amsterdam (and not just because of the sex and drugs!). The canals!! So beautiful. I spent my first day happily wandering around and also popped into the Van Gogh Museum. On my second day there I visited the Anne Frank House, explored the trendy streets of Jordaan and went to a couple of markets. I met Chris in the evening and he took me to a legalised squat for a 5 euro three course meal! This place was relatively swank compared to the squats in Berlin - it actually had tables and chairs! After dinner we made an obligatory pitstop at a coffeeshop, bought some hoochie-mama and smoked it in the Vondelpark (Amsterdam's big city park). On our way back to the station we passed through the red light district (also obligatory!) and ogled the ladies in the windows. Such a fascinating part of Amsterdam. I can imagine how bored and fed up the workers would get with the hordes of tourists though.

The next day I thought I should probably explore the town I was actually staying in, so I spent the day in Utrecht. A nice town prettified by canals (oh canals!), which also happens to be the home town of the guy who created Muffy (or is it Miffy?)! You know, the white rabbit wearing an orange dress? There used to be (still are?) children's picture story books of this character. In any case, just see the picture I've posted - a sculpture of Muffy in a square in Utrecht. So Muffy is Dutch! For some reason I always thought s/he was Japanese! And Muffy isn't it's real name at all: it's Nijntje, so Chris tells me! Whilst walking around Utrecht, I discovered that it also has its very own little red light district. There I was, walking down the street at midday and I noticed a woman in one of the windows I was passing. "What's that lady doing there?" I asked myself. "She must be arranging the window display," I concluded. Oh no! She was the window display!

<- The windmill at the end of the street!
That evening Chris and I went to a town called Leiden, which is home to the oldest university in the Netherlands. Quite a trendy town, again, with lots of lovely canals.

The next day I spent half a day in Haarlem, which was nice, but not too remarkable and then I was back in Amsterdam. I visited a fantastic photography exhibition (World Press Photos), which just happened to be smack-bang in the middle of the red light district, so while I was there I thought I may as well have another little wander around. My newly found fascination with this makes me think that I'm in the wrong profession...just kidding mum.

Dinnertime view from my window seat at a Portuguese tapas restaurant in Amsterdam

Tonight was originally going to be my last night in Utrecht before going to Rotterdam, but last night I received an email from the online hostel booking service that I used to book my accommodation in Rotterdam, telling me that the hostel I booked a bed at (over one month ago!) displayed their opening dates incorrectly on the website and wont actually be open! That didn't stop them from deducting a deposit from my credit card though! Bastards. Never mind. It was only a miniscule amount, but it's the principal of the matter! So Chris has doubly-super-duper kindly offered to let me camp on his bedroom floor for another two nights. Rotterdam is only a fifty minute train ride away, making it a feasible day-trip. Now that I'll be staying here longer, I can go to a dance party that Chris and his friends were going to in Utrecht and not have to worry about getting up early in the morning. And I'm also going to see a dance show in Amsterdam on Sunday, which is part of the Holland Festival. Yay!

Thanks for everyone's emails and comments - I love hearing from you all.
Much love,
Mich XO Self-portrait in Amsterdam

Lovely Lübeck

2006-06-02T11:14:00.000+02:00

The adventure begins.

It's day 2 in Lübeck and what a beautiful day it is. The sun is shining, which is something I haven't seen for a while.... Before I go on, let me recount the little adventure that got me here...

<- A sign at the entrance of a hof. Berlin needs signs like this...!

I spent my last few nights in Berlin at Tanja and Mateo's place, which was soooooo wonderful I found it difficult to leave (I hope Tan didn't find it too difficult to wash the tear stains out of the shoulder of her top where I had cried all over it..). I lugged my pack to Frankfurter Allee and hopped on a train to Greifswalderstrasse, where I was to meet Andy before catching my ride. Yes...my ride.... I was to meet this guy in the carpark of a small supermarket behind the train station and apparently, so were eight other people. We all assumed that this guy must have a van. He did. An old bright green VW with smiley-faced condoms and mysterious white splats all over it...hmmm...classy. The driver did a head count and realised that there were indeed nine of us - and only eight passenger seats. We ended up cramming four people into the back seat (where I was sitting). As a result, I was sitting in between two seats with the raised edges where the two seats meet digging into my back. My left bumcheek was higher than the other, so I was also a little lopsided, which meant I kept falling into the lap of the girl beside me (she was nice about it). So this is how I spent the three hour drive to Hamburg. In the end, the four of us in the back only had to pay €10 instead of €13.50. Either way, it beats paying €70 to catch the train from Berlin to Hamburg.

When we arrived in Hamburg I caught a 45 minute train to Lübeck and here I am. I spent what I had left of the day meandering around the city. It's so pretty - cobbled streets and medieval buildings abound. It's the kind of city where cars seem out of place, where it seems that everyone should be getting around on rickety old bikes and by horse and carriage. I'm staying in the north-eastern part of the old town, which is particularly lovely. It was the craft and artisan area in the Middle Ages and when the housing ran out, tiny little semi-detached homes were built in the courtyards (Höfe) of other buildings and people still live there today (see pic). I want to live there! You can access the Höfe via very narrow walkways (Gänge) off the street. So so cute.

So there's not much else to tell, as I haven't even been here for 24 hours! The hostel is great - there's barely anyone else staying there, which means I have an entire room to myself! Just what I needed right now. There's also a beloved kitchen - with an oven! So I bought some veggies from the market in the main square and roasted them - such a treat at a hostel.

I plan to catch the train into Hamburg the next couple of days and then I'm off to the Netherlands!

Bis dann...!

Farewell Berlin

2006-05-30T19:45:00.000+02:00

So. Welcome to my blog.

Take a look around, make yourself feel at home. I've added some friends' blogs as links for your blogging convenience. Also check out the other websites I've linked to - they were all built by Charlie and incidentally, they belong to dear friends of ours from Berlin. We love their work as much as we love them, so take a look and fall in love too (right after you've finished reading this post...!)

Berlin indeed. It's my second-last evening here and after having spent 14 months in this city, leaving it feels like a BIG move.

But I'm ready to go.

I leave Berlin in the midst of World Cup frenzy. There are soccer balls all over the place. As you can see from the pic, the globular part of the TV tower has been converted into a soccer ball. How humiliating. Berliners hate it so much, they voted to have the entire tower knocked down. Hence the crane in the pic swinging towards it, just moments before the act...

I'm just kidding. Alexanderplatz is still a giant construction site (although gradually starting to become less so), so cranes abound.

In keeping with the pixie theme of this blog, I thought I'd add a pic of a real, live pixie that I spotted at Boxhagener Platz:
They really do exist!!! This one was being accompanied by a mysterious tinkling sound wherever he went! Then I spotted the string of jingle bells strapped around one of his ankles and the mystery suddently dissipated.... I must say, his T-shirt was somewhat at odds with the jolly jingling...

I will indeed miss the people (pixie) zoo that is Boxhagener Platz.

I'm off on Thursday morning. I'm travelling to Hamburg with a guy called Martin who I managed to organise a lift with through an internet car-pooling service. From Hamburg I'll immediately be catching a train to Luebeck and staying there for four nights and day-tripping it to Hamburg. Hostels in Hamburg have hiked their prices up because of the World Cup (ggrrrrrrrr.....) so now I can't afford to stay in Hamburg! Not even at a hostel! So glad I'll be out of Germany before the matches actually begin.

So pop by again soon to find out how the next episode of my travels began! I'll update as often as I can. You can all check out those links now! And leave comments! And you may have noticed that one of the links leads to some photos of my last month or so in Berlin - take a look!

Til next time.