Checking out the Czechs

And so we found ourselves bound for Prague, rocketing down the Autobahn. Not far from Dresden, we needed to stop for car fuel and people fuel, and so we pulled off at a petrol station. As we stopped, we saw a large group of women wearing all black with big pink ties. As soon as they spotted our car they grabbed the most important member of the group, a comely blonde wearing a blue dress and an ornage apron. She came over and started to wash our windows, while a friend explained that they were a hen-night bound for Dresden, and that they were raising money for their night out. Feeling generous, I gave them five Euros. In retrospect, it was over-kind, as she did a fairly shitty job, and didn't even get her dress wet. Even so, we got a few great pictures of loads of lovely ladies draped over out sexy automobile. And we were the last car to be washed before they departed in a fleet of limos. Thanks Lime!

Our arrival in Prague was marked by droves of impressed onlookers taking pictures of Mary (Alex's name for the car), and by the discovery they it is very easy to get lost driving around. Also, cobbles and the car don't mix particularly well. We spent a few hours searching for a campsite, any campsite, following the rather crap directions provided by our 'Europe on a Shoestring' book. After ending up in a part of town that looked like the Soviets never left, we gave in and paid the extortionate roaming charges to check where the hell we were on Google Maps. Soon enough we managed to make our way to a road packed with sites, all squeezed in together. Each one was effectively someone's back garden that had been converted into a small campsite. As there was only one toilet (which strangely had a sit down toilet and urinal in the same single cubicle) and one shower, we were quite regularly confronted by mostly naked old men. Lovely.

Prague is a beautiful city... Except where it's not. The center is breath-taking, with ornate churches, cosy cafes and bars, wide squares, and live music at every turn. However drift a little too far from the center, such as where we were camped, and there are plenty of run down buildings, encrusted with years worth of poorly drawn graphitti tags. Also, if you're walking down the main street at night, expect to be surrounded by promoters for the various strip clubs and sex clubs. Some are so persistant that they'll come up and tell you that the two guys already talking to you are full of shit and you must come to their club. Beer deals! Vodka deals! Come! Come! It's a bit of a drag. Takes the fun out of browsing...

On our first night out, true to form, we started in an Irish pub. A few beers and a vodka redbull later we were ready to hit the town! As we left we bumped into a young fellow called Stanny, who promised to take us to a place where we could have a lot of fun and get some really cheap beers. He wasn't wrong. The pub he took us to was filled with local Czechs, a fair few of which were his friends. While there was a cheerful atmosphere, I don't hesitate to say that I'm glad we didn't walk into there without our little guide. Apparently there's a fight there most nights of the week. It was just after he told us this that Greg and I were challenged to a game of table football by two local skin-heads, with the wager being a beer for the winners. Neither of us are very good, and we were effectively hustled. But when the price of a round of four beers is about four pounds, you buy the big bastards a beer and don't complain. Fortunately, denying them a rematch didn't end up with our noses being spread across our faces. Another patron was a buff chap called Paul, who spent most of the evening whaling on a broken punching-strength testing machine. He was very friendly, thank god, because he punched like Tyson.

A few hundred beers later and we were once again weaving our way down the main street, trying to avoid the promoters, but we could only resist for so long. And that is how I ended up going to my first strip club. I must say, it was rather fun. Well, actually, the first one was a bit less fun. It was filled with rather agressive and rather fat women, who pounced on us as soon as we walked in the door. Apparently one of them was undoing Stanny's trousers by the time we managed to drag him out of there. But once we got away from there, we managed to find a more reputable establishment, and settled in for boobies and beer. Sadly our youthful friends weren't able to join us in this one, because it turned out that they were only 16. Didn't stop the first club... The strip club was a lot of fun, although the appeal of a lap dance is still somewhat of a mystery to me. If you can't get involved, where's the fun? This part of the night was a bit less cheap, but considering that by the end of some of the dances they were fully nude, I'm not going to complain too much.

The next morning I was feeling somewhat the worse for wear, and stayed sweltering in my tent as Alex and Greg headed into town to see some more sights. A few hours dozing and a shower later and I was ready to head in and join them. I caught the tram into the center of town, and gave Alex a call, only to discover that they were over the other side. However it was a lovely day, and I didn't mind taking in the sights as I tried to find them, to very little success. Apaprently they were queueing for a tram that would take them up a big hill over the river, but there's more than one bridge, and the hill is quite big. I saw a large number of people coming and going from one hill, so I headed towards them. Turning a corner past a small park, I was confronted with a huge staircase, topped by a castle, which is called Prague Castle apparently. Original! I was one of the few people walking up it, and by the time I got to the top I found out why. As I recovered my breath and looked out at the excellent view over the city, I was lucky enough to see the changing of the guards at the castle gate. It was all fairly standard, with marching, stopping, turning, and marching, but one bit that was odd was whenreplacement guard entered his point, he spent about a minute staring at the back before he was allowed to turn around. How that contributes to their guarding of the gates I'm not entirely sure, but it did give the tourists some good pictures. By now I was fairly sure that I was up the wrong part of the hill, but just to make sure I headed further into the castle. Here I found the Basillica of St George, and another imposing church, but still no tram. I was fairly sure that it would now be easier to just meet them when they came back down, so I made my way back to the center of town, via a little kiosk where I bought some fried camembert in a bun and a beer.

As I came back across the bridge I heard Frank Sinatra coming from a bar on the riverside, and as I had time to kill, I popped down and spent a very pleasant half hour enjoying the sun, good music, and a Tequila Sunrise. Eventually the CD started to repeat itself, so I moved on, heading back to the center where I'd passed a string group playing classical music a few hours previously. I was about to settle down and enjoy some Mozart, but then I spied a stage in the square nearby. It turns out there was a live Jazz festival on, and so I grabbed a beer and sat on the warm cobbles among a large crowd. As I relaxed and enjoyed the music, I smelt a whiff of a spliff. Looking round, I saw a pair of guys a few meters away smoking up. I rolled a cigarette, asked them for a light, and they promptly invited me to join them. We chatted for a while, and they told me how they're travelling from Germany for a few weeks, and they were on their first stop. We chilled, drank some beers, and had a few smokes. One of them mentioned how he had been going to change some Euros into Czech Crowns, and was stopped by a woman outside the Bureau de Change who told him that she needed the Euros and that she'd give him as good a rate as he would get inside. Being a nice chap he agreed, only to find that she'd given him some kind of money that the people inside had never seen before. The lesson of that story is don't change money in the street. I had to laugh, as when I was off buying more beer I'd seen a police sign with various tips for tourists, number one of which was "Don't change money in the street."

Not long after, I got a call from Alex, and went to meet my erswhile friends by a long, historic bridge. When I met them at the far end, I found that they had made friends with two Russians while at the tram. It was quite fun trying to talk to them, and more fun being able to talk shit and not have them understand us. They knew the city a bit better than us, and at their suggestion we went to a traditional restaurant that apparently is famous. Inside we were confronted by strange but tasty smells, rowdy singing Czechs and a brilliant mural. By this stage I was pretty drunk again, so I couldn't tell you what everyone else had, but I can say that my pork knee (yes, literally the knee of a pig) was absolutely delicious. The accordion player was pretty good too.

The next morning the rain had returned, and we agreed that it was time to move on. What's the point of getting out of England if you're still going to be soaked? Also, we had been telling Greg's Dad that we'd be there at some point over the weekend, and what with this being Sunday we sort of had to head off. So we found ourselves on our way back to Germany. Destination: Nuremburg!

Greg's Dad, one friendly accommodating chappy going by the name Viktor Hayko, lives in, as previously mentioned, a suburb of the city called Katzwang. Much hilarity ensued. Once we'd arrived, and Greg and his Dad had a big hug, we were ushered inside their beautifully appointed house. We were ensconced in the attic, and were shown a fridge full of all sorts of beers. Good times! Apparently we weren't done with beer just yet. The strangest of them was a smoked beer that apparently had won awards for its taste years in a row, and which to me seemed to be like drinking a bonfire. There was also a wheatbeer mixed with grapefruit juice, which I quite enjoyed, but was also Meike's, Greg's Step-Mum, favourite tipple after work.

That evening we borrowed the bikes that were in the garage, and after being too slow on the shotgunning I ended up on Meike's lady bike. Fortunately for me, it had duel suspension, a padded seat, and seemed to be faster than the other two. On the downside, I was riding a girl's bike. Swings and roundabouts. We rode in the direction of a pub that Viktor suggested, and as we went we heard some loud music from nearby. Investigation revealed a small local beer festival, and that seemed like a good spot to stop. Inside I had my first Mass, which is a litre of beer. That's a lot of beer! We, as far as we could tell, were the only people in the tent who weren't locals. It was very entertaining to watch a big crowd of Germans stood on their benches, swinging their beers about, and singing to a loud and decent band. The ride back to the house was a bit dicey after another of those huge beers.

The next day we thought that we should have a look at the city, seeing as we were there and all. So we headed in, and had a wander about town. It's another good looking city, with an impressive castle at the top of a hill in town. Unfortunately the rain once again had caught up with us, and we were stranded in a bar just below the castle drinking beers and watching the multitudinous sparrows hop about. As we drank, a bowl of stale pretzels was placed on the table, and thanks to our burgeoning hunger we tucked in. It was a bit of a surprise to be charged for them at the end, considering we didn't ask for them. Cheeky buggers.

Once the rain had abated somewhat, we headed back down the hill for more booze, and ended up at a bar called Alex. Drinking inside Alex... He enjoyed it, I can say that much. However the over-comfy sofas and the slightly expensive drinks caused us to move on to, surprise surpise, an Irish bar. While in there we met a few interesting types, including a  few local girls that I bought some drinks for and chatted to, and some cool Italians fellows from Milan who were on their own road trip, and were heading to a reggae festival in Benicassim. Sadly, despite their suggestion, it wasn't possible for us to get there and to do everything else we wanted to, but a good night was had by all, ending as it did in our customary drunken haze.

A few nights later we were invited by some old friends of Greg's to a beer festival in the nearby town of Altdorf. Obviously we accepted the invitation. And so began a night filled with a horrendous amount of Jaegermeister and hell of a lot of beer. I also managed, while quite quite drunk, to spend 15 Euros shooting. I won a crappy Zippo knock-off. It doesn't work very well. Apparently I also won a whistle somehow, possibly by throwing darts. I gave it to Alex, and he dubbed it his rape whistle, though whether it was to be used to defend himself from being raped, or as a warning to potential rapees is uncertain. During the course of the evening we made friends with some people, one of whom, Catherine, owned her own hairdressers, in which we ended up after the bar closed. As I was pretty much hammered by this point, I was rather confused and surpised to find myself in a darkened salon with a large group of people I didn't know. After an afterparty there, we were invited back to Catherine's house, and carried on drinking. At this stage things get very hazy. The last thing I remember is playing with some cats as Alex was chatting with Catherine and Greg was passed out on the sofa. It wasn't, however, the last thing I did. Apprently, an hour or so later, there was some concern as to my whereabouts... After deciding that I had probably gone outside, Alex went to the toilet, and opened the door to find me asleep on the porcelain throne, head in my hands, and a rather unpleasant smell in the air. Suffice it to say that I won't be going back to that house any time soon... After a harrowing journey home in the morning, involving two fourty minute waits, a McDonald's breakfast (which Greg promptly splattered back over their toilets), we spent the rest of the day recovering. At least, I did.

At this stage it's worth mentioning Meike's incredible cooking while we were there. We ate sumptuous meals every day, from Schweinebraten (roast pork) to Pfannkuchensuppe with Leberknoedel and Butterkloesse and Griessnockerl (Pancake soup with liver dumplings, bread dumplings and semolina dumplings. Lots of dumplings!). Everything was delicious and very filling, and also happened to give Alex some of the most disgusting farts I have ever smelt in my life. Apparently traditional Frankonian fare (Frankonia being the region of Bavaria we were in, as Viktor liked to constantly remind us) didn't combine too well with Alex's stomach. There was always enough for roughly double the number of people round the table, and I felt somewhat bad that I couldn't always finish my plate. The food was so damn good. At least there were leftovers!


Soon, however, it was time to say goodbye to Germany for the second and final time, and to start making our way over the Alps to Italy, via Austria. Next stop: Plansee!

NEXT TIME: Our last night in Germany, Living the dream at McDonald's, and lots of lakes!

Deutschland!

Three weeks in! Time's fun when you're having flies, as Greg would say. At the time of writing I'm sat in the attic of Greg's Dad's rather lovely house in Katzwang (tee hee), a suburb of Nuremburg. Of the last two weeks, the majority have been spent in Germany, or as the locals call it, Germanland.

First things first, the promised explaination of the Retard Bracelet. Back in Leiden Alex signed a petition to stop an old shop being demolished, and in return was given a flourecent yellow and orange bracelet. As it was so wonderfully garish Alex suggested that it should function as an indicator of idiocy, and so the retard bracelet was born. Sadly, we are all deserving of being awarded it as we have failed to keep a record of what each of us has done to earn it, but suffice it to say there have been some rather stupid things said and done.

Right, back to our journey. We started out in Essen, just over the border from Holland. And of course, our first stop involved procuring some booze. It seems that in this rather excellent country they have alcohol shops that resemble petrol stations. You drive up, walk in, and pick a crate or two of very cheap but generally nice beer, pop it in the boot of your car, and off you go. So, a big box of beer weighing us down, we made our way to a campsite out of town. Essen, after a cursory drive-through, wasn't overly beautiful or exciting, but we didn't have much daylight left to take in the sights.

On arriving at the camp site, after getting a bit lost and seeing some lovely countryside, we were greeted by the owner, an enthusiasic fan of classic cars. Once again our car and lime-luck had helped us, as he was so impressed he gave us money off the camping fee. Score! We popped our tents up, and drank a few beers, and enjoyed our first impression of the wonderful musical tastes of the German youths... Scooter. Look up "How Much Is The Fish" for a fine example of the musical genius that was piped our way.

Eventually we were comfily dressed in our beer jackets, and were ready to head into town to meet Alex's friend, Simba. While it was an enjoyable time in a traditional German pub, there wasn't a lot to say about the evening... until we got to the Irish pub not too far away. One word can sum that experience up: Kareoke. However, I'm going to use some more, what with this being a description of our travels and whatnot. While this is a brilliant/painful experience in England (delete as you prefer), the occurence is magnified by drunk Germans singing/murdering classics. While, as always, there were a few participants who actually could sing, the majority were... entertaining. Of course, by this stage, we were rather drunk, and as anyone who has seen me in the same room as alcohol and singing will know, if I join in the former, it won't be too long until I get started on the latter. Which is why Greg now has a video of me singing "Ain't That A Kick In The Head". Considering I've never sung it before, I think I did quite well. Not very well, mind... Then Alex suggested we sing "Yesterday". No problem! So it was a bit of a shocker when we discovered that we were singing "Imagine" instead. Like I said, I was drunk. Oops. Greg's video of that is rather more embarrasing, and rather less likely to end up online if I have anything to say about it.

Next day, and we were trying to get the car started. Everything was fine, except that we had a worrying petrol leak when we weren't moving. As we'd picked up some clips for the carbs, Alex decided to fit them. However, no matter what he did, more and more fuel kept pouring out. Eventually, we remembered the motto for keeping the old girl running: "If it ain't broke, don't fix it." So, clips removed, we were back to our pre-fiddling amount of leakage. The thing was, this was happening around 3pm, which it turned out was the 'nap time' or some such nonsense at the campsite. So, any time Alex revved the engine to see how we were doing, an angry looking German would walk or ride past tapping their watches. Apparently the Germans like rules.

Eventually we were back on the road, cruising towards Berlin at our now standard speed of 60mph, watching all the expensive new cars zip past at double our speed. It still makes me smile when people stare and grin and wave as they overtake us. One consequence of our attempted repair was we had wasted a bit more fuel that we had hoped for, as the more fuel-efficient we are, the longer we can travel. So we pulled in at a gas station, where we met our first (and probably last) hitch-hiker. His name was Melvin, he was 18, and he was on his way back from hitching to France. An impressive feat to be sure, made more so when it became obvious that he didn't plan on paying us for the lift. But mindful of the good karma to be gained, we picked the poor bugger up and gave him a ride to the capital.

When we got there, we stopped off in Steglitz, where we popped in to Jan's place. An old friend of Alex and Greg's, he was able to put up Alex for the week, but as he had an adorable daughter cluttering up the place, Greg and I had to find alternative accomodation. It didn't help that the person we planned on staying with for the week had told us just the day before that he was off working and so couldn't help us. Still, that night, we had a fun few drinks at Jan's, then went off to meet another person called Alex. Jan and Phillip, another friend, came with. German Alex (who is generally known as Battig) has a huuuuuge flat, with a massive living room. In there were four hammocks, four sofas, a bar, a pool table, a table football table, pretty much every games console known to man, a projector, and a little bicycle. We each had a 6-pack to get through, not to mention a bottle of Jaegermeister or two, and whatever spirits Battig pulled from the back of the bar. Once you were through your sixer, you had to put the cardboard holder on your head as a mark of your glorious achievement. Thanks to this, every-so-often we'd be interrupted as Jan cycled up on the mini-bike, giggling like a loon, beer-pack atop his head. All in all, a great first night in Berlin! The double bonus was that it being a big flat, we were able to crash on the sofas and hammocks for the night.

The next day, Greg, Phillip, and I went on a sightseeing tour in the drizzle. I got my first impression of how the city is constantly under development. As we walked by the Brandenburg Gate, they pointed out that the streets and buildings that seemed so normal now had been just sand and grass, and the odd field only 10 years ago. Everywhere you go in Berlin, there are construction sites. One of the oldest surviving post-war churches, the Kaiser Wilhelm Gedaechtniskirche (Memorial Church in English) was clad in scaffolding, as it is being rennovated. Even the world's oldest three-light traffic signal was covered up. While I can see the appeal of constantly expanding and updating, many of the homes and offices seem to be empty, and the ubiquitous building-works detract somewhat from the look of the city. That said, you can still tell quite clearly the distinction between East and West Berlin. The East is quite grey, but it does have trams, cheap drinks, and cheaper food. While visiting the area Greg used to live in, we managed to get a pizza each for E2.50. This spawned a business plan for getting rich when we get back to England. I'll give you a clue: it involves cheap pizza.

One thing about our time in Berlin is that it is a tad blurred, but for different reasons than Amsterdam. While in 'Dam you can pick up something to smoke pretty easily by going to the right place, in Berlin you can get a beer anywhere. ANYWHERE. Kebab shops, corner shops, train station shops, vending machines... So pretty much anywhere we went we had a beer in hand. Never has getting a 'road beer' been so damn easy. One inevitable downside is that I don't remember quite as much as I might have done, but hell, we had a lot of fun!

A stand-out day was our trip to Schlachtensee, or Slaughter Lake in English. Fortunately the lake was nicer than its name. It also gave me my first encounter with the German past-time of being naked. Boobies! Though obviously it isn't just chesticles that are revealed by nudity. I also saw a few cocks drifting in the wind. Lovely. Not to say that everyone there was naked, far from it, but whereas we English would much rather hide behind a towel when readying ourselves for watery endeavours, the Germans just pull down their pants and get on with it. I'm not one hundred percent sure which I prefer to be honest. The increased likelihood of titty was somewhat obscured by the fact that I saw the most male members in one day since playing rugby at University. Still, it was one of the few days of nice weather, and after a pleasant swim, we took a walk around the lake, while Greg and Alex regaled me with some of their saucy antics in the area before they came to England - skinny dipping, underage drinking, and other things less repeatable.

The other memorable experience was our visit to the Story of Berlin, a huge museum dedicated to, surprisingly, the history of Berlin. It's very well done, with various rooms dedicated to different subjects, such as religion, industry, and fashion. It is quite a powerful experience to go from a room filled with all the glitz and glamour of the 1920s, down a long staircase that depicts the decent into the madness of Nazism, then on to a hallway that is paved with examples of the books that were burnt. It was moving, and also somewhat gratifying to see that there was no shying away from what had happened.

Another aspect of the museum is a Cold War nuclear bunker that is below it. We took a guided tour though, and as we walked around the claustrophobic rooms we learnt that the conditions inside would have been so unbearable, with high temperatures and 90% humidity, that the few that had been lucky enough to get in would have spent most of their time doped up on Valium. Come to think of it, it sounds quite fun really...

After a week in Berlin, our livers were beginning to complain, and Greg and I were starting to feel the strain of having to constantly relocate from one friend's sofa to the next. So, after one last party at Battig's, where I met professional skateboarder Mack ("Yeah, Tony Hawks is a pretty cool guy."), and Alex managed to nearly kill himself while trying out Mack's board, we decided to move on to Prague. We stayed the night at Phillip's flat in Cottbus, I got drunk and wrote the last entry, and in the morning we said goodbye Deutschland, hello Czech Republic!

NEXT TIME: Getting Pissed in Prague, Eating Nosh in Nuremburg, and lots and lots of beer.

"The Lime Shall Provideth!"

So here we are, nearly two weeks in. As I write this, I am sat in a flat in Cottbus, a large town about an hour and a half from Berlin. A lot has happened since our first day...

The morning of the start of our journey was bright, and as we all met near my flat in Kingston we were cheerful, if all still a bit muzzy. As we chattered, my neighbour from across the street, a middle-aged Indian woman, came out, roused by the sound of our voices. She informed Emily, our companion for the first leg of the trip, that she has a habit of rising to greet the sun, and at the sound of our voices felt compelled to come and see what was happening. When we told her that we planned to travel round Europe, she immediately dissapeared inside, only to return moments later with two limes in her hands. She placed on under the front right wheel of the car, and the other in Emily's hand. She then guided her through a Hindu ritual, grasping Emily's hand and moving it in circles as she muttered a blessing. She told us that the lime was the king of fruit, and that it would bless us on our travels. As we drove off, the car's tyre crushed the other lime, and our journey had begun. The Fellowship of the Lime had begun their travels.

When we arrived at Dover, traffic (and our afforementioned fateful delay) meant that we had unfortunately missed our ferry by mere minutes. However, the next one was due to leave a mere hour later, and we were immediately granted admittance. Already we realised that even if we cocked up, the Lucky Lime, as we had taken to calling it, would get our backs.

A short ferry journey later, that involved the first of many journeys to the bathroom in the next few days for both Emily and Greg, we arrived in Calais. Her Alex embarked on the rather difficult task of acclimatising to driving on the right hand side of the road with a right wheel drive car. A complex enough task with a modern car, but when you are touring Europe in a 1967 Volvo 122 S Amazon, the task becomes infinitely more involved. To his credit, Alex took to it with relative ease, after nearly driving down the wrong side of the road a few times and occasionally forgetting which right of way was meant to go to. It probably didn't help that the left wing mirror insisted on residing at a jaunty, if entirely useless, angle, and that the parcel shelf was stuffed with backpacks and the front-piece of my Boba Fett helmet.

 Untill Alex gets round to uploading his pictures... here's an idea of what our car looks like. Pretty much this, but with more... character. She is a beautiful, if slightly tempramental, beast, and is most certainly a head-turner.

To cut a long, if relatively pleasant journey short, we arrived in Amsterdam by way of France and Belgium. The only major distinctions of the passing of these countries was Greg and my resolution to eat a McDonald's cheeseburger in every country we visit (so far so good), and also that there was NO border. Just road, and a sign saying, effectively, 'Um... Belgium!' Also, it came to my attention that Holland's windmills, while technically still in existance, seem to have been replaced with a large number of wind turbines. While somewhat less traditional, and less wooden, they do have a rather attractive green gradient pattern on the bottom of them, so as to less disrupt the panoramic vista... 

And then... 'Dam!

Some adventures were had, I can tell you. We arrived at our campsite in Zeeburg, east of Centraal Station, and set up our tents in the rather ominous weather. The staff seemed friendly enough, the facilities decent, and apart from Greg and my rather awkward camp beds (NEVER GET CAMPING STUFF FROM ARGOS!) everything went up without too much trouble. There was some swearing, however. Eventually we got into town, and smoked our way about the 'coffee shops', sampling the finest they had. Also some of the cheaper stuff. Basically we partook, and had a rather good time.

For reasons that are probably self explanatory, going into detail over the Amsterdam experience is rather a difficult task, especially at 4am after rather a few beers and so forth.

However, a few moments will stick in my mind for a very long time. Something that was a very powerful experience, and also quite mind opening, was when we took truffles, and then their bigger brother.

On the Tuesday, the idea was floated around to take some truffles, as they were one of the experiences that Amsterdam had to offer, and we were, after all, at the start of what is meant to be a trip that is all about experiencing new things. Some reservations were mentioned, and we cosidered it carefully, then thought what the fuck and bought some. We went down to a small grassy stretch over the river from our campsite, and, surrounded by the ducks and coots and crows, we had a rather lovely little trip. We all had our own experience of it. I know that I have never looked at an animal more closely, more seen more natural beauty in a creature, than in the way that those birds moved. Even if they were trying to eat my packet of crisps, the bastards. Shortly after, we all came out of our trips, and we had cheerful and silly conversations. We took turns braving the route back to the campsite, as un-natural, man-made things were somewhat disturbing to be near. I finally started to understand why friends had told me that being in nature was so important...

After that, we were hooked. We all wanted to have another trip, however we also had a comittment that evening. Ramin, Greg's friend from Germany who put us up on our last visit, had kindly organised a BBQ for us, and we obviously weren't going to turn down good company and free meat. However, we also wanted to have some more of what we felt earlier. So before we went, we went to a shop in town to get some more truffles. I can't go into much detail, but suffice to say that we got our hands on something somewhat stronger that we had had earlier in the day. As Alex had arranged to meet another friend, Greg, Emily and I went to Ramin's, and munched on our new goodies when we got there, expecting the same effect as earlier. We had no idea...

I'll not go into too much detail, as the experiences we had are stories better told in person. If you read this, and are interested, feel free to ask me what we got up to that night, and also the night two days after where we went camping by the beach. I hope that it suffices to say that we had an absolutely magical experience. If that doesn't suffice, then this poem that I wrote after the first night will.

-------------------------------------

Dark Chocolate

Let's just stop, and play here!
No... there are still people. Just a little further.

Light flashes through a fence,
Blinding, confusing.

Eye closed I drift on.
Here we are!
Perfect
Nature

An exctasy of greenery
A fly buzzes in my ear.
What do you see?
More that you possibly can.

Leaving my brother and sister
I wander down the magical snaking path
I meet a tree, gnarled, trimmed, an old soul.
Its bark is a landscape, moss the grass,
Furrows and mountains over which ants scurry.
Closer than I have ever seen
Eyes wider than they have ever been

But.

I think I see eyes!
A jarring disconnection.

I smile
You have no idea...
We laugh together, seperate from him.

Someone is coming... Look normal.
Stifled laughs as they pass.

Our playful pixie claims her tree,
Acorn hat topping flaxen hair
She and the tree are one, entwined.

Your friends are climbing trees...
I have to go back.

Finally!
Time to play!
Cartwheels and giggles, climbing and euphoria
Together we touched life.

A connection made, a discovery reached,
Layers upon layers
Depth beyond closed eyes.

-------------------------------------

Well... I suppose I can mention a few things to give you a hint of the fun we had. We got lost of a stretch of path around 100 metres long, we couldn't find a bench to sit on despite standing next to it, we hugged and then climbed a tree, and I appologised to the ground-plants for weeing on them. Good times!

This was written, incidentally, when we were being put up by a lovely fellow called Aaron, who I also met on my last visit. Despite some nosy neighbours our visit was mostly just relaxed, with a fun evening of drinking and smoking and cards.

And that about covers most of the first week. I still have to write of our experiences once we crossed to border into Germany, and the fun we've had in Berlin. Some great times have been had, and there are plenty more on the horizon. Every day we have many options. For example, when I'm woken up by one of those reprobates, be it Alex or Greg or Philip (we are staying at his house, more on that later!), we shall decide whether to take part in the Beer Mile back in Berlin, or to head to Prague, or to go to Greg's Dad's place in Neurembourg. Choices choices!

I'll write the story of our next week or so in the next few days, but for now, I hope you guys are enjoying the beautiful summer as much as we are! Two days of sun and counting!

NEXT TIME: An Explaination of the Retard Bracelet, Bumming around Berlin, History, and probably other things too!

PS Sorry for spelling mistakes, it's late, I'm drunk, and for some reason my computer now thinks it's German.