• Jason and Ricky 's Gaycation
maj – jun. 2023

Northern Europe 2023

Et 49-dags eventyr af Jason and Ricky Læs mere
  • Start på rejsen
    5. maj 2023
  • London Coronation Calling

    5. maj 2023, England ⋅ ☁️ 19 °C

    As the excitement of our next adventure loomed, Jason was determined that he wasn't going to be packing the night before our flight. Instead he packed a week early, unpacked and repacked several times. He then spent the rest of the week lording it over me. “Have you packed yet, Ricky?”. But Jason's efforts were all in vain. The night before our flight, stress and panic set in. How was he going to fit all of the additional crap he had added to his backpack! Organising everything at the eleventh hour wasn’t part of the plan.

    The big day finally came and we boarded our flight via Sydney and Singapore. The flight was relatively uneventful. It was the usual cramped cattle class, wedged between a screaming child and a dirty woman with her feet perched up on the walls. The dirty bastard.

    Our next leg of the flight from Singapore was delayed, and instead of the gay flighties, it was full of blonde British women. Jason could hardly understand the Irish attendant, questioning if she was speaking Gaelic: “say that again”.

    Being in such close quarters to others, there's not a lot of personal space. When I tried to put on a jumper to shield against the Arctic winds coming from the air conditioning, I almost took out the old man next me. Oops, sorry. He already had one foot in the grave anyway.

    The flight was delayed leaving Singapore, and we were then held in a holding pattern before we could land at Heathrow. While it didn't faze us, we had hours to kill before we could check in. For a British woman on the flight, she began to panic that she was going to miss her connecting flight to Cork. She barged through the cabin like Sharon Strzelecki making her way to the all-you-can-eat buffet, making a rude remark to the Irish flighty, which was met with a sharp-tongued barb. With less than 45 minutes to get to her gate, there was no way that she was going to make it. Karma?

    We’d planned our journey from Heathrow, working out which train to catch, but we got a little lost along the way. We had time to kill before we could check into our micro studio apartment on the Thames in Broken Wharf, near St Paul’s cathedral and Blackfriars station, but we really didn't need the extra steps.

    We dropped our bags off at the hotel and then made our way to get a UK Sim card. It wasn't long before we were playing Jason’s Lost World again, season 2 is now on streaming services. Within an hour of being in London proper, Jason couldn't find his wallet. He’d concluded that it had been stolen and now he was left poor and destitute. No doubt he'll need to join the sex workers on Charing Cross road. Turns out it was in a pocket in his bag. Throwing things all over the Three mobile phone shop, he actually ended up losing his umbrella. Being London, it didn't take too long before he realised that it was missing, and quickly backtracked to reclaim his brolly.

    After checking into our apartment, we went on a mission, traipsing through London to London Tower and along the Thames. I could hardly walk by the time we got back to our abode. If we continue at this rate I'll need a hip replacement by the end of the trip.

    By the afternoon, the jetlag had set in and we could hardly keep our eyes open. We needed matchbox sticks to keep them open. So it was an early night for us.

    The following day was the coronation of King Charles III and Queen Camilla. As a Republican (not to be confused with the US conservative political party), I was in two minds about going to the coronation. Democracy not monarchy! I wasn’t the only one in the crowd who was anti-monarchy, a crowd of protesters gathered in Trafalgar Square holding placards saying “not my king”. One of the best slogans had to have been: “worst season of game of thrones ever”. Even Jason, who has been a staunch monarchist for many years is starting to see a different perspective to the point that he began singing Britney Spears' "Womanizer", substituting the chorus with coloniser ... “Coloniser, coloniser, you’re a coloniser.”

    The coronation procession was due to commence from Buckingham Palace at 10:20am. People had started camping out days before, so it was unlikely that we were going to get sideshow seats, but Jason reasoned that we’re tall and would be able to see over all the British little people. We ended up spending an hour and a half walking around London going from one viewing point to another. As each area filled up, the police closed it off, leaving us to continue our search for a position to catch sight of the royal entourage. Police had put barriers up, apparently so the royal couple wouldn't be able to see the protestors. Finally, we resolved ourselves to the fact that we would need to join the plebs in Hyde Park to watch the pompous ceremony on the big screen.

    As we stood in the rain watching the big screen, the crowd behind us started booing Rishi Sunak as he came onto the screen. We got talking to a young British guy, who shared a dislike of the monarchy but like us was fascinated by the regalia and the ceremony. As the Archbishop of Canterbury hovered the crown over Charles’ head, the noise of the crowd reached a crescendo as it was lowered, with shouts of “God save the King” and “Long live the King”.

    Prior to this though, when the choir was singing a hymn about Camilla in Latin, one could have misheard the lyrics, a mondegreen moment. We both looked at each other and in union said “are they singing vagina Camilla?”. Thankfully there were closed captions that could correct us. No, they were singing “Regina Camilla”, and modern British pronunciation of Regina no longer sounds the same as classical Latin. What was even stranger to hear was the pre-recorded message on the subway from Charles and Camilla wishing everyone a great coronation weekend, with Charles reminding us “to please mind the gap” in his royal British accent.

    As we walked away from Hyde Park, a black car with an entourage of escort cars sped down the street. We're fairly certain it was Prince Harry exiting the ceremony and heading to the airport.

    After another day of thinking we were Kerry Saxby, we were ready to retire for the evening; that is after a belly full of food.

    Next stop: Cardiff.
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  • All Consonants in Cardiff/Caerdydd

    7. maj 2023, Wales ⋅ ☁️ 18 °C

    If Jason had his way, we would have left London at the crack of dawn. Somehow I managed to convince him that a 9:20 train to Cardiff was a much more civilised time to leave. Even so, Jason had me rushing to get out the door by 8am. We had to navigate ourselves to Paddington from Blackfriars station, and with Jason’s forward planning, we got there with plenty of time to spare.

    The almost 2-hour train trip from London Paddington to Cardiff Central was interrupted at Newport when the train driver announced that there was a medical emergency in the rear carriage. We were told that we needed to wait for the paramedics to arrive. An update came across the loud speaker advising that the train would be delayed by an hour an a half. Surely it's not going to take that long for the paramedics to arrive. Otherwise it won’t be a paramedic that's needed but more like an undertaker. The only paramedics that we saw in Cardiff were on push bikes with side-saddle medic kits. Surely they didn't need to ride from Cardiff Central. By this stage, everyone got off the train and transferred to another train going to our final destination.

    Almost as soon as we entered Wales, we felt like we needed to buy a vowel. I'm not being funny but does the Welsh language actually have any vowels? It seems they only know about consonants in Wales. As we were walking along the streets, Jason says “are you listening to this? I’ve never heard a language like it. It doesn't sound Slavic, nor does it sound Eastern European”. No, it’s a Celtic language devoid of vowels, at least to the ears of two Aussies. A series of hoots and clicks according to Jason.

    It only took getting to the hotel before the next episode of Jason’s Lost World was on replay. This time he's thought he'd left his leather jacket in London or forgot to pack it in his packing and repacking episode. The entire contents of his backpack were strewn across the room. Nope. He was convinced that it was gone. Now he’s going to freeze in the cold Arctic-like temperatures of Wales. That was until he unzipped another section of his bag to reveal said leather jacket. This was followed by a lost mobile phone episode of Jason’s Lost World.

    After ascertaining that nothing had been lost, we made our way to the city centre. Cardiff is condensed into a small area and can be easily traversed in an hour or so. As we walked through the mall, we caught sight of a woman in a very tight micro-mini hitched to her navel and her arse cheeks hanging out the back. We chuckled to ourselves as she tried to hitch it back down. But not before another Welsh couple walking towards us also saw and started to laugh.

    After exploring the city centre, we turned our attentions to seeking out the Torchwood and Dr Who film locations. We headed to Cardiff Bay, a 25-minute walk from Cardiff city centre. Somehow we went a little off course and ended up in a housing estate. We stumbled upon three seventeen year old Welsh kids: Jennifer, Mulan and Will. Jennifer was born in Yemen but migrated with her family when she was a child. None of them had ever met an Aussie before, so Jason became very ocker, channelling all of the cringe-worthy Aussie icons. They got such a kick out of it, and eventually after some banter helped us to navigate to our desired destination.

    We finally arrived at Cardiff Bay, where we wandered around and sat with the locals eating ice cream. I'm fairly certain I murdered the Welsh language when I ordered the Welsh-named dessert. But the woman was polite enough to say I was doing a good job ... of murdering her mother tongue.

    We spent the evening searching for food to replenish the calories we’d expended to get to Cardiff Bay. We ended up at a Welsh pub listening to a guy murdering the guitar. Exit stage left.

    Despite the cold, most of the youth were wearing next to nothing. A few straps and pins holding the material together. At one stage, Jason whispers to me: “do you feel like corned brisket?” I turned to see a girl wearing string material wrapped around her body with flesh bulging through the openings. She must have been freezing or so numb she couldn't feel a thing.

    The following day was a bank holiday so most things were closed. What better way to spend our last day in Cardiff than to spend it searching for “treasure” at Poundland (Aussies, think Crazy Clark’s or Bargain City). Now I have my Finnish-inspired outfit for the Eurovision final: lime green crop top and black leggings!

    Next stop: Liverpool.
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  • Living it up in Liverpool

    8. maj 2023, England ⋅ 🌧 17 °C

    From Cardiff, we set out on an almost 4-hour journey by train to Liverpool via Chester. As we were about to pull into Chester station, we struck up a conversation with a guy getting off at the station. It turns out that he was a Brazilian artist who was a little unsure of where he needed to be. We were all going to Liverpool, so he tagged along.

    We arrived at Liverpool Lime Street station and ordered an Uber. It had our pickup point miles away - yes the Brits still use miles! Jason couldn't understand the Uber driver’s accent and after several minutes of repetition with no end in sight, the Uber driver gave up and cancelled the booking. Take two!

    We eventually arrived at our accommodation, 15 minutes outside of Liverpool city centre. Immediately we realised that we were staying in a rough area, with lots of seedy looking characters. I lost count of the people, seemingly under the influence or recently under the influence of meth amphetamine, with the telltale signs of scabs and sores on their meth face.

    Near where we were staying, there was a beggar who stood at the traffic lights asking for spare change. With each set of lights, he would race towards each car. In the distance, another guy, hunched over wearing a zip-up cardigan, quickly paced up and down the street, muttering the same phrase over and over: “you shouldn’t have been born”. We saw him later on and the only thing that had changed was his catchcry.

    It wasn’t long before another episode of Jason's Lost World was in production. This time, it was his wallet that was the focus of the episode. No doubt this episode will be on repeat over the next few weeks. It already feels like the same episode has been on a perpetual loop.

    With his wallet found and not lost, we set out to purchase some provisions for the week. The reviews of the corner store near our AirBnB were not good but there wasn’t much option. Whilst the caged counter was a further sign we were in a dodgy area, we frequented the shop many times throughout our stay with no issue. We did have our first interaction with a Scouser – the local term for someone from Liverpool - and her daughter who wanted a chocolate. But her mother wasn’t paying one pound nine for it. The little girl kept saying in a strong Scouse accent “yes, you will”. No, she didn’t.

    We’ve fallen in love with the Scouse accent. They drop the H at the front of words and Ds and Ts at the end of words. Their Es and As are different too. Before long I’ll be a Scouser too.

    Our first taste of Eurovision was at the Euro Village with a performance by Go_A, a Ukrainian band who participated in 2021. They had the crowd bopping and even had the entire crowd dancing is a giant circle. While technically Eurovision is apolitical, Kateryna Pavlenko, the lead singer, shouted to the audience: “Russia is a terrorist state”. There were also merchandise that said “food is cool but Putin’s death is better”. With Russia banned from the competition, there was definitely an anti-Russian sentiment.

    That night as we got ready to go to the Euro Fan Club to see the Roop, the Lithuanian entrant from 2020 and 2021, it was time for Jason to have a meltdown about his outfits. He'd bought nothing to wear, despite the weeks of planning, packing and repacking.

    The next day, we met up with others from the Australian Eurovision Fanclub, Trish, Paul and Kerryn Murray, before heading to the first Eurovision semi-final, and playing wingmen to Trish Can Fish. The 2-hour show treated us to a spectacular display of Eurovision’s finest. We’ll be back to do it all over again on Thursday for semi-final 2.

    All the excitement made us work up an appetite. It was as if we’d been out drinking all night as we stumbled into the local pizza and kebab shop. As I walked into the shop, a guy in the street asked why I was covered in glitter and eye makeup. I simply replied with: “it’s Eurovision, mate'. That seemed to satisfy him and he went on his merry way. I did feel as though I'd been transported onto a British soap opera TV film set, with endless terrace houses lining the Liverpool streets.

    On day 3, we headed into the Euro Village to see Käärijä from Finland. On the way, Jason asked a Scouse couple for directions to the Brian Epstein statue. Beatles memorabilia is everywhere in Liverpool city centre! They became our tour guides for the next half hour, going out of their way to show us local attractions.

    The thing that has endeared us to the city of Liverpool is the people, so friendly and welcoming. We had one woman stop to ask us if we needed help. She said we looked lost. She also said it was strange to see so many tourists in Liverpool. The people genuinely seem to be proud of their city and willing to embrace Eurovision. Another woman stopped In her tracks so that I could get video footage of the city. She didn't want to get in the way. Anywhere else in the world, people would have continued to walk in front of the camera. Even the pizza guy was interested in what we thought of the city.

    On our third night, we went to the Euro Club to see Conchita Wurst and Tina Carol. Rumours had it that Dannii Minogue was in attendance in the VIP section. But alas there was no Dannii to be seen. She was probably in the bathroom powdering her nose 😉. As we left the main venue, we ran into one half of the 2011 Eurovision Song Contest winner Ell & Nikki. Jason ran over to Eldar Gasimov (Ell) like a teenage school girl who got to meet her rock idol.

    The following day was a late start. We needed a little recovery time before heading out for an even bigger night for semi-final 2, where Australia battled it out for a place in the Final. We also had a night out at Euro Club to see Jedward and Nicki French.

    As we entered the arena complex, there were TV presenters scattered around the entrance. Dressed in white and with the Australian flag wrapped around me like a sarong dress, I tried to photo bomb the interviews. Who knows which European TV station I was broadcast on! In the arena itself, we vyed to get the best position to maximise our chances of getting on camera. Look out for two Aussie guys in fluro-coloured LED glasses!

    Just before the show started, we ran into other Aussies in the audience, including two-time Australian Survivor contestant, King George, who gave his seal of approval for our LED glasses. We even got a “well played” by the notorious game player. I guess we can only take that as a compliment.

    We had worked up a hunger, so, after the show, we stumbled into KFC, nano-seconds before they closed the doors on the hords that were descending upon the establishment. It gave us enough sustenance to get us through the next few hours at the Euro Club. We sat and ate next to two British guys who were commenting on the weather – as the Brits do – saying it was almost like a summer evening. It didn't feel like summer to us at ten degrees as we sat in puffer jackets.

    As we lined up outside the Euro Club, some British boys commented on our glasses and asked where we got them from. I replied that we bought them in Australia. The Brit looked at the flag I had draped around me and said “oh, and you’re supporting the UK”. No, unfortunately the Union Jack remains a reminder of our colonialist past. I'm not sure that they were familiar with our flag, they had to ask if King Charles was still head of State. This sparked off a tirade about how they could have their monarchy back and how the monarchy should return the blood diamonds and everything else the Brits have stolen from others. If that happened, it probably wouldn't leave much left in the country.

    It was inevitable that Jason's Lost World syndrome would catch on. It took a hold of me, not once but twice. The first time, I couldn't find my LED glasses, which were integral to our Eurovision outfits; how else are we supposed to get noticed on TV? The second involved a much greater search party. I almost needed to call state emergency services to assist. I methodically upturned the entire room trying to find my dental retainer. Jason had great joy in passing on his disease, as the smugness began to grow on this face: “there’s one for your blog!”. I still say my lost world is a much calmer and rational one 🤣🤣.

    One of the Australian guys from our a Eurovision fanclub who has been dressing as Finnish entrant, Käärijä, has found his fifteen minutes of fame when a BBC mistook him for the real deal. They went to air with the story, only later to be corrected . Viral like a rash!

    On our penultimate day, we decided to spend the day exploring our local neighbourhood. We had recognised that there were an eclectic group of people living in the area. It seems like a working class area with little pretence. Later in the evening, our suspicions were confirmed by another Scouser who admitted that they wouldn’t venture into this area themselves. They seemed truly amazed that we felt safe walking around decked out in glitter and all things Eurovision.

    During our travels around our neighbourhood, we stumbled upon a community bakery selling homemade goods. It was a temptation we couldn't resist and downed the Scouse cuisine in minutes. Insatiable Jason was like Oliver Twist begging for more, but if he's to fit into his Eurovision Final outfit some sacrifices need to be made.

    After a quick nap and before we knew it, we were back on our daily routine to catch the bus from Tue Brook to Queen’s Square in the city centre and then a brisk walk to the Euro Village in Pier Head. Although this time, it wasn't meant to be. Signs indicated that the entry wait time was more than an hour. We could see from afar that the venue was at capacity. Instead we trotted off in search of more food.

    Our third night in a row at the Euro Club included performances from Jemini, who are infamous for receiving zero points and coming last in the 2003 Eurovision Song Contest. With twenty years of practice, there was some improvement. But they were clearly outdone by the Swedes, Cornelia Jakobs from last year and Charlotte Perrelli, winner of the 1999 contest.

    As we waited in the bitter cold for our Uber, two young scousers stumbled by and stopped us to adjudicate their dispute. Something about a jumper being offered to the friend but he didn’t take it and the other accused him of renigging. The one thing we all agreed upon was that it was bloody cold.

    The anticipation of the final of Eurovision had been building all week and now it was upon us. The preparations for the big night started early. I mean time is needed to look Eurovision spectacular. Dressed in a green crop-top and matching green make-up, this was my homage to the Finnish entrant, the crowd favourite for this year. Jason went a bit more industrial goth, with a black mesh shirt.

    For some reason wherever we are in the world, we are mistaken for Germans. I really think that we should be given honorary German citizenship. Australia just never seems to cross their minds. Maybe we’re too far away to even contemplate.

    We arrived around 5:30pm at the M&S Arena in Pier Head and had an hour to wait until the gates opened. There was already a buzz in the air: Eurovision fever! As we waited, we struck up a conversation with two Greek girls who live in Bristol. They thought having to drive three hours was a pilgrimage and a half. That was nothing to our 30 hours. They were disappointed with Greece not qualifying for the finals but understood the reasons. It was a lacklustre song with rather drab costume and stage design.

    As soon as the gates opened, we did an Olympic 100-metre dash, sprinting to the standing entrance of the arena to get prime position on the barrier. Everyone had been comparing the shape of the stage to a penis. For the Finals, we positioned ourselves to the left side of the head, but not as far as the shaft. We stood bopping to the Eurovision songs of yesteryears, along with our Eurovision partner in crime, Trish.

    The tension of the contest came to a head in the final televote counting. Sweden was the jury favourite and had been picked by the bookmarkers to win. It became a showdown between Sweden and Finland. Käärijä from Finland had won the hearts of the public, but this was not enough to get him over the line. Throughout the voting the crowd were chanting “cha, cha, cha “, the Finnish song for this year. I thought a riot might break out if Finland didn't win. The uproar is still continuing for some.

    With the show over, we moseyed to Euro Club for one final night of Eurovision dancing and frolicking. Again, we ran into King George from Australian Survivor again, draped in the Aussie flag. We bopped about until it was time to take Jason home for some well-needed rest before heading to our next destination.

    Next stop: Dublin.
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  • Drug Den in Dublin

    14. maj 2023, Irland ⋅ ☁️ 14 °C

    After all the excitement of Eurovision in Liverpool, it was time to move onto our next destination. We took a 1pm flight from Dublin travelling Aer Lingus, or as we fondling called it Air Cunnilingus. I don’t know if lingus has a different meaning in Irish Gaelic but who calls an airline Aer Lingus. The plane was the size of a mini cooper and the airline hostess had left her fake tan on for way too long – think Donald Trump oompa loompa – with drawn on eye brows that look like she had used a whiteboard marker.

    Yet another episode of Lost World played out before we had even left Liverpool. This time it was a double episode. Jason was convinced he’d lost his lock for his backpack and now he was going to be the next Schapelle Corby with drugs planted in his bag by baggage handlers. Except it was attached to his bag, hidden inside. It was my turn to enter the lost world at Dublin airport, when I tried to find my wallet. Thankfully it was buried deep inside my bag. Crisis averted.

    We arrived in the city centre of Dublin and blindly followed Google Map’s directions. With no numbers on the buildings it was a stab in the dark; but, where we were just didn't look right. As we backtracked, a guy in a car stopped and asked if we needed directions. When we said we were looking for our Airbnb, he said that we were definitely in the wrong area, unless public housing started to advertise on the app.

    We walked further along the street still unable to locate the correct building. Another guy stopped his car in the middle of the road and asked if we needed help. They pointed us in the right direction. When we eventually found the correct building, there were so many key safes we don't know which to check. And they all had the same pin code. Then the door game begins. Wherever we stay, the doors are always a challenge. Hold the handle at a 45 degree angle, turn left and right while standing on one foot. It usually only takes until our final day, and many days of fumbling around, to figure it out.

    Immediately I noticed that the area seemed to be populated with people doing drug deals and doing drugs in the street. The streets are lined with people huddled together exchanging things from their pockets. As we were wandering through the city centre, we heard a woman yelling and screaming. We took a wide berth as we passed her. But that didn’t stop her screaming at us: “and what are you looking at?”. We had been looking at the street exhibition showcasing Irish oddballs and oddities who became synonymous with Dublin. She probably will make it to the wall one day ... maybe. Connor, the friendly Irish boy who gave us directions, warned us to be careful, that gangs operated in the area and that people would rob you for €20. The only rock available in Ireland isn’t emerald but crystal meth!

    Dublin's footpaths are littered with dog shit but there were no dogs to be seen. Maybe it wasn't dog shit. Dublin is also a lot more cosmopolitan than we had expected. I mean we weren’t exactly expecting leprechauns and a city of gingers. Despite being multicultural, we stood out as foreigners. I'm sure it's because we weren't wearing track suits. Ninety percent of men in Dublin wear track suits, or just track pants – trackie dacks – without any underwear. You know we can see your religion!

    The next day, we visited Dublin Castle, a former Motte-and-bailey castle that now serves as the current Irish government complex and conference centre. Most of the buildings date from the 18th century. It’s difficult to reconcile the opulence of the castle when there is still poverty and homelessness in the streets. We have been indoctrinated to believe that the historical buildings of Europe are symbols of glory and pride; but, all of this was achieved through colonial violence and theft. We need to continue to decolonise ourselves and remember that many others have had to suffer (and continue to suffer) from our colonialist past.

    After our tour of Dublin Castle, we wandered through the Temple Bar district. As we walked through the streets, a guy came towards us with a clipboard and blurted something out. Was it English or Irish Gaelic? I think it was something about signing something. Who knows but we quickly changed direction.

    The Irish continue to remind us of the famine that they experienced in the 19th century, worsened by the British colonists, and the reason many Irish migrated to Australia and the US. Two Aussie boys may experience famine because the prices of food is so high! A potatoes-only diet for us for the next few days.

    Wandering the streets for hours on end always ends up in a search for a toilet. One of our pet peeves about many countries is charging to go to the toilet. I mean it’s a basic need for all of us. And if they want to stop people going in the streets then provide public accessible toilets. In Dublin, the toilets even have tap-and-pay facilities to pay the 25 cents (about 50 Australian cents).

    On our third day in Dublin, we headed to Trinity College to see the Book of Kells, an 8th-century illuminated manuscript of the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. Afterwards we wandered the campus taking in more colonialist propaganda.

    It wouldn't be a trip to Ireland without tasting guinness, even though I despise the taste. The half pint didn’t change my opinion. We followed the guinness with an Irish stew and Irish whiskey at O’Shea’s pub. On the way to the pub, we saw the Gardai (police) about to raid a house, with battering rams, while drug dealers continued to deal on the street corners. It might be time to move on.

    Next destination: Belfast.
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  • A Brief visit to Belfast

    17. maj 2023, Nordirland ⋅ ☁️ 18 °C

    After a short stay in Dublin, we took a tram to Connolly station to get the 2-hour train to Belfast. For some reason Google maps took us on a wild goose chase to get to the Smithfield tram stop. After days of tracking around Dublin and carrying 17 kilograms on our backs like pack mules, we really didn’t need the extra steps. We boarded the train and shared the ride with a rabble of American boomers and private school kids on an excursion. Thankfully they've invented noise-cancelling headphones.

    We traipsed through Belfast to get to our accommodation, about a 1.5 kilometre walk. We checked into our hotel that overlooked Buoy Park. We both looked at the bed then looked at each other. How the hell are we going to fit in this bed! If we were the size of leprechauns it would be fine, but both being 6 feet + in the old imperial system, it was going to be a squeeze. We checked and we had reserved a queen bed. When we asked reception, they tried to convince us that this was a UK queen bed. I’d call it a king single at best, and hate to think how small a double bed would be. The other thing we’ve noticed in all of our accommodations is that British and Irish don’t believe in bed sheets. There's a bottom sheet and a doona but nothing else. Maybe it’s cost saving because no-one offers daily cleaning or anything, supposedly to save the environment – more like a way to save more money to pay the CEO wages. Damn capitalism!

    Yet another episode of Jason’s Lost World started filming before we could thaw out from the cold. Jason was convinced his wallet had been stolen. Clothes were being thrown around the room like he was a stripper performing at a nightclub. Eventually he found his wallet buried deep in the abyss of his bag.

    We had little time to waste so we set out to explore the city centre of Belfast. It wasn't long before we spotted some Derry girls, girls with fake tans and lashes that they'd stolen from dressage horses. The sellers of fake eye lashes and tanning salons must do a roaring trade in Belfast. As we stood in line at the supermarket, we spotted a woman with a-week-old-fake tan that looked like a patchwork quilt of oompa loompa and pasty white skin.

    We also noticed that the uniform for men was not as strict as in Belfast compared to Dublin; not all men wore trackie dacks, but those that did still didn’t wear underwear. Maybe they spent too much on the tracksuit. There didn't seem to be as many people affected by drugs either. But maybe it was just the area we were staying in.

    The following day, we took off on our march across Belfast as we traversed from the city centre through to the West and North then back home. Our first stop was the Solidarity wall, political murals about the civil conflict in Northern Ireland. Our next stop was one of the many supposed peace walls that still segregate Protestants and Catholics. The government was supposed to remove them all by 2023, but very few have been taken down.

    As we entered West Belfast, there was a different atmosphere. It had a much more British feel with King Charles III coronation decorations still hanging from houses. The Troubles, a thirty-year conflict involving republican and loyalist paramilitaries and state forces, still seemed current rather than a thing of the past. And all this conflict in the name of religion; it seems crazy to this atheist how two very similar denominations of the same religion could create such hate, which seemingly goes against their religious tenets. Signs in the street claimed that as long as a single person in the area remained there would not be a united Ireland. They even seemed to avoid the term Irish and seemed to consider themselves British. Even the stew wasn't called Irish Stew but just a stew. Irish Gaelic was nowhere near as prevalent in Belfast compared to Dublin.

    Moving along, we headed to the infamous Crumlin Road goal, the last Victorian era goal built between 1843 and 1845 at a cost of £60,000. The goal was originally built to house about 500 prisoners, but by the early 70s, during the period of the Trouble, there were nearly three times this amount when the International Red Cross inspected the premises. The cramped conditions meant that there were three people to each cell rather than one as originally intended. Many sad stories haunt the goal, including the suicide of a thirteen year old boy.

    On our way home from the goal on day release, we overheard a group of Aussies (with their Northern Irish partners) commenting on the dog shit in the streets. But Belfast had nothing on the dog shit cess pool of Dublin. Maybe it's time to move on to greener pastures with less dog shit.

    Next stop: Glasgow.
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  • Getting about in Glasgow

    19. maj 2023, Skotland ⋅ ☁️ 18 °C

    From Belfast, we caught the 45-minute flight to Glasgow, flying budget EasyJet. As we went through security Jason got hauled aside to go through additional security measures. He obviously looked like a dodgy sod. They made him do a river dance inside a foot scanner. You put your left leg in, your left leg out, and shake it all about. We had no sooner taken off and we heard the pilot say: “cabin crew, prepare for landing”. We’ve taken longer bus journeys across Brisbane.

    Initially, we were going to catch the express airport bus from Glasgow Airport, but realised that an Uber was going to about the same price. Well, that is if the end price was the same as the original quoted price. With traffic, it ended up a little bit more than expected. We did get the lowdown on Glasgow from the Uber driver. Even though he's a native, he wasn't too keen on the place. Before we even got out of the airport, we got to experience the fiery Scottish temper. A man in a car at the airport carpark boom gate was obviously taking too long for the driver behind him, who got out of the car and started yelling at him. Don't cross a Scotsman! The Uber driver said the nation was at an all time high during the 2014 Commonwealth Games, but within four months, the people were ready to kill each other.

    It felt like groundhog day when we arrived at our apartment to see the tiniest bed, amongst a studio cluttered with knick knacks. The owner had left a manifesto on the apartment with an itemised list of objects in the apartment. No shoes in the apartment, no this or that, turn off this, don't turn on that. I'm not sure exactly what they're trying to protect; it certainly isn't the Hilton.

    But I’m sure the Hilton doesn’t have a pop-up drug den in the stair well of their hotel. Well, in our apartment complex, someone had set up a bottle with alfoil around the top and left their silver spoon next to it. Discarded alfoil with a brown substance was strewn around the staircase. Next to the drug den, there was a sign saying that drugs were not tolerated in the building. The pop-up den remained there for our entire stay. It doesn’t look like the complex is cleaned on a regular basis!

    This same policy seemed to apply to the apartment that we were staying in. It seemed the cleaner was a little eager to finish up her work and forget to take away the bloodied and soiled towels. In the apartment manifesto, there was explicit mention of blood stains on towels and a payment required for cleaning. So, Jason advised the owner, who became very apologetic and even offered a partial refund on the accommodation. She obviously didn't want to get a bad review. Oh and the provided clean towels would have fit a six-month old child.

    Once we settled in, we wandered around Glasgow City Centre, admiring the architecture. There’s definitely not as much dog shit as Ireland or Northern Ireland but still the streets are a little bit littered with garbage. The result of Council cost cutting and the removal of bins ... no doubt. Jason also made the observation that there weren’t as many oompa loompas in Glasgow, although I did see one woman who had matched her skin tone with her red hair.

    As we walked taking in the scenery, the rain began to sprinkle enough to be annoying but not really significant enough to go to the effort of pulling out the umbrella. With an average of 170 days of rainfall a year, it was inevitable that we would experience some of the pleasure and pain (rain). The Eurythmics song “Here comes the rain again” became our anthem. We got out of the rain for a bit to visit the Kelvingrove art gallery and museum. Although we had already clocked up a lot of steps, we punished ourselves more with a walking tour through the West End of Glasgow.

    The following morning, before heading to our next destination, we took a hike up to the Glasgow Necropolis. It was interesting to see the differences between the social (and religious) classes in how they honoured their dead. There were some extravagant temples built for some, while others were simple headstones, which were no longer legible.

    Oh, and by the way, the filming of Lost World has gone on hiatus, but I’m sure the season will resume soon.

    Next stop: Edinburgh.
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  • Everywhere in Edinburgh

    21. maj 2023, Skotland ⋅ ☁️ 12 °C

    We travelled 50 minutes by “long-distance” train from Glasgow to Edinburgh. Jason was appalled by the price of the train ticket: £14 (AU$28) one-way! But it’s a 68km journey explained the Train Guard. Jason's reply: “ that's a suburban train trip in Australia, mate, and would cost about 5 quid”.

    We arrived at Edinburgh Waverley station and embarked on our 15-minute walk to our accommodation. A constant theme when we’re travelling is getting lost or going off course because we put too much faith in Google maps. For some reason, the satellites in the UK can't seem to pin point our position with precision and sends us off in the wrong direction. With a few expletives, we were back on track and arrived within the vicinity of where we needed to be. Then we did the block trying to find the exact location, whilst lugging around 17kgs each on our backs. Soon we realised that the houses are numbered in blocks and the name of the street covers the entire block. Unlike in most other cities where generally the house fronts that share the same street belong to that street with odd numbers on one side and even numbers on the other side, this area was different. Each side belonged to a different street name. We thought we were in the wrong area until we worked out the system.

    It’s customary for us to offload our bags and then explore the area, often to find provisions for our stay. We headed out on our expedition around the neighbourhood when all of a sudden it was if the switch to the Artic winds was flicked to the high setting. It was as cold as a witch's teat and a cold that we’ve not felt in a long time, and I certainly wasn’t dressed in the appropriate attire to deal with these conditions. I started blowing “smoke” from my mouth and blowing it towards Jason. He looked at me like a circus freak, thinking what is he on, until he realised. We couldn't handle the conditions and quickly retreated. We even ran part of the way home just to warm up our bodies.

    Later in the evening, we met up with a Scottish girl, Amber Cornell, that we met in Ibiza about six months ago. She invited us to dinner and cocktails at Tigerlily, an upmarket restaurant on George Street in Edinburgh New Town. She then took us on a tour of Edinburgh as we slightly staggered to Habana nightclub where we were joined by Tricia, another Scottish girl who we met in Ibiza at Ushuaia nightclub. The stagger was mainly due to the number of steps we had clocked up rather than too much booze. After a drink and a dance, we continued onto CC Booms for some more drinks. Thankfully we got a lift home from Tricia, otherwise it probably would have been a stagger home.

    The next morning, we got up early and walked to the Old Town of Edinburgh. We don’t normally do tours but we made an exception on this occasion so that we could explore Mary King’s Close, a small laneway lined with late Sixteenth century houses that is now hidden beneath other buildings. The Close was named after a merchant woman who made a good fortune from sewing garments and selling fine cloths from a shop on the High Street called a laich forebooth, or a low stall. Mary King was a burgess, which meant that she had voting rights, an uncommon thing for a woman of her time. She was a widow with four children. In 1753 the burgh council decided to erect a new building, the Royal Exchange (now the City Chambers) on top of the Close. Even Jason enjoyed the tour with its interactive and mixed media approach to presenting the history of the time.

    We also got to learn about other characters who lived in the Close and how life may have been in the late Sixteenth and early Seventeenth century. One of the houses that remains in its original condition showed the roofing technique of the late Sixteenth century, which used horse hair to cover the ceiling, adding some insulation to the room. The poor couldn't afford wall paper so some made their own using vegetable stamps, like a Sixteenth century Tonia Todman or Martha Stewart. The Victorian era rooms included wall paper with arsenic and a toilet with running water. Apparently the owners were so proud of their thunder box that they used it with their front door wide open so they could lord it over their neighbours. Maybe they were just exhibitionists.

    We also paid a visit to the Edinburgh cemetery. In the centre of the cemetery stands a guard tower that once had a permanent guard to deter grave robbers. Grave robbers stole dead bodies to get money from scholars who used them to study human anatomy. All in the name of survival and scholarship.

    We were staying in a bed and breakfast in Abbeyhill, a short distance from the city centre. Another Scottish guy was staying in the accommodation, and together with the owner of the B&B would trap us to talk about all kinds of crap. Somehow I let my guard down and was forced to hear random stories that went on forever but went nowhere until I found an opportunity to escape. Then it was Jason’s turn. The B&B owner had the ability to talk under water and on every single topic you could imagine. He knew it all, had done it all. Been there done that.

    In one conversation, the English B&B owner revealed he thought Kath and Kim was a fly-on-the-wall documentary, a real housewives of Australia. We set him straight – well, we corrected his understanding of the show. No, it is a satirical comedy. It kind of showed what he thought of Australians: boorish and uncultured people. But I can tell you the British aren’t all Lords and Dames, and even those that are aren’t exactly role models: think Prince Andrew.

    On our third day, we visited the Edinburgh Castle, the birthplace of King James VI of Scotland and King James I of England, as well as the royal residence of Mary Queen of Scots. Afterwards we visited Mary Queen of Scots’ Bath House. But historians are unsure if there was actually a bath in the room. At any rate, the royal family used the building as a place to relax and rest. It gave us a glimpse of life in the late Sixteenth century.

    Later in the day, we met up with Kylie (a.k.a Trixie O'Connor), the remainder of the Scottish trio from Ibiza. After clocking up 20,000 steps each day, our bodies were craving calories and what better way to make up the deficit but with chocolate fondue and white chocolate milkshakes followed by a IRN Bru, the Scottish national soft drink. The bru kind of tastes like a creamy soda with a twist of something else. For lunch we had to try a Scottish pie and Bridie, a kind of Scottish pasty. But we couldn't bring ourselves to try haggis.

    We had a few hours to kill before heading to our next destination, so we wandered the streets in search of one more little Scottish treat. We stumbled upon a bakery and had to sample their goodies. Two beef sausage rolls and two fudge doughnuts later and we were ready to get back to our accommodation to continue on our onward journey. The owner of the B&B was still at the house on our return despite saying he wouldn’t be; I mean he didn’t want to be tied to the house. Apparently he lived somewhere else but he seemed to be at the house every single minute of the day. I'm fairly certain he was glad to get rid of us. He certainly didn't offer to have us back again.

    You’d also be glad to know that the Lost World is no longer in hiatus; it has taken a hold of me this time, not once, not twice but thrice. It got me real good this time. Of course, the sympathetic Jason remarked with “I bet this doesn’t make it to the blog”, and then threatened to commence this own blog to provide his perspective (known as Jason’s World). I blame this triple episode on Cyclone Jason who ripped through the room, which created mess and disorder.

    Next stop: Copenhagen.
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  • Constant Chiming in Copenhagen

    24. maj 2023, Danmark ⋅ ⛅ 19 °C

    As we got ready to move onto our next destination, I was suddenly transported into the Lost World yet again. I was convinced that the lost item was in the room but it was difficult to tell after a category seven cyclone had hit the room, which I’ve named Cyclone Jason. After the cyclone had passed and it was safe to start the clean up and rescue operations, the said lost item was found again, buried almost the rubble.

    From our B&B in Abbeyhill, Edinburgh, we walked, loaded with backpacks, to the city centre. I mean we were saving the bus fare and getting a leg/glutes workout for free. But about 15-20 minutes into the journey, Jason had had enough and couldn’t get to our destination quick enough. He was like a child going on holidays, repeatedly asking “are we there yet?”. No was always the answer.

    We arrived at the airport and checked in. All was in order. Then, we boarded the Norwegian Air plane, where Jason had conveniently assigned me to the middle seat, next to an older gentleman. Still all good. That is until I took a whiff in the air. The guy smelt like he hadn’t bathed this century. As I sat down he struck up a conversation in Danish until he realised I had not the foggiest idea what he was saying. Breathing in the body odour, I needed oxygen. Pretty certain this isn't the kind of emergency that will activate the airbags. I was like a dog with its head out the car window, except all that I had was a gentle stream of air coming from the vents above us. I spent the entire 1 hr 45 mins trying to breathe in the fresh air in between waves of body odour.

    I ended up feeling sorry for the guy after he told me his whole life story. His father and brother had recently passed away within a month of each other. He had taken a holiday to Edinburgh to get away from it all. And it turns out he was actually born in New Zealand and his parents immigrated back to Denmark when he was ten. As we flew over Denmark, he proudly pointed out all the different landmarks. As we circled around in a holding pattern, he remarked that, if we were going to land in Malmö (Sweden), he wouldn't be getting off the plane: so much for the neighbourly love. I thought he may need a priest for the landing as he crossed himself ready to face death as we hit the tarmac.

    Copenhagen is located on the islands of Zealand and Amager, separated from Malmö by the Øresund strait. We were located in the city centre, not far from Rådhuapladsen metro. We were also close to the bells of Rådhuspladsen, which at first reminded us of the church bells in Amsterdam. Soon we realised that the bells chimed every fifteen minutes between 8am and midnight. At each quarter of the hour, it plays a little bit more of the diddy until the whole tune is played on the hour, followed by a chime for each hour. Thankfully we didn't have the church bells chiming in unison. But it was enough to send a person crazy. Haven’t the Danes realised that we have watches and mobile phones that have alarms! Between the chiming of the bells and the squeaking of the floor boards of our apartment, a full symphony could have been orchestrated.

    After settling into our apartment on the fourth floor, we set out to explore the city centre, taking in the sights that Copenhagen had to offer. After a huge fire in the 18th century, much of the medieval buildings have not survived. Instead what survives are the redeveloped buildings from the 18th century, particularly the royal palaces. We wandered around Copenhagen’s main tourist attractions, such as Tivoli Gardens, The Little Mermaid statue, the Amalienborg and Christiansborg palaces, Rosenborg Castle, Frederik’s Church and Børsen. We stumbled upon the changing of the guard, which seemed to go on forever and for which most of the crowd lost interest.

    While Copenhagen is disbursed across a large area, it is easily traversed by foot. There are no hills; everything is flat, which makes cycling easy and the main form of transport for the natives. We probably should have followed their lead instead of clocking up almost 50,000 steps over the three nights, two days that we were there.

    By this stage, I started to get sick with the flu (it couldn't be the thing that shall not be named ... no!!!). In Edinburgh, I began to get a sore throat, which turned into a runny nose by the time we got to Copenhagen. Sympathetic Jason believes it's all my own fault; apparently I'm not as OCD/vigilant with my hand washing as him. Except influenza is an airborne virus spread through droplets from someone sneezing or coughing. It is what it is. There was that guy on the bus from Belfast to the airport that Jason overheard talking about the Rona (COVID). Of course, I'm also to blame for passing it on. I should learn that I can never win 🤣

    The following day, we explored Christiania, a small island connected to the main island of Zealand in Copenhagen. In the middle of Christiania is the Free Town, an intentional community, commune and micronation in the Christianshavn neighbourhood. Think Nimbin but a little less hippie where police are forbidden to enter. It began in 1971 as a squatted military base and has had a colourful past with some violence and protests between the inhabitants and authorities. It’s famous with tourists for it’s Pusher Street, named after the open trade of cannabis. There have been attempts to get rid of the commune but these have not been successful. It probably has something to do with the fact that it's the fourth most popular tourist destination, attracting more than half a million visitors each year. We were on alert and ready to evacuate at any moment if there were any signs of an uprising.

    Next destination: Gothenburg / Göteborg / Go:teborg

    Danish: Hej (hello), Tak (thank you), Hvordan har du det? (how are you?)
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  • A Night in Gothenburg

    27. maj 2023, Sverige ⋅ ☀️ 13 °C

    To break up our journey from Copenhagen to Oslo, we decided to do a stopover in Gothenburg, about 4 hours by train. Luckily Scoorge McScoorge (aka Jason McDonald) was letting the purse string loose a little and opted for the first class train ticket. Lucky because it was a full train headed to Gothenburg and we probably would have had to stand for some of the journey. McScoorge turned into the train inspector, interrogating whether each individual should be in first class or if they were plebs trying to live it up. I tried for the entire journey not to cough and bark like a dog. In this post(?)-Rona world, you can't sneeze or cough without getting treated like a leper. It's probably more socially acceptable to fart in public these days.

    Fart became the first Swedish word that we learnt. It doesn't mean the same as in English. That was evident with the 5g fart (speed) mobile phone sale. Jason suddenly turned into the Swedish chef as we walked around Gothenburg, which in Sweden is actually the Finnish Chef (the Muppets changed it for the Swedish audience). They obviously can't understand the Finnish either! We even got to see IKEA in its native habitat. And how Swedish could it get, there was an ABBA special on TV. Swedish meatballs would have been the trifecta.

    Gothenburg is the second largest city in Sweden, with a population of around 1.1 million, mostly students studying at the University of Gothenburg and Chalmers University of Technology. It seems to have a great public transport system with trams, trains and buses. Surprisingly, there are few traffic lights, and the car drivers seem quite relaxed. There wasn’t a fear of being run down by a speeding Sven in his Volvo, which was founded in the city in 1927.

    With the presence of university students, there is a hip atmosphere, as Jason would like to call it. But the only thing hip is the hip replacement that we both will need after more than 20,000 steps. Book us in now! And I'm certain Jason is trying to stave me to death. Only dust and air is allowed. I mean the Scandinavian prices are criminal but a person needs to eat. Maybe just a little kebab will suffice to give us enough energy to stumble back to our hotel room.

    When we got back to our room, we turned on the lights then all of a sudden we were sent into darkness. “what have you pressed, Jason?”, I yelled from the bathroom. Nothing was the reply. Yes, Touchy McTouchy had gone around touching all the buttons in the room. Normally, I’m accused of being Touchy McTouchy. Great, now we don't have power. So we called reception, and a few minutes later a Swedish Bob the Builder, Byggare Bob, or Sven with a Screwdriver as I called him, appeared at our door, chirping away in Swedish. He flicked a switch, which had been turned off, that controls the power. But McTouchy denies touching the button. It just miraculously turned off by itself when he flicked the light switch. To be sure that we knew how to turn on the lights, Sven/Bob gave us a tutorial. Now we’re certified to use the lights. Pity we're only staying one night.

    Next destination: Oslo.

    Swedish: Hej (Hello), Tack så mycket (Thanks so much), Hur mår du? (How are you?), Kyckling (Chicken), Skinka (Ham).
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  • Out and About in Oslo

    28. maj 2023, Norge ⋅ ☀️ 17 °C

    From Göteborg, we travelled by bus to Oslo. The almost 3-and-a-half-hour bus ride was preceded by a short walk from our hotel across the road from central station. Despite the close proximity, we still left the hotel with plenty of time to spare. As we checked in, we were allocated seats at different ends of the bus, even though the first class section wasn’t sold out (as we were to realise later). I got stuck behind a Swedish (or maybe he was Norwegian) Boris Johnson look alike, who spent most of the journey eating with his mouth open, ruminating like a cow. It was like fingernails down the old blackboard. I probably should have moved seat, but I wasn't sure if other passengers were getting on at the next stop. Despite half a dozen passengers in first class, Jason was allocated next to some random person, who ended up moving to another seat but still in ear shot of her ruminating on her food. Maybe it’s a Swedish/Norwegian thing.

    By the time we arrived in Oslo, Jason was convinced he had the Rona; so, no long walks trekking through the city. Instead we got a tram to our accommodation. When we got there, we still didn't have the keycode to get into the apartment. We stood on the street like stray dogs, except we couldn't just piss against the wall.

    A few minutes before the very late check-in time of 4pm, I received a message to say the apartment still hadn't been cleaned and that we would get the code when it was ready. We could be frozen solid by then, either that or locked up for vagrancy. In the end, they decided to move us to a new apartment; Lucky because our bladders were either going to burst or we were going to piss ourselves.

    Not long after settling in, a stranger entered our apartment, but quickly retreated when he realised that he was in the wrong place. How did he have the keycode to our apartment? Maybe he had a room change too. When I called the AirBnB host, it wasn't a good sign that the first menu item was related to missing keys or keycodes. It seems that I'm not the first to have this experience.

    We soon realised that nothing was open because it was Whitsunday and the following day was a public holiday. With 85% of Norwegians identifying as Evangelical Lutherans, it seems they take their religious holidays seriously. No food outlets or restaurants were open and the only supermarkets doing business were the Joker minimart-style chain stores. They were the size of a shoe box and had a very limited range to choose from. It seemed the other 15% of Norwegians were as prepared as we were for the public holiday and were walking out of the Joker with whatever they could get their hands on. For a moment, it reminded us of images of the Soviet Union in the 1980s with people queuing at the shops and shelves that were almost bare.

    The following day, we explored some of the nearby attractions. The Royal Palace was closed to the public, but the Slottsparken, the royal garden, was open for exploration. It is the only European royal garden open to the public all year round. After watching the changing of the guard, who were all women by the way, we wandered around the city centre. The Opera House serves not only as a performing arts venue but also doubles as a lookout point over the city. The building is shaped like an iceberg, which I assume would camouflage it in winter as the city is blanketed in snow and ice.

    For people who live in a country that experiences long dark winters, so-called spring brings some relief. But at 14 degrees there was no way that these Aussies were following the crazy Norwegians in their mobile saunas on the Oslo fjord. They sat in their sauna, and then when they were hot enough would exit and plunge into the cold water. I watched from afar still in three layers of clothing.

    The next day was the hottest day we've experienced in the past month. It actually got to 21 degrees celsius. Before it even peaked, the Norwegians were stripping down to their bikinis and undies to bathe in the sun. I did actually get hot enough to unwrap some of the layers to bare some skin. It wasn't exactly shorts and t-shirt weather but I did get down to a t-shirt and jeans.

    It was perfect weather to traipse all over the city, including Grünerløkka, a gentrified neighbourhood known for its street art, stylish bars, dance clubs and cafes. After a brief rest, we continued on our journey to explore Vigeland Park as the tourists call it, Frognerparken to the locals. The name Vigeland Park comes from the name of the sculptor Gustav Vigeland, who created a permanent sculpture installation between 1924 and 1943. The installation consists of hundreds of sculptures amongst bridges and fountains.

    After more than 25,000 steps, it was a wonder we made it home without wearing out the soles of our shoes. I don't think I could feel my feet by the time we stepped into our accommodation. But there was only time to rest momentarily before heading to our next destination.

    Next destination: Stockholm.

    Norwegian: Hei (Hi), Takk (Thanks), Ha det (Goodbye)
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  • Sightseeing and Syndromes in Stockholm

    31. maj 2023, Sverige ⋅ ☁️ 21 °C

    We flew budget Norwegian Air to Stockholm from Oslo. The train was going to take more than seven hours so we decided to fly instead. The hour flight started with cabin crew doing a well-rehearsed, synchronised interpretive dance as part of the safety demonstration – well , that’s what it looked like to me as they flapped and waved their hands about – but it was a performance that nobody, except me, paid attention to. The cabin echoed with hordes of Scandinavians chatting at full volume.

    One of the airline attendants asked the people behind us in the exit row if they were familiar with the emergency procedures and they responded in the affirmative. That was enough to satisfy her and she went on her way. Normally, they would ask if people were comfortable with being in the exit row and then give a tutorial. Maybe this is due to Norwegian Air's cost cutting. The previous flight to Copenhagen didn't include any food or drink to purchase because someone forgot to load it onto the plane! It's hard to get good staff these days.

    A few days before we arrived in Stockholm, an airport train had derailed, and so there were no trains operating from the airport. We had to catch the local bus to a nearby train station and then change to the metro to get to our accommodation. We got a little lost in the train station maze trying to find the metro. We went up and down the lift before we found the metro. As we were going back up for the second time, a Swedish woman entered the lift and quickly realised we weren’t from Sweden. I impressed her with a tack så mycket (thanks a lot). In Danish and Norwegian, the word for thanks is the same, albeit spelt and pronounced slightly different.

    We finally arrived an hour or so later at the apartment, which was located on the second floor. The apartment was spacious with a separate lounge and dining area. But being an old building the floor boards squeaked with every step. On the up side, it had a great view of the street along Götagatan in Södermalm and was walking distance to most attractions.

    Stockholm is made up of fourteen islands connected by bridges. But to get to some of the islands you have to traverse across multiple islands before getting to your destination. There are also ferries to get you from one point to another, but we were determined to cover the city by foot.

    Stockholm, particularly on Gamla Stan, has many historical buildings, adding much grandeur to the city. Stockholm is sometimes referred to as the Venice of the North, but I’m not sure I really see the comparison. Stockholm is a massive city, with a metropolitan population of about 2.5 million, and it is spread across a large area. There was no way we were going to be able to cover it all but we tried our darnedest to see as much as we could in three days. I think we covered about 7 or 8 out of 14 islands: that ain’t bad.

    On our first day, we explored the surroundings of Södermalm, including the Högalid Church. Södermalm connects to Gamla Stan to the north via Slussen and a bridge. The following day commenced the great walk across the city, including the old town (Gamla Stan) and the Royal Palace. I got to see the changing of the guard with all its pomp and ceremony. It even included a marching band. I had to return home before I keeled over with exhaustion. And yet there was still so much more to explore.

    A trip to Sweden wouldn’t be complete without a tour of the ABBA museum. I have to say that I'm not a huge fan, but I can appreciate their music and the contribution that they've made. It's difficult to get those Swedish pop songs out of your head. Benny and Björn even admit that unless the melody gets stuck in your head it isn't good enough. At first, I was a little underwhelmed by the exhibition, but as I went along I changed my opinion.

    We got to a section in the ABBA museum that included a theatre showing a video collage of different ABBA footage. People were crowded around the edges of the theatre with little room to stand. Apparently I was too tall for some woman standing at the back of the room, and rudely asked me to get out of the way. What was I suppose to do chop off my legs! She wasn't offering to move so I could stand behind her but just complained like an entitled a-hole. Instead I had to crouch on the ground.

    Later, I became a de facto tour guide to a group of English women who were trying to work out how ABBA became famous through their involvement in Eurovision. I pointed out that ABBA competed in the national finals in 1972 with Ring Ring but they were not successful. Two years later they won the national finals and went on to win Eurovision with Waterloo.

    Then as we were at the end of the exhibition, an American couple were arguing about whether the members of ABBA were still married; I corrected them and then we went on our way to explore more of the island of Djugården before limping back to our accommodation.

    Apart from ABBA, IKEA and Volvo, I always think of Stockholm Syndrome, a condition where hostages develop a psychological bond with their captors. It also reminds me of Patty Hearst, who is probably the most famous person to claim Stockholm Syndrome after being kidnapped by the Symbionese Liberation Army. She changed her name to Tania and joined in with her captors to rob banks in San Francisco. I don’t think I’d have the energy to resist any kidnappers at this point. Just call me Tania the bank robber, I give in 🤣. Maybe some rest is needed before moving onto the next destination.

    By the way, the Lost World has been axed due to the writer’s strike in LA. But you never know if another network might reboot it.

    Next destination: Helsinki.
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  • Here, there and everywhere in Helsinki

    4. juni 2023, Finland ⋅ ☁️ 15 °C

    We checked out of our accommodation in Stockholm and had about six hours to kill before our cruise ship left Vårtahammen terminal for Helsinki. We got to Stockholm central station and had to buy our train tickets from the ticket counter because the machines weren’t working. What does work these day! While I've been trying to learn a little bit of Swedish, I would have made a dog's breakfast ordering tickets. Fortunately, most people speak English in Sweden.

    The train ticket guy heard our accent and asked us where we were from. Then he said something about being Russian; I thought that he was referring to us, but Jason reckons that he was referring to the ticket machine because it was taking so long to print out the tickets. The ticket had to come all the way from Russia. If it had to come from Russia, it wouldn't have made it through customs. Entry denied.

    We made it to the ship terminal and found out that we could check in early. Luckily ‘cause I didn't want to wait in the terminal for five and a half hours. As soon as we could, we boarded the ship and dumped our bags off in our cabin. We set out to explore the ship before a horde of Swedish revheads/bevans/bogans invaded the cruise liner.

    As we boarded, we could see them in their cars getting ready to embark. Later, we caught sight of their long mullets that swept the bikie club emblem on their leather jackets. I thought I'd been transported back to the early eighties when we walked through the promenade as the cattle drive of bikies, sporting either a business in the front, party at the back or frizzy perm hairdo teamed with denim and leather, moved through the ship. There were a few cool rockabilly types with brightly coloured hair, they stood out from the regular bikie crew.

    As we explored the ship, Jason heard the HRT (high rise tone) Aussie accent from a group of women. They asked us where we were from and we replied “Brissy”. This was meant with a hissing sound. My immediate response was, “so you’re snobs from Melbourne!”, knowing full well that the answer would be in the affirmative. Jason tried to convince them that Brisbane wasn't what they thought: a backwater village. They wouldn't have it; we don't need any more Melburnians on the move to Queensland anyway.

    There was even a huge duty free store on-board and a massive buffet restaurant. We gorged ourselves on the buffet food like it was our last supper before heading to the galleys to face execution. I mean you need to get your money's worth. I snuck in a small bottle of gin to spice up the soft drink on offer. As we were eating, a baby belonging to a nearby Swedish family was mesmerised by Jason. Normally he scares small children, but this one wasn't afraid. The mother even commented that the baby liked him. There's a first for everything.

    When we got back to our cabin, I thought Jason was going to strap down anything that could move for fear that it would fall during the night, expecting the Titanic to plunged into an iceberg and take everything down with it. The fear was all in vain. The only movement we felt was the crazy Swedes and Finns partying in the nearby cabins. It’s crazy, it's party. There was going to be some sore heads in the morning. We definitely noticed an absence of people at the 7:30am breakfast buffet. The only other movement we felt was when the ship was docking at Mariehamn, a small island between Sweden and Finland.

    After enduring a lot of Finnish karaoke, we retired to our cabins for the night. I mean we had a breakfast buffet to prepare for. There wouldn't be any more food until after we landed and travelled to our accommodation in Kallio, Helsinki. We were fuelled up and ready for our half-hour walk through the city centre and old town, bypassing the Helsinki Cathedral, Parliament House and the Presidential Palace.

    Helsinki, the pearl of the Baltic sea, has a metropolitan population of 1.5 million and is the world’s northernmost metropolitan area. Finland is ranked as the happiest country in the world, with Helsinki having one of the highest standards of urban living. But as we walked through the city, people didn't look as happy as the rankings suggest. Maybe they're happier on the inside.

    After wandering around the city centre, we made our way to the harbour markets and stopped for some rare cuisine; well, rare to these Aussie travellers. Reindeer hot dogs and moose hamburgers were on the menu. I couldn't come at the moose hamburgers but we did try Rudolf on a roll. Sorry kids, we killed Rudolf; there will be no Christmas for you this year. Maybe it was karma but I had Rudolf repeating on me all afternoon.

    I did impress the woman selling Rudolf with my piitos paljon (thanks a lot). I'm sure she was just being polite when she said "great pronunciation". We had thought Welsh had some long words, Finnish seemed just as long. But in the case of the Finns I think they bought too many vowels in their game of wheel of fortune.

    We didn't have a lot of time in Helsinki, so we decided to do a tour around the archipelago, which consists of more than 300 islands and a shoreline that stretches 130 kilometres. The crazy Finns love their saunas (as do other Scandinavians) so much that they even have mobile saunas on boats dotted around the archipelago. But during winter all boats have to be taken onto land so their hulls won't be damaged by the ice. There are even special boats that break the ice to allow other bigger boats to enter the harbour.

    The tour guide of the archipelago, a pre-recorded script spoken in Finnish, English, German and Swedish, pointed out beaches along the coast of the islands. But they really didn’t meet our definition of a beach. They were more like a narrow strip of dirt.

    The tour claims that temperatures can get to 30 degrees in summer, and quote “the water simmers at 20 degrees”, which is still cooler than the water coming out of Brisbane household taps in winter. I think that it might be an exaggeration considering the highest temperature ever recorded in the city was 33.2 degrees Celsius in 2019, breaking the previous record of 33.1 degrees in July 1945. The temperature needs to be almost 40 degrees and the water closer to 30 before we will go swimming. But then most Aussies North of the New South Wales border think anything below 24 degrees is cold. Apparently even a moose swims across to one of the islands because it's so picturesque. Obviously it's not the one that they've made into a moose burger.

    As a final culinary treat, we had dinner at the Thai restaurant, Lemongrass, which was located across the road from our accommodation. We impressed the Thai owner with our Thai. She got a kick out of two Aussies speaking in her native tongue, as she did multiple and vigorous wais (the Thai greeting). We actually spoke more Thai than her daughter who only spoke Finnish and English. It was great food to end our time in Helsinki.

    Next destination: Tallinn.

    Finnish: Hei (Hi pronounced hey), Kiitos paljon (Thanks a lot), Mitä kuuluu? (How are you?)
    Læs mere

  • Traipsing all over Tallinn

    6. juni 2023, Estland ⋅ ☁️ 18 °C

    From Helsinki, we took the two-hour ferry across the Gulf of Finland to Tallinn, the capital of Estonia. As we sat on the ferry, we overheard a group of Finnish pensioners. We had no idea what they were saying until we heard the words “Käärijä” and “Cha, cha, cha”, along with the dance moves that have become iconic. We then knew that they were talking about Eurovision. We chimed in and started a conversation with them. They weren’t a huge fan of the song but their grandchildren loved it and they loved the attention that Käärijä had brought to Finland. But they were happy that he didn’t win because of the cost of hosting the Eurovision Song Contest.

    The Finnish pensioners also confirmed that it was true that all new-born babies are being gifted with a Käärijä outfit, the lime green puffer jacket and black spikey pants. I would have stolen one of the outfits if the babies weren’t being heavily guarded by their fathers. We noticed throughout Scandinavia and now in Estonia that it was only men who pushed the prams. There were no women to be seen; maybe it was sauna and spa day.

    As we docked at the Port of Tallinn, we said our parting words to the Finnish pensioners and went on our way. I said to Jason “this won’t be the last time we see them”. And sure enough we saw them in the new town the very next day, traipsing around Tallinn.

    We got to Tallinn and navigated to our AirBnB, which was located in the Old Town in a Soviet-era apartment, diagonally across from the KGB prison cells. The prison held Estonian politicians, civil servants, intellectuals, veterans of the War of Independence, as well as everyday people, where they were beaten and tortured. Our apartment, although only a studio apartment, was a little bigger, and included its own two-person sauna, a luxury not afforded to the prisoners. Even so, Jason was paranoid that the remnants of the KGB bugging devices may still be present; there was a camera installed in the entrance of our apartment! The KGB must have also employed an older lady to sit at the front door to protect the building. I relieved her for a bit while she smoked her fag in the courtyard.

    One of the first things we needed to do was to get some provisions for the next five nights and a SIM card that would work in the Baltics, Poland and Germany. We went to the local supermarket, the Rimi – a place that sells groceries, not a place for rimming 😂. We grabbed a few things and then headed to the self-service cashier to ask Margrit for a SIM card. I greeted her with a “tere” (hi). Jason followed up with “do you speak English?”, which was met with a very stern, Russian-like accent: “yes”. We explained that we wanted a SIM card that would work in Latvia, Lithuania, Poland and Germany. I don’t think Margrit fully understood us, but we were able to figure out which SIM card would work in other countries from her deck of cards.

    A little over five years ago, we had shared an AirBnB with an Estonian couple, and we had organised to catch up with them. Tallinn is easily traversed by foot, and so we dumped our bags at our accommodation and headed to dinner with Kadi-Riin, Magnus, their daughter, Liesel, and dog, Whiskey. It was great to catch up and talk about our adventures that we shared in Bolivia, all of which seemed like a lifetime ago. With our bellies full of good food – the best and probably the most reasonably priced food we've had since we left home – we headed back to our apartment to get a little shut eye before our self-guided tour of the Old Town.

    Tallinn is the most populous city of Estonia, with a population of about 454,000. It also has one of the best preserved medieval old towns in Europe, with many of the buildings dating from the fourteenth to sixteenth centuries, and listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Estonia was also the last pagan region of Europe before the Catholic church imposed Christianity on them during the Northern Crusades of the early thirteenth century.

    We wandered around the Old Town, marvelling at medieval and renaissance architecture before heading to the Patkuli viewing platform. We climbed the 157 steps to the lookout, located in one of the most ancient parts of Tallinn, to take in the best views of the Old Town, including its towers and walls, and all the way out to the sea port.

    After our tour of the Old Town, we headed to the newer part of the city to explore more of Tallinn, including the small wooden houses, referred to as Tallinn houses. They were built in the 1920s and 1930s, constructed of two symmetrical wooden wings separated by a stone central staircase. Originally they were built for the working class. Now, they provide a colourful backdrop to the area.

    While we were in Tallinn, it was officially Baltic Pride, hosted on behalf of Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania. One of the first events we attended was a panel session on mental health and the LGBT+ communities. At first we thought we may have turned up to a session that was going to be in Estonian. That would have been useless for us! Luckily, it was all in English. The following day, we attended the Pride conference. This time we had an interpreter for all the parts that were in Estonian. We were given headsets and magically we could hear the interpreter with a delay, which meant our applause was slightly delayed too.

    The conference was very inclusive, with two sign interpreters who took turns. There seemed to be a little bit of competition about who could sign the longest without getting fatigued. The more senior interpreter would jump you and impatiently tap her grey suede high-heels until the more junior interpreter got the message. The more senior one seemed to like to touch her boobs as she signed. Maybe that's her fetish!

    The Pride week culminated in the match through the Old Town, starting at the junction between Harju and Kuninga and finishing up at the Kaitseministeerium (the Ministry of Defence). It was well-attended, with 7000 people matching and many of the town folk out to watch. Even the military officers were onlookers, although they were themselves the target of some ogling from the marching crowd. Woof, woof.

    Over the five days, we became regulars at the Rimi supermarket, so much so that we should have gotten a loyalty card. They had an in-store bakery and we progressively taste tested almost all of their goodies. Gone with the dust and air diet of Scandinavia! We could afford to eat now, and didn't we just do that. We may need to increase the step count to counter the excess calories.

    On one occasion, as we were using the self-service checkout, we had to guess what the bakery goods were by the pictures. Despite pressing the English button on the screen, all of the bakery and produce was in Estonian. I had mistaken my jam-filled doughnut for something else. It caused a problem with the checkout because the weight didn't match. Sveta, the checkout assistant, was onto it, pressing buttons and muttering something in Estonian. Jason quickly asked “English please”. All that Sveta knew was “meat” and kept repeating it: “No meat”. No, the doughnut wasn't meat. Even with her tapping away, playing the cash register like it was a keytar in an Estonian synth pop band, it still didn't fix the problem. This was enough for us to avoid the self-service registers for all future bakery purchases.

    There was the one time that we cheated on Rimi and went to the local Prism supermarket. This supermarket had a different system to Rimi for their produce; there was no look-up item on the register. Jason decided that it would be easier to go to the checkout assistant to get them to call up the items. I reminded him of the time in Slovakia where we had to weigh and tag our own produce. Yep, we needed to play a game of memorise and remember the codes for each of the items. Unlike in Slovakia, the checkout assistant was happy to assist; he didn’t throw the checkout divider at us.

    Jason’s nickname has also changed from Scourge McScoorge and Touchy McTouchy to Clepto McClepto. Every time there is any free food, condiments or spices on offer, he has to take some for Ron, later on. We now have an endless supply of salt, pepper and Burger King ketchup. But I have to admit, it has come in handy on a few occasions and no doubt will be used at our next destination.

    Next destination: Riga

    Estonian: Tere (Hi), Tänud (Thanks a lot), Aitäh (Thanks), Kuidas sul läheb? (how are you?, Terviseks (Cheers!), Mul läheh hästi (I'm good)
    Læs mere

  • Roaming around Riga

    11. juni 2023, Letland ⋅ ☀️ 22 °C

    We took the three-and-a-half Lux Express bus from Tallinn to Riga. The bus terminal was a little too far from the Old Town in Tallinn so we took a Bolt car (like an Uber or Didi), although after all the food we had eaten we probably should have hiked through Tallinn. It just meant we had to hike through Riga to get to our accommodation.

    Our AirBnB apartment was located in the city centre on the outskirts of the Old Town. No more cobblestone streets to traispe up and down. We got to what we thought was the building and punched in the code. Computer says no. We walked a little further up the road and finally got to the right location.

    We entered the building and assumed that apartment 605 would be on the sixth floor. Nope, it was in what they called the middle basement - not the deep depths of the bottom basement – which just meant that the apartment windows were just above ground level. It was a spacious, newly renovated apartment. This was a luxury for us.

    Our usual routine started with off loading our bags and heading to the Old Town to take a sticky beak. We only had two nights so we needed to make the most of it. The Old Town is filled with a few Gothic Revival and hundreds of Art Nouveau buildings. Apparently in the late nineteenth century and early twentieth century Riga experienced an economic upturn and the middle class built Art Nouveau apartment blocks. The Old Town has since become a UNESCO World heritage site.

    The other part of our routine is to get provisions, although this time we were determined not to raid the bakery section. But when we saw our dear beloved Rimi the temptation was too much. Like two people with a drug addiction, we kept going back for more ... and more. This time we were brave enough to use the self-service checkout, even though the lookup items were in Latvian. 100 per cent success rate!

    The first evening, just before going to bed, despite there still being light outside, I could hear scratching and gnawing in the walls. Perhaps a group of itinerant KGB Russian army rats had followed two itinerant Aussies from Estonia and set up camp in our apartment walls. I mean the old KGB headquarters was only around the counter. The sound was so loud I thought they were going to burst through the walls. Eventually with ear plugs in I was able to get to sleep but they must have visited me in my dreams/nightmares. Apparently I kicked Jason and ended up in foetal position horizontally across the bed. Luckily the KGB rats must have moved onto their next destination to torture other victims, because they couldn’t be heard the next night.

    The next day we continued our wanderings around Riga, taking in all of the sites and history. The Freedom Monument, Brīvības piemineklis, is the focal point in the old part of town, towering over 42 metres and made from granite, travertine, and copper. It was built to commemorate those who fought in the Latvian war of independence in 1918-1920. Under Soviet rule, there was a plan to destroy it but apparently a well-respected Russian artist had convinced Soviet authorities to leave it alone.

    With the war in Ukraine, there has been a revival of de-russification in Latvia. The street where the Russian embassy is located has been renamed to Independent Ukraine Street, with a massive picture of Putin crossed with an ape draped across the building facing the embassy. Some of the Soviet-era monuments, which had been protected by an agreement between Latvian and Russian governments, have been destroyed.

    The Latvian government is also forcing all ethnic Russians to learn Latvian; it’s a reversal of what happened to the ethnic Latvians who were forbidden to speak their language under the Soviet government. When the Soviet Union dissolved and Latvia gain independence, ethnic Russians and their children born before 1991 were not granted Latvian citizenship. Now they have been given until the end of the year to learn Latvian or else be deported. Luckily we’re just tourists and staying for a short visit. I don't think sveiki (hi) and paldies (thanks) would be enough. We’ll be well and truly onto our next destination before we are deported.

    Next destination: Vilnius.

    Latvian: Sveiki (Hi), Paldies (Thanks), Ass nazis (Sharp knife).
    Læs mere

  • A brief visit to Vilnius

    13. juni 2023, Litauen ⋅ ☀️ 24 °C

    From Riga, we boarded the Lux Express bus and embarked upon our almost four-hour journey to Vilnius; but, not before we trekked for 25 minutes through Riga, going slightly off course for a moment. For a second, I thought we might not make our bus in time. Alas, we arrived with a couple of minutes to spare, despite including some buffer time: that was eaten up by going off course. Oh well, we probably needed the extra steps.

    We walked from the bus terminal to our hotel in the Old Town, which was about ten minutes away. But it was still too far for Jason, who kept asking if we were there yet. This is starting to become a bit of a theme. Suck it up Princess, you need to work off all those bakery goodies.

    We arrived at the hotel and the woman behind the counter stared at us with her multiple pairs of fake eye lashes that looked like she was ready to enter a dressage competition. No, sveiki (hi) for us. She handed us the key and gave us instructions to our hotel apartment, which was equipped with a small kitchen.

    We had little time to spare so we took off to explore the Old Town. Vilnius is the second largest city in the Baltic States, only marginally smaller than Riga, with a population of almost 600,000. However, it's Old Town is much larger and better preserved, with amazing Vilnian Baroque architecture, which was declared as a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1994. The city is sprawled across a 401 km² area. There was no way that we would be able to cover it all in a day. Almost immediately, we regretted not spending more time in Vilnius. The beauty of the city cannot be described in words.

    Prior to World War II, Vilnius had a large Jewish population, leading to the nickname "the Jerusalem of Lithuania", or as Napoleon called it "the Jerusalem of the North". Unfortunately the German Nazi genocide murdered about 95% of the 265,000-strong Jewish population. But, the Jewish influence still lives on.

    Our dear beloved Rimi existed in Vilnius, but it's competitor Iki had overtaken it as the main supermarket chain. So, we cheated on Rimi once again. The bakery section has a similar range of goodies to those at the Rimi in Latvia and Estonia. The shop assistants were just as friendly and helpful ... insert sarcasm. Unlike the Rimi self-service registers, there was no obvious button to press to change the language to English: it was written in Lithuanian. That’s helpful. Well, Janina was put out that she needed to get off her arse and help us. With a dirty look and a bit of huffing and puffing, she reluctantly changed the language to English. Ačiū (thanks), Janina.

    The next time I went into the Iki I didn't bother changing the language and just scanned the items. I had cut down on the bakery goods by this stage, so there was no need to look up items. I'd already stocked up earlier! We had also increased our step count by this stage. The belt notch had already needed to be loosened, and we were determined that it wouldn't go to the next notch.

    Next destination: Warsaw.

    Lithuanian: Sveiki (Hi), Padėka (Thank you).
    Læs mere

  • Wandering all over Warsaw

    14. juni 2023, Polen ⋅ ☀️ 24 °C

    We caught the ten past seven Lux Express bus from Vilnius to Warsaw. I'm not sure why it is called Lux, there's nothing luxurious about it. There's a toilet and hot beverages. That's it. No food cart or food is included. For those who didn't plan ahead, they were screwed. Luckily, we were prepared as I played tuckshop lady, making sandwiches on the bus. Maybe I could get a second job in a tuckshop.

    The almost eight hour journey took us through the countryside of Lithuania via Kaunas and across the Lithuanian-Polish border near Podwojponie in Poland. As we crossed the burger, border security flagged down our bus and jumped on board to check passports and visas. Usually we get interrogated to the nth degree: where are your going? Where are you staying? How long will you be here? Do you have a return ticket. But on this occasion, the border security officer took a look at our passports, eyeballed us and went on their way. The guy in front of us got a bit of a grilling: do you have a visa? I'm not sure where he was from, but the guy sitting diagonally across from us was Ukrainian and seemed to have a permanent residency card for Poland. They didn't grill him as much.

    We arrived in Warsaw and ordered a Bolt car to take us to our hotel. When we checked in, I realised that the previously axed Lost World production had commissioned another reunion episode. This time it wasn't a fire drill but a real fire. I’d left my reading glasses on the bus. Somehow in the rush to get off the bus I’d either left them in the seat pocket or they fell out of my bag. Oh well, an excuse to buy another pair.

    We only had two nights in Warsaw and we had to cover a lot of ground in that time. Warsaw is the capital and the largest city in east-central Poland, with a metropolitan population of around 3.1 million. The city is situated along the not-so-clean Vistula river. After checking into our hotel, we set out to explore the Old Town or Old Warsaw as it is historically known.

    Unfortunately during World War II, 85 per cent of the city was destroyed by German bombing. The German Luftwaffe specially targeted residential and historic landmarks, which meant the majority of the Old Town did not survive. After the siege of Warsaw, some of the buildings in the Old Town were rebuilt but were again destroyed by the German Army in 1944. Following the end of the war, there was an effort to reconstruct them using the original bricks that survived and based on designs and drawings from the past; however, some of the reconstruction didn’t follow the original plans, and there was some attempts to improve the original design. Nonetheless, the end result is a beautiful reconstruction of architecture from the thirteenth to twentieth centuries, and recognised in 1980 by UNESCO as a World Heritage Site.

    The following day, we headed to Centrum, a newer part of the city to wander around. Amongst some of the newer skyscrapers stands the 237-metre Palace of Culture and Science, which was gifted to Poland by the Soviet Union in 1955 and modelled on the Empire State building in New York. It's still the second largest building in Poland.

    Before we ended our time in Warsaw, we had one more opportunity to taste the cuisine on offer. We had had Azerbaijani food in Estonia, now we had tried vegan Syrian food in Warsaw, and ended it with a Thai feast at a Vietnamese-Thai restaurant. The stern and rather abrupt Vietnamese woman softened when we said a Cảm ơn (thanks). One of the previous Polish patrons ended up walking out the restaurant, seemingly because she was so abrupt. Our limited Vietnamese came in handy. There was no point in giving her a dzień dobry (hi) or a dziękuję (thanks).

    After more than 27,000 steps in a day, it was time to retire to our hotel. The soles of our shoes probably need retreading at this point before heading to our next destination.

    Next destination: Berlin.

    Polish: Dzień dobry (Hi), Dziękuję (Thank you pronounced Djen-kuu-yea).
    Læs mere

  • Bring on Berlin

    16. juni 2023, Tyskland ⋅ ☀️ 20 °C

    All of the later trains leaving Warsaw Gdanska station to Berlin were fully booked, so we had to catch the super early 6:12am train. Another early morning start! That don't impress me much. They say the early bird gets the worm, but I think we should leave the worm alone. Leave them in peace, I say.

    We had to catch a Bolt car from our hotel at the crack of dawn in case there were issues and we needed to arrange other transport. The Bolt driver sped through Warsaw traffic like a madman, and would’ve run down anything in his way. He got us there with more than 20 minutes to spare. None of the shops opened until 6am, so Jason ran to get provisions like he was on Supermarket Sweeps, collecting as many treats for the journey, and getting back to the platform in time for the train departure.

    We boarded our train, along with a class full of Polish students heading to Berlin, presumably for a summer school excursion. We settled into our Polish post-World War II train seats, prepared for our six hour journey through Poland and eastern Germany. Again, we were assigned seats in different rows. I think someone needs to fix their algorithm. They probably also need to fix their ticketing system; every few hours when there was a change of ticket inspector, we had to show our tickets, not once or twice but thrice. Doesn't seem too efficient!

    As the train crossed the Polish-German border, German immigration inspectors boarded. We were prepared to show our passports, but it seemed they were targeting only certain people. We were left alone while anyone who may have looked like they came from a low-income, Eastern European country were asked to show passports.

    We arrived in Berlin too early for check-in so we left our bags at the hotel and high tailed it to get our first fix of currywurst. It had been almost six years since we'd been to Berlin and we were craving the mildly spiced sausage. Over the next four days, we would repeatedly indulge in the Berliner tradition. It was like nothing had changed.

    Berlin is known for its vibrant nightlife and that was exactly what we were here to experience again. That evening, we headed to a nightclub with the reputation for being one of the most exclusive and most difficult clubs to get in. But we had no trouble getting through the bouncer. As Roxette sang, "she's got the look .... And she goes: na na na na na na na na." Although we did have to stand in line for about 20-30 minutes while homeless men pushing a shopping trolley played bad retro music and sold beer. As we entered the club, they took our phones and placed stickers over the cameras so we couldn't take pictures and video. I'm surprised we didn't need to sign a non-disclosure confidentiality agreement.

    We didn't leave the club until about 1:30am and then needed to catch the U-bahn to our hotel, along with other party-goers. One woman was so wasted she could hardly stand up and looked like she was doing a little Schuhplattler jig just to stand up. All she needed was some lederhosen.

    The next day, tired and maybe with a slight hangover, we toured around Berlin. We had purchased 24-hour public transport tickets so we decided to jump on any bus to see where it would take us. It was a pick-your-own adventure until we ran out of time. We ended up at the Brandenburg Gate and the Reichstag before walking about 35 minutes through the Tiergarten to our Schöneberg hotel on Litzenburger strasse. We followed this up with another night out and a trip to Görlitzer park. Rinse and repeat. Remember what happens in Berlin, stays in Berlin.

    During our travels revisiting some of our favourite Berlin sites, I became obsessed with the train announcements. Jason has his door fetish, mine is train announcements. It's strange how many of my memories of places and languages involve public transport announcements. I had figured out one half of the announcement, and had a fair idea what the second part translated to in English but I needed the help of Google Translate. Einsteigen bitte (Please get in), Zurückbleiben bitte (Please stay behind). Now I can’t get this catchphrase out of my head. It may have to be my new ringtone.

    On our third day, we needed to do some laundry and found a laundromat nearby. We walked in and were confronted with a laundromat of people. It was filled with competitors from the Special Olympic Games, including a contingent from the Australian team. It seems we can't escape Aussies wherever we go. In incognito mode as German residents, we quickly loaded up the washing machine and headed to explore the surrounding area unrecognised.

    Our final day was spent ticking off the things that we hadn't done, and also eating some more currywurst and searching for any treats that we could get our teeth into ... of course. It won't be long until we are back home, and back on our diet of dust and air to regain our pre-holiday physiques so we need to make the most of it.

    Next destination: Munich.
    Læs mere

  • A Moment in Munich

    20. juni 2023, Tyskland ⋅ ⛅ 20 °C

    For our final destination of our trip, we headed to Munich in the South-East of Germany. We checked out of our hotel in Berlin, headed to the Zoologischer Garten train station and hopped off at the Berlin Hauptbahnhof to get the high speed train to Munich.

    As the Munich-bound train arrived, it seemed to be missing a few carriages. Jason found a carriage that had our seat numbers but it had a different wagon number. He was prepared to jump on anyway. But apparently our wagon was still to come. Then there was an announcement that our train would be delayed by half an hour. Half an hour went by and another announcement advised us that it would be delayed by another fifteen minutes. This was shortly followed by a further delay of an hour. No, make that 70 minutes.

    After 70 minutes the missing carriages/wagons appeared and connected to the existing train carriages. We were delayed a further fifteen minutes due to a damaged part of the train that seemed to occur when they connected the trains. Now we were finally off. Doomsday Jason had the train cancelled, and we were never going to make it to the Depeche Mode concert in the evening.

    After checking into our budget hotel in the city centre, close to the train station, we discovered that the toilet wasn’t working. Reception! If it’s yellow, let it mellow, if it’s brown, flush it down.

    We had little time to waste to get a quick glimpse of Munich and stock up on a few provisions for our flight home. We wandered around the city centre for a few hours before heading back to the hotel to freshen up and get pretty for the Depeche Mode concert.

    Jason had received a message to say that the starting time of the concert had changed to 7:45pm. He was convinced that this was the starting time for Depeche Mode. I wasn’t so sure. I think it was Nanna's wishful thinking; nanna wanted a relatively early night. Fat chance!

    We jumped on the metro at the U-bahn, which was packed with lots of concert-goers. A Spanish couple sat opposite Jason and hasn’t realised that maybe he could understand their conversation, which included something about us. As we disembarked the train, Jason gave her a “con permiso” (excuse me), letting them know that they weren’t the only ones who understood (some) Spanish. This was met with a “me encanta” (I love it). Presumably she was talking about our outfits.

    We made it to the Olympic Stadium and headed to get a drink. The bar attendant complimented us on our outfits. She loved our style, with black netted tops and black shorts. Yes, we thought it was uber Depeche Mode too.

    With drink in hand, we stood watching the support act, Young Fathers. I realised that there was another section. I took a sticky beak and yes we were in the wrong section. We had tickets for front of stage rather the pleb view beside the sound and lighting tent.

    Half way through the concert, the heavens decided to open up and piss down. Fortunately it didn’t last long and we could enjoy the remainder of the concert, albeit like drowned rats.

    Then came the trip home. Somehow we did a Sharon Strzelecki and barged our way through the crowd and onto the waiting train. We had to change at Scheidplatz but we still made it home before Cinderella’s coach turned into a pumpkin. We got further compliments when we walked past the local strip club about 50 metres from the hotel. Somehow they thought we were twins (from different mothers and fathers).

    Now it was time to get a little shut eye before the mammoth trip home.

    Next destination: Brisbane via London and Dubai
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  • Back to Brisbane

    21. juni 2023, Australien ⋅ ☀️ 20 °C

    Our final day in Europe was spent flying from Munich to London. There were threats that there would be an flight ban across Germany so we were freaking out that we may not make our flights home from London.

    We arrived in London with hours to kill. Then came the long haul flight home with Emirates. After a 2-hour layover in Dubai, we were on our final leg home to BrisVegas.
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    Slut på rejsen
    22. juni 2023