Bucks Party in Tokyo

So there he was. It was 7am, the day before the biggest day of his life, and he was wandering around Shinjuku Train Station in Tokyo, the busiest train station in the world. Fair-haired and towering over the local population at 6’3”, it was not hard to spot him. He was wearing a white shirt crudely cut to be short sleeve, stockings, leg warmers, underpants (he’d long ago lost his skirt), a schoolgirl/sailor’s tie and collar, and long black pigtails. Not surprisingly, he was alone. He had one thing in his possession, his travel card to allow him to catch a train.

While all of this was surprising for early morning commuters, what was possibly most surprising was that Chop had done this to himself.

After the briefest of preparations, including jumping off the bullet train from Osaka at about 3:30pm, checking in to the hotel and then running out to get the last of his uniform before meeting up in the hotel prior to heading out. While getting dressed, Chop mentioned to us that he had given his bride to be everything he had of value, except his train pass. There was nothing left for us to take. First stop was the Monster Cafe. There were two tables there – the six of us and a group of six locals. Monster Cafe prides itself on multiple burgers. Stacks of burgers (buns included). The most you could get was six, which is what the table next to us had ordered between them. They ordered first and were served first, well ahead of us.

Chop, of course, was given the six stacker to eat by himself. He was at one stage going to give away one of the six, an avocado burger, until he realised there was meat in the avocado burger also.

Like so many things with Chop, what happened in the following 14 minutes was part art, part circus freak show. He demolished all six burgers in 14 minutes. The only pause was on the fifth burger, and that was only because it was a Spam burger.

He finished before the neighbouring table finished their shared six burgers. And he ate more than the rest of his bucks party combined.

It would prove to be a tactical error on our part to ply him with burgers. It hindsight it was all so obvious: it lined his stomach. So when we went to the next bar, a magnificent stylised 50s Japanese bar, the whale bacon and raw horse really only kept him topped up with food.

Appropriately turning back the clock himself in the retro-bar, Chop recalled his O-Camp days by drinking beer from a kettle. He didn’t have a choice really: that’s how it was served.

The Hub, a traditional English chain pub, followed, with shots of cachaca rum, and mingling with the most camp Japanese guy of all time. The sight of a 6’3” gaijin dressed as a schoolgirl no doubt went straight to the w@nk bank for him.

We left the bar and promptly received a promise from an African spruiker that he would provide some entertainment at a gentleman’s club upstairs. We sat down and were accompanied by what could only be described as an interesting array of ladies. The guy was clearly an equal opportunity employer. Alas, a strip joint is a place that sorely needs to be a meritocracy.

Shockingly, our spruiker friend decided that the conditions of entry did not apply once we entered his establishment. Our 2 hours of drinking, girls and karaoke turned in to 45 minutes, a couple of drinks (some of which may have been spiked) and two and a half karaoke songs, the last of which was cut off mid-song to inform us that our time was up and we had to leave. The ladies didn’t dance – they were “company” for us, not “entertainment” – and none of them got a red cent out of us, which in retrospect is probably why we were told to leave so early.

With a combination of wounded pride, Dutch courage, and disappointment at the night turning in to a fizzer, two or three of us stayed just outside the establishment, standing next to the spruiker doing a bit of “anti-spruiking”, telling anyone who could understand us through the language barrier and drunkenness that the place was a rip-off and that we wanted our money back.

Shockingly, it didn’t work. But it did result in at least one of the bucks party being picked up (literally) by a certain 6’3” Japanese schoolgirl (now missing “her” skirt) and dragged away from the spruiker, undoubtedly for his own good.

All the time we were remonstrating, Ranty hadn't moved. He was sitting on a wooden box, elbows on his knees, head slumped, somehow balancing himself in a drunken stupor. He literally hadn't moved. We didn't really mind too much, until we got bored, sleepy and needed to leave. Most of us were well smashed, but not the buck - he was still going strong, with six burgers soaking up the booze in his stomach.

Finally, it seemed this super-sized schoolgirl was useful to us. With Durack and myself fading, and Ranty already out for the count, we needed someone to carry him to a cab, and Chopper was the man (a term loosely defined given his attire). He lugged Ranty to the cab by slinging him over his back.

There was one question still to be answered: who will get him out of the cab at the other end?

With the all-too-convenient benefit of hindsight it is clear now that we hadn’t considered the answer to this question. You’d think that the two of us, Durack and I, could help Ranty get to his room to sleep, but Ranty couldn’t help himself. He was comatose. Dead weight – this time, literally.

Durack wasn’t helped when, on approaching the hotel, I awoke from my own drunken slumber to announce that I needed to do number threes. I ran off feeling the convulsions and gagging, but curiously nothing came of it. A few minutes later Durack would arrive at the door to my hotel room, covered in blood and bundling Ranty into his room, where we threw him onto the bed (only semi-successfully – he was half on the bed until the following afternoon).

What happened in the few minutes intervening was quite extraordinary.

After I’d left the car (running for the bushes first, then convincing myself I could make it to my room), the taxi pulled up at the hotel and Durack tried to instil some clarity and purpose into Ranty. Only a completely drunk friend would attempt such a thing. In hindsight it was like trying tell a rock to dance the Macarena. Ranty was totally unresponsive, so Durack still tried to lift him out of the cab. As soon as Ranty’s weight transferred from the cab to Durack, he teetered.

Just before completely losing control, he had enough clarity to know Ranty was about to smack face-first into the pavement. He reached out his hand to protect Ranty’s face, and perhaps saved him from extensive rhinoplasty. But this moment of chivalry had its price. Durack was himself propelled to the ground thanks to gravity. And of course he had to spare hands with which to break his fall. So while Durack limited Ranty’s injuries to a fairly mild black eye, he broke his fall withe the bridge of his nose.

Blood was everywhere.

From their position at the head of the cab rank at the (five-star) hotel, Durack could see blood all over the place, and Ranty in a blissful slumber on the pavement in front of him. With blood pouring out of him, and panicking like a jealous husband who’s just killed a cheating wife, he went looking for something to get the blood off. After searching the forecourt of the hotel, he ran across the road to a fountain and washed himself clean. He returned, still bleeding but at least cleaner, to the cab rank.

Ranty had gone.

How could someone so blissfully passed out on pavement have disappeared without a trace? On looking up at the entrance to the hotel, Durack found his answer: over-efficient concierges. They were trying to get Ranty into a wheelchair. The limits of Durack’s chivalry had been reached however. Rather than ensure his friend was safe or assist the concierges (or tip them), he took photos.

All I can say is that I wish I could still post photos on this blog. Other than the comatose Ranty, the funniest thing in the photos is the genuine concern shown by the concierges for Ranty’s wellbeing (this concern was not painted on, service industry boilerplate: it was genuine). All the while, his friend is p!ssing blood and taking photos of him.

Not surprisingly, none of us were functional on Saturday.

But where was Chop in all of this? Whether he admitted it or not, he seemed think the Bucks party was in fact an episode of Survivor: Tokyo. While three of us had already fallen by the wayside, Trev, Noodles and Chop remained standing. Unfortunately Noodles had fallen asleep while standing, so was technically disqualified. Trev decided Noodles had to come back to our hotel and sleep on the floor, and communicated this to Chop.

This must have slipped Chopper’s mind, as he wandered off to Shinjuku station it was still only about 5:30am. Trains had not started running yet. If he was hungry, that was too bad. All he had in his possession was his train pass. He didn’t even have pants (he had to keep it in his shirt pocket). After running around a couple of train stations trying to navigate his way home, he finally gave up, jumped in a cab, determined to pay for it when he got back to his soon-to-be-wife’s house.

As he arrived home, his fiancée and Noodles’ girlfriend asked how the night went, and where Noodles was. Chopper said that Noodles had got a train home earlier than him, which sent Noodles’ girlfriend into a mild panic. By the time Noodles woke up at about midday, he had several texts and missed calls from his girlfriend, wondering if Noodles had slept in a gutter and, if so, whether he still had both his kidneys. We didn’t know any of this until Chop called us and his first question was “is Noodles OK?”

Our response was “he’s the least of your problems – he didn’t even suffer facial injuries.”

It Runs in the Family

It is often said that some people attract trouble. The story below not only confirms that as a fact, but it confirms that it's genetic.

You've heard wacky and at times frustrating stories of mine from Krakow, Munich (actually, Munich twice come to think of it), Romania and Bulgaria, Paris and a few others too.

My dad returned from Vietnam a couple of weeks ago, and he came back with a story. He had his dictaphone on him soon after this incident ended, and dictated his story while it was fresh in his mind.

One thing he doesn't mention - which he mentioned to mum and I when he told this story to us (on Mothers Day) - is that he knew Ure knew his stuff when he said his nursing sister was coming to Perth to work in St Vincent's Hospital.

Mum, who used to be a midwife, told dad there was no St Vincent's Hospital in Perth.

There's two things I should also mention. The first is that the cream dad refers to is some beauty cream he was trying to promote at a conference. It's the reason he went to Vietnam.

The second is that dad does like a bit of a punt. It's a hobby of his in fact.

Here is dad's story, as dictated contemporaneously and typed out by his PA. Hmmm, I need a PA.

---

I met Ure with his sister in the street here, he approached me.

I think this was the 27 April 2009.

He stopped me in the street for 5 minutes and wanted to talk to me and also I said I was from Australia.

He said he had another sister who was a nurse who was going to nurse in Australia and that he was interested in obtaining details as to residence for his sister while she was nursing in Australia,

I gave him my card and told me where I was going to be and I said I was going to Vung Tau and would be back in a few days.

He asked me to ring when I was coming back from Vung Tau as he would take me out to lunch and discuss the possibilities.

At the time I mentioned I had some creams I was trying to distribute and he expressed some interest in the creams.

It was agreed we would meet up /contact each other when I came back from Vung Tau on the 30 April 2009.

When I got back from being in Vung Tau at about 11 am I rang him from the Mai Hotel where I was booked. He said he would pick me up.

He picked me up with his sister in a cab and took me out to their house for lunch.

I do not know where there house was, but it was a long way from my hotel.

When we got there and we sat down and had a coffee and I explained to his sister the creams I had and I gave her 2 brochures and the information that I had had typed and samples.

She expressed a lot of interest in these as she said she had a shop in Thailand and that she would be very keen on marketing these creams in Thailand etc.

Before Lonoh Ure said that he was a croupier who did croupier work for Star Cruises and also explained to me the ins and outs of winning/loosing at the Casino and also the situation where you can have an arrangement with someone who was gambling at the table to the effect that you the croupier/dealer in black jack could make sure that the customer won and you could split the winnings with you.

He said that after lunch he would take me up stairs and show me how to do it.
We had a Thai lunch at his house.

He then took me upstairs to what appeared to be a bedroom or at least his bedroom, it had a neat little table set up in one corner which could accommodate 4 people.

For about half an hour we sat at the table and he showed me the signs and signals when you are playing black jack as a means of the dealer co-operating to win. The signals include touching a ring, whether the pack of undealt cards was pointed diagonally or straight up and down on the table.

He also went through the series of signs you can make as to the number of cards as I recall the right hand on top of the left hand was an ace and half way up the forearm is 2, the elbow is 3 and the shoulder is 4. The left hand on top of the right hand was a 5, half way up the forearm is a 6, the elbow is a 7, the shoulder was 8, the left hand on the right should was 8, the left hand touching the chin was 9 and the left hand touching the forehead was 10. These were the signals he said a croupier could give to his co-operating party indicating what the value of the next card was.

He then put me through a couple of games to check me out. I think about half way through this time his sister came up with cups of coffee. We had the coffee.

The other signal he gave was that when you wanted to end the game you or the croupier would refer to the possibility of having a coffee, tea or a beer.

In the practice session he produced a series of blue, green and red chips. He went through the practice session and said it looked OK.

The next thing that happened he said that there was a lady he was playing with at the casino recently along this fashion and she had pulled a bit of a shifty on him because she had not given him the desired/ planned share of the winnings I think he said it was half and half and she had not given it to him. He said she was coming to his house to have a game at his invitation, apparently, and he was going to use this and myself as a means of getting the money from her.

The way he said this I expected it to be some time in the future.

Then in about 5 or 10 minutes this lady to my amazement she came far quicker than I was led to believe.

She was ……….heavily decorated with gold, spoke English with a Spanish accent, was apparently sophisticated, and certainly knew about her cards. As part of what I imagined the sting Ure gave me $US200 as an opening bank. We had a few hands and Ure used his signals to me and with his card skills I won. Eventually after one or two hands which I won she became a little bit aggravated and wanted to up the stakes so she could out-bet me.

I did not have the money so Ure "lent" me US$500 and asked me to initial something which I did. I had some more wining hands and she wanted to up the ante to many thousands of dollars and pulled out a wad of money which she said and appeared to be US$40,000 and this was utilised as stake for the betting.

Eventually the betting got to the stage of a final hand, I said it was the last hand and Ure gave me the nod that I could go all the way to cover her $US30,000 but I had to provide US$30,000 in credit.

All the way along when I was doing this betting Ure said to me wink nod that he would guarantee any sum that was payable.

On this last hand I had 3 cards totalling 21 and she the queen of diamonds and another card.

Ure was giving me the nod that everything was quite OK, don't worry about it, but come to the party and produce a credit/cash for US$30,000 to cover her US$30,000.

I said this was out of the question.

He took me aside and said don't worry about it, it will be OK, just put your signature on it. He tried to give the impression that I had the money at the hotel.

Eventually a deal was made of that, the two hands would be sealed in an envelope while Ure and I went out to get the money to cover the cash to cover her bets.

Ure magically produced these sealed envelopes and I put my three cards in my sealed envelope and signed it.

He took her 2 cards and made the notions of putting them in her envelope at the same time showed me that they were a total of 20 i.e. and I would win the bet. He sealed them in her envelope and she signed them. Her money and the sealed envelopes were then placed in a case with a combination and a key, and he gave me the key which was about ¾ of an inch long and gave her a key which appeared to be a different key as a means of giving everyone security.

The deal was that he would try to raise some money and I would go out and try and raise some money.

She was very insistent that the only thing she would accept was security on the table before she would lift her hand was cash, no cheques etc. She was a highly sophisticated gambler, a good looker and well jewelled in gold. I was told later she may have been from Brunei or had contacts in Brunei.

She appeared to be really street smart. Had no hesitation in handing over the $40,000 cash in any event the deal was that I would go off with Ure's sister Ann to find cash and we obtained a cab, in the cab was Ure's brother-in-law? side kick/possibly stand over man.

On the way back to my hotel Ure said he rang on his mobile and said he had raised $15,000 and was looking to see what I could raise.

During the drive to my hotel Ure rang his sister several times and wanted to know what I was doing etc. I said I wanted to go to the hotel to make telephone calls etc.

Ann his sister wanted to know if I wanted to get out of the game, and I said I think I do and I gave her the key.

In any event we got to the hotel and I got out of the cab and this would have been about 2.30 pm. I was asked to ring Ure from the hotel. At the time of dictating, 6 pm I have not been to the hotel.

It was evident to everyone I believe that I was extremely nervous in the whole matter as events had really out of my control.

In the ultimate I don't know why they needed me because if Ure was sure of winning all he had to do was to let his sister take my hand use the key and provide the money.

My concern was that I would be asked to put the money in or be "attended to" if I did not put money in and they could change the card and whole thing was a scam to get the money out of me and 6.30 pm the jewelled lady from Brunei was part of the scam.

As of the present I am reluctant to go back to the hotel because I think they might be waiting for me.

The man in the taxi when we were going back who was the alleged relation of Ure looked a bit on the heavy side in appearance and mannerisms. Ure asked not to mention to him what was happening.

I think him picking me up on the street as a pre-arranged operation as they hit me cold turkey about the whole thing in the street.

I do think however that Ure has a sister going to Australia and Ann his other sister had some operation in Thailand.

Ure had a card evidencing him as being associated with Star Cruises.

At the time of dictating I have not been able to find that card.

He said as the final carrot before I left to go that my entitlement out of the scam would be US$20,000 as he was going to take the other half.

I felt extremely fearful and ill at ease from the time of the last hand till about 2 hours later when I started thinking it through.

Ure was extremely skilful of the cards looking back as he seemed to be able to serve to myself and the lady in gold exactly what cards he wanted.

---

Dad was to leave the country the next day, and ended up staying away from the hotel for about 5 hours. He was surprised that noone was there for him when he returned. He was also surprised that they didn't wait for him when they dropped him in the hotel. He didn't even go in - just walked straight off.

Curing Rottnest Amnesia

OK, I'll admit it. I forgot.

I forgot how awesome Rotto is.

To be fair it has been twelve years since I last visited (mid-year 1997, when we one of our mates was given a "home made" mullet, we had a Greek wedding in our chalet and we were kicked off the island in 48 hours). But the length of time between visits is, if anything, more damning for me.

I headed over last Sunday morning to the famous island escape 30 mins from Perth, to join some mates that had been on the island since Thursday. We had a great chalet just south of the pub which had a view of Thompson Bay, but I had hardly arrived before we were off to the west end of the island to leap off Jump Rock, which was awesome. Without a bike I was otherwise a little constrained in my movements but managed to get to the pub OK while there. I was told a lot about the changes to Rotto, and that it would be unrecognisable. There weren't that many changes I noticed really. Only the following come to mind:

- the drinking water is much better

- the pub has been extensively done up

- the bakery is much bigger and swankier

- additional shops: Subway and the gourmet café

- the chalets have been done up a little bit, but not much

Also I should mention that most things were much less expensive that I expected. $7.50 pints at the pub for example. But the bakery made up for all of that.

For our part, the highlight was the night time festivities, which include appointing someone to cook and organise some drinks for nationality-themed nights. Australia Day was a no-brainer (kangaroo on the barbie), but the real genius was having an American-themed day the night before.

The animosity we received was breathtaking. Sure, we bought it on a bit by being insanely loud and obnoxious, but that's just being American, right? Also we all had large plastic hats full of bourbon. Really. Anyways, the neighbours riding up and down the street at first took a curious interest in us (including playing "American Idiot" on their stereo), and then got resentful. The kids waterbombed us, and some of the dimmer members of our little community just started abusing us.

It got worse when we got to the pub and insisted we stay in character. It was probably more annoying that our accents were disgracefully unconvincing.

On reflection I can't imagine why we were so unpopular.

Anyone who managed to read this and is from Perth, I'm sorry but none of that was very new to you. But those of you unfamiliar with Rotto, and not planning on using ridiculous American accents, should definitely get there when you visit Perth. As I was reminded on the weekend, there really isn't anything like it in the world. Not that I can think of anyway.

Boxing Day and New Zealand

Ah, the post-holidays come-down. I haven't experienced it for a while. Normally it's hideously depressing, but it isn't this time. Why? Mainly because, as I mentioned in my previous email, I haven't left the Perth Metro Area since I arrived back from the UK in late July. Its good to lament the end of some travels again.

But finally I escaped my "glass case of emotion" and jetted off to Melbourne and then the South Island of New Zealand over the Christmas-New Year period.

Before I get started, there are a few thankyous I need to dish out.
- First of all a massive thanks to Tim Maher, who organised our Boxing Day test tickets in MCC Members. It was awesome being there. Thanks mate!
- Also to Melburnians Tim Leggoe and Kylie Harrison who were convinced to come along and drink with us. It was great catching up!
- In NZ I have to give a massive thanks to Eammon's family - Megan and Mick, Tracey and Graham, and Bridget for all their hospitality (and for the Brain Erasers), and also to Eammon's girlfriend Molly who was visiting from Chicago sacrificed a lot of her time with Eammon share him with us travellers
- Finally, a big thanks to Eammon himself for putting us up, organising a heap of our travels around NZ and doing almost all of the driving. Thanks mate!

Bish's Précis

- We were in MCC members at the Boxing Day Test
- Night time highlights included bogan-watching at Crown Casino, king browns at St Jerome's Laneway, and a Kebabgedy
- I had a sleep-deprived, drunken flight to NZ
- New Years Eve was in Frankton, near Queenstown and was large
- The scenery was amazing
- Eammon and I had a dip in some glacial lakes, Lake Pukake and Lake Hawea
- Also at Lake Hawea we saw Shihad in concert
- At the concert we saw the inspiration for this Facebook group
- Eammon's got a lot of work to do to achieve his New Years Resolution

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Melbourne

This Christmas Day finished early and uncharacteristically sober for me. Shortly before midnight, my sister and her shiny new hubby Dave, Dave's mate Mark and his lively girlfriend Lisa, Kate Fitz and I jumped aboard a Qantas flight to Melbourne. Because of the time it took to serve us food, and 200kmh tailwinds, I only got about 90 mins sleep on the way over. We got to our hotel and crashed, again for 90 minutes, before getting up to meet Tim at Federation Square at 9am.

Aside from the first day's cricket, which was enthralling and included a Ponting century, there were a number of highlights at the cricket. Particularly:
- the opportunity to witness Nature's delicate, never-ending ballet between the security guards and the cup-snake builders in the Outer
- the MCC have their own monogrammed soap dispensers in their bathrooms. I was too self-conscious to take a photo of it, but Kate had no such qualms
- incredibly reasonable drinks prices (a pint of Carlton Draft $7.60 - better than most Perth pubs), the only drawback being the inability to take the drink to your seat: you have to drink in the bars

Erica arrived during the day and met up with us after stumps. That night featured extensive bar hopping in the city centre, including Cookie, St Jerome's laneway (which serves king browns!) and then the search for a kebab. After departing from the group at La La Land, I walked around for quite a while looking for a kebab joint. Frustrated, I asked some guys where the nearest kebab joint was. They said the famous Stalactites on Lonsdale St (past Swanton St). I was around the corner of King and Bourke at the time. So I walked up there only to find it was closed for renovations. I was gutted. So I walked back to Swanston St and down to Flinders St for some HJs and (where I somehow got into an argument over an obstructed emergency exit, and even took a photo of it) and eventually back to the hotel (cnr Flinders Lane and Spencer St), still frustratingly robbed of a Melbourne kebab.

It was a kebabgedy.

Day 2 of the cricket was an excellent one for Australia. I spent a good part of the day in the outer with Kate, Dave and Mark, and Kristy and Lisa once they'd done their shopping.

On the way out of the cricket I managed to see Darryl Hair. He's given up his role as a cricket umpire, but clearly still harbours hopes of being a sightscreen.

That night we started by having some post-cricket drinks at Riverside (underneath Fed Square), and after showering and dressing up we headed to Southbank. We met up with Helen Fitz and her fella Pete and ate at the excellent Blue Train (where I had two - count 'em, two - salads), and from there we headed to Crown Casino.

As soon as we walked in it was clear we shouldn't have bothered about dressing up. Clearly, the reason the rest of Melbourne looks so good is because they've scooped up the dregs and put them all in a pretty container called Crown Casino. It was very difficult to tell exactly what the dress standards were but they included allowing shorts and thongs. Burswood used to have dress standards but now they, like Crown, don't care who's money they take and want to lure everyone.

Not overly keen to gamble, we headed upstairs to a bar with a view of the Yarra, had a few drinks and saw the sights, which included:
- The best tattoo ever: "SICK" in gothic script on a lady's shin ("FULLY" must have been on her thigh)
- Some "cougars" in the bar up for it with a clink of my glass and a wink - they didn't get lucky (with me)
- Something approximating a threesome on the dance floor

We left the casino in dribs and drabs. Kate and I were the last there and she saw me lose thirty bucks in five minutes on the roulette table. Then, while finishing our pints, we observed a bit of blackjack, and I tried to share my very limited knowledge with her. Obviously it wasn't enough as she was keen to get advice from someone actually playing, and in the process almost getting me beaten up by one of those scary skinny bikies: the type that's always called "Ferret".

Storms were expected day 3 but weather was fine. Too bad the cricket was rubbish. Again we spent a bit of time in members and a bit in the outer. I managed to snaffle some MCC merchandise and walk around the place a bit.

That night was our last night in Melbourne, and we headed out of the city centre. We caught up with a couple of other Melburnian mates, Kylie Harrison and Tim Leggoe.

We went to Belgian Beer Cafe Bluestone, a nice garden bar on St Kilda Rd. We kicked on to Chapel St for a while where the girls found a prop for their comedy - a superman jacket.

Booze does funny things to you. I somehow convinced myself that I could drink through until the pub closed at 3am and then tough it out to get our 9:15 flight, which meant waking at 6am.

Kate was having passport issues so Erica and I got the Skybus. I made an awful attempt to sleep on it. Then, while lining up to check-in I was still drunk and entertained Erica - and myself - by dancing a jig.

I followed this by spotting girls in the check in line:
"she wants me"
"she wants me"
"oh, she wants me"
"she's be so hot if only she could pack her bloody suitcase"

Turns out I wasn't as subtle or quiet as I thought (or as far from those girls)when making those comments. In retrospect I was pretty lucky to get on the plane.

Once we checked in I slept for an hour at the gate. Woke up needing a toasted ham and cheese sandwich, a clear indication that a hangover isn't far away. All of a sudden they were boarding. I couldn't get one before boarding the plane. Then got a choice of continental breakfast or ham and cheese croissant! Back of the net!

Christchurch

We arrived and met Eammon and Molly at the airport, and then ate in Christchurch at Coyote's and saw a bit of the Aussie collapse on day 4 of the test. We then back to Eammon's to talk rubbish for a few hours while fighting of sleep and then scoffing a delicious chicken bake courtesy of Molly. Eammon teased us with the announcement that he had a cracking New Years Resolution. Sleep won in the end though.

The following morning's breakfast cook up by Eammon dominated mainly because it included lamb. We then drove from Christchurch to Queenstown, for my first taste of the NZ scenery. We saw the unusually iridescent Lake Tekapo and then went one better in Lake Pukake and had a dip. Glacial meltwater isn't nearly as warm as it sounds. We also stopped at the quaint Arrowtown for some beers in the sun.

The landscape for that drive was pretty spectacular. At various stages in the drive the scenery reminded me of Iceland, Norway, and Switzerland. Why go to the northern hemisphere eh?

Queenstown

So. Queenstown. New Years. How the heck are we gonna get accommodation? Luckily Eammon's sister Tracey and her husband Graham own a caravan park there! Once we got in, said hello and set ourselves up we headed over the road to the pub for a feed. We then headed into town and had a few drinks at the Red Rock, catching up with anither of Eammon's sisters, Megan and her husband Mick.

The previous night Eammon revealed to me that he hadn't had a ladyboy in 2008. So we moved on to a bar filled with painfully young revellers and all had one. After a couple more drinks before retiring for the night.

Some time during that night we also found that Kate had sorted out her passport issues and will be joining us. Excellent news!

The following day was New Years Eve. Before getting stuck into the beers we had a cricket game to watch! New Zealand and the West Indies. The weather started grubby, which was a shame as I had the perfect t-shirt for the day.

I had the task of explaining the game to Molly too. She wasn't too bad actually; she didn't ask any questions like "how many points do you get for a home run."

Nonetheless, the rain presented another threat - that I would have to explain the Duckworth-Lewis system to her. Thankfully, when it rained it stayed raining and the game was abandoned. So we headed off to the pub a bit early!

Having abandoned the illusion of sport there was no pretext to hide behind; it was just straight boozing from here. Not feeling overly mobile, we went to the local pub (which happened to be the one over the road from the caravan park) and we were soon met by a good chunk of Eammon's family. It was a pretty large night and included Eammon and I trying to take photos for a high-art calendar concept: digital camera photos taken through holes such as straws and rivets in benches. Check out June and July (my current profile photo).

The highlight of the night though was Eammon finally announcing his New Years resolution. He's attempting to run a four minute mile.

2009

Kate arrived early morning. Once awake, we gathered in town for the famous FergBurger of Queenstown (it didn't disappoint) and then headed out for a tour of central Otago wine country. We headed to three wineries, with four of us drinking and Eammon driving us around, He was a lonely, bemused non-drinker for the first two wineries before his brother in law and a mate turned up at the last, so they could grumble about wineries together at the back of the tasting bar. Actually, at that particular winery they would have had good company with the grumpy barman.

That evening we took the boat into town from the Caravan Park, and painted the town red. The end of the night involved Kate trying to do the "worm" on a chesterfield couch in a bar, and four of us (Megan, Kate, Eammon and I) trying to drink about three litres of a milky concoction called "Brain Eraser". I still don't know what was in it. But I know by the end of it I'd advised Eammon he had to do a "baseline" mile run early in the year to see where he's starting from. And then I'd agreed to join him on that run.

Shihad and the West Coast

On the 2nd we drove to a small town called Lake Hawea to pitch a tent and watch Shihad in a pub there. It was a huge night for everyone - well almost everyone. One chap in front of us was passed out by about 6:35pm and didn't move until about 10pm. We spent most of the time in between mocking him.

And we're not done yet: join the "Passed Out Guy at Lake Hawea" group on Facebook.

The night ended with Molly being mocked for not having greasy enough hair, and then trying to write her name with her forehead on a window at the pub. Don't worry, I don't even think it made sense at the time.

On the 3rd I took the wheel and we drove up the west coast to a small town called Whataroa. Without a shower, the first stop was Lake Hawea itself. As I say, glacial meltwater is not as warm as it sounds. The girls found that out this time too.

On the way to Whataroa we saw some incredible west coast scenery, not least Franz Josef Glacier. Getting to the glacier involves wading through a very icy river and knee depth, which means access to the glacier relies on a dress code of Capri pants and shorts. No long pants please!
Alas, also on that trip I lost my dear possession, my digital watch. Stopping at the bottom of a hill, I got some stuff out of the back. I thought I got my watch but couldn't see it. But said "it'll turn up somewhere". We started to drive off and I heard a crunch. I dismissively said "oh, that's probably my watch". Kate opened the back door and said "yep, you're right". Rest in peace my well-travelled bundle of 1s and 0s.

Whataroa had one pub which did surf and turf on a stonegrill, which was good enough for me.

Return to Christchurch and The Mile

After a hike at Okarito, the last day of driving took us through Ross, Hokatika (for jade shopping) and Arthur's Pass (for inquisitive kea) and back to Christchurch, where we had our fateful mile run. After measuring the course exactly, and warming up, we set off racing - and I must emphasise this - not each other but the clock. The times we registered were 5:58 and 6:10. Eammon has some work to do before the end of the year.

On our last full day in NZ we had a day of walking around Christchurch (I managed to get sunburnt in 22 degree "heat"), saw the Botanical Gardens, and then driving around Lyttleton which reminded me more than a little of Albany, and the hills above. We headed home the following day.

So that was it! I noticed a couple of things about NZ while I was there. First of all in the inevitable losing of my voice from boozing, I noticed I picked up a sympathetic kiwi accent. I dunno what it was. Maybe I was too weak in my perpetually drunk and hungover state to fight of the pity for our little fellow antipodeans (is that patronising enough for you?).

Secondly, and possibly linked to that, I noticed that the Kiwi radio reports of Australia's cricketing demise. They were loaded with shaudenfreude, and a maybe a hint of an inferiority complex. I don't know whether it's a symptom for what Warnie called the "frustrated Australians", but they were pretty happy with our demise in the Melbourne test. I notice this sort of thing in a few isolated places in Australia to one degree or another - in Tassie and even in Perth.

Nonetheless, there will surely be more of this attitude towards the Aussie cricket team if its predicted slide continues.

For anyone who made it this far, happy new year! The next trip will be overseas. To Rottnest! For the first time in 12 years I'll be back on the island for Australia Day. Should be ace.

For now though it's back to more regular (and, thankfully, shorter) blog entries. In fact I'm likely to start a series of blog entries that might even be coherent in the near future. Stay tuned!

Cheers, Rosco

Eurodyssey: The Final Leg

Bish's Precis

- MASSIVE thanks to Sheila and Tony, Adam and Ange, and Jez's uncle Mike for putting me up for the night in the UK
- MASSIVE MASSIVE thanks to Shane for use of his car
- after some more rudeness from British bureaucracy I managed to get back into the UK
- Headed to a heap of places I hadn't been: Brighton, Cornwall, York, Newcastle, and the Lake District; also planned to get to Bristol, Bath and Stonehenge
- Caught up with Sheila and Tony, and Adam and Ange
- Shane's car exploded just north of Bristol
- Spent my last few days in London, racking up my 40th Nando's and had some leaving drinks on Tuesday
- I get on on Saturday and will be at Mikey's reception Saturday night
- Perthites - join me at the Vic Hotel in Subi on Sat 2 August for Birthday drinks, combined with Stevie K. The theme is midlife crisis.

- Also, for those of you wondering where the photos have gone, I'm still having trouble getting them onto my computer and then onto Picasa or Facebook, but I have managed to put one from Dubrovnik onto Facebook. It's my new profile photo.

- I will add links to the blog entries as soon as I can and let you know when they're up

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First Things First

Before I get too far into this, I should mention that Stevie K and I are having birthday drinks at The Vic Hotel in Subi on 2 August. Owing to our combined age of 61 the theme is midlife crisis.

For those of you that know Stevie he doesn't get out much these days. For those of you that know him well, you realise this is a good thing.

I've also set up a facebook event for it. Look forward to seeing you all there. Email me with any queries.

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OK then. So having torn Europe a new one there was one last country to see a bit more of. The UK.

My arrival at The World's Worst Airport - Stansted - was not without incident, with the immigration officer flatly telling me she didn't think I intended to go home to Australia. After about 15 minutes I managed to convince her, and also to get away without abusing her and the entire British bureaucracy which throughout the last two years has been totally useless.

I had a whirlwind tour of the UK planned, which included places I hadn't visited before (Brighton, Cornwall, York, Newcastle, the Lake District, Bristol, Bath and Stonehenge), and also to say goodbye to family (Adam and Ange in Bury, north of Manchester; and Adam's parents Sheila and Tony in Ilkley, Yorkshire).

The Day Trip

So it started with a day trip to Brighton, the UK's most famous seaside getaway. Fittingly, it was miserably, wet and all but deserted. To be honest I didn't really get a taste of what Brighton would be like on a decent, sunny day. Still, I made the obligatory visit to the pier and Royal pavilion.

The Short Trip

The following day I headed out for a three day trip. In short:
- caught up with, and said goodbye to, Adam and Ange in Bury. We went for a curry in Ramsbottom (snerk!), and chatted but couldn't paint the town red like last time owing to Ange being pregnant. Still it was a great night and good to catch up. Congratulations guys!
- then headed to York with the plan of staying there for the night. Arrived and found there was no accommodation owing to the race meet there that weekend. I spent the day exploring the wonderful walled city and the cheesy-in-a-good-way Richard III museum, before hopping on a late train and heading to ...
- Newcastle! Jez's uncle put us up and we headed out for a taste of Tyneside nightlife. We started so early that we were lucky to make it to night time. It was quite a large night.

The Long Trip

After touching base in London again on Sunday night I picked up Shane's car early the following morning which he generously offered to me for the week of travelling I had ahead. Naturally, I left brilliant sunny weather in London behind and it was overcast and grim by the time I got to Devon, en route to Penzance in west Cornwall.

Just before arriving I had a call from Tony and Sheila, very kindly offering their cottage. I stayed there one night and at Tony's mum's place the following night. While down there I visited St Ives, Penzance, Lizard, Sennon Cove, St Just and a few towns in between, but the "highlight" of the trip was Land's End. It's been inundated with cheesy touristy attractions such as the Doctor Who experience, and the famous sign showing distances to John O'Groats and New York is in fact a privately owned prop for the local photographic company which is packed away at night (accompanied by a belligerent and unapologetic notice on the site). You get the picture.

Still the countryside and scenery was pretty magnificent, and the coastline around Land's End is also pretty amazing.

Wednesday morning I left the (naturally) brilliant weather in Cornwall behind and headed to Ilkley to see Sheila and Tony, which is about 8 hours drive (it got overcast at about Birmingham). On arrival we headed straight to the very pretty Bolton Abbey. Both are natural - perhaps fanatical - walkers but Tony has recently been on crutches so we couldn't go too far.

Of course, when they heard I was on the way to the Lake District they took great joy in helping me choose a good walk to go on while there. And I was happy for their help!

The following morning I said goodbye and headed off to the Lake District. I ended up basing myself in Keswick in one of the most unusual backpackers I have come across, and walked "Catbells", which involves a bit of scrambling up hills but offers wonderful views of Derwent Water and surrounding valleys. Without hiking shoes and in greasy conditions, I thought I would be in a bit of trouble climbing after I slipped and fell on my @rse in the parking lot, but I managed to get through it OK with only minor injuries and mud on the seat of my trousers. And in my defence that particular part of the parking lot is deceptively flat.

After a quick visit to the cheesy-in-a-good-way Pencil Museum, I headed down the M6 and M5 towards a farmstay between Bristol and Bath, booked by Ines. She couldn't meet me there owing to a family bereavement, but I planned to head there anyway: I was sure she wouldn't forgive me for not enjoying the place myself.

Just north of Bristol, on the right hand lane I heard a noise from the bonnet of the car and then a sudden burst, with pieces of metal shooting out from under the car. I veered off to the side of the road, rang Shane, then roadside assistance, and waited. I still don't know what is wrong with the car but consensus among those who inspected (very briefly, before towing it) it is that it's "not good."

So no Bristol, Bath and Stonehenge for me, but hopefully the car will be OK!

From Bristol, I got towed back all the way back to London, leaving the car in Clapham and joining Shane for a drink in a nearby pub. I spent the rest of the time before my flight in London, not doing much (except getting my Nando's tally up to a nice round 40, and having some "final farewell drinks" on Tuesday night - big thanks to those who made it, especially those that stayed at "Lately's" until close which is no mean feat), before jetting out Thursday night.

Where am I now...

So I write this sitting in transit in Bangkok. I decided there wasn't enough time between flights to see a girlie show in town, and on arrival realised an unexpected benefit of being forced to buy a business class ticket for the final leg home: Royal Silk Lounge in the airport. Free food, booze, internet, and so many staff tending to your every need ... I'm waiting to be offered a "special massage."

Infact I am being bored silly by Thai Muzac piped into this place. I need another beer.

Anyways, I get the red eye tonight and arrive early tomorrow morning, in time for Mikey's wedding reception tomorrow night, and work on Monday! Yeeeewwww!

Week 8 Update: Adios Europe

I just realised I didn't pubish this, my last post from my two month trip through Europe. I have no idea how I missed it.

Bish´s Precis:
- Montpellier was fantastic, so was Nimes, thanks to Nat for being a great host
- Barcelona was great also, lots to see and do there. Watch out for the genuine paella story coming up
- Casa Batllo. Worst. Audioguide. Ever.
- I managed to get into the UK (just) and am about to tour the country for a final lap of honour
- Are you in the UK? Come to the Lion in West Hampstead on 22 July to see me off
- Are you in Perth? Come to my arrival/birthday drinks on 2 August, details coming

Last Time we spoke

The day we spoke last (read: I spoke at you last) I was in Paris on my way to Montpellier. I was also in the middle of a gargantuan international feast, but more on that in another email.

So, what's happened since?

Montpellier

I spent three days enjoying the lovely hospitality of Nat Tucker, part of my "UK Family" here.

On the first full day in town, Nat was working, so I took off to Nimes for the day. Its a nearby town that boasts a couple nice old buildings. Quite old infact - the best preserved Roman Amphitheatre (which will host Lenny Kravitz tomorrow night, so I guess its in good condition). Also the Maison Carree, an old square temple which sat in the middle of the ancient Roman forum, and now has been converted into a 3D cinema. The film was pretty corny, but the structure itself it quite pretty. Finally, Nimes has the Tour Magne, a large tower overlooking the city, which offers some nice views, and also some steps to get up the top which is good, because I haven't seen enough of them lately.

That was all a half day - you didnt need more really. The following day, Nat and her friend Brad invitged me out for a paddle down the local river (the Herault), which made for some wonderful scenery. It was a bit overcast early but was nice and warm at the end of the day, which was just as well as we all got wet.

On my last day in town we headed down to the beach at Palavas, which was also very nice. It was good to scoff down some seafoood too. It was only at this stage that Natalie alerted me to the existence of the Cafe Gourmand (See it at No 2 here). We hunted aroind for one after lunch but failed to find one. Natalie's plan to leave me wanting more from France worked a treat!

She was a great host though. Thanks again Nat for your hospitality!

Bacrelona

So on Friday night I travelled to Barcelona, and while there I knocked off Las Ramblas, the Colom de Columbus (which has a lift inside it to take you to the top - I wonder if its original), the excellent Mercat de Boqueria (a market selling fresh food), Barceloneta where I got me an authentic paella (thats a whole other story), Camp Nou (FC Barcelona's stadium - its actually not so "Nou"), the olympic stadium (the cauldron is still there, but the place where the flaming arrow actually landed has long since regrown) and the waterfront.

And of course Gaudi. No trip to Barcelona is complete without paying homage to this fanatical mosaicist and eschewer of straight lines. His Parc Guell is magnificent, but never would have worked as a model city (take it from a town planner and SimCity nerd). And Sagrada Familia is magnificent, even if it is still under construction and has been since 1882. I waited in line for over an hour to go up the tower (and pay an extra 2 Euro). When I got there there was hardly room for us up there! Its wonderful but if you go, make sure you get there early.

I was also up there when when the clock struck 1pm, and suffered some very serious bell ringing as a result. But I looked up in the tower to the source of the noise, and it was speakers, not a real bell!

Finally, I should pay special attention to Casa Batllo, another Gaudi work. In particular I should pay attention to the worst audio guide I have ever had the misfortune to suffer through. Don't get me wrong, the building is amazing, beautiful, and has some imaginative design solutions, but the the audio guide says things like:

"We don't know exactly what the Great Master intended here, but he is a genius. It truly is the work of a genius."

This sort of reverse reasoning (he's a genius, so everything he does must be good) is exactly the reason I am often bewildered at how people are in awe of some architects.

Or

"From the Piano Noble you will almost certainly draw your own conclusions"

I'm sorry but you just can't do that to the English language.

Also, the price to get in, 16.50, was pretty steep given its a two hour visit at the absolute most. The Louvre is only 9 Euro.

And that's it

So after a small hiccup at Passport control this morning (where I was accused of looking for work - believe me, at 7.30am after being up for almost 5 hours I didn't look the part), I have left continental Europe for a while and am now in London! And I start my trip around the UK tomorrow.

Going Away Drinks

For those of you in London, set aside 22 July for going away drinks. Let's say it will be at the Lion, on West End Lane in West Hampstead. Its a Tuesday. Toughen up and get along.

Arrival Drinks

Arrival and birthday drinks will be on 2 August, details to be arranged. You should come. Most of Perth should be there.

I'm that popular.

OK, on that note I will say goodbye for a while. Apologies again for the lack of pictures. Still having dramas with my camera and iPod. There are about 3500 pics to download though, and so far only a few from France and Bern are on the net (Facebook).

Cheers, hope you are all well.

Rosco

Je ne prédire pas une émeute

It took about four attempts for me to get into the excellent military museum in Paris, Hotel Les Invalides. On one of those aborted visits, I was walking up from near Musee D'Orsay on the Seine, and noticed a lot of army personnel gathered at the front of the magnificent building, sitting on the grass beside their buses in groups, well dressed in their uniforms.

While they looked impressive, I moved on as it was already 12:30 and quite a late start for me. After a long walk from Montmartre, I sat on the small wall in front of the building and rested a bit. As I munched on an apple, I saw some people refused entry at the gates. There was nothing obviously wrong with the people - they looked like normal tourists. I kept looking and more were turned away. I realised there was a large police presence there, much larger than usual.

Three people were sitting near me on the wall, two ladies and a toddler. Past us (from the gate) two cops walked, carrying a barricade. One of them stayed at the barricade, blocking the path of pedestrians.

My curiosity that we'd been allowed to stay there was short-lived. The other cop approached the other three, about five metres from me, and spoke to them in French. We all had to move. He came to me but knew I'd heard, so I was already up and moving. I asked him in French why, and he mentioned that there was a military ceremony. It would be open again at 3pm. Too late for me to see everything I thought, so I decided to give up on it for the day, and walk around the corner to the Musee Rodin for an hour or so in the garden.

Still glowing to myself for doing so well with my French, I walked around the corner and saw a few more cops. There seems to be about 20 different types of police in Paris, but I remembered these from Pont de la Concorde, in front of Assemblee Nationale. They had shoulder padding and to myself I mockingly dubbed them RoboCops.

With all-too-shallow benefit of hindsight, I should have called them Kaiser Chiefs.

My mockery was to be short lived. As I turned he corner I saw a heap of them standing the width of Boulevarde des Invalides, with police vans behind them. They were protected here too - there was a row of them with shields and helmets, as well as a few behind the main line talking to each other. They must be there for the ceremony, I thought, and casually walked through them.

They let me pass through them along the sidewalk. It was only when I passed through that I realised why they were there in the first place.

On the other side of the barricade were a few angry chaps. My French was nowhere near good enough to tell you what they were angry about, but they had a ringleader, standing in front of about 80 men. He was yelling and screaming at the cops, and the crowd behind him had banners.

Their presence clearly made the cops nervous enough to call out the riot squad (i.e. RoboCops). That made me nervous.

I looked back. All of a sudden there was no exit along the sidewalk where I had entered. I looked toward Musee Rodin, which is accessed via a side street. The way was blocked, sidewalks and all. A couple of old ladies also in the middle of this asked to get through but were denied. They, like me, had become part of the riot without realising it. Having seen them fail, I knew I had no chance of getting through.

Then the riot really started. Flares were thrown by the mob, and smoke was coming from somewhere. I don't know what the old ladies were thinking but I was starting to get worried. I looked up to the third and last possible exit to the riot. It was to the south, near Napoleon's Tomb. It was similarly barricaded, with riot squad cops covering the width of the street, but the sidewalks weren't totally blocked off. I walked up towards them. It was only about 150 metres but it felt like miles. Even though I'd done nothing wrong, I felt guilty and terribly sheepish. I was wearing a black jumper and jeans, nothing that would betray me as not involved or connected with the riot, much less as a tourist.

I got closer. 100 metres. It seemed they hadn't seen me until now. They were on to me now though.

Sixty metres. I veered to the sidewalk. They moved also. Two guys with shields moved to block my exit. I was petrified.

Forty metres. They were in place and I was still moving towards them. I tried to look innocent but realised that's what anyone, guilty or innocent, would do.

Twenty metres. They said nothing but weren't going to let me pass. Like so many nightclub bouncers I have encountered, they didn't need to say anything to tell me "no entry." But I had no other option but to keep going.

I realised this probably wouldn't be covered by my travel insurance.

Ten metres. All of a sudden, something clicked. I went wide eyed, still walking towards them. Now only a couple of steps away, and looked directly at them. In English I innocently asked "Oh, am I unable to get through here?"

Without a word they let me through. I was so relieved I almost needed a colostomy bag.

Ten minutes earlier I was stoked to be able to scrape together a little French. But I have never been happier to be monolingual than when I walked through that barricade.

I found out later the rioters were striking Metro workers. Let them eat cake I say!

I do not know the fate of the old ladies.

Week 7 Update: Frugal Freiburg and Decadent Dam

Bish's Precis
- I have one week left on tour
- I forgot the precis last time. Sorry Bish. Suffice to say I went to Istanbul and Neuschwabstein castle in Fussen, which is in the Bavarian Alps. The former was incredibly good, the latter incredibly not.
- photos are up on Facebook from Paris and Bern. If youre not friends with me on there you should be. You can be by searching for this address (the profile pic is of a shoe)
- I will add links to photos for previous email when I get a chance, and send you links to the updated blog entries
- Freiberg: incredible hiking in the Black Forest, a beautiful city, I twisted my ankle very badly while on the hike and probably raised the dead
- Finding Black Forest cake is harder than you'd think
- Amsterdam: I don't smoke, so got through a lot in two days. Breakfast at Inner Amsterdam was amazing, so was the Anne Frank House and the Red Light District Tour
- Freiberg has heaps of interesting stuff for planners also
- Please send me tips for: Barcelona; and the Lake District, York, Bristol, Bath, and Cornwall in the UK

I am sending this while on a five hour stopover in Paris, en route to Montpellier.

Freiburg

When we last spoke I had just arrived in Freiburg.

Since then I spent a day hiking in the beautiful Black Forest. Just a day hike of about 6 hours, but the friendly staff at Black Forest Backpackers gave me some excellent tips on where I could go to get away from most of the tourists and traffic (to the extent that all pics taken on this day were self-portraits, a rarity). And to their credit they were spot on. I headed SE from the city, getting an excellent view of Freiburg and nearby Gunsterstall from the hills. I also climbed one of the larger hills in the area, Kibfelsen, which offered a lovely view. I came back to town via Kleiner Tal, Kappel and suburban Littenweiler. About 15kms in all.

It wasn't without drama though. About three and a half hours in, I twisted my ankle. The same one I did in Sorrento and Athens (that's three times in 17 days) but far worse. I hobbled for a bit but the one advantage of the quiet path I took was that the profanities I bellowed weren't heard by anyone I saw. But they would have put any local yodelers to shame. And raised the dead. But by the end of the hike I had walked it out and wasn't limping.

I had planned to do another days hiking the following day, but immediately realised it would now be difficult. So I decided to have a mini holiday-from-my-holiday: I satisfied myself with walking through the city, which really is lovely. It was market day in the main Munsterplatz, and I searched through the extensive selection of mobile fromageries and wurststands for some lunch (oooh, currywurst!). Still looking for something to do I wandered into the hills looking over the city and kept climbing until I reached the bottom of a new lookout over the city. Having come this far I climbed the 484 steps to the top for a beatuiful, peaceful (although somewhat sweaty) view of the city and forest.

The backpackers there was great, even if it didn't supply breakfast. At €13 per night you can't complain if you're frugal, although a fellow backpacker (an older bloke from New Jersey) had his camera and phone nicked from his bedside, so I guess you you can take being frugal and opportunistic too far.

The only negative thing I can say about Freiburg is that they have these open drains running along the side of the streets in the Old Town. The water is fine (kids etc are encourqged to play around in them), but the sound of running water constantly made me want to pee.

The afternoon before I was to leave I realised I hadnt had any of the local specialy, Black Forest cake! It took me an hour to find a place that sold it, which, frankly, is an outrage.

After realxing by a river in the late afternoon, I jumped on an overnight train to Amsterdam for a surprisingly pleasant ride. Infact, my recent rant about trains to Eagles Nest notwithstanding, DeutcheBahn is an excellent train company. Their website also is superb for planning travel all through Europe.

Amsterdam

Amsterdam I smashed through in two days. Not being a smoker, and therefore unconstrained by any pot-related lethargy, I managed to get through quite a lot - Anne Frank house (which is brilliant), the tongue-in-cheek (I hope) S*x Museum, Vogelspark, a general walking tour and an excellent walking tour of the Red Light District (both tours were run by New Europe). For the latter I chose a female guide which probably made it a bit better, but it was more than just t!tilation and gawking.

One image at the Anne Frank House was really breathtaking. In the annex where they hid, in the attic, there is a life-size picture of Otto Frank (the father and only one of the 8 that survived the war), standing, painfully alone, head slightly bowed, in the empty annex. It was really powerful and quite moving. This is the picture but the internet doesn't really do it justice.

Should also mention I stayed at the Inner Amsterdam Hostel, right near Vogelspark. It had the best brekky I have ever encountered in a backpackers, without question. More on that will follow...

And this morning I jumped on a train to Montpellier, to visit my 3rd (?) cousin Nat who is working there. Its also a great chance to get improve my French, although at this stage just eating Croque Monsieur would probably improve my French.

Been Spending Most My Time Livin' In a Planners Paradise

For those of you on the list that are planners (the rest of you have obviously just nodded off), Freiburg had some interestign stuff. Its a university town, has an excellent public tranport system, is surrounded by wonderful greenery, has a well preserved and very pedestrian friendly old town (moreso than most other Old Towns, which is saying something), qnd an excellent social scene that worked well in the Old Town - great small bars, beer stands on the street, people street drinking with beer in glass steins, mingling with trams and taxis and noone seeming to be bothered. Highlight though was the alternative energy. they way they have incorporated solar energy and wind power into building design there is really excellent. Its worth a closer look actually.

Amsterdam is well known as a bit of a planning utopia, but I was surprised with the bikes. The volume of them on the road/cycleways actually made it another barrier for pedestrians. Still, that is to be expected in the most densely populated city in Europe, if nowhere else.

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Anyways, the last chapter of my mainland Europe trip is about to start. In a week I will be in London, starting two weeks through the UK before jetting to Perth. Any hints you can offer on Barcelona would be great. In the UK any hints on the Lake District, York, Bristol, Bath, and Cornwall would be excellent also.

Hope you are all well. Not long now!

PS. I forgot to mention the thing that struck me most about Turkey last week. Without question it is their patriotism and love of the founder of their modern state, General Ataturk. Its still in the constitution that you cannot speak ill of him. Seeing the locals' admiration of him I wonder why such a clause is necessary. There are flags everywhere too.

Italian Street Vendors

Italy has a long and rich hitory, from ancient times, through the Roman Empire and the Renaissance, the tumultuous 20th Century, and today. And people from all over the world come tgo see the fruits of this rich and long history.

Strange then that the street vendors seem keen to turn all of the nation's icons into d!ck jokes: boxer shorts with massive doodles on them from the statue of David (also available in BBQ aprons), and the leaning tower of Pisa reduced to an impotence joke.

It shouldn't surprise me. Italy is a country that seems to insist on exuding masculinity and femininity from its citizens. Those not putting every effort into being a temple of their gender are very rare. Perhaps it follows that their rich history, including the epitome of the male form in David and the epitome of shoddy Italian construction in the Leaning Tower of Pisa, should be judged by these contemporary standards.

Still neither of them explain the t-shirt with the bad-fake Bart Simpson, trying in vain to right the Leaning Tower, pants down, @rse bear and f@rting for extra power (wish I got a photo).

Perhaps, in fact, street vendors are just complete @rseholes who don't give a toss about culture.

It's a tough call.

PS. This is my 69th blog posting.

Week 6 Update: Talking Turkey and Fussin' about Füssen

OK, so since we last talked I've continued my merry travels (and, in some cases, not-so-merry if you got my rant yesterday).

Last time I sent an update I was in Athens, having seen all I wanted in about six hours. Since then I have:

- spent one more day in Athens, mainly wandering around Plaka and exploring the place on foot rather than seeing anything, before hopping on board a bus for a 19 hour trip to Istanbul

- the night of my arrival Turkey beat Croatia on penalties to get into the semis for Euro 2008 - not surprisingly it was a large night and the atmosphere there was pretty amazing. Actually I'm pretty glad I've been travelling during this tournament

- visited Gallipoli, which was pretty special, although our guide had no voice from celebrating the night before

- Toured the Bosphorous, saw the Blue Mosque (thought of Durack), and visited the Aga Sophia which was a real highlight

- hit the Bazaars for some haggling and present shopping. To be honest I really enjoy haggling, and I don't think you can enjoy the bazaars without being able to enjoy it. I got all my presents here. That said, I was never going to buy a rug, and when they wouldnt give up selling me a rug, I started asking them if they had any edible rugs.

(they didnt get it)

- I also saw all sorts of wares in the Spice Market, including "Turkish V!agra" which was - I kid you not - dates stuffed with walnuts. Crammed, if you will. (I got a photo but I'm having trouble with my pics at the moment) One of the signs on the stack of "v!agra" said "Five times in one night." For the ladies, let me make this clear: this is not such a great achievement. I can manage that myself without dates or walnuts. Infact I can probably manage five times in about eight minutes.

- to finish the trip I had me a Turkish bath, which was bloody fantastic. It was two tubby, middle-aged, moustached and quite gruff Turkish men, wearing only towels (as I was), unable to speak English, manipulating and massaging me until it stopped hurting. I don't know what more I need to say to tempt you really

- Also while in Istambul I ate. Boy did I eat. Street food was fantastic (fresh corn on the cob €0.50, doner kebabs €0.40, fresh grilled fish sandwiches, mussels, roadside bars selling kofte with awesome relish and fresh corriander... I could go on).

- Overall, Istanbul was a massive highlight. A very busy city which I can best describe as half as crazy as India (which is crazy enough). I would definitely return! Infact I'd love to spend a month at least travelling around the whole country.

Then ... well you already have the story of the trip to Füssen. I got to Neuschanstein, the main reason to visit sleepy little Füssen, and it was €9 to get in, which gets you a compulsory 35 minute guided tour. And that's it. Oh, also youre nto allowed to take any photos inside the castle. Pretty rubbish really, and a disappointment given how beautiful the castle is, and how ornate and over the top the interiors are. I honestly wonder why Michael Jackson didnt just copy this for Neverland (it even has secret compartments, which I'm sure he'd use).

There are a heap of tourists in the town also - its really a very old crowd that comes here. As I've mentioned before its a good sign of how touristy a place is.

Last night I saw the Turks get booted out of Euro 2008 after a gallant 3-2 loss to the Krauts. I saw most of it but the weather at Basel was awful and actually cut transmission from the ground. The weather in Vienna was worse: they evacuated the fanzone. And it wasn't much better in Bavaria, where thunder and lightning and torrential rain accompanied the game. But it subsided after the game, so thankfully I went to sleep joined only by the sound of honking car horns.

Today I am in Freiburg, to hike the Black Forest. Its a university town, very pitcuresque, and the backpackers seems pretty good also. I'll probably have two day here, leaving on Sunday.

The last bits of my Eurodyssey are to Amsterdam, Montpellier and Barcelona. Again, any suggestions you can offer would be most appreciated!

Cheers, hope you're all well!

Rosco