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.