There is an excellent reason why budget airlines carriers are budget and it’s not the uncomfortable seats with their vinyl upholstery. Not the expensive food and beverage service, the whopping amount charged for checked luggage or even the hideous uniforms worn by their crew. It’s actually their lousy record of getting their passengers to their destination.
Now if you boarded a flight in Weeze, on the Dutch border near Dusseldorf and your detsination was Pisa - the one with tower that’s falling over, where would you suppose your flight would take you.
I’m actually stuck I a traffic jam on a freeway somewhere between Rome and Pisa.
It’s now 7.30pm local time and we were supposed to arrive at our destination - Pisa - at 11.30 this morning.
What on earth, you must be asking, am I doing on a bus on a freeway somewhere out of Rome?
Not to name names, but let’s say it’s Bryan Air’s fault.
After the world’s fastest check in at Dusseldorf’s Weeze airport - an absolute fallacy on Ryan Air’s behalf as Weeze is actually closer to the Dutch border than it is to German’s Dusseldorf on the Rhein - and an encounter with the nicest English-speaking German to date at security we were through at the gate.
Two hours early, our best effort yet, a coffee and a croissant in hand, nothing could go wrong.
Boarding the flight scheduled for a 9.30am departure, Sam and I remarked that for an airline with such a bad reputation we had encountered nothing but nicety.
On board, we laughed at the cartoon figures on the emergency instructions card and wondered why anyone would colour an animated character with a green shirt, blue pants and yellow shoes.
Apart from a small child who kicked my seat the entire flight, it was a pleasant enough journey. Even cute at one point as the small boy across the aisle from us began to scream excitedly as the plane took off. It was his first time in a plane his father told us and it was more funny than annoying.
I suppose it was the turbulence as we approached Pisa airspace than should have warned us of what was to come. A few wobbles followed by a sudden drop and I swear there was a few inches of air between my bottom and the seat before gravity caught up with the motion of the plane.
Small children screamed and some adults even and while Sam and I remarked it was the worst we had ever felt we were still confident of a safe landing.
I could see dark clouds outside my window and shortly after the pilot announced we would circle Pisa for about 10 minutes while we waited for a storm to clear.
Ten minutes later and the clouds had begun to move on. Wrong. We had begun to move on. The pilot announced we were being diverted to Rome as the storm at Pisa looked to hang around for some hours.
Rome, probably another 40 minutes flight south and about four hours drive from where we wanted to be.
But what could you do? Sam and I weren’t terribly worried. An hour or so at Rome and then we’d be back in the air, back to Pisa with still some time in the afternoon to see the sights and check in to our pre-booked hostel.
On the tarmac at Rome, it become clear that a) people are stupid and don’t listen to announcements as poor passing flight crew were constantly barraged with questions about where we were and what we were doing and b) that as far as Ryan Air, oops, I mean Bryan Air, was concerned, a plane on the tarmac was not a plane making money.
Another announcement from the flight attendant, the pilot had obviously already choofed off, informed us that we could pick up our baggage at carousel four and that we would received further instructions. Buses were to take us to Pisa.
No worries, we’d get there a fair bit later than anticipated, but at least we would get there.
Off the plane and we found the carousel easily enough. A tedious 10-minute wait for our luggage to start the rounds of the terminal and we were out through customs and into the arrival hall.
Yep, in the arrival hall. Yep, all here. Waiting for instructions. Hello? Anybody?
Now as anybody knows, every mob needs a leader and no one apart from taxi drivers and shuttle bus drivers looking for business seemed the least bit interested in one hundred-odd lost people looking around frantically for someone to tell them what to do.
Sheep without a shepherd get lost and that was almost certainly what was going to happen very soon.
But what’s this? A lone warrior in a pink shirt and spiky hair decides he knows the way because he heard from someone - something. And when in Rome, do as the mob do. One hundred people started following this man in the pink shirt, not knowing where we were going. And so it seemed, neither did the man. After a long walk down the outside of the arrivals hall, into a car park and then next to a bus station, it almost seemed promising. Ryan Air had promised us a bus and there were buses here aplenty. But none knew anything about a group of stranded passengers bound for Pisa.
The mob was getting restless, our fearless leader was really a sheep in wolf’s clothing and had no idea what he was doing.
About a quarter of the group broke away, heading across the road to another bus terminal, but they too seemed lost for a leader and bound for nowhere.
The mob divided and patience was wearing thin in the 30-degree Roman heat. Many sought food and drink.
Stupidly, Sam and I did not, our faith in Ryan Air delivering on their promise of a bus showing we could be just as silly as the people who clapped when the plane landed. Yes, seriously. It was the second time on the trip that has happened. Hello people - do you not realise we aren’t even where we want to be?
Frustrated, hungry, tired but still not too worried, it was after about an hour and a half or waiting for some guidance that another man, a very tall man with legs up to my neck, approached the mobs and told them there were three buses waiting across the way.
Relieved, the mobs rejoined and found the said buses indeed waiting to take us to Pisa. Luggage stowed underneath and on board and minutes passed. While we could have been on our way, the drivers and passengers hung lazily around the doors of each bus, smoking and exchanging pleasantries.
Seriously, we have been diverted to a city 400km away, we are now three hours behind our scheduled arrival time in Pisa and you all want to get cancer for another 15 minutes.
I was turning into the cranky bus monster ready to shove those cigarettes down their throats until they choked.
It was after 3pm before the bus finally got under way. With four hours to drive I told Sam it was unlikely we wouldn’t stop at least once. In Europe bus drivers, and probably truckies as well, have to stop every two hours for a break.
And like I was the narrator in some wicked fairy tale, an hour and a half in, we stopped.
Pringles and Coke Zero wasn’t exactly how I was hoping to begin our Italian leg of Europe but OK. Whatever.
Back on the bus and we must have only got 10 minutes down the road and we stopped. Not at a service station or red light but bumper to bumper with traffic. A jam extended as far as the eye could see, like a sewer cutting through the Italian countryside.
As the Italians do, any occasion is a social occasion and soon people were out of their vehicles and chatting on the roadside, squatting behind trees and pissing off the roadway.
Forty-five minutes later and movement up ahead saw people scurrying to their vehicles.
Two minutes later and we were stopped again. There was no apparent cause for the hold up, no flashing lights in the distance of emergency vehicles and none had come screaming down the freeway on the other side of the road which was passing us like marathon runners in a park on a Sunday afternoon.
Stopped with no phone to call our hostel, no internet connection, somewhere between Rome and Pisa.
It was 7pm before we got under way.
We were still hours from our destination and we had no idea whether our hostel would hold our booking given we hadn’t been able to call or email. We had told them we would be there at 2pm.
But it wasn’t over yet. Because we had been stuck in the traffic jam for so long, another stop was in order for the drivers so another service station beckoned. It was actually from here that Sam and I saw our first really nice sunset since we have been here, actually being almost clear skies where we were and so close to the ocean. Pity the view wasn’t so romantic from a bus we had now been on for four hours.
Finally, at 10pm, we arrived in Pisa at the airport. Having no idea whether our reservation had been given away we thought it best to call before we got a taxi to our hostel.
We rang once from a payphone and got a voicemail message in Italian. So helpful. Deciding it was a lost cause we found an information desk and got some numbers of nearby hotels. Back to the payphone to ring the first one on the list that sounded cheap and decided to give our hostel another go, given the number on the new list was different to the one we called.
Voila! An answer and the guy spoke English, an ex-pat from somewhere. Yes, they had given our room away and had been trying to call us all afternoon. What number had we given them? Ooops, Anne-Marie’s thinking they would never need to call it.
So anyway, they had given our room away but, lucky for us, another couple hadn’t showed either so we got the last double room with ensuite.
Given that we hadn’t seen any of Pisa and were intended to head for Florence the next day, as we did have accommodation bookings there as well, we decided we really wanted to spend time in this city so we asked if we could also stay another night. Our luck had finally changed. Yes they had another night for 45 euro. A quick signature on the line, a photocopied passport and we were given our key. Top floor. Of course it was, it had been mere days since we had climbed four flights of stairs.
Now this place is one star and we had no idea what to expect. It is a new listing on Hostel Bookers and didn’t have any reviews bar one good one.
We opened the door and it was nice, simple but with a tv, double bed, wardrobe and then, the bathroom. Wow! For a one star bathroom, it was near nicer than ours at home and with a bidet! And, more excitedly, hot water!!!! Yes, hot water and towels and it was ours, all ours!
I have never been so excited by a hostel. It even came with free wifi. So in the morning we are off to see the sights, we’ll get some net access and we’ll hopefully update our blog.
- Alysia (August 5)
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Off to beer land
Once again, we left our run for the bus to Dusseldorf a bit late. This has become a nasty habit of ours, not leaving ourselves enough time to make the next transport. We left Animesh’s with seemingly enough time. It would have been quicker if we had declined breakfast but we were glad of the food in our bellies. A brisk walk to the tram stop down the road and it came along soon enough. Trams on each line come along about every 15 minutes or so, give or take. We had to change trams a few stops along to get to Amstral Station, a major train station that also had a bus terminal beside it. Getting the right tram line to change to took a few guesses before we got it right. We still hadn’t got the hang of vehicles travelling on the other side of the road to Australia and to boot the tram lines both run in the middle of the road. So while we eventually figured it out, time was ticking away and we needed the next tram to come along within the next 10 minutes if we had any hope of making our bus to Dusseldorf on time.
Minutes ticked by and Sam and I were both getting anxious and snappy. We began to check passing cars for taxis, deciding that if the tram wasn’t there in the next two minutes we would have to get one.
Thankfully, as we said it, the tram came around the bend and while it was packed and standing room only, we managed to squeeze on. It was a long and uncomfortable ride, not least because we had no idea how long it would take for us to get to our destination and whether we would make our bus in time.
More stops, more people embarked and disembarked and Sam was looking at his watch every few seconds.
Finally, with about five minutes to spare, we arrived at the tram stop at the train station. Now what? Where the hell were all the buses? We followed the crowd into the terminal because it seemed like the wisest course of action. It was pure luck that as we moved through the terminal we spied through a side entrance the Eurolines terminal. A quick change of direction and we sped toward the check in office as fast as our 20kg packs would allow us to go.
We had no idea whether our bus was still there or not as the waiting buses didn’t have any signs on them to indicate their destination.
We checked in and were relieved to learn the bus was still there and not in any great hurry to leave.
Out of the office and across the lot, we stowed our luggage underneath and boarded the bus. It was relatively empty and someone was already snoring laying across the next to back seat.
As buses go, it was fine, but both Sam and I were still on edge after another close call that could have seen us miss our second bus this trip.
“Let’s not do that again,” Sam said. “I thought I was going to be sick I was so anxious.”
So, having agreed we would definitely get up earlier in future - because 6am isn’t early enough to get a 8.45 bus, we settled into our journey.
The bus pulled away from the terminal and we were off to Germany.
Unfortunately what should have been a two and a half hour trip from Amsterdam to Dusseldorf actually took us about four hours because the bus stopped in various places along the way. At each one, we would wait about 15 minutes for new passengers to board.
It was at this time, two children sitting behind us, who had been quiet until now, decided playing with their new favourite toy would be a fun thing to do for the next two hours. It so happened it was a noisy toy that you pressed to make some sort of WWF grrr sound. After about 10 minutes I was ready to shove this toy up this kid’s nose. It. Was. Annoying. As. Buggery. And the parents, she-man as the mum was, did nothing.
So, by the time we arrived in Dusseldorf we were well and truly over kids and ready to meet Anne-Marie. The question was would she be there and would we know who she was.
But it seemed two lost Aussies weighed down by giant packs are easily recognised by other Aussies, even if Anne-Marie is more French than Aussie now.
We met like old friends and she explained that she had borrowed a car to pick us up as hers has only two seats.
She had to go straight back to work but she had keys for us to her apartment, we were welcome to use her car while we were here and to make ourselves at home. We were overwhelmed by this stranger’s generosity - even if Kate and Hugues do get married (lol) she will be like family.
We dumped our bags, had a quick freshen up, then armed with a map provided by Anne-Marie went in search of the old town or Alt Stadt.
We found it easily enough and grab a quick bite to eat (I am in love with shoko croissants) and had a wander around the tourist centre. The Alt Stadt is right on the Rhein and a haven for beer drinkers. Dusseldorf is stuffed full of breweries that brew one beer exclusively. There was also plenty of eateries, bars and cafes.
Before long it was time to head back and meet Anne-Marie. With no idea what was in store, Anne-Marie said we would end back into the old town and try and some real German beer and food. Now, not being a beer drinker, I didn’t know how I was going to go with this beer business. But it seemed once we got there I didn’t have much choice. At these breweries they sell only one type of beer and that’s there’s and when you order, you order a beer and everyone gets the same. There were dozens of locals standing outside enjoying a glass or several brought out by grumpy old men who looked to have been in the job since birth. The beers are put on the table or bar and a stroke for each is marked on a coaster. As more beers are ordered, more marks are made. This is your tab. A stroke for each beer and when you’re ready to move on, you call over a grumpy old man and pay on the spot. It was a great system but I can see it would be easy to over drink your budget.
After one drink we needed to find Anne-Marie some food and set off in search of a typical German snack - and forgive the spelling but we think it was schwine brotchen - grilled pork in a small bun. It was delicious and fast and full of grease. Pork, we were to learn and in fact all meat, was a German staple.
Another beer washed down the food and it was on to the next brewery to try yet another beer. Beer in Dusseldorf is alt beir, or old beer. Ask for a white beer in Dusseldorf and you will get a funny look and probably told to piss off.
As we went along, the beer was to me becoming better but maybe that was my palate adjusting. Having had enough of beer it was time for a cocktail at Mai Tai, Anne-Marie’s favourite cocktail bar that made almost everything with real fruit. They were huge and delicious and we all found one we liked. We sat back and enjoyed watching the flow of people as they walked by and talked all things German, French and Australian.
After every last drop of Strawberry Colada was gone we headed to yet another brewery and another beer. By this time Sam and I were in need of some serious sustenance and tried to order some very German food known as Heaven and Earth but they were out. We settled for schnitzel instead, even though it’s actually Austrian.
With food in our bellies and beer there was one last stop before heading back to Anne-Marie’s - a shot of Killepitsch (or kill the bitch as AM calls it). It’s a liquor somewhat like Jagermeister and just as potent. It’s made exclusively in Dusseldorf and you can’t get it anywhere else. We ordered it out of a bar closing for the night (it was close to 1am) out of a hole in the wall and without too much ceremony downed the shots. It burns on the way down but has a somewhat pleasant aftertaste.
After that it was just a 15-minute walk home and we were well and truly ready for bed after our long day.
Alysia (August 2)
We woke late the next day having enjoyed the peace and quiet. Alysia was keen to get out and explore but the previous day had tested me - I wanted more order in what we were doing. So we stayed in all day to plan the next leg. This could be a mistake or it could be a masterstroke.
Searching online we could not find a single cheap train fare along the western border into Switzerland, like I had a month before. And more troubling, any train ride would require several changes - and connections were something we had grown to loathe. We didn’t have anywhere in Switzerland to stay either. The hours flew by. Then we found a comparatively cheap flight from “Dusseldorf” to Pisa and cheaper than all those connecting trains. “You beauty! We’ll have that”. It even made sense, cutting out a lot of Italy that we weren’t keen on and saving us some back tracking. We even found accommodation in Pisa before making the leap - and Florence. The tide was turning and I was not at all upset we had spent all day planning this.
We left the unit for the river, with Anne-Marie’s spare mobile, for a drink. The plan being to meet up with her after work. We drank beer and felt good. But somehow the phone had been on silent and it was only by chance I noticed the missed calls. Poor AM had been back home ironing wondering where we were.
We met up soon after and went straight for dinner at one of the breweries from the night before. None of us could decide but we settled on what was in essence a test to see how much we could eat - we had no idea and AM missed it somehow too. We were all shocked when we received a platter of two “exploded” pork shoulders (one grilled one baked) along with sausage, white sausage, pork fillet, sauerkraut, fried potato and mashed potato. The jolly German delivered the platter with a rousing cautionary that went over my head. Evidently he said I was obviously keen to look after my women and would ensure they ‘ate up’. The girls soon had their fill but I battled on through the field of meat. No sauce. Just meat. And sauerkraut. I found the mustard-like condiment too late. All the while our waiter kept ordering us more beers and “sharing” more German words with me while I just nodded and smiled. Alysia did nothing to help break the cycle throwing in the occasional “ja” to his pleasure. I spread the leftovers out to make it look like we’d done better. AM, feeling bad, asked him for a doggie bag. He even insisted on giving us more sauerkraut to take home, to Alysia’s dismay. “It’s the dirtiest stuff ever,” she reckons.
The cocktails beckoned the women, something sweet to cut through all the meat, with the bar from the night before situated just around the corner. Liking what AM had last night Alysia ordered the same while I had something with several shots (rum one of them) and pineapple juice. After a big one the night before, we grabbed an early sort of night and a taxi home.
Sam (August 3)
Our last day in Dusseldorf. Germany in fact. So we went to Cologne to see the tallest cathedral in the world - OK, Germany to be precise at 157 metres. After the trek to the train station that is. And after we navigated the ticket machine. Oh and had our ticket validated by an orange box that stamps the date on it. But true to form the German train was right on time, maybe only a minute late. Quite impressive when they run so frequently.
True to what I had read the gothic cathedral was right on the steps of the train station in Cologne. Or Koln as the Germans write/say it. So we marched right up the stairs and into the cathedral. And came back out again. We’d struck the daily service and would have to come back later. So we took some photos from the outside. Only problem is the thing is so tall you have to shoot with a wide setting and then of course the thing looks like it’s falling over backwards. The only thing more troubling was the local boys dressing and gesturing like they were gangsters in an US music clip.
Like Dusseldorf, Koln has its alt (old) town. Wending our way through its streets we found the really wide and fast-flowing River Rhein. And on it numerous cruise boats. It was at this point we felt pretty frustrated that we were not going on to Mainz, further south, to jump on such a vessel to explore its wine country and castles - the main reason I wanted to pass through Germany in the first place. If only we had a car and a valid licence. Alas, on we walked, away from the river and up the hill. I’m glad we did because we managed to stumble on an excavation of some Roman ruins. This was not a tourist thing but we watched a little while. Hoisting each bucket of soil up out of the ground and running it through a sieve. Part of the excavation was even sealed off from the elements, under a marquee of sorts. Within it the maze of a Roman basement.
But other than this we felt there was little to do. We tracked down a Turkish kebab shop and ordered some currywurst - spicy curry-based sauce on sausage, seeing as I was denied the night before. It was OK, more sweet than hot. Then I had to grab one of Koln’s pilsners as AM had insisted and when it comes to beer I’m not going to argue. But the waitress was. Alysia didn’t want anything but unless she ordered, she’d be booted out of this alfresco dining area. So she had a beer too. This single gesture really pushed us. We weren’t feeling the love, you could say, and decided we were glad to be leaving Germany. It’s a shame really because I’ve met lovely Germans in the past. It was quite troubling. And I could understand more fully what Mark, our Brussels host, had said about how he rates holiday destinations. People were the key he said. Maybe the people we had come across were simply jaded by the huge number of dumb tourists, just like us, who speak virtually none of the language. I was almost ready to declare we would not go anywhere else unless we spoke the language. Apparently many Germans speak English but loathe to do it, like it’s an insult to their heritage.
We had to check in for our flight the next morning online so we found an internet café and got to work. Luckily it went without a drama and we could head back to the cathedral and take our time. To be safe we bought a couple of one euro ponchos as the rain had set in and skied our way across the granite courtyard back to the cathedral. It was quite tall inside too with the most impressive stained glass windows we had seen yet. Remarkably, the cathedral escaped significant damage during WWII even though the allied forces used the church as a navigational point when flying, so big it was. Or still is. With an equally big footprint at 12,470 square metres. Another interesting tid bit: it was started in 1248 but not completed until 1880. It also has a shrine behind the altar to the three magi, reputed to hold the remains of the three wise men, shifted from Milan in the 12th century. Which we wished we had known at the time.
And our time was up, so we skidded back to the train station, me laughing and cursing Alysia’s thongs at the same time. Back on the train it was Alysia’s turn to sleep this leg after I managed to touch base with AM. We were going to decline dinner as we would have to get an airport transfer bus at 3.30am, so far out of town was the “Dusseldorf” airport. We didn’t want to impose on AM anymore, so much she had already done for us. And that was that I thought. But she insisted she would drop us at the airport, leaving her place at 6.30am. She would not take ’no’ and by the time we had drawn into Dusseldorf, had arranged a loan of a work car to complete the deed.
We hadn’t long been back at AM’s, about a half our walk from the station, when the bell rang - she was here to take us to dinner in the black Audi A3 diesel. “This one can only do 220km/h on the autobahn,” she informed us, well, me really. And yet I managed to decline another invitation to drive her Audi TT on the autobahn.
We were having drinks for one of AM’s colleagues, an American on summer vacation from uni. His dad worked for the company in the US. The location was the old Dusseldorf train station which was converted to a bar some time ago. Out of the cellar staff were winching small keg after small keg of the same beer, the one brewed on site, giving some indication of how much patrons were enjoying it. And cigarettes too. We thought AM was the chain-smoking exception. Evidently, Dusseldorf is the last bastion of smoking in Germany. The place was thick with the stuff. Worse than in Amsterdam. If you didn’t smoke, that was your bad luck.
Sam (August 4)
Minutes ticked by and Sam and I were both getting anxious and snappy. We began to check passing cars for taxis, deciding that if the tram wasn’t there in the next two minutes we would have to get one.
Thankfully, as we said it, the tram came around the bend and while it was packed and standing room only, we managed to squeeze on. It was a long and uncomfortable ride, not least because we had no idea how long it would take for us to get to our destination and whether we would make our bus in time.
More stops, more people embarked and disembarked and Sam was looking at his watch every few seconds.
Finally, with about five minutes to spare, we arrived at the tram stop at the train station. Now what? Where the hell were all the buses? We followed the crowd into the terminal because it seemed like the wisest course of action. It was pure luck that as we moved through the terminal we spied through a side entrance the Eurolines terminal. A quick change of direction and we sped toward the check in office as fast as our 20kg packs would allow us to go.
We had no idea whether our bus was still there or not as the waiting buses didn’t have any signs on them to indicate their destination.
We checked in and were relieved to learn the bus was still there and not in any great hurry to leave.
Out of the office and across the lot, we stowed our luggage underneath and boarded the bus. It was relatively empty and someone was already snoring laying across the next to back seat.
As buses go, it was fine, but both Sam and I were still on edge after another close call that could have seen us miss our second bus this trip.
“Let’s not do that again,” Sam said. “I thought I was going to be sick I was so anxious.”
So, having agreed we would definitely get up earlier in future - because 6am isn’t early enough to get a 8.45 bus, we settled into our journey.
The bus pulled away from the terminal and we were off to Germany.
Unfortunately what should have been a two and a half hour trip from Amsterdam to Dusseldorf actually took us about four hours because the bus stopped in various places along the way. At each one, we would wait about 15 minutes for new passengers to board.
It was at this time, two children sitting behind us, who had been quiet until now, decided playing with their new favourite toy would be a fun thing to do for the next two hours. It so happened it was a noisy toy that you pressed to make some sort of WWF grrr sound. After about 10 minutes I was ready to shove this toy up this kid’s nose. It. Was. Annoying. As. Buggery. And the parents, she-man as the mum was, did nothing.
So, by the time we arrived in Dusseldorf we were well and truly over kids and ready to meet Anne-Marie. The question was would she be there and would we know who she was.
But it seemed two lost Aussies weighed down by giant packs are easily recognised by other Aussies, even if Anne-Marie is more French than Aussie now.
We met like old friends and she explained that she had borrowed a car to pick us up as hers has only two seats.
She had to go straight back to work but she had keys for us to her apartment, we were welcome to use her car while we were here and to make ourselves at home. We were overwhelmed by this stranger’s generosity - even if Kate and Hugues do get married (lol) she will be like family.
We dumped our bags, had a quick freshen up, then armed with a map provided by Anne-Marie went in search of the old town or Alt Stadt.
We found it easily enough and grab a quick bite to eat (I am in love with shoko croissants) and had a wander around the tourist centre. The Alt Stadt is right on the Rhein and a haven for beer drinkers. Dusseldorf is stuffed full of breweries that brew one beer exclusively. There was also plenty of eateries, bars and cafes.
Before long it was time to head back and meet Anne-Marie. With no idea what was in store, Anne-Marie said we would end back into the old town and try and some real German beer and food. Now, not being a beer drinker, I didn’t know how I was going to go with this beer business. But it seemed once we got there I didn’t have much choice. At these breweries they sell only one type of beer and that’s there’s and when you order, you order a beer and everyone gets the same. There were dozens of locals standing outside enjoying a glass or several brought out by grumpy old men who looked to have been in the job since birth. The beers are put on the table or bar and a stroke for each is marked on a coaster. As more beers are ordered, more marks are made. This is your tab. A stroke for each beer and when you’re ready to move on, you call over a grumpy old man and pay on the spot. It was a great system but I can see it would be easy to over drink your budget.
After one drink we needed to find Anne-Marie some food and set off in search of a typical German snack - and forgive the spelling but we think it was schwine brotchen - grilled pork in a small bun. It was delicious and fast and full of grease. Pork, we were to learn and in fact all meat, was a German staple.
Another beer washed down the food and it was on to the next brewery to try yet another beer. Beer in Dusseldorf is alt beir, or old beer. Ask for a white beer in Dusseldorf and you will get a funny look and probably told to piss off.
As we went along, the beer was to me becoming better but maybe that was my palate adjusting. Having had enough of beer it was time for a cocktail at Mai Tai, Anne-Marie’s favourite cocktail bar that made almost everything with real fruit. They were huge and delicious and we all found one we liked. We sat back and enjoyed watching the flow of people as they walked by and talked all things German, French and Australian.
After every last drop of Strawberry Colada was gone we headed to yet another brewery and another beer. By this time Sam and I were in need of some serious sustenance and tried to order some very German food known as Heaven and Earth but they were out. We settled for schnitzel instead, even though it’s actually Austrian.
With food in our bellies and beer there was one last stop before heading back to Anne-Marie’s - a shot of Killepitsch (or kill the bitch as AM calls it). It’s a liquor somewhat like Jagermeister and just as potent. It’s made exclusively in Dusseldorf and you can’t get it anywhere else. We ordered it out of a bar closing for the night (it was close to 1am) out of a hole in the wall and without too much ceremony downed the shots. It burns on the way down but has a somewhat pleasant aftertaste.
After that it was just a 15-minute walk home and we were well and truly ready for bed after our long day.
Alysia (August 2)
We woke late the next day having enjoyed the peace and quiet. Alysia was keen to get out and explore but the previous day had tested me - I wanted more order in what we were doing. So we stayed in all day to plan the next leg. This could be a mistake or it could be a masterstroke.
Searching online we could not find a single cheap train fare along the western border into Switzerland, like I had a month before. And more troubling, any train ride would require several changes - and connections were something we had grown to loathe. We didn’t have anywhere in Switzerland to stay either. The hours flew by. Then we found a comparatively cheap flight from “Dusseldorf” to Pisa and cheaper than all those connecting trains. “You beauty! We’ll have that”. It even made sense, cutting out a lot of Italy that we weren’t keen on and saving us some back tracking. We even found accommodation in Pisa before making the leap - and Florence. The tide was turning and I was not at all upset we had spent all day planning this.
We left the unit for the river, with Anne-Marie’s spare mobile, for a drink. The plan being to meet up with her after work. We drank beer and felt good. But somehow the phone had been on silent and it was only by chance I noticed the missed calls. Poor AM had been back home ironing wondering where we were.
We met up soon after and went straight for dinner at one of the breweries from the night before. None of us could decide but we settled on what was in essence a test to see how much we could eat - we had no idea and AM missed it somehow too. We were all shocked when we received a platter of two “exploded” pork shoulders (one grilled one baked) along with sausage, white sausage, pork fillet, sauerkraut, fried potato and mashed potato. The jolly German delivered the platter with a rousing cautionary that went over my head. Evidently he said I was obviously keen to look after my women and would ensure they ‘ate up’. The girls soon had their fill but I battled on through the field of meat. No sauce. Just meat. And sauerkraut. I found the mustard-like condiment too late. All the while our waiter kept ordering us more beers and “sharing” more German words with me while I just nodded and smiled. Alysia did nothing to help break the cycle throwing in the occasional “ja” to his pleasure. I spread the leftovers out to make it look like we’d done better. AM, feeling bad, asked him for a doggie bag. He even insisted on giving us more sauerkraut to take home, to Alysia’s dismay. “It’s the dirtiest stuff ever,” she reckons.
The cocktails beckoned the women, something sweet to cut through all the meat, with the bar from the night before situated just around the corner. Liking what AM had last night Alysia ordered the same while I had something with several shots (rum one of them) and pineapple juice. After a big one the night before, we grabbed an early sort of night and a taxi home.
Sam (August 3)
Our last day in Dusseldorf. Germany in fact. So we went to Cologne to see the tallest cathedral in the world - OK, Germany to be precise at 157 metres. After the trek to the train station that is. And after we navigated the ticket machine. Oh and had our ticket validated by an orange box that stamps the date on it. But true to form the German train was right on time, maybe only a minute late. Quite impressive when they run so frequently.
True to what I had read the gothic cathedral was right on the steps of the train station in Cologne. Or Koln as the Germans write/say it. So we marched right up the stairs and into the cathedral. And came back out again. We’d struck the daily service and would have to come back later. So we took some photos from the outside. Only problem is the thing is so tall you have to shoot with a wide setting and then of course the thing looks like it’s falling over backwards. The only thing more troubling was the local boys dressing and gesturing like they were gangsters in an US music clip.
Like Dusseldorf, Koln has its alt (old) town. Wending our way through its streets we found the really wide and fast-flowing River Rhein. And on it numerous cruise boats. It was at this point we felt pretty frustrated that we were not going on to Mainz, further south, to jump on such a vessel to explore its wine country and castles - the main reason I wanted to pass through Germany in the first place. If only we had a car and a valid licence. Alas, on we walked, away from the river and up the hill. I’m glad we did because we managed to stumble on an excavation of some Roman ruins. This was not a tourist thing but we watched a little while. Hoisting each bucket of soil up out of the ground and running it through a sieve. Part of the excavation was even sealed off from the elements, under a marquee of sorts. Within it the maze of a Roman basement.
But other than this we felt there was little to do. We tracked down a Turkish kebab shop and ordered some currywurst - spicy curry-based sauce on sausage, seeing as I was denied the night before. It was OK, more sweet than hot. Then I had to grab one of Koln’s pilsners as AM had insisted and when it comes to beer I’m not going to argue. But the waitress was. Alysia didn’t want anything but unless she ordered, she’d be booted out of this alfresco dining area. So she had a beer too. This single gesture really pushed us. We weren’t feeling the love, you could say, and decided we were glad to be leaving Germany. It’s a shame really because I’ve met lovely Germans in the past. It was quite troubling. And I could understand more fully what Mark, our Brussels host, had said about how he rates holiday destinations. People were the key he said. Maybe the people we had come across were simply jaded by the huge number of dumb tourists, just like us, who speak virtually none of the language. I was almost ready to declare we would not go anywhere else unless we spoke the language. Apparently many Germans speak English but loathe to do it, like it’s an insult to their heritage.
We had to check in for our flight the next morning online so we found an internet café and got to work. Luckily it went without a drama and we could head back to the cathedral and take our time. To be safe we bought a couple of one euro ponchos as the rain had set in and skied our way across the granite courtyard back to the cathedral. It was quite tall inside too with the most impressive stained glass windows we had seen yet. Remarkably, the cathedral escaped significant damage during WWII even though the allied forces used the church as a navigational point when flying, so big it was. Or still is. With an equally big footprint at 12,470 square metres. Another interesting tid bit: it was started in 1248 but not completed until 1880. It also has a shrine behind the altar to the three magi, reputed to hold the remains of the three wise men, shifted from Milan in the 12th century. Which we wished we had known at the time.
And our time was up, so we skidded back to the train station, me laughing and cursing Alysia’s thongs at the same time. Back on the train it was Alysia’s turn to sleep this leg after I managed to touch base with AM. We were going to decline dinner as we would have to get an airport transfer bus at 3.30am, so far out of town was the “Dusseldorf” airport. We didn’t want to impose on AM anymore, so much she had already done for us. And that was that I thought. But she insisted she would drop us at the airport, leaving her place at 6.30am. She would not take ’no’ and by the time we had drawn into Dusseldorf, had arranged a loan of a work car to complete the deed.
We hadn’t long been back at AM’s, about a half our walk from the station, when the bell rang - she was here to take us to dinner in the black Audi A3 diesel. “This one can only do 220km/h on the autobahn,” she informed us, well, me really. And yet I managed to decline another invitation to drive her Audi TT on the autobahn.
We were having drinks for one of AM’s colleagues, an American on summer vacation from uni. His dad worked for the company in the US. The location was the old Dusseldorf train station which was converted to a bar some time ago. Out of the cellar staff were winching small keg after small keg of the same beer, the one brewed on site, giving some indication of how much patrons were enjoying it. And cigarettes too. We thought AM was the chain-smoking exception. Evidently, Dusseldorf is the last bastion of smoking in Germany. The place was thick with the stuff. Worse than in Amsterdam. If you didn’t smoke, that was your bad luck.
Sam (August 4)
Last day in Amsterdam
Barely a few hours into our slumber the metallic strains of music in a tin box - a mobile phones ringing - stirred us and a few moments later Mika stumbled out of the room looking as well as I felt. Mark was coming around shortly so we all struggled into action with a coffee. It turns out Mark had delayed waking us a few hours but had run out of distractions. We were just thankful he wasn’t there at 9am. At least we were half coherent when he did arrive. We managed to fill him in on some of our Amsterdam adventures before grabbing a shower, a ritual we have maintained. Besides it gave Mark and Mika the chance to discuss their lease agreement.
After a couple of our own phone calls we reached Animesh and arranged to meet him 4pm after his lunch meeting - Sunday’s proving no barrier to this Indian business man. He wanted us to grab dinner at another CS meeting for dinner this time at someone’s house. Although over subscribed we requested to join wanting to be good guests for our new host. Mark and Mika helped me with the directions before we bid them both farewell, thanking them profusely for their generosity.
Alysia’s trust in my navigation skills or lack there of disintegrated once off the tram - I only hesitated for a second to get my bearings which was enough to spike her fear we were lost. Luckily finding the house was not too much of a drama and our host quickly welcomed us. Watered and changed we set our for dinner. On the way we stopped in the Dam to chat a bit over Alysia’s wine while us boys had coffee.
- Sam (August 1 not complete)
After a couple of our own phone calls we reached Animesh and arranged to meet him 4pm after his lunch meeting - Sunday’s proving no barrier to this Indian business man. He wanted us to grab dinner at another CS meeting for dinner this time at someone’s house. Although over subscribed we requested to join wanting to be good guests for our new host. Mark and Mika helped me with the directions before we bid them both farewell, thanking them profusely for their generosity.
Alysia’s trust in my navigation skills or lack there of disintegrated once off the tram - I only hesitated for a second to get my bearings which was enough to spike her fear we were lost. Luckily finding the house was not too much of a drama and our host quickly welcomed us. Watered and changed we set our for dinner. On the way we stopped in the Dam to chat a bit over Alysia’s wine while us boys had coffee.
- Sam (August 1 not complete)
Amsterdam day three
Both tired we rose after midday but it seemed I was the only one hung over. We drank some coffee and Mika was soon out the door. As part of his deal with his old landlady he’d agreed to paint his old apartment, well some of it at least. We dawdled a bit but eventually hit the pavement toward the tram. We had heard a bit about these canal houses and Mika had invited us to check out the one in which he’d lived in for the past year. The thing you should know about canal houses is they’re uniformly narrow. Only the super rich built them with a frontage of more than three metres - only they could afford the extra tax. This former house had been converted to two dwellings with the Dutch lady living on the ground floor. But then, in the old days it was not uncommon for three families to be living in one house - one per floor. The top floor, which was Mika’s, consisted of two zones: A kitchen-dining room and a sleep-in lounge room. The only luxury was a tiny balcony overlooking the canal. Cramped for one person let alone a family. Curiously, the bathroom had two swinging doors side by side. Through one you climbed into the bath tub to shower. Through the other end you accessed the toilet directly at the foot of the bath. This “room” consisted of nothing more than the tub and toilet - no easements at all.
Growling stomachs determined it was dinner time so we went back to the apartment and we cooked Mika a casserole having cleaned the kitchen a little. It was a nice, large space to cook in and the view was inspirational. Dinner went down rather well too. For Mika it reminded him of a trip with his father, a sailor, as a young boy - quite Scandinavian he said.
Back onto the town we hit our first CS meeting which had spilled onto the footpath. It was a bit daunting at first but we eased our way into it chatting with a few different people. My mispronunciation of one name ended one conversation rather quickly despite my remarks about Australian’s and their inflexible tongues. Later we worked out he was one of only three that were interested in hosting someone after the meeting. Luckily we met Animesh. Under no pretences we got talking about who knows what - this was after a few drinks - before discovering he was open to hosting. What I can recall from that first conversation was that he had been working in Texas for and oil and gas company, this being his trade. With some guilt he moved to Amsterdam to work on renewable energy. On that topic we grabbed some food on our way to the next pub at what’s literally a hole in the wall. The entire shop consists of little plastic windows which open once the correct change is inserted. Mostly it was fried treats, which we had learned from Mika, was very Dutch. All the while people scurry around refreshing the windows with more food from the other side of the wall. The next pub proved a lot better for live music than the night before and Animesh shared our like of bad 90s rock. In the blur that was getting home he’d changed his mind from us sending a request in the morning to him sending us his address whilst exchanging his mobile number for Mika’s.
The trip back to Mika’s didn’t take long thankfully as it was 6am and we were all keen for some food with last night’s leftovers going down well. By about 7 the sun was well up but I was crashing hard and Alysia, who crawled into bed a few moments before, barely stirred.
- Sam July 31
Growling stomachs determined it was dinner time so we went back to the apartment and we cooked Mika a casserole having cleaned the kitchen a little. It was a nice, large space to cook in and the view was inspirational. Dinner went down rather well too. For Mika it reminded him of a trip with his father, a sailor, as a young boy - quite Scandinavian he said.
Back onto the town we hit our first CS meeting which had spilled onto the footpath. It was a bit daunting at first but we eased our way into it chatting with a few different people. My mispronunciation of one name ended one conversation rather quickly despite my remarks about Australian’s and their inflexible tongues. Later we worked out he was one of only three that were interested in hosting someone after the meeting. Luckily we met Animesh. Under no pretences we got talking about who knows what - this was after a few drinks - before discovering he was open to hosting. What I can recall from that first conversation was that he had been working in Texas for and oil and gas company, this being his trade. With some guilt he moved to Amsterdam to work on renewable energy. On that topic we grabbed some food on our way to the next pub at what’s literally a hole in the wall. The entire shop consists of little plastic windows which open once the correct change is inserted. Mostly it was fried treats, which we had learned from Mika, was very Dutch. All the while people scurry around refreshing the windows with more food from the other side of the wall. The next pub proved a lot better for live music than the night before and Animesh shared our like of bad 90s rock. In the blur that was getting home he’d changed his mind from us sending a request in the morning to him sending us his address whilst exchanging his mobile number for Mika’s.
The trip back to Mika’s didn’t take long thankfully as it was 6am and we were all keen for some food with last night’s leftovers going down well. By about 7 the sun was well up but I was crashing hard and Alysia, who crawled into bed a few moments before, barely stirred.
- Sam July 31
Amsterdam day two
To kick off our first full day in Amsterdam we thought there could be no better way than to do it with a canal cruise. Rising about 9 we surveyed the apartment, and all it’s Ikea furnishings. Such stuff is a little bit fancy back home but apparently quite prolific in Europe. There was the kitchen benches, the crockery, the cutlery the dinning table, the divan, the pillows… well you get the idea. It was pretty cool. Mika fed us up on some strong coffee - a habit he learned from Mark - while we engaged in some people watching of our own from the balcony. Below was what in Australia would best be described as a slight rise in the road. But almost every cyclist struggled up and over it. Standing on one side of this “hill”, as the Dutch call it, you can still see people at the base on the other side. Just goes to show you how flat the place is and why they normally love cycling so much.
At Centraal station we jumped on a canal boat and roared off down the maze of water ways - well the engine was roaring even if the speed didn’t match its urgency. Through tunnels and past narrow canal houses we absorbed the sights and the sunny weather. One of the highlights was the row of houseboats in their many styles and hues. The interiors were also pretty amazing as we could see right in. “Must be a country of exhibitionists,” we thought. Off the boat we grabbed a tram for the Amsterdam history musuem - another perk of our travelling card. It’s quite interesting how alike the Dutch and British are, however it would have been something else to have lived in the “hollow lands” in the Golden Age where many sons and daughters needed only preoccupy themselves with how to spend their parent’s fortune on art and architecture. The French certainly enjoyed it too with many young artists finding work there.
Out the doors and down the road we found our way back to the Dam (square). The royal palace, which was under restoration, was tempting but minding the purse strings we stepped into the kerk (cathedral). In it were monuments to the town’s forefathers and luminaries alike. At the centre of this huge space was the most pulpit some two or three storeys tall calved in the most intricate fashion. To the left was a massive and equally impressive pipe organ. To the right was a gold monument to one of Holland’s bravest admirals. Such was the respect for him they broke with convention to build such a large monument. We found more tourists taking photos though they were not allowed.
Exiting the doors we declared it quite special. But we had now had enough, we decided, of being indoors. We wandered some more in search of some liqueurs and such but instead ended up at the Sex Museum. Not as outrageous as one might think, apart from the mannikins that “fart” on you on the way up the first stairs. It was more interesting to watch other people and how they took it. The groups of young men pointing and laughing were a little troubling; like we had walked in on them in the act. The only surprise in the exhibit were some pieces from China. Until a few hundred years ago it was customary for newly weds to be gifted painted pornography. Similar to the Indians and the Kama Sutra I guess.
Having ‘done’ the tour we tracked down some food - Belgium chips this time with mayo and tomato sauce. But like a lot of Europe so far we could not find a bench anywhere. Instead we sat on the dirty steps of an Amsterdam theatre, somewhat hidden away from the hustle and bustle.
A little later we met up with Mika at Foam, a photography gallery. On display was a collection of pictures made by a husband and wife team who had made the leap from fashion to art. Among the works were shots of A-listers like Tom Cruise, Kate Moss, Penelope Cruz, Heath Ledger, Viggo Mortensen, Sandra Bullock and a stirring shot of Sean Penn with angry eyes; quite confronting. A few images challenged the modelling game I thought by compositing children’s facial features with ‘sexy hair‘ and clothing. Other works in the series were silk screen printed which was damn cool. The video of Kate Moss dancing to Michael Jackson in 2001 I simply didn’t get. Could have been from her early days on coke cause she was pretty wasted. Without any trouble we killed more than hour there.
With news the Couch Surfing meeting was not on Mika arranged for us to meet a few friends including a couple of giants. Dutch people actually. The Austrian and the Brit were normal size and we all got on great. It was our first time in a “brown pub” which is colloquial for old pub. it’s all dark timbers and nicotine stained ceilings. I even grew a bit nostalgic when I spotted a 70s vintage Marantz stereo receiver behind the bar - just like the one Dad has tucked away somewhere.
The mob grew restless so we set out for a blues bar and I worried that Alysia would hate it. As it turned out it was all middle-of-the road rock and roll with perhaps one or two blues-inspired covers from the house band. Our crew loved it. Live music is almost always good. I wanted to insist our new friends come to Australia cause they would be blown away in comparison. Our Austrian friend especially enjoyed the evening dancing with Alysia for some time until he got a little too enthusiastic - time to call it a night we decided at 4am.
- Sam (July 30)
Friday, August 6, 2010
Brussels to Amsterdam
Destination Amsterdam(n)!
Armed with a phone number and a name we bid our Dutch-bred Brussels host farewell.
“Call Mika when you arrive,” Mark said.
“Thanks, we will”.
Somewhere underneath Brussel’s Coca-Cola sign we grabbed a taxi to Brussels Central, driven by a rather smelly expat. Seven euro later we strolled into the station with time to grab a pastry and a coffee. Getting on the train and finding a seat was also easy.
We passed through the Belg and Netherland country side admiring its subtle beauty. Irrigation ditches separated fields of corn and silage bales. We even had time on the three-hour trip to write about Brussels.
We arrived at Amsterdam Centraal relaxed and ready to go. We stowed our bags as planned in the security lockers with a quick swipe of the credit card and quickly found a pay phone. But it wouldn’t work. No matter what we tried. We tried everything bar a rousing ’C’mon!’. With no idea what to do we went for lunch. As ‘dumb tourists’ we sat down at a Spanish restaurant and ordered Coke Zero only to be told: “This isn’t America”. Er, thanks for that, I thought, as if there was some confusion. Despite paying too much for our paella - about 40 euro - lunch ended on a good note. With full bellies we set out again to touch base with Mika.
Back at Centraal and at the desk of the tourist info desk, I Amsterdam, the clerk kindly let me make a call, which went to voice mail. Damn. Feeling stressed at the thought of having no where to sleep we started looking for hostels on the free terminals and formulated a plan. We would call Mika back and leave him a message. We would thank him for the offer, that we would be at Centraal between 5 and 6pm and that if we didn’t see him, we would make our own arrangements. I dialled the number again and was greeted by a friendly Mika. Through his Finnish accent we agreed to meet at 9 and would follow the directions to come on our email. True to his word, 15 minutes later, the email arrived and with peace of mind we set out to explore.
We wandered past the stoner-filled coffee shops on the fringe of the red light district, across the cobble stones and into the “Dam”, the main city square. If we felt a thousand eyes were watching us; they probably were. We had just encountered the Dutch, some say European, sport of people watching. Out the front of cafés were rows of seats all facing toward the square like we were in a football stadium.
We walked our feet off searching for who knows what and we even found one of the main canals circling the city. We even saw a group of Aussies.
About 7pm we jumped on the tram to Leidesplein, the “party square”, where we would meet our host for the night. The travel pass we purchased worked a treat. We bought some Belgian beers at the Irish pub and took in the atmosphere. And couldn’t help but see a hairy, old ball sack. Of the plentiful street performers we had unwittingly born witness to one of Amsterdam’s most infamous. Pushing 60 and a heavy trolley this ordinary-looking man erected a mast, hanging from which was a rope. At this stage I thought he might be going to hang himself in a rather public setting. But no. He quickly stripped down to a G-string and hauled himself up the rope, defying age and physics seemingly - I don’t know how that rig didn’t topple over. Much to the satisfaction of the ladies he ran through his gymnast routine, contorting himself every which way while falling out of his G-string. He made enough in that one show though to call it a night while us males in the crowd lamented our lack of agility even if wishing we hadn’t seen his kit.
Standing across the way was a shortish man with blond hair and glasses, playing with his phone, searching… for us. It was Mika. We shared a drink and all felt a little unsure on this blind date of sorts. Our last host Mark had assured us both we would have a great time and only time would tell. Over a Greek dinner we opened up and shared a few laughs. We even agreed to catch a Couchsurfing meeting the next night, or was it the night after? We weren’t sure what the case was but it sounded like fun.
Finding a tram ‘home’ was easy in this very travel friendly city. Walking back to Mika’s apartment was harder carrying 20kg each - but still not difficult. As the door swung open Mika started to apologise profusely for the mess in the midst of moving into Mark’s old place. Of course the state of the place was only the first clue as to how generous our host was - the Couchsurfing concept still amazes us. That and Ikea World.
- Sam July 29
Armed with a phone number and a name we bid our Dutch-bred Brussels host farewell.
“Call Mika when you arrive,” Mark said.
“Thanks, we will”.
Somewhere underneath Brussel’s Coca-Cola sign we grabbed a taxi to Brussels Central, driven by a rather smelly expat. Seven euro later we strolled into the station with time to grab a pastry and a coffee. Getting on the train and finding a seat was also easy.
We passed through the Belg and Netherland country side admiring its subtle beauty. Irrigation ditches separated fields of corn and silage bales. We even had time on the three-hour trip to write about Brussels.
We arrived at Amsterdam Centraal relaxed and ready to go. We stowed our bags as planned in the security lockers with a quick swipe of the credit card and quickly found a pay phone. But it wouldn’t work. No matter what we tried. We tried everything bar a rousing ’C’mon!’. With no idea what to do we went for lunch. As ‘dumb tourists’ we sat down at a Spanish restaurant and ordered Coke Zero only to be told: “This isn’t America”. Er, thanks for that, I thought, as if there was some confusion. Despite paying too much for our paella - about 40 euro - lunch ended on a good note. With full bellies we set out again to touch base with Mika.
Back at Centraal and at the desk of the tourist info desk, I Amsterdam, the clerk kindly let me make a call, which went to voice mail. Damn. Feeling stressed at the thought of having no where to sleep we started looking for hostels on the free terminals and formulated a plan. We would call Mika back and leave him a message. We would thank him for the offer, that we would be at Centraal between 5 and 6pm and that if we didn’t see him, we would make our own arrangements. I dialled the number again and was greeted by a friendly Mika. Through his Finnish accent we agreed to meet at 9 and would follow the directions to come on our email. True to his word, 15 minutes later, the email arrived and with peace of mind we set out to explore.
We wandered past the stoner-filled coffee shops on the fringe of the red light district, across the cobble stones and into the “Dam”, the main city square. If we felt a thousand eyes were watching us; they probably were. We had just encountered the Dutch, some say European, sport of people watching. Out the front of cafés were rows of seats all facing toward the square like we were in a football stadium.
We walked our feet off searching for who knows what and we even found one of the main canals circling the city. We even saw a group of Aussies.
About 7pm we jumped on the tram to Leidesplein, the “party square”, where we would meet our host for the night. The travel pass we purchased worked a treat. We bought some Belgian beers at the Irish pub and took in the atmosphere. And couldn’t help but see a hairy, old ball sack. Of the plentiful street performers we had unwittingly born witness to one of Amsterdam’s most infamous. Pushing 60 and a heavy trolley this ordinary-looking man erected a mast, hanging from which was a rope. At this stage I thought he might be going to hang himself in a rather public setting. But no. He quickly stripped down to a G-string and hauled himself up the rope, defying age and physics seemingly - I don’t know how that rig didn’t topple over. Much to the satisfaction of the ladies he ran through his gymnast routine, contorting himself every which way while falling out of his G-string. He made enough in that one show though to call it a night while us males in the crowd lamented our lack of agility even if wishing we hadn’t seen his kit.
Standing across the way was a shortish man with blond hair and glasses, playing with his phone, searching… for us. It was Mika. We shared a drink and all felt a little unsure on this blind date of sorts. Our last host Mark had assured us both we would have a great time and only time would tell. Over a Greek dinner we opened up and shared a few laughs. We even agreed to catch a Couchsurfing meeting the next night, or was it the night after? We weren’t sure what the case was but it sounded like fun.
Finding a tram ‘home’ was easy in this very travel friendly city. Walking back to Mika’s apartment was harder carrying 20kg each - but still not difficult. As the door swung open Mika started to apologise profusely for the mess in the midst of moving into Mark’s old place. Of course the state of the place was only the first clue as to how generous our host was - the Couchsurfing concept still amazes us. That and Ikea World.
- Sam July 29
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Brussels
Waking up fairly late for us, it wasn't probably until 11am that Sam and I set out to explore Brussels. Mark had given us a key so we were able to come and go as we please while he was at work. First up, breakast. We made our way to the Manneken Pis, the peeing boy statue where there were plenty of touristy waffle shops. Sam ordered a waffle with strawbeeries and chocolate while I settled for Nutella. They melt the Nutella, which comes in five kilogram tubs over a pot like fondue and are just as liberal when spreading it across your waffle. I love Nutella, but I couldn't finish mine and Sam ended up consuming his and the rest of mine.
After that it was time to find the red tourist bus that every European city seems to have. We didn't ride the one in London because it was so expensive but here in Brussels it was only 20 euro each. You can hop on and off the bus at 14 different stations around the city or just stay on the whole hour and a half trip and listen to the commentary.
Sam and I chose to do this to start as it was a beautiful sunny day and riding up the top of the double decker bus was lovely.
With our head phones in and our cameras ready we enjoyed a scenic tour or some of Brussels main attractions including the royal palace, the Atomium - a relic of the World Expo Brussels hosted in the 50s which is a huge 100m high structure supposed to be an atom made up of molecules that are metres wide. Escalators and a lift allow tourists to ascend to the Atomium dizzying heights but we passed and stayed on the bus.
Other things included parks, another palace, some old cathedrals and other things I have forgotten the name of.
Back to where we began, we hopped off the bus to find some lunch. Now, Sam and I are hopeless at deciding what to have for lunch as anyone in Tamworth can attest to, so choosing an eatery in a city like Brussels tested both our patience.
We finally settled on a small Itlian place on the Grand Place, the centre city square with buildings dating to the 17th century.
While all these eateries had lovely terraces, rain threatened so we chose to sit inside and within minutes it was pouring, catching hordes of Japanese tourists out in the centre of the square, forced to negotitate slippery wet cobblestones to shelter.
With another cherry beer with lunch (these things are awesome - kriek), some food in our tums and the sun shining again, we hopped back on the bus for a return to the royal palace.
We must have been one of the last people let through for the day, as it was probably close to 5pm. Inside we were taken back by the expensive simplicity of the sitting rooms, the ornateness of the ballroom and the most amazing chandeliers we have seen.
Another room had been converted into a hands-on activity area for the kids - some science type exhibition. It was a real shame because this room had the most amazing ceiling. In about four sections was a green/blue shimmery iridescent material that kind of looked like feathers or shells.
For the life of us we coul;dn't work out what it was and then as we were leaving the room, a sign told us. The ceiling was covered in the wings of 1.4 million thai beetles, hence the iridescence of the colours. It was mind boggling to think this ceiling was covered with the wings of an insect and the amount of time it must have taken to do.
Out of the palace and the gates virtually closed behind us, we set back towards Mark's house on foot, mostly downhill luckily.
Sam and my feet are becoming increasingly more hardy as time goes on but by later afternoon the pain begins to kick in and again and usually at least one of us has to ask the other to slow down.
Sam wanted to buy some Belgian beer to post home or at least carry with us home, so we entered a boutique beer shop that sold hundreds of different types of beer. Sam bought a Carolus, recommended to him by the staff there. It's 8.5%. A lot of beer here has a very high alcohol levels.
I was keen to buy some Belgian chocs, as they were being sold in the more touristy stores for only 10 euro for five boxes of shells or truffles or a combination. But the thought of more chocolate actually made me feel so ill, I couldn't bring myself to buy any, a fact I regret now as I write this in Amsterdam.
Back at Mark's, our host cooked us dinner, a pasta, chicken and vegetable satay dish.
After dinner we really had to work out how we were leaving in the morning for Amsterdam, a small detail we should have worked out earlier.
Days before we had looked at bus times and costs and were expecting only to have to pay less than 10 euro but when we went to book, it was sold out unless we wanted to leave at 9.30 that night and arrive in Amsterdam after 11pm.
So the train it was, but the Thalys, or super fast train was way too expensive at over 100 euros for the two of us so the slow every day train it was, with no reserved seating. You bought your ticket and hoped for a seat. It's not at all like the trains at home though. Plush seats, even in second class and a tray table you can pull down like on the planes.
It was a three-hour trip that would put us in Amsterdam about midday.
We also took th opportunity to book our tickets to Dusseldorf from Amsterdam, that would be the next leg of the journey. Mostly we can use e-tickets so a printer is usually necessary and Mark was kind enough to let us use his.
Close to midnight, we hit the hay and prepared for an early start to catch the train.
Alysia (July 28)
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