Berlin Day One

Day One consisted on making good for the plans of detox after Fusion.

That is, up by 12pm. Shower by 1pm. Out of the hostel into sunshine by 3pm.

FRI and the Kiwi stagger down a busy street hoping to establish two reference points: an internet cafe and somewhere to buy anti-scurvy stuff. We found a new, 'now open' cafe staffed by a poor woman who had no clue about computers - our suspicion that we had stumbled on a tightly-run ship were confirmed by the sight of the only two computers in the place, in bits on the floor. We got out of there pretty quickly.

We then found a place to get fresh food and vitamins, loaded ourselves up and then staggered back to the hostel and (I think) prepared some dinner, slept a little more and watched some soccer.

As far as I can recall, that was pretty much the formula for, gee maybe the first 5 or 6 days. Somewhere in there we changed hostels, some crazy Irish went home, and the Kiwi and FRI use each other's laziness and reticence as an excuse to do bugger all (well, I have to speak for myself here - I was definitely a bad influence on him - he would go and do stuff and I would make excuses and go and sit on the internet).

Price of experience

Owing to foresight and moneybags status (and probably a dose of "I'm on holiday, I don't care") the Kiwi paid for all his Hamburg accommodation in advance. The quick among you will realise that this means that there were two days worth of Hamburg accommodation gone begging. The Kiwi displayed remarkable clarity of mind at about Sunday while still at Fusion in realising that the crazy talk from the crazy Irish was heading towards going to Berlin rather than Hamboig, and then called the Hamburg hostel to cancel his accommodation, grovel, and ask them to hold his money until he came to collect it.

Such clarity was undone hours later, when he realised that said crazy talk was now drifting towards a return trip to Hamboig instead of Berlin. Far from panicking, he had faith that the crazy Irish would be more than able to have an adventure, whether or not they had accommodation booked. It turned out in the end that FRI and the Kiwi went to Berlin with some other Irish, and Jo, Ruadhan, BFG-Jim-Bobo (as he has recently via e-mail asked for it) and Gnome-spotter Pam decided to stay on at Fusion and enjoy the chilled out aftermath.

When in Berlin...

Worry about how the hell you are going to recover 60 euros from Hamboig. It ultimately turned out that the Kiwi conveniently didn't go back to Hamboig with FRI when the opportunity arose (hangover indeed), but decided to spend 105 euros to get back his 60 by taking the quick train.

It wasn't actually that bad - I managed to avoid losing any money to escrow fees on the hostel's part, went on a big wild goose chase in Hamburg, got a ride on the quick train (220 kph kicks butt I tell ya, well, so far) and got some postcards done for the cost of 40 euros.

The goose chase in Hamburg came about because I dragged FRI along with me for company while I went on a mission to find some bad-ass St. Pauli souvenirs to take back to London (the skull and crossbones R). We had an idea of the loop of shops where I had seen some such memorabilia on the way to Wal-Mart and Fusion and managed to walk past it on virtually our first steps in search. It's all about perspective I decided, when I recognised the shop after walking towards it from the opposite direction (that is, the direction from which we had originally visited the shop). So if that made sense (and seemed funny), then yeah, it was kinda funny because we had stood in the rain, chatted up a local lass while asking if she knew where the shop was (which we didn't know the name of) and which direction it was in (which we weren't sure of). After about an hour of walking around and me getting dirty feet (I had jandals on) we finally found it.

And it's getting a little hard now to concentrate here in London with this dirty heatwave (heh heh). Hot and sweaty. Yesiree. Mmmm.

Looking forward for the ABs to do the business against a demoralised SA side in a few hours. If I'm not absolutely trashed by travelling back to Berlin from Stockholm and then again to London today AND a late night AND the heat blah blah then I will be up and out and into a pub somewhere to get into something cold and put the wind up any Yapies I can find.

Big Jerry gets a rest this week - Graham Henry was apparently in close discussion with the ground staff at Westpac stadium this week.

Ripper moment: Butch James tackling Sammy Tuitupou and vice versa. The lesser man will give way, but who? Hot diggy, can hardly wait. Look for Dan Carter to produce another masterly performance, with McCaw, Williams and Weepu to lead by example.

via Stuff:

New Zealand: Leon MacDonald, Doug Howlett, Mils Muliaina, Sam Tuitupou, Scott Hamilton, Daniel Carter, Piri Weepu, Rodney So'oialo, Richie McCaw (captain), Reuben Thorne, Ali Williams, Chris Jack, Carl Hayman, Anton Oliver, Neemia Tialata.

Reserves: Isaia Toeava, Luke McAlister, Jimmy Cowan, Chris Masoe, Greg Rawlinson, Greg Somerville, Andrew Hore.

South Africa: Percy Montgomery, Akona Ndungane, Jaque Fourie, Wynand Olivier, Bryan Habana, Meyer Bosman/Butch James, Fourie du Preez, Jacques Cronje, Juan Smith, Solly Tyibilika, Victor Matfield, Albert van den Berg, CJ van der Linde, John Smit (captain), Os du Randt.

Reserves: Breyton Paulse/JP Pietersen, Bosman/James, Ricky Januarie, Joe van Niekerk, Johann Muller, Eddie Andrews, Danie Coetzee.

Referee: Joel Jutge (France).

Berlin Index

The Profile

Day One
Day Rest of Them

The scorecard

Finale (oh, oh)

And the solid lines represent rail travel, but you guessed that already, right???

So here is a mashed and butt-ugly map that I had hoped would put a graceful air to the summary of places I have been to over the last six weeks (cooler would be links in the picture for you to click on, but I'm not that much of a geek yet). The bloodied Xs represent the hits that I've made on (in?) Germany:

1. Entry to Munich from Geneva via Stuttgart.

2 & 3. Up to Bonn and Cologne.

4. Hamburg.

5. Fusion!

6. Berlin.

7. Sweden.

Watch for the last two groups of updates to come in due course.

Berlin: Profile

Berlin lies deep in the heart of what used to be East Germany and is one of the most interesting cities to visit, courtesy of having been split into four after World War II and being the shadowy backdrop to much Cold War skullduggery back in the day.

It is a microcosm of the challenges facing Germany post-reunification: one can wake up in eastern Berlin and be reminded of the drudge and depression of Soviet oversight and then after a 20-minute train ride, sit flush in an affluent suburb in western Berlin with glorious architectural designs and such great advances in technology such as the microwave (I'm kidding of course - the microwave is neither a great advance nor is it found in western Berlin - they have magical super-rays that come out of synthetic tea towels to warm up and defrost food in 10 seconds flat. But some parts of eastern Berlin are downright ugly).

West Berlin and East Berlin do not exist anymore, as any number of locals will correct you if you try to tell them where you went walking the previous day. They will probably also get a little shirty with you if you try to skirt around it with 'eastern' and 'western' (I certainly got the 'you getting smart?' look once or twice).

Berlin is also a massive city and it is thanks to the seamless local transport options (train, tram and bus) that one can get around more than two suburbs in a day. A visit to Germany is wasted without time spent in Berlin.

Fusion Index

Fusion Profile
Hamburg - Day Four (Fusion I)
Hamburg - Day Five (Fusion II)
Hamburg - Day Six (Fusion III)

Hamburg - the Scorecard

Hamburg gets the treatment.

Greenery

Hamburg gets a 10 in this area due to its stunning botanical gardens in close proximity to the city. Featuring domestic and exotic plant life, from Alpine exhibitions to desert conditions in the massive greenhouse, the gardens are a pleasure to walk through and the water features (including a river) satisfy even the most ardent greenie demands.

It is also assisted by the overwhelming presence of dope at Fusion, you couldn't walk around without being asked if you had any weed to sell (funny how they all understand English at that point) or if you wanted to buy some (I can neither confirm nor deny). Fusion had the potential to sink Hamburg's score because I got a heinous hayfever attack that almost spoiled the festival (but it didn't) and all the grass around in the tent area was brown and dying. There was also an invasion of fluffy balls of fluff on Sunday when a huge wind swept across the grounds and drove a million of these bastards into the air (looks tres cool in the sun though) at which I retreated into the tent...

Score: 10 out of 10

Entertainment

I have to say that Hamburg benefits from Fusion again in this area, but not that it really needs it, given that Hamburg has St. Pauli...

Top marks for pumping times out in Hamburg, even if it tempered somewhat by the thrill of being inches away from mortal danger. I'm pretty certain we could have found a cage fight if we had actually gone looking.

Score: 9 out of 10

Beer

A bit more average on this count actually - certainly none of the variety of Bavaria but still one or two uninspiring local brews. On the plus side, Becks is brewed close to here: in little old Bremen...

Score: 6 out of 10

Religion

I could be convinced that Hamburg is godless and going to hell in a handbasket, but that would be because I spent the Day of the Lord at the pit of debauchery at Fusion and took one look too many at the Reeperbahn. No churches visited, but many prayers hastily said...

It gets compassionate consideration because of my ignorance. Score: 6 out of 10

The City

The first city to greet me with a traffic jam, I felt right at home. The usual top-notch local transport. Shiteloads of kebab stands. A sense of thrill I didn't get in Bonn or Munich. Scummy decor and graffiti.

I could live here.

Score: 8 out of 10.

Total score: 39 out of 50 or 78%.

Fusion - Profile

Missing from my posts so far is an explanation of Fusion and a link to their website...

So...

Fusion's first concert was in 1996 on an old Russian airforce base in the North German region of Mecklenburg-Vorpommern, in the vicinty of the towns of Mirow and Vipperow. Being 6-7 years after the reunification of Germany AND located in the former-DDR (GDR in English - German Democratic Republic - ie. under Soviet control) it is only natural that the festival should be a celebration (remembrance?) of the communist spirit:

"As different as the people showing up their intentions are ... unified by the look for individualism and freedom everybody finds her/his own way of action. Free of boundaries and prejudice."

An interesting statement, almost as interesting as the constant anti-Nazi message being pushed through, from the festival handbooks to the graphics on the waste bags... "No voice to the Nazis", "Keep your festival clean" (with a graphic of tossing swastikas in the bin). A similar message that I have seen in the rest of Germany, as the country deals with its murky past in an open-but-not-so-open way (more later).

The festival consists of multiple 'stages', all of which exhibit a different or slightly different genre of electronic music to the rest. From goa to dub and hitting nearly everything in between, there is something for anyone who likes one form or another of electronic music. There are also plenty of stalls selling food, as well as others selling clothes, trinkets, various kitsch, and hats among other things.

The concerts are still on site at the airforce base (I heard someone saying that the organisers of Fusion had purchased the land a few years ago?), there are showers in two locations as well as three water stations if I recall correctly, 'safe areas', first aid with hospital shuttles, security patrols and even an artificial moon to give light at night! All that you need to worry about is how and where you are sleeping. The 'quick and the tired' is the rule here, because if you want a tent close to the music, you better get in fast, otherwise it's a bit of hike over rough gravel, and if you're already shagged from dancing the night away, it could get a little frustrating trying to find your tent among the tens of thousands of others. Bring a torch too.

So, Fusion is big music festival that is apparently even pretty tame by dance festival standards. A lot of that is to do with the laissez-faire attitude around the place: if you're not bothering anyone, you can do pretty much whatever you like. Exhortations against sexual and physical violence are in the handbook and I experienced quite a good attitude from fellow Fusioners - people are generally concerned enough to stop and help you if you trip up (and break an ankle) and during the day when it gets stiflingly hot, people are more than happy to share their water with you if you haven't got any left. And a volunteer fire brigade is also on hand to spray water on the pumping masses too :)

If you are looking for a place that sets out a safe arena and the freedom to do what you want to the music that you want, then I recommend you think about coming to Fusion next year. I for one will be seriously considering it.

World Cup - Best Goal

Up on the World Cup website there is a section for the Best Goal of the tournament. It has video footage of all the top entries and is well worth a look! I thought that in addition to Maxi Rodriguez's volley against Mexico, Philip Lahm's goal in the opening match against Costa Rica was pretty top notch, I also liked Joe Cole's effort (only effort) in the England - Sweden game. (Thanks WorldCupBlog)

The Big OE - research

New blog: The Big OE

Annika is a student at the Unviersity of Caterbury in the South Island and is doing her Masters thesis on the Big OE. She has set up a blog to get comment and opinions online, I recommend getting over on to it and saying your thing!

She is also keen on Aussie views so get in there cuzzies!

To the expats: have a look and link to it, I'm sure that people back home will have some thoughts as well!

UPDATE: To be exact, she is interested as to why Australia does not count as an OE destination for Kiwis. That said, I'm sure she would be interested to hear Aussie views on the OE and to see if there are differences in perception.

Hamburg - Day Six (Fusion III)

Um-zicka-um-zicka-um-zicka-um-zicka.

Every other man and his dog left on Sunday night (Day Five) as the main stage closed at 10pm and the final acts close at 6am Monday morning (Day Six).

This day was a little surreal for me but kind of went like this:

5am - wake up to broad daylight and some faint um-zick. Try to fall back asleep.
6am - get up, stand up, get out of the tent so that the tent owners can fold it up and travel back to Hamburg to catch their flight to Ireland.
8am - finish repacking my suitcase and find some shade
10am - turn, adjust jandals so that feet don't burn
12pm - the sun has come overhead and is now killing shade angles. Covering up and shading myself with a jacket to create a tent.
2pm - turn. The remnants of the Irish appear out of their tents, including my 5 travelling companions. It is now extremely hot.
4pm - turn and shake. The G6 are now able to convene and make a decision on what is happening that night.
6pm - the meeting concludes and the Kiwi and Fionn the rasta Irish (FRI) decide to head to Berlin with a few other of the Irish posse who have accommodation booked, and BFG, Pam, Jo and Ruadhan decide to stay another night at the base, along with a few of the other Fusion purists (some of whom keep going for a whole week)
7-11pm Trains to Berlin and the youth hostel. A few anxious moments before the hostel confirms they can accommodate the Kiwi and FRI.

No um-zick for the first time in what seems like a while. Zzz...

Hamburg - Day Five (Fusion II)

Um-zicka-um-zicka-um-zicka-um-zicka.

(Yep, the music was still playing)

It was at about this stage that our water supplies began to run low. I discovered our nearest cold water station and took great delight in making the odd water mission out to the taps using the empty plastic vessels from in and around our tents. I also found a great use for my red bandanna that I bought over with me from NZ (which I bought last year) but never opened or used.

Combined with my oversize Aviators, the bandanna gave me the look of some pasty white dehydrated cowboy who didn't have any stubble despite not shaving for a few days. At least, that's what I told myself the worst case scenario was. And then I stopped thinking about how I looked, because the bandanna sat nicely over my neck and stopped it from burning in the sun. So I didn't care anymore (especially as there were plenty of long-haired freaky people for everyone else to gawk at) and I kept the bandanna/aviators mix going for the rest of the weekend.

Injuries II

I was a little petrified about turning my ankle but my injury for the weekend turned out to be hayfever. I noticed on the first night that there were a lot of fluffy balls of fluff floating around and I made a note to take my medication each morning to combat the effect.

I'm pretty sure that it had an effect, but I was still blubbering and sneezing away and it wasn't until about Sunday afternoon (Day Five) that I realised that the medication was a few years old and was likely suffering in potency. Bugger it.

Um-zicka-um-zicka-um-zicka-um-zicka.

Hamburg - Day Four (Fusion I)

Um-zicka-um-zicka-um-zicka-um-zicka.

I woke up to the joy that it was about 7am and broad daylight. Joy because broad daylight started at about 5am and for once, I didn't wake up!

The music was still going.

Crazy Irish

Among the band of early risers was one particularly crazy Irish, Caroline (the climbing one) who was nursing injuries to both her ankles. One was not particularly swollen up, but the other one was.

Ankle One

Ankle One was accounted for by embarking on a spontaneous game of 'Let's Roll Down the Side of the Hangar' the previous night. A simple slip on a grass-covered aircraft hangar meant that one ankle was turned better than Aunt Betty's famous apple turnover, and was proving a bit of a nuisance and not a wee bit painful.

Ankle Two

Ankle Two was accounted for with a little more imagination that Ankle One.

Caroline had been climbing a tree somewhere (somewhere) and stepped on an old branch which duly snapped and send her crashing to the ground.

Now, you can't keep a good Irish down, and in this case, Caroline actually got a little pissed off and decided to climb the tree again. Not back to the offending branch, no, higher. Much much higher than before.

From my recollection of the story as it was told to me, it must have been dark. I am quite sure that it was dark, given what happened when Caroline decided she wanted to get off the tree. Misjudging how high she was, she jumped off, expecting a drop of about a few feet. Instead, she had a drop of a few metres and by the time she hit the ground, her feet weren't ready to land anymore and her toes were curled underneath her feet.

Crunch.

Off goes Caroline to hospital for a scan on the crunched (more swollen) ankle. Later in the day she reappears with a cast on that ankle and a bandage on the other, on crutches.

Injuries

It seems that the way to do in your ankle is to go to an outdoor dance music festival. I was staggered how many other people I saw going in to the first aid area (leaving in the hospital shuttle ambulance) who were limping or already had bandages on. Yikes.

What goes on tour...

...stays on tour. But in this case, mostly because the memory is a little hazy. Trust me though when I say the rest of that day (and night) was awesome.

Hamburg - Day Three (II)

Before proceeding, I should note that 'Grimey Wonderland and the Collection of Freaks' is not actually a real name. I made it up.

The rest of Day Three was spent on trains and periodically on the ground, waiting for train connections. I ended up carrying one of our two massive red wine flasks (picture later) and so I was kind of paranoid about dropping it or having the glass handle break off (and in doing so, drop the flask) cause there was a lot of wine in there and it would have made a big mess and been a big waste...

About 6pm or so we wound up at the airforce base, found a spot for tents and dropped our loads and set up camp.

After setting up, we all went exploring around the place, found something to eat and got in a bit of um-zick um-zick too. It also transpired that we ended up being a primarily Irish camp, with my travelling companions expanding from 5 to about 30 at one point. Lots of Irish around, which was pretty cool.

I'm condensing such great experiences here, but the whole evening was filled with the usual camping experiences: trying to stop stuff falling down, worrying about whether stuff is going to get wet overnight, where the beers are, etc etc.

I slept gloriously, utilising for the second time my earplugs and my eye mask.

And the music played on. Um-zicka-um-zicka-um-zicka-um-zicka.

Hamburg - Day Three

Day Two in fact ended with the start of the craziness: the Irish told me that they were going to a music festival, and would I like to come? I say, man that sounds crazy, where? They say, on an old Russian Airforce base in North Germany, that used to be part of the DDR (East Germany, pre-unification). I say, damn that is crazy! Let me think about it.

I enquired as to the possibility of cancelling some of my prepaid accommodation at the hostel reception, and half an hour later at about 11:30pm came back with a commitment to come to the festival. Great! they said. You'll have a wicked time...

The Kiwi wonders whether he has made a stupid decision, and then follows the Irish out into town, into the fearsome Reeperbahn in the bad-ass area of St Pauli. Cue dancing, um-zicka-um-zicka-um-zicka music and a late start the next morning.

Day Three

The Kiwi checks out of his hostel and wanders across town to the hostel where the Irish spent the night (they only stayed one night at the other one) and composes an ode (hungover) to the suburb of St. Pauli, one that would most surely earn him the bash if he told it to any locals:

A morning in St. Pauli,
The sun and clouds in the sky,
Alone and feeling poorly,
Yet this feeling so divine?

Sitting on the sidewalk,
Watching life go past,
The noise of the street and daily life
But this feeling cannot last?

Some dogs on a collision course,
Woofers all three:
One loudly barks, the other stares,
The third backs away to safety

The rattle of cups,
The showers running hot,
These noises drift around my head
Swirling in the St. Pauli pot.

Ella crackles over the speakers
Blending a slow melody
Provides the musical backdrop
To a morning in St. Pauli.

Definitely the bash.

Eventually, the Irish appear, just as hungover as I but somewhat more pumped in readiness for Fusion. The rest of the afternoon is spent in search of vital supplies for Fusion and we find ourselves at the local Wal-Mart:

Something Wal-Mart this way comes

I knew the stories, I've seen the Southpark episode, I've got the hat etc etc (no I don't) (but actually I do). I found myself walking into the world's most talked about superstore as if something was going to infect me, I walked around the aisles with a studious attitude, careful not to touch anything or handle any unnecessarily cheap luxury items. I watched as Pam, another crazy Irish, began to linger behind the rest of the group and we lost her as she stopped to touch some leprechauns garden gnomes that were only €6.99 each. I shook my head as eventually the rest of the group realised she was missing and said, "Hold up lads, we've lost Pam. Anyone know where she was last? Ok. Two go this way, two that way, I'll take a chance on the grocery section..."

We rescued her from the temptations of cheap and fugly garden decorations (when is a garden gnome ever cute or pretty? Isn't that why we call them gnomes?) and moved on to more important shopping items, such as a tent to sleep in... and alcohol to drink with... and toilet paper to barter with...

I felt ashamed to be part of the purchase of a €15 euro tent (not least because I had spent so much on my awesome one that I damn well left back home!@#) but it made good economic sense. I think that must be Part One of Wal-Mart's induction pack: "It makes good economic sense... "

We loaded ourselves up, paid for the goods and then reloaded ourselves up and struggled off to the main station to catch the cheap train off to Fusion. Alas that we missed it!

The plan

After a committee meeting, two coup attempts and a few badly-aimed pieces of old fruit ('sorry, Officer, that wasn't intended for you'), the group of 6 made the decision as follows:

- Stow non-essential items in the lockers at the main station
- Take items that may come in handy if sleeping under the stars
- Fork out less for storage at the lockers than at a hostel
- Find some food and eat it
- Reconvene at the station the next morning to collect luggage, pay overtime fines and get on to Fusion!!!

During the course of the evening we had the pleasure of the company of a local man and his wife after we had dinner at some local food markets, who regaled us with stories, questions and two gorgeous bottles of wine. They were the epitome of generous hosts and left us feeling incredibly uplifted (especially as they offered us each a place to stay at their house if we ever needed it) and mighty pleased with Hamburg. The man also sang us the story of the Reeperbahn (accompanied by some oom pah pahs from yours truly) and helped us to examine the prejudices that we had brought with us to Germany, and how the World Cup had (if it had) changed them...

And all the while during this there was the occasional call of "Lecker, lecker, lecker, lecker, lecker, lecker, lecker, leckaaaaaaaaaaaa" from the chef of the food stall we were sitting at (translated to mean either "tasty, tasty, tasty, tasty, tasty, tasty, tasty, tasteeeeeeee" or "delicious, delicious, delicious, delicious, delicious, delicious, delicious, delicioussssssssss", whichever rolls of the tongue best).

We then spent the remainder of the night walking around Hamboig (as the Irish or pseudo-Italians insisting on pronouncing it) trying to finish two bottles of red vinegar/wine sold to us by a closing cafe (another one of those pseudo-Italian types with their pseudo-wine).

The next morning

As none of us slept at all during the night, the next morning seemed simply a continuation of the previous day and we all piled on to the train with our luggage and the Irish coma'd out wherever they could (across the exit, at the bottom of stairs, etc etc etc...) because they were (new word following) wrecked. I remember it because they did indeed appear 'wrecked' that morning, and they were additionally wrecked at other parts of the weekend (as was I).

Not before we finished our night with some adventure in the Reeperbahn...

The Reeperbahn and other surrounding no-go areas

In NZ, I have been to what I would classify as some 'rough' nightclubs (for NZ's standards), but this night (late morning) in the Reeperbahn blew me away. I can't ever remember feeling so insecure or threatened in a long time. Main attraction:

Grimey Wonderland and The Collection of Freaks

Located on a side street off the official Reeperbahn, this collection of bars shares the same entrance and bouncing team. You get in, walk up a pathway and have a choice of 2 or 3 bars to enter. We got past the bouncing team and halfway up the path turned around to witness the bouncer pacing around getting very edgy, and shouts, sounds of bottles smashing and some words I didn't want to hear ("come on lads, we'd best be moving, the guns will be coming out soon") from our seasoned (full respect) local and also member of the crazy Irish possie, Jo.

Guns.

We busted a gap (not a cap) up the rest of the pathway to the bar beside our original destination (the proprietor of which Jo knew) as it was closed, and found ourselves in a smallish bar packed with guys and girls: guys with muscles or attitudes or a combination of the two (denoted by two-piece, white, pimp suit) and girls with attitude (you just know). Cue:

Incident One

One particularly muscle-bound, no-neck, attitude-laden patron decided he didn't have enough room on the dance floor (or perhaps his ho didn't) and decided to sort this out by forcefully walking backwards and using his dramatic girth to the same effect. Cue violation of our group space and extreme violation of Ruadhan's (the philosophical Irish) personal space. Result: Ruadhan delivers a few friendly slaps to the chappie's shoulder, to remind him that he is being excessively rude and smelly with his backside in Ruadhan's face.

The slaps go ignored by the patron, but not by Jo the local, Matt the-shat-in-his-pants Kiwi, Pam, BFG and Fionn (the rasta Irish), who drag Ruadhan out of the bar and to a table away from the pumping um-zicka-um-zicka.

Aftermath One

Jo begins to explain how the Reeperbahn folk are not the cute, cuddly kind of folk one can reason with back in Eire (well, at least, the ones in the Republic, not to the north...) while Matt offers an allegory of feral dogs with no leashes, that are hungry, randy and drip saliva, BFG concedes that he shat his pants too, Pam reassures Ruadhan that we all still have his back and love him, and Fionn breathes deep and hard and occasionally offers his agreement by showing the whites of his eyes.

Ruadhan seems unconvinced that these creatures of God are beyond rational debate and logical reasoning, however he submits to our will and we get the hell out of there. Cue leadup to:

Incident Two

On the street corner we find more friendly Germans (more! they just keep on coming!) and end up on a suburban street corner nearby sitting in the 7am sun and still drinking (I was surprised too). While the others are deep in conversation and after not a few songs, the Kiwi decides to bask in a bit of sunshine and hide his eyes behind his oversize Aviators. In what seemed like an instant later, he hears:

Ihre Ausweis, bitte!

Looking up, we saw the dreaded green and white of the Polizei and two officers standing with gloves on, ready to move this bunch of apparent drunkards on. My stomach drops to the ground, because they want our identification so they can deport us.

Luckily for us, Jo works her magic, does some quick talk and saves us a busting (and a busted shin or head) and we make a beeline for Somewhere Else.

Aftermath Two

We seem to have inherited some pesky, non-local Germans who insist on singing and following us. We keep walking away, not wanting to risk a second questioning and imminent busting. Hard to do but eventually it works out. Time to head back to the station.

Will continue in the next post.

UPDATE: Correcting the spelling of Ruadhan's name (sounds like Ruan)
UPDATE2: See here for some pictures.

Hamburg - Day Two

I woke up to a daunting sight four beds down the row from me: a coma'd out, orange-haired, army-pants wearing, boot-clad sleeping giant. Later that morning I found out that he was in fact Brian the Friendly Giant one of the crazy Irish that I was to go and do some craziness with over the following four days, more about that later.

Most of Day Two was spent with an English-Finn by the name of Billy (the Kid), who back in his native Finland, worked in a Nokia factory, and is a dead ringer for Leonardo di Caprio (not that that's what I look for in my men, by the way...). So up until the Leonardo di Caprio bit, something of a stereotype if you wanted to go down that track? I waited until we had been drinking before I told him, just so there was no danger of me being abandoned in the middle of about 20km² of botanical gardens in the middle of Hamburg. He told me he gets compared to LdC often.

So, Hamburg has an amazing botanical garden, complete with rivers, themed exhibitions, rose gardens, lily pads, terraced water features, a massive greenhouse (with turtles!!!) and shite loads of greenery. Cue good score in the greenery section.

Pictures later, as I need to catch up on the day entries. I'll update the posts and do another post so that people know they've been updated.

Also, during the course of that day, I met the full group of crazy Irish (5 in all) as well as two Swedish brothers and an American who likes Jägermeister. (Urk...) Cue Day Three and Beginning of Craziness...

Hamburg - Day One

The only satisfactory outcome of getting the 'smokey-bacon' compartment of the train to Hamburg was that it meant I was on track to see most of the game between Ghana and Brazil. This of course, was of particular interest because I was curious to see how the 'cheeky little darkies' would take on the 'toothy little darkies' (I've been waiting a long time to make that joke - please don't hate me for it - I realise that most of the players are in fact various gorgeous shades of brown...) and I was struck by how hard African teams are: I noticed (comparably) bugger all diving from Togo and Ghana during the world cup...

And so I watched that and the France/Spain game at a quality establishment with comfortable 'student' style couches all lined up to a big projection on the wall. Quality stuff.

Haka

I'm aware that I have a few international visitors to this site, and so I want to do a post on that most exhilirating piece of Kiwi culcha, the haka.

The haka itself is a generic term, more or less meaning a war dance. The most famous New Zealand haka is Ka Mate, immortalised by All Blacks and other significantly less threatening Kiwis around the world. Those who know Pacific Island culture or rugby will be aware that many Pacific rugby teams have their own haka and will often respond to the challenge (when playing another team that performs a haka) with their own. An example is this historic NZ v Tonga game.

More information on the haka: here, here and here. A note: the haka is not restricted to men, if I recall correctly, the New Zealand women's league and rugby teams have their own haka. There is also the suggestion that the haka was originally performed by women, in support of their chief, and there is also a Maori story that some women were sent to find a foe of their tribe who was missing a front tooth. When they reached the other tribe's village, they performed a haka to make the men smile. Lo and behold, Smiley was found out and duly dragged back to the other village and killed. Charming!

Without going into too much detail and risking misprespresenting or omitting important details, the haka can act as a challenge, a welcome or an acknowledgement: the NZ Rugby Sevens team often do the haka after their games to acknowledge their supporters (and perhaps to acknowledge the strength of their opposition), when the haka is performed prior to an All Blacks game, it is both a challenge and a statement of respect for their opposition. It can also welcome, however any dance in this capacity would be part of a bigger powhiri.

Despite that in its original purpose as a war dance prior to battle was to unsettle, dismay and discourage the enemy, it is still used to much the same effect by the All Blacks (and perhaps every other sporting team that performs one prior to play). It also has the advantage of being exactly what a player needs to warm up before a game: I've heard it said that it exercises every muscle in the body, but it certainly gets the blood flowing. If you're an Aussie, all you can do is stand there, feel cold (unless you've got the tracksuit on) and hope it is over soon, meanwhile the other team gets pumped up, moments before the kickoff...

The words and actions of haka are not defined or restricted, that is, the haka is about the spirit taking control of the body. When you perform the haka, your whole 'body must speak'. Being aware that when you perform a haka (especially Ka Mate), your ancestors are looking upon you, you become one with the world around you, the land and their spirits.

I have performed the haka before, as a gift to overseas visitors when I was in a youth orchestra back in NZ. It is not something that is about giggling or triviality. If you watch the 'new haka', Kapa o Pango as it was performed on Saturday against the Wallabies (cheers Russell Brown), you will also see the controversial throat-slitting gesture. It is said that the gesture represents the drawing of vital spirits to the area of the body that needs them (the throat and head), critics say that it is too violent and with young boys copying them, sets a bad example.

I say that a bit of mongrel in sport is what it is all about, and hell, if we're going to scare the bejeezus out of the other team we may as well do it properly right? I thought Rico Gear was masterly in his leadership of the haka that night, but it can't measure up to the empassioned premiere that Tana Umaga gave it in my opinion. Other haka: the crew of Te Mana (a NZ Navy ship), the Australian piss-takes 1 and 2 (playing with fire) and some media coverage, along with an antique version for comparison. If you scroll down the search results at YouTube, you will notice other haka in abundance - it, like dance, is by no means a purely New Zealand construct.

On a personal note, I started scrolling through clips of various New Zealand haka on Monday while I was seriously hungover and I felt all at once energised, humbled and passionate to the point of tears. Such is the power of the haka: to channel the spirit of our soul through dance.

Rugby

At the moment the All Blacks are 75 minutes into doing the business against the Wallabies. As the Germans are as yet uncultured with their choice of sports, I have been forced to rely on bumbing the score off mates in NZ via text and logging into an internet cafe here to get 'live' score updates.

Available from http://allblacks.com, it is no shine on Cricinfo (well, who kind of have to do ball by ball commentary, cause it's cricket, yuh) but funnily enough, if you go to the Australian Rugby Union website, they have exactly the same feed, but with a different banner up the top (it doesn't matter, we'll still kick your arses)!

In fact, I've just realised it is actually an Australian feed. Boo NZRU for being lazy.

And it's all over! The mighty All Blacks smite the despairing Wallabies and their balding captain to the boundary with a glorious 32-12 scoreline.

Reports of Aussies belittling the haka? At your peril...

Off-topic again

Out of sync again, but apparently there has been a huge fuss over whether Lukas Podolski flashed a Nazi salute after taking his penalty against Argentina. Heaps of traffic has come through this site from people searching Google on the subject. On this Guardian article the conspiracy theory comes up, because that's all it is: performing the Nazi salute in public is a criminal offence and unless Podolski somehow wanted to piss off a shiteload of people (not to mention his relatives and Polish ancestry) and risk a career-ending sanction, he wouldn't be doing anything of the sort.

Having said that - I wondered whether some of the German fans at the exhibitions of the home matches that I have been to were doing the same, however subtly... Holding out both hands makes it look less like the original or pointing fingers instead of having them all out side by side, but then it begs the question, are Germans allowed to make gestures with their hands or will we automatically assume that they are neo-Nazi sympathisers?

I say there was no salute - otherwise it sucks to be in German sport...

UPDATE: GtA reliably advises me that Podolski would have to be uncoordinated as well as daft to have done the salute - one needs the right hand, not the left in order to perform it. Yours truly is not about to start questioning a world class player's coordination and so again takes the stance that the Germans (and Austrians) are über - so to speak - conscious of their past, it is quite possible that the allegations have been made by non-Germans? Perhaps we'll never know.

Hamburg Index

The City Profile

Hamburg - Day One
Hamburg - Day Two
Hamburg - Day Three
Hamburg - Day Three (II)
Hamburg - Day Four (Fusion I)
Hamburg - Day Five (Fusion II)
Hamburg - Day Six (Fusion III)

The Scorecard

Hamburg - City Profile

Hamburg sits at 53° 33' N, further north than London, making it one of the northernmost points in the world that I have been (save next week, when I head to Stockholm!).

It has a reputation as one of the wilder cities in Germany, with the notorious Reeperbahn as one of the main highlights for the more daring and adventurous souls who wish to 'live Hamburg'. The Skull and Crossbones of St Pauli is a daunting welcome/challenge to visitors to the wild suburb to the northwest of Hamburg's city centre.

Despite being a little while away from the sea, it nevertheless has a massive port that services the river Elbe.

Bonn - The scorecard

That time again!

Greenery

Bonn gets a very good score on the greenery front - influenced by the fact I stayed firstly in some leafy suburbs and then out in the wops with deer and trees. Lots of trees around, lots of reserves and parks in which to play soccer. Overall a good attitude to grass and trees - I also worked out that in Bonn they prefer to have tree verges rather than grass verges - although some of the grass verges that I did see were in bad repair. Tut tut. Some weeds coming up on footpaths inbetween the cobblestones - nice if you like the rustic atmosphere but not if you are a tidy freak.

Overall: very happy with the greenery, several top class, leafy glades in which to bike, in the suburbs and along the Rhine - very nice to bike down these at full throttle.

Score: 9 out of 10

Entertainment

I was able to go to a concert hosted by my host's school (in which he was performing) and I thoroughly enjoyed it. It featured a choir (ages about 6-10), an orchestra and the older kids' choir (in which my host was performing - ages about 15-18). It included some show tunes, movie themes and a well-choreographed a capella African section with some energetic drumming. Whatever I may have thought about the choice of music, I was impressed for the ages of the kids and the sound they were producing - whether in the orchestra or the choir. Good stuff.

I also went to two Germany games in the Museum Mile in Bonn with my host, these were packed to the gunwhales and the atmosphere was incredible. You would expect nothing less from home crowds.

Also of note was the House of German History - very interesting and well worth the visit.

No cage fighting again, alas. I felt quite safe in Bonn, although the vibe was definitely less partypartyparty than München.

Of note was that Bonn appears to be a bit of a stop on the Germany circuit: there are gigs coming up featuring Billy Idol, Seal, Herbie Hancock, and a host of other impressive names that I have since forgotten. IGGY POP!

Score: 8 out of 10

Beer

Well. Kölsch is the local stuff and it is pretty potent. Do not be tempted to choose the Kölsch-Cola they so innocently offer on the drinks menu - it makes a sour beer even worse. It is in fact brewed nearby in Cologne (Köln) so it is not specifically a local beer but it is ok and worth having on the list of beer to try.

There are still some Bavarian delights such as the Paulaner varieties and Tucher available, but Bonn is definitely no shine on München for beer.

Hangover factor? Kölsch rates right up there. Reasonably easy to drink, it gets more and more difficult as the night goes on and in the morning it kicks you with a bit of getting over needed. Can be tempered by drinking water before you go to bed, but that goes for all beer and counts against it if you are looking for something to drink without having to scull a litre of water before you go to sleep.

Score: 6 out of 10

Religion

Two weeks in Bonn meant I was able to rate two different churches: a quiet little suburban (rich suburban) church and a bigger cathedral in town.

The suburban number was well-heeled, restrained, equipped with a good PA system, reasonable acoustics and furnished in the kind of 'new' style you get (I was thinking 'pastels' for some reason) from parishes with money to spend. Palatable but not one I would want to go to regularly.

The cathedral was a different story - elaborate, ornate, and gloriously gothic. The outside was not impressive due to the pervasive presence of scaffolding, but inside it was flawless. Large, plenty of strong vertical lines, a high roof, many different frescoed scenes to ponder andlots if quiet places to pray alone. I would go back to this one again and again. As from Day Thirteen, 'high quality revered silence and full praying comfort'.

Score: 8 out of 10

The City

First impressions: as with all the German cities, one of the first impressions is of the main station. Bonn's one is very old but somehow manages to be small and charming at the same time. It seems to be a bit small for what was the capital city of West Germany only 17 or 18 years ago, but the perception is only of capacity - it is all technologically as up to date as the other main stations I've seen.

Overall, Bonn scores big because of it's proximity to the Rhine - it's definitely somewhere you could bring up a family but it's not really my scene because it doesn't seem to be as pumping as I think it could be. I can't really think of an appropriate city analogy to NZ and I don't really want to perpetuate the JAFA mentality but I would probably characterise Bonn as a modern, well-planned, expansive city. Definitely a safe option to live in.

Score: 8 out of 10

Total score: 39 out of 50 or 78%

Bonn - Day Fourteen and Fifteen

Day Fourteen was mostly spent getting photos off my camera and onto email and updating the blog and emails etc etc, and Day Fifteen was on the train to Hamburg!

A note to those who should otherwise not need it - unless you are a smoker and want to smoke - don't get a seat in the smoker carraige.

That's what I did and about 30 minutes in I realised I would be regretting it. I can't really moan about it because the person told me there were no more non-smoking seats available but in my rush I accepted a seat in the smoking section. Afterwards I realise that the train I am getting goes every hour - I could have waited another hour for a non-smoking seat.

But so, there I am, sitting with a scowl in my head (but an otherwise sunny smile beaming from my face at everyone else :P) on the four hour train to Hamburg. One thing I have noticed that the suited-German male seems to love those filthy little mini-cigars (they would be 'cigarettes' but these are those small versions of cigars) and I have been trained to turn up my nose at such low-brow devices (thank you, El Presidente and Rise Bar!). Luckily I had one of those 'courier' seats by myself - nearest to the door - so I was mercifully at the periphery of the carriage, rather than in the pit ;).

The best moment of the trip was when two kids came running up through the corridor behind me (that would bring them into the carriage) and the bigger kid sets off the automatic door (yep, automatic! gotta love German trains) and the smaller kid charges through in hot pursuit. Their game circles around my end of the carriage for a little while and then they play a little spying game: the bigger kid is peeking around the corner down the hallway, the smaller kid around the corner of the smoking carriage.

Nature being nature and German efficiency being efficient, the automatic door duly closes. The small kid is now enclosed in the smoking carriage and try as he might, he can't trip the sensor. Hup. Hup. Hup. Hup. HUP. Pant, pant, hup! Hup.

The two feet are pounding the floor behind me as I realise what is happening. I turn around and observe the kid desperately trying to trip the door, his older brother watching on, in obvious mirth.

After a few more hups I decide to help him out and get up over to the door. Horror of horrors, it doesn't move when I walk over! The Good Samaritan now looks as silly as the kid but even more so.

I'm saved by a nonchalant sweep of my right hand directly in front of the sensor, designed to appear as fluid and planned as my fruitless stroll in front of the door. It trips, the door opens and the kid scampers away. I returned to my seat with a grin on my face, matched by some grins from the more observant fellow travellers.

A time for reflection

I found the four hour train trip went more quickly than I had expected: instead of writing postcards as I had planned, I found myself content to mull over some thoughts in my head and at the end of the trip I was pleased with what I had thought.

I'd need another four hours to work out how to say that last sentence so it doesn't sound so stupid...

Storm warning

This post is a little out of time sync but I pretty much feel compelled to: there is a BIG ARSE electrical storm happening in Berlin tonight - it's been going on since about 7pm (2 hours ago) and I've never experienced such a storm before. I'm here in an internet cafe but the thunder is incredible and so LOUD and it's so HOT here as well - it was 35° yesterday and could well have been higher today - I wouldn't be surprised.

In breaking news: I lost a roller from my suitcase (yeah, I know - carrying a suitcase and not a backpack?) and so I anticipate some sore arms in the next few days. I suppose that I have been giving it a bit of a hammering though so I'm not really surprised the roller has given in... One left but it is of no use - it's impossible to counter the weight so that it rolls on one wheel (unless I want permanent damage to my wrist).

Back to catching up.