The Kiwi Adventurer - der Kiwi Abenteurer

I'll get over it soon...

2007-11-05T20:56:00.000Z

Courtesy of a thoughtful uncle back home.

And in other news, Mickey is back in our flat. Actually, we think it's probably his cousin, since we left Mickey in the trash dumpster and found his brother in the trap one morning, so leaves a few other family member to get rid of.

My flatmate and I jammed a few goldilocks pads (for non-Kiwis: 'steelo pads' or 'metal scrubbing pads' or 'bunch of metal stuff') in the gaps in the corners of our bedroom walls (down by where the heating pipes run along a perimeter wall) and Jerry (they alternate between Jerry and Mickey) suddenly discovered them at about 12am last night. He had a good scratch until about 2am, when I finally got to sleep.

He kept my flatmate awake too, who today suggested we spray a can of flyspray through the last few gaps and gas him. I'm not too enthused about the idea of a decomposing mouse in our wall, but maybe I should have thought of that before I stuffed the goldilocks in there...

The buildup - pool matches

2007-10-13T13:19:00.000+01:00

So that now I've gotten over the crap result last weekend...

France

Was excellent. 10/10. The food was delicious, the weather hot, and the scenery maaaaaarvellous.

First stop was Marseille for the game against Italy. We found the beach front where there was a women's rugby tournament happening, complete with a constructed mini-stadium and sand pitch, for calf workouts and light tumbles. We spotted a couple of the ABs who were having a bit of a bike ride and they hung around for a few photos which was pretty cool (I didn't get any, but snapped the camera a few times for some others..).

We also found (or probably more accurately, he found us) an insane Frenchman who was in town to promote OzTag and kept trying to impress us with his impressions of 'Spencer! Spencer!', who we assumed by his constant dummies and no-look passing ('woooah didn't see that one coming, mate... ha ha...good one..') meant King Carlos but it turns out he meant some other French guy who was apparently as dinky and tricky as 'Los' himself... We managed to give him the slip after a while.

The weather was excellent on match day but was a little bit spoiled by the Italians' refusal to acknowledge the haka (cue much booing and hissing). Sun tan all round and drunkenness galore.

That night, we all headed out to some godforsaken place in the docks to see Wellington outfit the Black Seeds play, and were pleasantly surprised to hear that some ABs were going to make a guest appearance!!! I got a photo with Byron K and with Anton O (some will understand the significance of that one) and it was a pretty good night... I went home early having lost all my mates - they managed to get into the VIP area where the ABs were coocooned after the gig, getting off their face and one of the guys leaned over the bar and got a bottle of Pacifico (whatever that is) and ran around the place pouring shots into people's mouths (Jerry's too, apparently). Needless to say, after instigating a food fight at 3am back at our hotel after arriving back, he was sick out the window onto the pavement out the front. Not nice to listen to - or to inspect the following morning!

Next up was Nice, was Nice, I like.. (had to get that one out, been waiting to do that for a while). Again, pretty good weather, but I was rather underwhelmed by the city. The beaches were absolute shite, rocky, stony, and all divvied up between the various businesses and restaurants that had set up on the beachfront. Went for a swim in the warm Med, but I wasn't sad to leave to Nice...

Italy

It was fairly exciting to be in Milan for a few days, our sole Italian stopover before heading to Switzerland. At least, it was exciting to be going to Milan.

Milan had a fair bit of interesting architecture and buildings around the place, and the food was a continuation of the gastronomic delights of France, but I'm afraid the squat toilets in the main station left me scarred forever.

In all fairness, it was the equivalent of saying 'I'm hungry' and then having something absolutely vile turn up on your plate - I was saying 'I need to go to the loo' and then all of a sudden I didn't...

Milan was dripping in money. Me and my mate found a club that was open on a Monday night, got in for 20 Euros, and spent the whole night marvelling at the exclusivity, the snobbery, and the very good looking women in attendance. 15 Euros for a bottle of Heineken - I think I went through 100 Euros for the whole night. Breathtakingly expensive, but worth it. A few lessons in the importance of appearing earnest or at least filthy rich.

A day trip to Lake Como was well worth it - highly recommended for some quality views all back over Italy to the south and Switzerland to the north. Very nice way to spend a day.

Switzerland

It was a relief to be back in German-speaking territory again - the previous 6 or 7 days I had been struggling to get my French numbers and Italian phrases out in complete sentences, and it almost felt like being home, being able to speak German again. We were in Luzern, in the German quarter, and back in Switzerland! I was particularly pleased to be back.

We went up Mount Pilatus, taking the round trip which is a boat trip from Luzern, up the cog railway, then back down to Luzern via a half hour trip in the gondola. Again, an excellent way to spend a day.

I really enjoyed the rest of our stay in Luzern - eating chocolate, drinking beer, eating lots. Purchasing the obligatory Swiss Army knife - sent it back home for my dad's brithday...

Then it was back to France, and to Lyon for the game against Portugal.

This game was much more enjoyable - the atmosphere was pumping thanks to the Portugal supporters, who absolutely screamed their heads off whenever they scored points. We found a place called 'Le Maori Cafe' which, wait for it, is a Maori cafe!! Pretty good atmosphere and found a few cuzzies too!

The night after the game all the other guys in our tour went out for some dinner, I stayed at the hotel owing to my stuffing my face with a burger and chips after the game, not being hungry. A couple of hours later the guys came back, having bumped into some of the ABs again at Maccas... No photos this time.

Then it was on to Paris where we spent a night before flying back to London - one last opportunity to quaff some fine wine and have quality cuisine.

I'm now holding out for the next culinary delights I'm expecting - in NZ next year when I visit.

Oh and: I think I've worked out what this comment thingy is. I've deleted the abuse from Anonymous and rejected all the spam, published a comment from about 6 months ago so feel free to email me if the comment thing stuffs up again. Cheers.

I'm back...

2007-08-29T20:47:00.001+01:00

So I've been a little lax lately... Discovering the vile pile of poo that is Facebook.. getting drunk...feeling guilty..going to the gym...feeling better....having a beer to reward myself...feeling worse...

So the flatmate who moved (see the lasagne episode) has been replaced by a drummer from up norf' (not saying where because everyone in that town who will know who she is), and a fair bit has happened since then:

- an insipid English summer
- messy nights at various Walkabouts
- messy nights in Brick Lane
- messy nights at the flat
- messiness
- a trip up norf
- 'Fun with Absinthe'
- barbecues
- getting drunk watching the All Blacks crap over all comers in the Tri Nations
- a kick arse English summer weekend
- a marriage (CG and NG) and an engagement back home (SC and KW)
- lots of other stuff

I am heading over to 'the mainland' (not 'Europe' as it offends the Europhiles) for 10 days first off on a bit of a train tour during which we will see the All Blacks v Italy, v Portugal games, back in London for a few days, then up to Edinburgh with the Beige Brigade to carry on the antics I learned so well in Geneva last year (no handbags this time) while watching the Scots battle it oot with the ABs. Back to London for a few days, then off for a road trip over to Cardiff with my arrived-in-May mate (who is still sleeping on my floor and is enjoying being a bum) for the quarter final, then the next weekend over to Paris for the semi.

I haven't got tickets for the final, whether that is fate saving me from a weekend of despair in Paris or an opportunity to get absolutely wankered celebrating victory in London, I'm not sure yet. Either way I will be as obnoxious as I can on the Monday back at work. It's the only way to make up for putting up with over a decade of 'choker' crap.

In other news, my application for a skilled migrant's visa has been approved (they think I'm skilled, neat...) and that means I can stay in the country for longer!! Looking to make a trip back to OW!tearoa early on next year though, missing home pretty bad...

So that's me. More later when I realise from the deluge of comments that people are still interested.

What becomes of the Basin Hearted?

2007-04-19T19:27:00.000+01:00

Spotted this on the Beige Brigade website: these boys love their cricket.

Happiness Defined: Lasagne

2007-04-04T22:41:00.000+01:00

Tonight is the final night for one of my flatmates, who is moving home to Wales tomorrow. In honour of the event, I cooked him a vegie lasagne (him being a vegie fella) and it turned out not too badly!

'Leeks' became celery, and 'cream' became blue top milk. My other flatmate was out for the night, but our neighbour came round and shared in the feed, giving it a 10 out of 10 when he had finished, stuffed (he then had to go back next door and chow down some tuna pasta his girlfriend had made - bugger).

Not before I cracked out some NZ chocolate that my sister had brought back from NZ on her recent trip home, and some Grant's whisky that had been sitting in the freezer during Lent. So now, my flatmate is finishing packing, I'm sitting in my room with my new amp and speakers playing some Doobie Brothers.

So, glass of whisky in hand, music to ear, lasagne in stomach.. happiness defined???

Not bad for my all-time first attempt at lasagne (consequently, we have two lots of mince in the freezer - I forgot to leave the meat out this morning before going to work, and bought some fresh stuff tonight, not having worked out how I would divvy up between 'vegie lasagne' 'meat lasagne'...

I have NZ easter eggs in the freezer. Luverly. Last day of work tomorrow for the long weekend. Supoib.

I need to call my parents.

Bogans unite

2007-03-31T14:42:00.000+01:00

Saw this on Stuff:

"Waikato University student Dave Snell was awarded $96,000 through a Top Achiever Doctoral Scholarship to study bogans.

In his PhD, entitled The Everyday Life of Bogans: Identity and Community Among Heavy Metal Fans, he aims to find out what makes bogans tick."

It seems that a National MP is not impressed, asking what benefit this will have to the NZ economy. The bogan replies: "Not everything is about economics."

I'd love to do a PhD on bogans! I remember parties in Henderson, with a bonfire and petrol trails blazing down the driveway. Loud music, massive speakers, and bourbon flowing like, well, bourbon.

I also recall a story: at a friend's place in Henderson, the cops turned up one time in response to a neighbour's complaint. After walking through the house, as they went to the leave, one of them leaned close to one of the people at the party, and muttered, "We're coming back in a few hours. Make sure the dope's gone by then."

Aah, the life of the bogan. Classic.

PS An update will be forthcoming soon. I'm in my new flat, loving it, just endured an alcohol ban for Lent, looking forward to my mate coming over in May, and best of all, the clocks went forward an hour last week (to British Standard Time - GMT doesn't change) so more light in the evening, and it's getting (gradually) warmer!!!

Waitangi Day Pub crawl

2007-02-05T18:38:00.000Z

The infamous Circle Line pub crawl on the closest Saturday to February 6th each year has a reputation as being a boozy excuse to get boozed (and its often the bozos who do get boozed), a person I know who works for a government department has described it as 'our national shame', with skinny, pasty white, drunk guys stripping off their shirts to yell and dance at a brick facade at Westminster. Personally, I think she is like that because there are very few brown lads with rippling biceps and pecs doing it. Methinks the skinny white drunk guy doesn't do it for her.

So of course, I had to go along and see what the fuss was about!

The day started nice enough, mint weather, a big cooked feed at a mates, eggs, sausage and bacon laid on, and of course beers in hand almost from the front door of the flat. 10am saw the official start of festivities at Paddington station, with everyone not quite yet so drunk that they can make out what everyone else has come as. There was of course no mistaking who this guy had come as:

I also spotted the Wizard of Christchurch, a few nuns and some fellows in gumboots (and a crap load of bogans - but I'm not sure they were dressed up). Also spotted was Clint Heine taking every opportunity to show off his sex sheep :p (it bore a striking resemblance to the sex sheep that made its way to Paris in November last year with our rugby trip, except that it bore no evidence of graffiti with pens, abuse with beer bottles, or punctures...)

Funnels atop phone boxes. One guy got up, everyone started chanting JUMP! JUMP! JUMP! and as soon as the funnel appeared, it became SCULL! SCULL! SCULL!

Throughout the day the challenge more or less matured: not to down your drink and get back on the tube, but to not lose your mates, find a multi national restaurant and make use of the facilities (and grab a cheeseburger on the way out), not get arrested and not run out of beer.
So considering the cops were shutting the tube stations left right and behind you, and there were big queues at the off-licenses (dairies with alcohol for those back home), and improvised games of street cricket popped up everywhere (street and footpath), and it seemed like no sooner had you been to the toilet than you needed to go again, it was a very challenging day!

Haka

The main pulling point I think of the whole day is the opportunity to scream and dance at the end of it with our national tango - whether you wanted to righteously hurl abuse for the unsavoury elements of our colonial heritage, or just say the F word really REALLY loud and out of time, with a convenient excuse - there was no doubt that Westminster at 4pm is where it was at.

Until of course, when at 4:15pm, a mate came over to where we had been patiently waiting for the call to strip and said the haka was over. I don't think I'd felt a bigger anticlimax before, at least not since last week when I unsuccessfully fell over.

It seems that a handful of greedy lickers at the front didn't spread the call far enough, OR the organisers got drunk and forgot to bring megaphones. Either way, I felt a little cheated, having lost my mates at Victoria station and ran about a km or two to find them again getting lost again on the way and falling over on concrete and skinning my palms and whacking my knees. I felt like I had earned the haka, especially since I made it there before 4pm.

A spot of lampost climbing. As you do...

Big Ben and big heap Kiwis. All these photos are from my phone so the quality is a bit shite.

The only thing to be done of course, was to head over to the Shepherd's Bush Walkabout and drown my sorrows in a snakebite or five.

Feral

I must have needed reminding, because I was surprised to come across some feral bastards at the walkie. One guy in green who kept stepping on my shoe and two guys who elbowed another guy who was trying to get past them with his drinks. I felt a little obliged to help the guy on a crutch who almost slipped over trying to leave because the floor was greasy (not because he was drunk, believe me ;) so I feel like I made up for some of my less desirable compatriots.

Update the Twoth

2007-01-24T21:15:00.000Z

It snowed today! I got out of bed thinking it was colder than usual, got dressed, ready for work, found my mobile and saw a text from my sister saying, 'It's snowed outside!'

And I kid you not, I ran to the window, threw open the shutter and tore off the sash (or at least I imagined the narrator doing so in the Night Before Christmas, my window not having a shutter or a sash). Lo and behold, a frosty white coating of icing powder all around - I felt like it was Christmas - or at least, winter...

I went and got my disposable camera and finally finished the damn roll with photos from my room (to be posted up later) and spent the next two or three hours in probably the best mood I have ever been in during a morning. I left the house with a silly grin on my grin on my face, picked my way along the slushy disgusting pavement like a pregnant woman, got passed by two locals who, having noticed my uncoordinated gait, turned as they passed me and realised "we've got a fresh one here", and got on to the Tube not caring if it took me til lunchtime to get to work.

I was actually pretty disappointed I was only 15 minutes late. Even more so because of the fact that I have been 15 minutes late for about 5 out of the last 7 days. A crisis like snow makes the morning commute so much more interesting. There was however a psycho woman who screamed at people to move down the carriage and let her on (as she landed into the carriage from a height), which made the whole carriage go quiet, even for London standards. There was this poor schoolboy who couldn't have been more than 10 or 11, who kept on looking up at her like she was an angry relative, half curious yet respectful, the other half dying to grin. He cast all around the carriage for others to grin with, found a classmate, looked at me, in fact he did the rounds about three times. It was all the more amusing since he was nearest her (nearest of about 5 that were surrounding her) and being the shortest of the 5 seemed the most vulnerable. He kept on looking at her as if to gauge whether she was going to explode again.

I hope it snows again tomorrow - although my enthusiasm for making snowballs or at least a snowman died about 10 seconds after looking outside - I really need a Kiwi sidekick to get the energy up for that kind of malarkey so early in the morning and I didn't feel like getting down and dirty with the frosty stuff just then.

Progress is slow for the big flat move - I am moving flats - but once it is all over I will sigh with relief and post all the gory details if I can be bothered. Basically, the leaseholding flatmates started throwing their weight around like children over a stupid (and selfish, at that) dispute, ordering the flatmate with which the dispute was, to move out of the flat. I could see it happening to me, the honeymoon period with the flat was over, so I said tarah. I tend to avoid conflict if I can, but I knew that one day I would let rip and face the prospect of having my room rifled when I was at work - so I'm keeping it cool, calm and collected and hopefully I'll get the hell out of here with everything in one piece (and my bond, $%£!!). More later, but my new place is above a restaurant, beside a DJ and his club, and near a mosque.

Sounds like another adventure!

Meme

2007-01-17T19:56:00.000Z

I've been tagged. Argh!

So I need to post up five things that you wouldn't otherwise know about me. Hmm...

- I wear a ring on my middle finger on my left hand (I actually got asked in Germany if I was married, believe it or not! By a guy though. On behalf of a girl apparently. Apparently not. Not that he was interested. I think.)

- To escape doing the dishes after dinner I would sneak off to the toilet and sit there for hours. My family wised up after a while (6 years) and started having a delayed dessert, so I would come back to the table, see the dishes still there and my family would start laughing at me. I can't really do that anymore, seeing as no one else in the flat is going to do my dishes for me.

- I have been to Brixton four times now and have been shot zero times. It's an encouraging ratio. London-based bloggers will know that Brixton is much more dangerous than its Wikipedia entry lets on.

- I have a lava lamp in my room and it is purple. I'm truly disturbed by the way the initial movements of warm lava (?) through the still-cold water form mini-stalagmites that resemble foetuses. I must take a photo and post it up sometime.

- I got busted in third form for fiddling with a Coke machine at school. Career thief that I have become, I learned from these elementary blunders:

a) Instead of acting like I was actually getting a drink (I had plastic token I was trying to pull up and down the coin entry), I panicked when I saw a teacher coming and started jerking the token to try and get it out, succeeding only once the teacher was next to me and taking an interest in my criminally thirsty mind.

b) Instead of telling him the name of someone else in my class, I recited my name and form class virtually immediately - name, rank and serial number I kid you not.

c) Instead of keeping mum about the affair, I told my friends, who (in a restrained manner, now that I think about it) told me I was an idiot for panicking. The token got confiscated I think. Either that or I gave it a ritual burning. I did actually learn something that day at school - to this day I have never told my father (he gave me the token from the packaging for a new hammer he had bought) or my mother (she would have given me the quiet 'disappointed' treatment - you know, the one that absolutely rips you up inside).

- Six, just cause I'm feeling nice: I discovered a mildly raunchy novel in my house (my parent's house), read it cover to cover about 10 times, then had a massive conscience guilt trip. I took the book out the back to our decommissioned incinerator (I think burning rubbish had been banned about 10 years prior) and gave that a ritual burning, complete with page ripping. I felt just like the Germans must have in the Book Burning Square (which I have now been to!). I don't know whose book it was so I never told anyone about that. It was probably the most explicit piece of literature I had read at that point in my life. I can't remember how old I was, but the title? A Dangerous Fortune by Ken Follett.

I'm sure that book corrupted me. Either that or it was the time I burst in on my parents having sex. Dear Lord.

I am tagging ex-pats over here: Clint Heine, Michelle, Pru, Frit, MavXP. Sorry guys if you've already done them, I've just been rubbish lately and have not been doing my Required Reading.

Update

2006-11-25T13:41:00.000Z

As you will have noticed, things have been quite quiet in my neck of the woods lately - mostly because I have developed an aversion to internet 'cafes' (read: dives) over here, I'm too busy at work to bum around and I don't have ready access to the internet at home.

That should be changing soon though - I've put my order in for a brand new shining MacBook laptop and one of the flatties is keen to get a phone account setup, which also means broadband! So that is my excitement at the moment. I bought a guitar about 3 weeks ago and am feeling much happier with a channel for musical output again! I've spotted a mint digital keyboard which I am also saving up for as well.

November has been pretty frantic for me - last weekend I was in Paris for the ABs game against the Tricolours, the weekend before in Berlin for a weekend away, and THIS weekend I am in Edinburgh! We had a work conference up here on Thursday and I've stayed on for the weekend, staying with a Kiwi friend of mine. Edinburgh is, putting it lightly, AWESOME. Hopefully I will be back up here for Hogmanay, the New Year festival.

Anyway - the ABs start in 20 minutes so I'm off to the couch via the fridge.

AUE HI!!

PS: Keep an eye out for the next instalment of Fun With Food. Reader submissions have been greatly appreciated and we'll be doing our best to incorporate them into upcoming episodes.

Fun With Rice

2006-10-10T22:57:00.000+01:00

Fun with Rice is a game the whole family can play!

Since I started cooking for myself, I began to realise that my rice skills were not really up to scratch. Stir fries that could have been soup, rice that could have been bread, vegies that could have been, well, vegies...

I have been having Fun with Rice for the last three weeks and I have learned quite a few things, including:

- how long to cook rice for
- why it is a good idea to ignite gas hobs immediately after turning them on
- the value of clean cutlery
- the art of rotating the plate of a hot meal so as to get the cooler bits first
- how to pack vegetables into a small fridge

I thought that since I am moving on to Fun with Pasta as of my last shopping run (yesterday), I would take some photos of how far I have come since the days of the slop I cooked after secondary school (and in those days I cooked out of compulsion rather than necessity - I would have been perfectly happy with chips - now I'm not so sure). So here they are...

Picture number 1: Assemble your ingredients on the bench for a photo shoot before you fry them in burning hot oil and soy sauce

Picture 2: Chop your vegetables up and assemble nicely on a plate (note that the faster cooking vegetables are together, the slower (harder) vegetables also together. Do not be mean to your vegetables, even if the carrots are as manky as these ones. While chopping chillies, do not succumb to any urges to scratch, and in fact keep your fingers away from your nose for at least 12 hours after handling chillies.

Picture 3: Cook your stuff like I told you and add some green stuff on top to make it tasty. There is rice underneath all that. Cook your vegies as little as possible to ensure you can actually taste the different ones when you eat them.

No Fun with Food session would be complete without that best game (my mother's favourite): Tidy Up Time At The Zoo.

Don't be an arsehole. Clean the stuff up so the other flatmates feel guilty for being such slobs.

Hints:

Try an all-green cook-up for 'Adventure Rice': use green peppers and chillies instead of red ones, add courgettes, use celery, beans, spring onion, chop the onions up real fine, add green food colouring to the rice while cooking. The 'Adventure' part comes when you hit a chilli instead of capsicum. Fun!

Next time I have Fun With Rice I will be adding some variations. If you have an idea you'd like to see on the next Fun With Rice or Fun With Food, leave a comment and I'll think about it.

Coming Soon...

- Fun With Pasta
- Fun With Beer
- Fun With Bread
- Fun With Garlic

Update

2006-09-09T13:24:00.000+01:00

It's been a wee while since my last post and part of the reason is that I've been inbetween places, without internet connection, all sorts of things. BUT...

I now have a job! It's just a temp job in payroll for a recruitment agency, but it is money coming in and will definitely keep the wheels oiled while I hunt for a higher-paying job in finance...

AND...

I have a flat! I took the odd step of leaving the 'comfort' of dossing to commit to rent, but it seems that when you become decisive about things, other things start happening for you. About three days after moving into the new flat, I got offered this temp job and I imagine I will be able to keep it until I get a finance job (the importance of being earnest...).

So the flat itself is in Acton 'Action' Town, a stone's throw away from the Tube, under the northern Heathrow flight paths, has a backyard, an apple tree and double-glazed windows. It also has a powered gas shower, locks on external doors and carpet! So it passes the basic 'adventure' test.

My room is upstairs, looking back into garden, arguably the best room in the house as it attracts afternoon sunshine and none of the noise from the Tube or the main road. Being upstairs of course is always important (no leaks from the room upstairs, no carnage if sewage spills etc etc, not that I'm expecting any of those things to happen) and the air is bracing and brisk, as if it had just blown in from Brighton.

The room is actually pretty sweet. It is pretty bare at the moment so I need to do some interior decorating and colour matching (I have bought myself a blue duvet and sheets/pillowcases) and some rugs are definitely in order. The carpet is a kind of sickly tan and needs to be covered up quick smart. If I'm feeling brave I'll get some photos up and solicit decorating tips...

The only shortcomings of the flat are that there is no broadband connection available to the house (for some insane reason that I haven't been able to find out yet) and so I have resorted to leaching off an ignorant neighbour's wireless connection. The connection itself seems pretty quick, but hey you don't want to kill the proverbial golden goose huh? So downloading the latest cinematic crapulence (like 'Snakes on a Plane') is off-limits at the moment. Shortcoming being that I can leach only if I stand in the kitchen at virtual military attention, at a certain angle to the window facing next door, laptop at chest height.

I have discovered today that I can in fact connect and then place the laptop on a bench and work from a chair, which is mucho gracias then standing up and buggering my wrist and typing with one hand. I have also discovered the joy of offline email writing (thanks Notepad!).

The flat also has no lounge, which I am a little concerned about come winter, as it seems the garden (as appropriate as it is) was the main area for relaxing and hanging out with the other flatmates during summer. I suspect the sleet, snow and general malaise which I am told forms the quintessential London winter will kill a pleasant chilled out beer in the garden.

Onto the flatmates! There are 3 Hungarians (a sister, brother and his girlfriend), a Czech girl, a German girl and me, antipodean extraodinaire. They have, thankfully, heard of New Zilland, 'kind of' know the difference between us and Aussies, and have been to The Redback, which is an antipodean-style pub similar to the Walkabout chain ('Walkie' or 'Wookie'), which (the Redback) is about 5 minutes away... My first drinking session there with some of them will be next weekend. The Hungarian siblings, having lived in Munich while growing up, speak German, which is great news for me! I am yet to meet the German girl as she works shifts - although I think it must have been her I bumped into as I exited the bathroom one morning wearing nothing but a towel (I grunted 'gidday' and I can't remember exactly but I think she laughed in response...)

It has been a dark week for Aussies, with the Crocodile Hunter and now racing legend Peter Brock exiting the world doing the things they loved. My thoughts go out to our cousins - I can appreciate only too well the distress people go through in situations like these, exactly like the murder of Peter Blake, one of our nation's favourite sons. Upwards and onwards...

Portugal - Porto

2006-08-30T11:50:00.000+01:00

In celebration of the recent bank holiday (and a birthday or two) last weekend, I, my sisters, our cousins and a friend went to Porto for a few days of sun, food and drink.

Hot, hot sun and virtually cloudless days - just the ticket for anyone who has to put up with London. The food was slightly disappointing, it seemed that a lot of places 'touristed' their menus to appeal to visiting Americans - cue ham and cheese toasted sandwiches, [yuck] potato fries and the like. There are a few good places though - you just have to look (and maybe spend a few extra euros). You can get by pretty cheaply in Porto though, a nice change from London.

There's a few beaches around - good for sunbathing and a real quick dash in and out of the Atlantic... The country is also heavily Catholic and on nearly every external shelf outside a shop or a house there was a place where a statue of the Virgin Mary is meant to go...

And we got the express service on the Monday - I've never had a 15 minute Mass before and I might not again - but it sure was quick!

We also bumped into this old guy nearly ever day busking with his piano accordian along with his psycho/mobster nephew who played the tambourine. Scowling, it was the nephew who went around after they finished their one and only piece to heavy the tourists out of their euros. He couldn't even play the tambourine in time.

Apart from that though, I can highly recommend Porto for a break away from London.

This is one of the old school ships that would be used to transport the barrells of port around. Nowadays they use trucks.

Concord Dawn flying the flag - yeah!!!

Some delayed exposure in a tunnel - pretty wacky but then again I was slightly bored....

London pictures

2006-08-17T12:46:00.000+01:00

Pictures from the Charlton v. All Whites game two weeks ago...

Walking home after the game

Pitch before kick-off I

Pitch before kick-off II

Pitch before kick-off III

And in unrelated news, when on the Tube, witnessing an underground train being vandalised, you should call British Transport Police, they will zoom in on their cameras and send a helicopter.

Germany pictures

2006-08-17T11:27:00.000+01:00

Amateur photography alert.

Having finally got off my ass and downloaded the pictures from my phone onto the computer, I can now post them up. These are all the photos I took on my phone during the Germany trip. There are more coming later, once I sort out my camera. As you would expect from a cellphone (for the time being), the quality of these pictures is not mind blowing.

Hamburg

The Kiwi Adventurer in Hamburg. A pensive moment during the all-nighter.

Bar next to the hostel in Hamburg with some wicked lounge and sofas set out to watch the France/Spain game. Not a great shot of the location but the projector was aiming to the left of the photo, onto a wall. It looks very bright in there but it was actually quite dingy.

Remembering a great NZ Prime Minister (who may have lived down a 'long' street...)

Berlin

An advertisement at Berlin Schoenefeld airport. Where Dubya's mouth should be is the emergency panic alarm and instructions on how to use it. The blue caption in the top left translates roughly as, "No sooner said than [the button] is pressed" or "Hardly spoken, already pressed".

Looking out to a 'harbour' of a river in western Berlin, from a sailing club. I took great pleasure from seeing all the boats and sailing equipment again, and even though I have only been sailing maybe once or twice in my life, in saying 'man, Auckland - now that's the City of Sails!'. Just to be an asshole :)

Down the bottom left it says 'Piece' (or per) and 'New Zealand' (meaning 59 euro cents per kiwifruit, origin NZ). Taken from a supermarket in Berlin. Back home we have a saying that goes 'Slice of Heaven' rather than 'Piece of New Zealand' but hey...

The purging of water from the roof of a tent at the Berlin Fan-Mile. It was absolutely bucketing down, and every so often there would be calls for the broom and the collected water dispersed. It was times like those that you cheered all the louder because there were people between you and the drop zone :)

Bonn

Train redecoration - an improvised game of 'pass the cushions to the front of the carriage'. Taken after Germany's win over Sweden.

At the arena looking back from the big screens.

After the game. Chants and crowd participation while waiting for an underground train.

Train Redecoration #2. 'The train will go faster if we put some Go-Faster-Dings in the ceiling!'

Arena #2

Someone's forearm (holding a flag, and no, not saluting)

Fusion

This was the Dubstation at Fusion, where I spent most of my time. The DJ and speakers were under the white canopy, and there was sand, decks and chairs around. Nice vibe. Also, it was here that I heard some Fat Freddy's Drop waft out on Day 3, a tingle down the spine to hear some beats from Downunder!

British Motor Show - pictures

2006-08-16T23:51:00.000+01:00

About two weeks ago I went to the British Motor Show and had the pleasure of viewing many wicked looking cars, sitting in a few, and getting my very own squishy stress-ball from a GPS navigation stall that I had been searching for all day...

All these photos were taken with my cellphone, a 1.3 megapixel Nokia 6230i.

Renault F1

Toyota Supra

Toyota Supra II

The Vauxhall (heh heh) Monaro VXR

The new Jaguar XKR

The Aston Martin Rapide (ooh, baby!)

Aston Martin Rapide II

The Ferrari 'pit challenge' where the refuelling was simulated but the tyres looked pretty genuine and heavy... The drill made a bloody racket too. I'm sure the team wrote off heaps of locking nuts that day. You could tell from the noise when a person was slowly killing their drill.

The new concept car from Saab - Aero X

Aero X II

Aero X III

The mighty Excelero (which looks like it has severe braces)

Excelero II (with specs) UPDATE: A pretty useless photo - the specs aren't at all clear. But looky here!

Nissan 350z in racing stripes with roll cage and full kit

Another Jag - all I had as the description was 'umz jag'. I dunno what model it is but it was mighty fine and all that needed pimping was the tints...

The interior of said umz jag...

And lastly, Ford had this weird thing on their stall, a VR (virtual reality) penalty kick program. You have a strap on your foot and you get one step to simulate a kick towards the goal. The sensor around your waist determines your view of the goal (and presumably gives the keeper bot certain information). Interesting, but you'd have to keep the VR shades on while you do it, lest you catch sight of how gumby you look. This kid certainly looked it.

Back in London

2006-08-11T13:50:00.000+01:00

I've been back in London for about three weeks and done what feels like bugger all, although I know that's not really accurate...

The Irish Connection

I've been meeting up with Fionn from Fusion, who at last advice was heading back to Eire today, if his job hunt continued to be unfruitful at this point. He knows some good spots in London and I'm sad that he's going back, although I know I would probably do the same if it was cheaper to live back home and it only cost 40 quid for an open return ticket (the jet-lag back NZ would get me down though...). Some great expressions I have picked up from this lad:

'Grand, like', 'Heavy Machinery' and 'Lager Louts' among many others. Hope to see you again soon mate.

Job Hunt

I've been hunting jobs and learned some valuable lessons for the London job market: the chances are that you will need to go through an agency, so register with three and call them every day. The chances are that you will be dealing with a team of consultants rather than just one and they all pick up each other's phones as well, so be ready to explain your experience and skill set about 10 times to a different person. If you call every day (even twice, once at 9:30am and again at 3pm to check the other vacancies that have come in) then the whole team will quickly know who you are (a 'Hot Candidate') and you will get more jobs referred to you.

Learn your mobile number off by heart as soon as you can. It ain't a good look to have to rummage through your CV to give the number to someone.

But most of all (and perhaps this is influenced by my experience of job hunting for finance jobs here) don't give up hope. There may just be a cracker job that is just right for you on the next phone call or the next morning.

Having said that, things are going slowly for me - I've got a few irons in the fire but the companies seem to be moving pretty slowly.

Flat Hunt

As I am a 'dosser' (someone who sleeps on the couch/floor and pays reduced rent) and have got family rates from my sisters (ie. no rent - love em!) my money situation has not been so pressing, BUT we are moving out in a week and so I need to find a flat to get into preferably before that happens. Of course, the flat hunt has in no way been influenced by a visit from

Repossession men or 'Bailiffs'

It turns out that our lovely landlady is subletting her council flat (beneficiary housing) which means that she has rent paid by the council and she is collecting rent on top of that from us. I can handle that, I'm dossing so I have next to zero rights about what happens. But it gets a little exessive when bailiffs are hammering on your door at 6am because it is the physical address registered for a car on which an outstanding fine numbering to the thousands of pounds is due.

We are given three options: pay the fine ourselves and reconcile it with Herself, get Herself down to the flat to pay the fine, or have the house stripped of goods in excess of the value of the fine (common practice). No way in hell are we paying the fine. It seems our only way of getting hold of Herself (via mobile) is not working. Myself and another dosser are getting extremely nervous, me for my iPod and camera and other stuff, him because of his NZD $4k laptop and $2k camera. He is in fact crapping his pants with fear.

Eventually, the bailiffs enter the house and do an inventory. Thankfully by that time we have managed to get our valuable stuff into our suitcases (having been given an assurance by the boys that they won't go into them) and they realise that there is diddly squat in the flat of value. They decide to try and track her down by other means and see if they can get the fine sorted out in full, because 200 pounds of goods from the flat (and not even that) is all that would come out of a repossession, and having repossessed, the fine is wiped. Not a very profitable outcome for the collection company.

And then that night the house across the road from us catches fire. We are woken at about 1:30am by the fire engines and the boom-boom-smash of them busting open the front door to check for occupants (none). Only back to sleep at about 3am. Not a great week at all.

NZ v Australia (11am 29 July)

Off to the Shepherd's Bush Walkabout with about a thousand other Aussies and Kiwis to watch the game. The line to get in went about 500m down the street, I swear. I have never seen a queue this long. We got in and found some Snakebite before the haka began.

A DJ started revving the crowd up and I swear the Kiwis out-roared the Aussies. Cue another tremendous roar when the haka is performed (whingers ;) and then non-stop racket the whole game.

And we did em! Woohoo!!! The Bledisloe Cup is safe for another year and the Tri-Nations as good as got, a win over SA on Saturday being all we need to secure the tourney. I say it now, but I'm absolutely delighted that we are crapping all over the Wallabies at the moment - I'm at a loss as to why NZ agreed to extend the Bledisloe format to a best of 3 instead of best of 2: I remember Australia moaning about it sometime after we succesfully defended it once or twice.

Australia last held it 1998 though 2002 with two outright victories (ie. 2-0) and three draws (ie. holder retains the Cup) 1-1. We took it off them in 2003, drew in 2004, and won outright in 2005. I'm sure the call to change the rules came in 2004 and I'm sure it came from Australia. Having said that, there is reference to earlier series being of varied numbers of games (on the Wikipedia article).

Which will make it all the more sweeter if we do them 3-0.

NZ v Charlton Athletic (3pm 5 August)

This was pretty cool. My first English soccer match and I must admit I was pretty excited to be going. Got wind of it via The Loop and headed along in my All Whites shirt, some aviators and no pretty pink handbag. I forgot it, which was probably just as well, because the Beige Faithful were a lot less strong in number and the joke had kind of moved on...

Not to mention we were sitting behind a local guy, his 7 year old son and about four of his extremely lippy 7 year old friends. Some people over here, they would truly be lost if you asked them to make a sentence without 'innit' at the end of it. Especially those lippy little bastards. All in good fun though.

I set a few chants going, and one that didn't, in particular a stunning solo rendition of 'Oma Rapeti'. To all the Kiwis who recognised it and didn't pick it up, shame on you. I'm sure the boys in the middle heard it all the same though.

Interesting to see Jimmy Floyd Hasselbaink play. He had a quiet game though. I got told off by management for bringing my beer out into the stadium - an FA rule from back in the 1980s - and I immediately realised I had walked right past the sign that said 'No alcohol past this point'.

Awesome to see some soccer again.

More to come

We play South Africa next on Saturday 27th. Bring it on and let's see which haka the South Africans are deserving of...Needless to say I will be watching the game somewhere with Kiwis and proudly wearing my ABs shirt! Go the Mighty All Blacks!

Terror

Travellers stranded at airports around the country, general murder, mayhem and destruction (I mean, that was averted). So now that bottle of water has become a volatile cocktail of nitro-glycerin eh? Perhaps the boat cruise industry are rubbing their hands?

Maps Index

2006-08-08T02:21:00.000+01:00

The Beginning
Munich
Bonn
Hamburg
Berlin
The Finale

The Germany Adventure

2006-08-08T02:03:00.000+01:00

For indexing purposes:

Munich
Bonn
Cologne
Hamburg
Fusion
Berlin

Follow the maps
Notes to the Germany experience
Germany pictures #1 (from my cellphone) UPDATE

Don't forget to check out the June and July archives for any bits in between that I may not have linked to.

Notes to the German experience

2006-08-03T18:24:00.000+01:00

This is a summary of stuff that I had intended to post on during my stay in Germany but for one reason or another didn't. Try laziness and that will get probably 2 or 3 of them, the others are probably because I thought 'that would be a good idea to write about!' and then promptly did not nothing to remind myself later.

World Cup chants

I've never heard so many classic tunes with their heart and soul ripped out as I did in Germany:

Finale, oh, oh...finale oh-oh-oh-oh' [to the tune of Volare].

It doesn't go anywhere either, it's just, 'Finale, oh, oh...finale oh-oh-oh-oh', and then another round if people can be bothered. It was somewhat dissatisfying to sing this one because you just wanted to sing the rest of the chorus.

Well, maybe it was just the one classic song that I can remember, but some of the other chants were:

"(insert surname of offending player) ist homo-sexuell, homo-sexuell, homo-sexuell" (hmm)
"Du kannst (or Ihr kann) nach Hause fahren, du kannst nach Hause fahren, du kannst nach Hause fahren" (You (or Youse - plural) can go home now)
"Schade, (country or player), alles ist vorbei, alles ist vorbei..." (It's a shame (name), but it's all over now, all over now.. - I heard this one the most after Poland got beaten by Germany)
"Jetzt geht's los, jetzt geht's los..." (let's get a move on/get it started - this one was great because you keep going with it...)
"Auf geht's Deutschland schiessen Tor, schiessen Tor, schiessen Tor-or-or..." (Let's go Germany, shoot a goal, shoot a goal, shoot a goal)

The most memorable one (after I finally worked out which words I misheard and thought were other words) was (in English) "54, 74, 90, 2006" which are the years that Germany had previously won the World Cup, plus this year:

Vierundfunfzig, vierundsiebzig, neunzig, zweitausendsechs,
Ja so stimmen wir alle ein,
Mit dem Herz in den Hand und den Leidenschaft im Bein,
Werden wir Weltmeister sein.

(that was the chorus)

54, 74, 90, 2006,
So sing we all together (?! - it is actually kinda like that)
With our hearts in our hands (I'm sure it should have been hands on hearts) and the passion in our legs (!)
We'll become world champions.

Yes it sounds rude translated but hmm well it was very catchy. Classic Moment number Whatever It Is was when I heard this song again after Germany got knocked out, and I remember thinking, whoops, this is the wrong song to be playing- and then I heard the end of the first line: "54, 74, 90, 2010" (in the German it is just the one syllable changed: 'sechs' to 'zehn') Tricky, haha, I thought. Kind of like insurance for the band so they still get airtime if we don't win the World Cup. Still in the future tense but poignantly, also still quite relevent this year. Slick.

Nationalism and flags

As everyone knows, Germany had a wee problem a few years back with a little chappie who had a rather rude little moustache. After the end of WWII and the beginning of post-war occupation of Germany, concerted pressure was sustained to deflate German nationalism and by assumed inference, German militarism.

It became illegal to fly the German flag, sing the gloriously baroque 'Deutschland über alles' or basically, to assert German cultural and national identity with any of the patriotic overtones enjoyed by the Allied victors. Infused with that you have a culture of guilt that the war survivors and their children grew up with and today there is a wonderful mixture of older people who will not allow a German flag in their house and will at the first opportunity talk of discomfort and even shame of the past, with younger people, some of whom dislike the modern day Germany (but not for the reasons their elders do) and others who see no problem in embracing and affirming their patriotism as, for example, the Americans do.

I took the opportunity to ask nearly every German person I met what they thought of the World Cup and the 'new-found' patriotism, evidenced most clearly by the immense amount of flags and flag-coloured memorabilia available around the country. The 'elder' generation showed the unease they had inherited from WWII, the younger to middle-aged showed similar unease but in some cases a renaissance of sorts, and the youth displayed none of the inherited unease but opinions all of their own.

A 'renaissance of national happiness'

I met a German man at Fusion who had at first ignored most of the flag-waving hoohah going on before and during the World Cup, until his 4-year old son had challenged him on it.

His son asked him (in German), 'Daddy, why don't we have a flag on our car? How will people will know that we are happy? We need to have a flag on our car.' Referring of course to the mini-flags that everyone was putting on their aerials or wedging in their passenger windows, his son made him think about it and he told me that he realised his antipathy for the sweeping nationalism left him out of touch with the rest of the population - people would assume he wasn't happy for Germany to be hosting the World Cup, or for Germany to be showcasing herself to the world (among other tourist attractions, the weather was unseasonably warm and calm for June, I was told on more than one occasion) - and so he got a flag for the car and joined the rest of the population in sharing their happiness - if not their pride - in Germany's time in the spotlight.

Two other opinions

I experienced two broadly different views from my fellow yoof that I met and drank with: the first was the normalised, 'status quo' 'Deutschland! Deutschland!' passion that would be matched by Kiwis watching the All Blacks smash the Wallabies, the second, an anti-capitalist, anarchist, stridently left-wing view of a leading supplier of arms to the world (incidentally, one which I encountered at commie-fest Fusion. Coincidence?).

So the first opinion was a brand of nationalism that was most recognisable: getting decked out in the national colours, drinking to the name of the country (a tinge further right-wing than I had initially realised), singing anthems and getting the flag painted on your cheek. That kind of thing.

The second was from a chap who would have been content to be stripped of his nationality: it was enough, according to him, to be known as Franz from Bremen (I can't remember his name or his town) rather than Franz the German. To be German was nothing special for him: the Germany he knows is a country that exports arms, death and mayhem to the rest of the world, it is not him and he has no desire for it to be. The industries and cultural exports of the country did not sit well with him and accordingly, he had no desire to be associated with them or the name that encompassed them.

Moving on from Nazism: criminalising the past?

What worried me the most was the legislated and seemingly entrenched determination I saw in people's attitudes, the enthusiasm they had for destroying any chance of Nazi rhetoric from re-emerging: slogans such as 'No voice to the Nazis' betrays freedom of expression to a (however justified) mixture of intense shame and horror for the atrocities carried out in Nazi Germany. It is a an attitude that the world wants (wanted?) to see from Germany but I wonder whether such attacks on freedom of expression will be used to the detriment of genuine protest in the future.

For example, to 'out' a right-wing view as bordering on fascism (see here for an interesting theory on this very subject) could become a way of shutting down debate and assigning criminal convictions to those who openly discuss views. It is a very 'slippery slope' thought to have, but I have to say I cringed slightly at the sight of the banner I saw at Fusion containing the above 'expression' (No voice to the Nazis).

New Zealanders

Germans luurve Kiwis. Those that have heard of NZ, that is. It is what sets you apart from the British 'lager louts', and by definition from our cuzzies in Oz. And what better stroke to your ego is it to be recognised as being separate from Australia and by someone on the other side of the world no less!

So, never waste an opportunity to tell people you are from NZ. The ones that react will be your friends in five minutes, the others you may have to work on for a few hours...

Threats to your female company in Germany

While enjoying the company of German women, a few things became clear in my head, especially after the events in Munich involving Aussies 1 & 2. In particular, as a Kiwi in Germany out on the town with a German girl (or group of girls even) there are certain types of guys who may or may not present a threat to your companions.

The Australian

Crikey! This little fella obviously ranks up there in terms of danger. Not only do you share a weird Antipodean accent with this nocturnal prowler, you are also from the same corner of the globe as him and thus have less 'exotic' factor to separate you from your standard European or other local predator.

The Australian also projects the 'bloke' image with ease and for some reason the Aussie drawl can be quite endearing to German girls (even if they are unable to put their finger on the difference between that and the Kiwi 'fushnchups'). The casual attitude and propensity to engage in 'alpha-male' type drinking games further confirms this species as a clear and present danger to your company.

In fact, people are more likely to have heard of Australia than New Zealand, however the chances are that this is due to Australia's prominence in global politics and the seemingly 'hokey' relationship between John Howard and George W. Bush. New Zealand's punching weight in this scene is a little weak, however it seems to make up for it by aggressive marketing and word of mouth reports of New Zealand's scenery. So when you mention New Zealand, the first or second thing they always say about New Zealand is that it is beautiful.

So if you can make an advantage out of that when confronted by this little ripper, go for it. Other tactics include doubling down, welcoming the Australian and claiming the best he has to offer as if it were your own. Otherwise, approach with extreme caution.

The German

Next in line is of course the local lad. Not only does he speak the language better than you, he can make the jokes quicker than you too. His fatal flaw is that he remains the local lad. No excitement or exotic whiff of adventure about him. He can talk and talk and talk, but if a German girl is interested in hearing a Kiwi accent, the German will get nowhere.

Which means of course you need to give her a reason to be interested and lay on that Kiwi charm. And speak English!! Don't tempt fate unless she laughs at the jokes you make in German. If there are no laughs, then switch straight back to New Zealand English.

The Austrian

The Austrian is a similar threat to the German, but a little more dangerous, by virtue that almost everyone loves Austria because they think of mountains and snow. So the Austrian has a different brand of exotic appeal, and if you are not careful, the German girl may just be swayed by the Alpine charm of the lad from Salzburg or the cultured appeal of the Viennese art director. This one will speak standard German with ease, however can be relied upon to slip in the Austrian accent here and there, prompting the inevitable question from the German girl and ensuring further conversation.

Possible tactics to deal with this one: allow him to deal with the drunks in the bar, drink him under the table, or join forces. Joining forces (if in the company of more than one German girl) may prove less risky than with an Australian, because you still have the South Pacific appeal going for you and in my experience you can generally trust an Austrian not to run off with your date for the evening.

A dangerous but relatively pleasant and benign specimen.

The Englishman

This one is not a real threat in the sense of the word, because you share whatever exotic appeal he has, will be able to speak English just as well as him and perhaps most compellingly because the non-boozy types are likely to have a little more class than to try and steal your date.

If they do however, be prepared for a fight as an educated Englishman who can speak even a little German will take your quaint Kiwi mannerisms to the cleaners.

Rarely encountered in the wild but can present grave danger.

The Irishman

Now this one is a dangerous specimen. Everyone loves the Irish for similar reasons to the Austrians: they have gravely distorted notions of quaint stout Irishmen sitting in their local pub drinking Guiness and stamping their feet to the sound of the fiddle and fife. That quaint charm again - it is a threat to the exotic, quaint charm of the Kiwi.

The Irishman may challenge you to a fight, drinking contest or some other craziness, but apart from the drinking contest, you should decline all invitations. The accent is his main asset and the longer he talks, the more he will charm your date. The best tactic with this one is to speak German as best you can, but if that fails and the conversation steers toward English, imitate the Irish accent as badly as you can in the hopes that this will derail him.

This one is dangerous but again, quite benign unless provoked.

I found a closer affinity with the Irish (men and women) that I met on my travels than I did with the Australians. It is probably due to my Irish ancestry and the fact that the Irish accent is the first one I roll into when I am imitating accents.

Another Kiwi

For obvious reasons, is the most bloody dangerous one of the lot. Unless your companion for the evening has a friend that your fellow countryman can work his charm on, you have a big problem on your hands.

Thankfully however, I was never in that situation, but unfortunately, that means there is precious little advice I can offer.

Cities

As I passed through Mainz on the train, I thought to myself that it the kind of place you would go to if you had a grandmother to visit. I couldn't think of anything else nice to say about Mainz as I went through it and I didn't stop, which is probably a good thing. I probably would have deeply offended the locals and got beaten up before getting back on the train.

They call Frankfurt am-Main ('on the river Main') Bankfurt and Mainhattan for its financial community (the second largest in Europe behind London) and its similarity to New York (I think for the banking thing again). Incidentally, the other Frankfurt (Frankfurt am-Oder) is a bit of a titchy little town deep in the heart of eastern Germany right on the border with Poland.

Neustrelitz and Mirow (some villages on the way to Fusion) are boring and slow where you would go to visit your grandmother for a month because it takes so long to get there. Definitely the kind of place you could imagine harrassed parents sending their children for a few months over the summer holidays. I found myself wondering at times whether there were actually any kids in these towns or whether they got sent to the cities for the summer...

I could continue in this vein and make up all sorts of rubbish about the cities in which I stayed (and made friends) but the truth is that I found every part of Germany enormously appealing because it was a totally new experience. I loved the feeling of being way out in the wops just as much as I loved seeing the small cities that looked like they were doing their best just to survive, as much as I loved being in the big cities and comparing that to what I had seen in documentaries and to the cities back home.

Stockholm

2006-08-03T17:41:00.000+01:00

I hope that my Swedish friend will not be offended by the length of time I spend on this post (certainly she has a right to, given how much time I spent in Stockholm Central Station on the internet!).

The arrival

At the airport was a gorgeous woman behind the information desk who sold me a ticket to get on the bus into the central station. I'm sure that she must have pushed the button for security to monitor this POI (person of interest) because I can't quite remember how long I went slack-jawed for, or whether that was just a fleeting lapse in the control of my facial expressions.

Outside with a silly grin on my face, I sniffed the crisp air and almost felt like I was home in New Zealand again. Stockholm is built on a number of islands and as a result has a nice little sea-breeze that reminds me of Auckland, especially as you get closer to the waterfront.

If it wasn't chilly, I would have described it like Hawkes Bay in the summer, no clouds in the sky and brown grassy slopes. Minus the stifling, dry heat.

The week that was

We went out into the old part of Stockholm on Saturday and found a church to go to on the Sunday (lesson from Berlin learned), and went swimming on Sunday afternoon. Off a cliff.

When we were talking on Sunday morning about going swimming, I had imagined a beach with sand or at least pebbles. Instead, my friend is talking about going swimming off rocks, and somehow I get this idea of a cliff. Maybe it was that she said 'cliff' and then 'rocks' in the same sentence as 'swimming' and I kind of overreacted.

Swimming of rocks is splash-splash, like the beach and sand, yeah? Swimming off the cliff is AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH... I think I embarrassed her because I acted out the last sentence with some fingers to illustrate an enterprising swimmer trying their luck at cliff-diving, with sound effects. Loudly. To the surprise of the fellow breakfasting patrons of the cafe. Whoops.

As it was, it was swimming off rocks, not a cliff. Off rocks, into freezing water. Forget the heat, it matters more that you are freezing than boiling. For all my bluster and banter about swimming ('oh yeah, you know, Kiwis and water, hor hor hor...') I found myself shivering very un-manly-like up to my knees in water, because I was standing on a very green rock without a decent place to launch from (more rocks in the way). Later I see two revealing photos on my camera - my friend took two snaps of me while I was standing there wailing like a kid.

Countdown: 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1... Lean forward, feel that point of no return. Splash. Ooooh that's a old one.

And I'm out. Two minutes I lasted, I'm told. Impressive.

I also went out to Skansen, which is kind of like Jurassic Park meets Sweden - it's about 30 square kilometres (so they say - all right then!) and it has working model farms, animal enclosures, heritage houses and lots of other stuff to show foreigners what Sweden was like before electricity, and to remind young Swedish people what it was like before last year (I'm kidding of course, we're actually talking before 1980 here).

Very cool to see a wolverine in the flesh though. And some brown bears.

On Wednesday night we went to the Stockholm Jazz Festival which was pretty enjoyable, even though most of the music that night was pop-rock... Swedish beer and Langos aplenty!

Thursday night made up for Wednesday night with some genuine jazz and swing dancing! An hour lesson at 7pm and then freestyle dancing from 8pm onwards.

I was asked to dance by a beginner who had the 7pm lesson as well (there were about 50-100 people there) and then as soon as we had finished and I picked up my cup of water to take a drink, another girl came up to me and said, "Now we can dance?" I looked down at my cup and decided the thirst could wait...

So the venue was very cool, a sunken quadrangle with lights and a live band playing, with plenty of talent on show. Quite a few were clearly regulars and some went to fantastic effort to dress up for the occasion, I almost felt like I had gone back in time a little!

A great end to Thursday night and my visit to Stockholm... Nåsta London.

I can highly recommend going to Stockholm. A lot of people speak English, but if you have some grasp of German or a Scandinavian language, you'll be fine...

I will also remember Stockholm for Kevin Costner as it was apparently Kevin Costner weekend after I arrived and of the 10 movies or so we watched in my friend's apartment, about 3 or 4 of them featured Himself...

Berlin - the scorecard

2006-08-03T17:15:00.000+01:00

And the scorers have it...

Greenery

The grass is green and the girls are pretty, as they say. That is after a week of rain, but in mid-summer - man the grass is brown, and, well, the girls are actually still pretty so hmm. I don't know where I was going with that one.

Grass verges: didn't see any. Soccer fields: saw one or two. Spring factor: for a crunching good time, you can't beat Berlin grass in summer!

Still doesn't taste right though. Definitely less springy than Bonn.

Score: 4 out of 10

Entertainment

Berlin is a massive city and as a result there is plenty to do, things to see, beer to drink and food to eat. I'm being lazy here because I was lazy there and left a lot of things unsaw. No cage fights.

Score: 10 out of 10.

Beer

Again, doesn't measure up to Bavaria. Plenty of beer around, but Berlin Pilsner is absolute shite. Do not be tempted to make a shandy with it because it is beyond help. Avoid with extreme prejudice.

Score: 2 out of 10

Religion

A low scoring here again, but then again I was a little lazy on the day of the Lord and left it till 4pm to find a church on the map that turned out to be boarded up and abandoned sometime back in the Dark Ages. Not impressed, but that is what you get when you don't prepare.

To be revisited.

Score: 6 out of 10

The City

Berlin is massive and has extremely slick public transport infrastructure to support the distance and the population. The people are friendly, only slightly in need of a nice hot cup of Get Over It viz. the whole 'East Berlin' thing and is lively in the same way that Hamburg is lively. It is not however anywhere near Hamburg when it comes to pack-your-pants factor.

It was said to me sometime ago that the further south you go in Germany, the more conservative and more Catholic it is. Flip it round, and the further north you go, the more progressive and Protestant it is. Except that I didn't notice a whole of Protestantism going down in Berlin. Perhaps it is that they are a little more godless in the north, but I'm certainly not one to judge. The northern parts of Germany are in general however more progressive in their lifestyle and political thought. Berlin in particular is highly westernised (or at least, western Berlin is) and if western civilisation is your thing, then you will feel at home in Berlin.

Score: 9 out of 10.

Total score: 31 out of 50 or 62%. There is so much that I need to go back and see (and friends to visit!).

Berlin - the Rest

2006-08-03T16:39:00.000+01:00

And so the rest of Berlin...

Without trusty FRI in company to shame this Kiwi into action, not a lot got done in the second week in Berlin. Three notables stand out however: my encounter with Chuck Norris, an insider's tour of the Bundestag and more drinking with the locals....

Chuck Norris

Coming back to the hostel one day (I think it was Monday or Tuesday) I found a chappie on one of the other beds taking off his shoes and groaning slightly. Upon some friendly banter it happened that this particular tough nut was from Texas and had been out partying the night before in his new boots and some thin socks. An exhibition of his foot reveals a blister covering the ball of his right foot and extending up the side and onto the top of his foot. Tasty.

He told me that he had been able to stand it (teehee) only a few drinks and pretty much that explained why it was now so huge - he must have been off his face to put up with it. He wanted to go out again tonight, he told me, but the pharmacy wouldn't give him anything for the pain or for the foot. They had insisted he see a doctor. Chuck didn't want to see a doctor because that would mean claiming travel insurance and in a word, he couldn't be arsed doing that. It obviously hurt enough for him to whinge and moan but not enough to do something more about it.

So the Kiwi digs into his first aid pack and pulls out the gauze he has been saving for when he falls off the Berlin Wall and scrapes his knee, gives it to Chuck along with some adhesive strips and watches as he realises how gloriously ridiculous it looks, especially as he realises that if Chuck is gonna be dancing with some bourbon and busting some caps, that gauze is going to slide pretty quickly.

The gesture was appreciated though.

In return, I asked if Mr Norris had a blade of some sort so that I could once and for all cut the raggy piece at the bottom of my jeans that was annoying me all week and getting my feet dirty whenever I went out in jandals. He fishes in his bag and hands me a 15-20cm long handle.

I look at it somewhat sheepishly as I realise that I wasted my childhood fantasies on computer games, when if I had been fantasising about knives, I would know how to open the damn thing! I give it back to him and he pulls the blade out, handing the knife back to me with the handle outstreched. Nice of him.

I reach down and gingerly prepare the bit that needs cutting off. I work the blade back and forth and in two strokes it has cut through the seam of the jeans and I am left with a piece of jeans in my left hand and a scary looking knife in my right. I think about closing the blade and realise that both edges look mighty sharp. Not wishing to injure myself, I hand it back to him apologetically. He takes it back, acknowledging, 'yeah, I'll do that for ya, it's a safety blade'.

You ain't kidding.

The Bundestag (Parliament)

I had the pleasure of a guided tour of the Reichstag buildings (collectively called the Bundestag) from my friend in Bonn who was up in Berlin for a few days, who had the handy advantage of having an MP for a dad, so he was able to wangle us insider passes to the buildings. Sure, I had to give Security my passport, but I got my bag through without them checking it (in jandals as well) and man, that was a bad lapse. I mean, I had a German flag in there. I could have done anything with it...

And the tour was very cool. Lots of glass around the place, reminders of the need for the political process to be transparent, some Soviet grafitti preserved from when they seized the buildings in 1945, an interesting reminder of times gone past (even though they made no sense at all).

I took lots of pictures, I'll put them up later.

Capping off the Germany tour, I got my friend to sign my German flag, which was given to me by some great people in Munich, signed by them, GtA and a German guy who was wearing a NZ cap at Fusion.

More drinking

On the train to Fusion, being still quite wired from the night before, I got into conversation with a girl from Hamburg who was also going to a music festival, although this one was getting in some culcha at the same time by doing stuff about books, art and food & drink (that caught my attention though). To cut a long story short, we swapped phone numbers (or more, I handed her my phone with my number on it because I couldn't remember mine AND our stop had suddenly come up), she took my number and then we were off the train before I could get hers.

Coming forward a week later, I got a phantom text from someone whose name I didn't recognise and it took me a few mintues to realise who it was from. We eventually arranged to meet on the Thursday night (my last in Berlin) for some drinks.

It was a great evening, even with all the Umwetter (bad weather) around - lightning, thunder, rabid dogs, you know... What I was even more stoked about was that we had got through the evening pretty much all in German, because after all the travelling in Germany I began to take it as a compliment or at least a sign of comprehension that I got a reply in German, not English.

Great evening despite leaving my wallet behind at a restaurant and nearly having kittens before we got back there (where it was, everything intact). Eek.

And thus came the end of my time in Germany! The next morning I was up early and on the train way the hell out in the wops to get on the plane to Sweden. Owing to my half-baked idea that I would be spending more time in Berlin after I came back from Sweden, I got a return ticket to Berlin, and then a one-way ticket with SleasyJet from Berlin to London. Doofus.

UPDATE: See here for some pictures

Berlin Day One

2006-07-22T01:35:00.000+01:00

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

2006-07-22T01:31:00.000+01:00

The Profile

Day One
Day Rest of Them

The scorecard

Finale (oh, oh)

2006-07-22T01:15:00.000+01:00

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

2006-07-18T17:01:00.000+01:00

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

2006-07-18T16:49:00.000+01:00

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

Hamburg - the Scorecard

2006-07-18T16:29:00.000+01:00

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

2006-07-18T15:54:00.000+01:00

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

2006-07-17T16:19:00.000+01:00

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

2006-07-17T16:12:00.000+01:00

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)

2006-07-16T22:45:00.000+01:00

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)

2006-07-16T22:32:00.000+01:00

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)

2006-07-16T22:09:00.000+01:00

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)

2006-07-16T21:53:00.000+01:00

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

2006-07-12T16:20:00.000+01:00

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

2006-07-12T16:09:00.000+01:00

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

2006-07-12T15:46:00.000+01:00

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

2006-07-12T14:06:00.000+01:00

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

2006-07-08T10:26:00.000+01:00

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

2006-07-06T22:36:00.000+01:00

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

2006-07-06T22:24:00.000+01:00

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

2006-07-06T21:52:00.000+01:00

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

2006-07-06T21:16:00.000+01:00

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

2006-07-06T20:55:00.000+01:00

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

2006-07-06T20:37:00.000+01:00

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.

Bonn - Day Thirteen

2006-06-26T13:57:00.000+01:00

A late start, but not hungover this time - thanks be to the cold water tap in our dormitory...

As I missed breakfast, I resolved to find some in town, find a church for Mass and visit the House of German History and get back in time to watch the soccer. Surprisingly, it all worked out...

Breakfast

Breakfast was a nice affair, with wiener schnitzel, tomatoes, a hot toasted bun and an egg for 6 euros. Delightfully presented, and well complemented by a glass of cold apple juice. It was about 11:45am when I ordered, and I began to hear church bells ringing out (calling the faithful to congregate) and they didn't stop until about 12:10pm. By this time I had more or less guessed that the church (which was just across the square where I was) was a Catholic one, so I gulped down the juice, paid the bill, declined a beggar (to which I was given a German blessing which I thankfully didn't understand) and made it into the church for the rest of the service.

This church was far less impressive from the outside due to all the scaffolding, but had all the grandeur and splendour I've come to expect from German churches. High quality revered silence and full praying comfort.

After the Mass finished, I took a few photos (sans flash so I don't know how good they'll be) and went off to find the German History Museum.

Now this is a place I fully recommend visitors to Bonn go to: it's free and has a permant exhibition that covers the period from 1945 - 2006 as well as temporary exhibitions. You'll get even more out of it if you can take along a friendly local or someone who knows German, if you can't understand it yourself. No cameras allowed, so no pictures. Just a strong recommendation to see it.

Soccer and beer

GtA and I went to the same beer garden again to watch the England team dispatch Ecuador, however all we got was the first half outside: at half time, dark clouds gathered, the wind picked up, lightning flashed and then the heavens opened! The most dramatic storm I have ever experienced (tinged slightly with the feeling I was doing something quite wrong by being outside during an electrical storm and under a tree), matched only by the hilarity of sprinting to find another bar holding my beer from the beer garden in my hand! Hell, I'd paid for it so I was going to drink it! Was it worth the 1 euro deposit I lost? Hmm... I didn't keep the glass though, so no. I had to surrender that (once I had drunk the contents) at the new café. Rats.

Proving again that the world is a village, a guy and his son were sharing the same bench at the beer garden with us, and after chatting with him in German about the soccer, he asks me where I'm from (detecting something up with my accent) and I tell him NZ. He says, 'Auckland?' and I nod. He goes, 'Ah' with a knowing air. He tells me that he's worked in Auckland, and it turns out he used to work at the DSIR, a stone's throw from home! So.

Portugal v Holland

I was a little concerned that I was watching the wrong game, but the ref soon put me right. There were so many yellow cards (16 in all) I thought I was watching an Australian or Brazilian game... but the red cards (4) soon convinced me it was Portugal I was seeing, playing in red and green. What a joke that game became, we wanted Holland to equalise just so we could see how many players would get sent off in extra time!

Laughter rippled through the café at the shot of two of the red-carded players, a Dutch and a Portguese, sitting down discussing the game with hand gestures, they were a lot more restrained than the colleagues on the field in a bad-tempered game. A lot of diving, but some shoving too...

Bus home, bed.

Bonn - Day Twelve and Cologne

2006-06-26T12:47:00.000+01:00

Hangover.

Luckily though, an obliging snorer in our dormitory woke me up at 8am and at 9:15am GtA and I stagger down to the breakfast halls. Cue surprise when we find out that breakfast closes at 9am.

The Kiwi employs the 'ignorant Kiwi' charm and a friendly staff member blithely tells us to go and get breakfast from one of the group-booked halls and checks to make sure we have got enough OJ. Top bloke.

Breakfast is a variation on a theme: muesli, cornflakes, Brötchen (buns or 'bread rolls'), milk, yoghurt, butter, jams, cheese, luncheon, ham, and joy! salami.

Today I resolved to go to Cologne and so I did just that - finding out how to use the ticket machine finally (and realising that I was definitely lying when I told Friendly Local A on Bonn - Day One that that same ticket machine was broken), and got a ticket to Cologne for 6 euros. Not bad at all, for a 40 minutes (high speed) train trip.

Cologne

I think I'll go straight to the scorecard although it's not really reliable on just one day :(

Greenery

Cologne looks good on the greenery front, especially if you are happy to waste time wandering along the Rhine. A little dry, but nothing less than what you would expect getting into the height of summer. Well manicured and cared for, lots of trees around. Even though in the limited time I was there I couldn't find a soccer park, Cologne gets a bonus because there were heaps of people mucking round with soccer balls on the green promenades around. The smell factor is left out for the moment because it was damn hot and all I could smell was beer.

Actually, I was hearing it call me but you know what these things do to your sense of smell...

Score: 6 out of 10

Entertainment

If by 'entertainment' you mean 'beer', then Cologne does okay...

A nominal score of 5 out of 10. Neither here nor there.

Beer

Kölsch is the local brew, of which I had a fair few in Bonn. I'm going to put up some beer files soon, and I'll cover Kölsch then.

Score: 6 out of 10

Religion

Well, the Cathedral (Kölner Dom) takes your breath away. It is absolutely incredible. And that's just the outside.

Inside is just as impressive as out, but the tourist effect kind of spoiled it all for me. The key I think is to come back when there is a Mass on, then the buggers shut up.

Score: 8 out of 10

The City itself

First impressions: A friendly chappie on the train from Bonn gave me a brief tour and told me what to see and go and do, a good ambassador for Cologne. No arrests during the 4 hours I was there, one encounter with a drunk, plenty of entertainers out in force in the sun, the usual high quality transport infrastructure and a pretty nice feel to the city.

Score: 7 out of 10

Total score: 32 out of 50 or 64%. Deserves a return visit for a longer duration.

Back to Bonn

I met up with GtA at the Museumsplatz (as I now know it to be), scene of previous excursions for Germany games (and smoking rants) and witnessed an escalation of German football fever with even more shouting, screaming, jumping, flagwaving as Germany walked all over Sweden. Not quite the destruction I had predicted, but if maybe one or two more goals had gone in, 3-0 or 4-0 would have been quite the destruction it threatened to be. Top points to Lukas Po-dol-ski (boom-boom, ba boom-boom-boom).

At the beginning, the presenter on the TV show (broadcasting with a live audience) called out the first names for the German team and the fans screamed them back (both in the broadcast and locally where we were):

Presenter: Jens... Alles (everone): LEHMANN!!!
P: Arne! A: FRIEDRICH!!!
P: Bastian! A: SCHWEINSTEIGER!!!
P: Torsten! A: FRINGS!!!
P: Miroslav! A: KLOSE!!!
P: Michael! A: BALLLACK!!!!!!! (Captain and favourite)
P: Philipp! A: LAHM!!!
P: Per! A: MERTESACKER!!!
P: Bernd! A: SCHNEIDER!!!
P: Lukas! A: PODOLSKI!!!
P: Christoph! A: METZELDER!!!

P: Danke! (Thank you)
A: BITTE!!! (You're welcome)

Protecting one's beer is the name of the game, unless of course it is your team playing. I was a little worried for some shorter people that were around us, it was a little like a mosh pit in there...

And afterwards, jubilant German fans were wacking the roof of the underground train we were in, and GtA told me, "It's okay, they'll just make new trains!", and I was pretty sure he was right, as people starting passing up the seat cushions to the front of the carriage (pictures of that later).

The recovery

We then found some more grass on a wickedly awesome big-arse field where heaps of people were playing soccer. GtA had another sleep (he likes that siesta) and I went and trotted off to join in on some soccer fun.

We then went in seach of a beer garden and found one in the Rhine, where we watched the Argentina-Mexico game at 9pm.

Bus back to the hostel and bed.

UPDATE: See here for some pictures

Bonn - Day Eleven

2006-06-26T12:19:00.000+01:00

Hangover.

See the beer files (pending) for more information on that evil local brew.

We miss the 9am deadline for breakfast and decide to head into Bonn for some food and to get various things done: Gerald the Austrian (GtA) has work to do, the Kiwi needs to find a travel adaptor for his phone, a German SIM card and something else that he has forgotten.

We get into town and find solace at the long end of some blackcurrant drink and some lunch. Plans for a productive Friday afternoon go out the window as we realise we are seriously hungover and GtA suggests finding some springy grass to lie down and suffer on. Mindful of the scorecard, the Kiwi sees the wisdom in this suggestion and decides to kill two birds with one stone.

GtA promptly fell asleep on the grass while I lay on my back watching clouds. After a while I realise that I can see birds circling quite high up overhead and wonder what it would be like to be shat on from a great height. My anxiety is abated when I realise that I would see it coming, but returns when I realise that once I was able to see it coming it would be on my sunglasses and head and it would be a little late to move.

Not to be discouraged, I practise emergency rolls and work out how quickly I could move my head ("look at the mess it made! And my head was just there!") while pretending to stretch and find a more comfortable spot of grass.

After a while, along come some local fellas with a soccer ball and they start kicking it around. In the spirit of international solidarity, I stand up and look pathetic but interested at the same time in an attempt to join in the fun. It works when one of them makes a gumby kick and I find it bouncing along to me. I kick it back and watch some more.

A few moments later, one of them delivers a real gumby kick but one that is clearly meant for me, so I collect it and join the circle of fun. Points up for Bonn (for the scorecard).

Dinner

GtA and I decide that some Chinese food on the old boat that is berthed on the other side of the Rhine would be a goer. We enter, shake hands with one of the owners and head up to the top deck to enjoy some "lucky duck" in the sunset and enjoy the sight of the Rhine going past.

I notice someone fooling around in the mock-cabin up top and wonder whether this is another drunk who is having a bit of fun pretending to steer the boat. I give it 10 minutes before he is respectfully asked to desist by the staff.

Cue shock when I realise that the boat is actually moving!

In our still-hungover state, we had not realised that we embarked about 40 minutes before the boat went on its hour long scheduled cruise up the Rhine. As it was 8:45pm, we had to kiss the first half of the France-Togo game (9pm start) goodbye.

We make it back to the other side of the Rhine during half time and find a local drinkery to watch the second half. Bonus of the night was when I realised they had a second TV showing the South Korea-Switzerland game! All I had to do was develop 270° vision or turn my head every 20 seconds to check the score on the other screen. I decided to go with the 'tennis spectator' move.

After the games we start talking to a German couple (it is in fact GtA who starts talking - I wait until they seem ready to be inflicted with my German) and once GtA introduces me, the conversation turns to Lord of the Rings, sheep, surfing and holidays. Quite a similar type of conversation that I had last week, when I explained the Treaty of Waitangi and the grievances. In German too, I might add! It may seem utterly useless when forced to perform such an exercise at school or university but it comes in handy, especially if you can remember the special nouns your teacher taught you for 'land-grab' or 'bludger'.

We head back to the bus shelter and realise that late buses are plentiful and resolve not to take the taxi again.

Cue Saturday, Day Twelve and Hangover.

Bonn: Day Nine and Ten

2006-06-26T11:34:00.000+01:00

Day Ten was the last day with my Bad Godesberg hosts and Day Nine was pretty much just getting ready to pack up all my stuff again and clean up all the mess and grafitti from my bedroom (kidding).

So onto Venusberg, Bonn, to another genuine (affiliated, that means) Jugendherberge way out in the wops and trees. Traffic signs warning of deer, a 15 minute bus ride from the city. It is heartening to know that the hostel had its own bus stop though! Always a good thing to sort out before you leave is how you're gonna get back!!!

I think with this travel thing, things will just happen - you just have to be ready for the unexpected (to quote the cliché). About 10 minutes after arriving in my dormitory and claiming a bottom bunk (ooh yeah can you feel it!) in walks Gerald the Austrian.

Gerald the Austrian

Forget whatever images the name 'Gerald' brings up- imagine saying the name with a soft G rather than a hard G and I'd wager you get a different image. So in walks in a not-old but quite young guy who has a look of adventure in his eyes, and within half an hour, we're outside at the bus stop off to find the city, some food and an adventure or two.

Off to find food, because there are no cooking facilities at this youth hostel (dammit! that spaghetti will have to back in the suitcase). We end up in one of main squares in Bonn city, at a constructed outdoor theatre to watch Australia take on Croatia. The green and gold starts materialising as expected, but so do a few people with drums.

On closer inspection, we realise that we are in fact going to be treated to Brazil, the other green and gold soccer demons, along with a thumping accompaniment from a band of what must be Brazilians! We secured a table near the back, and as you would expect when two strapping lads are drinking by themselves at a soccer game (!), along come two girls and ask if the other places at the table are free (hang on, let me just call up the German for 'Sorry, no...' - yeah right). So shortly afterwards the places are not free any longer.

The game

Shock and delight that Japan score first! The Brazilian drummers to their credit bang their drums even louder as the crowd appreciates a goal that Keiji Tamada will tell his grandchildren about 20 years from now. Brazil strikes back shortly before half time, to be expected. Cue frenzied drumming.

After half time, as has been observed in other WC games, Brazil eventually unleash a few more goals, with the potted belly Ronaldo still putting in some elbow grease. Full time 4-1 to Brazil in a game that teased the Japanese with the prospect of a reputable draw with the favourites.

The aftermath

As security staff clean up and shoo the last drinkers away, this Kiwi begins to explain the rules of rugby to the two German girls and Gerald the Austrian, with audience-participation demonstrations of the scrum, the forward pass and the crash tackle. After returning the plastic cups to the stalls for our 1 Euro deposit refund, we head off to another pub to drink some local poison and talk more German.

Lo and behold, in attendance at this pub are more TTCs, who delightfully inform me that Australia drew with Croatia and proceed to the next round! Cue much joking and merriment as this Kiwi happily declares trans-Tasman sporting solidarity with delighted Aussies. We then settle down for some beer in 200 ml glasses that resemble joysticks, complete with ridges for where the fingers should go. The locals drink it in smaller vessels so as to get a fresher drink sooner. This Kiwi thinks it is awfully uneconomic but has not been taking careful note of the price so keeps his mouth shut.

We then head off to another bar that is Russian in pretense, fare and decor. Note muscle-bulging Russian bodybuilder who is serving our table and performing other bouncing duties as required. We are also sobered up somewhat by a sad episode involving an alcholic who comes over to our table and when challenged firstly by the bodybuilder and then another bar staff, assaults her and is then wrestled to the ground by the bodybuilder and Gerald the Austrian. The Kiwi is taken aback and valiantly rises to offer assistance should the other two muscle-bound young men need it in restraining a 60 year old man (while feeling slightly inadequate but glad of his choice of drinking companion).

When the Polizei arrive, the bodybuilder and Gerald the Austrian have got the drunk as far as the stairs but he has locked his knee in under a railing and this somewhat hampers progress. Four Polizisten descend the stairs, don gloves and pull the drunk out and up and away to a waiting paddy wagon.

We return to the table feeling a little sober by this episode, but not for long as the bodybuilder returns with a round of vodka shots for our table, on the house. Glug.

We taxi back to the youth hostel as neither of us bothered to check the return route for the last bus time. Cue Day Eleven and hangover.

Cigarettes

2006-06-21T14:14:00.000+01:00

Yesterday I went and saw the Germany-Ecuador game at the arena in Bonn where we saw them play Poland, same sandy surface etc etc.

It must have been because I didn't have lunch before we left (3pm) that I felt pretty cranky and bad-tempered. What set me off was the realisation I was going to stand through 90 minutes of people blowing cancer all over me. So I spent about 45 minutes stewing, thinking swear words and witty little anecdotes and then at half time our group moved further towards the screens, into a newly vacated spot (whose prior occupants had obviously gone off to find beer). Sans cigarette smoke = a calmer, happier Matt.

Here are a few excerpts from my thoughts yesterday:

Clouds of doom bringing
First hand's winter, second hand's autumn
And get off my foot

Germany, I love your country
It's green and clean and interesting
But things aren't that healthy
When my smoke detector starts to ring

It's okay that you want to kill yourself,
dear Occupier of Space Adjacent to Mine:
But I am sure you can find a happier synergy
Than funding a company's bottom line

I'm forced to stand next to you
Stop blowing cancer over me
Yes I mind if you smoke
Mind if I die?

I want the answer, not the cancer
the rumour, not the tumour
prediction, not addiction
the fact, not the pack

So even if you do blow your smoke away, the gesture is nice, but I'd be lot happier if you threw the ciggies away instead.

Bonn - Days Two to Eight

2006-06-20T12:23:00.000+01:00

I'm lumping these all in together because I haven't really done a lot. Don't get me wrong, it's been so neat in Bonn, but perhaps that's why they say time flies when you're having fun and sleeping.

Day Two wound up in Bonn 'city' watching the Germany / Poland game on big screens in a concert venue with about 2,000 screaming Germans. I had a big fluffy fake afro wig on with German colours, which I regrettably had to give back to its rightful owner later after the game. I got a photo of me in it though, which will come to hand as soon as the TTC (trans-Tasman cousin) concerned emails it through to me from his camera. A couple of highlights from that evening...

Dust

The arena where we were had sand and pebbles underfoot and when Germany scored the goal late in the piece (I think to break the deadlock?) suddenly I had a mouthful of grit and I couldn't see the screen anymore. Of course, this is the natural reaction when you have 4,000 legs stamping, kicking and jumping all of a sudden on a sandy surface.

Trains

Owing to some logistics problems with the local transport, we found ourselves walking back home after the entertainment all finished, some 6kms. At more than one point we had to cross rail lines, the first time the guard was down, the second time the guard came down as we were in the middle, the two TTCs scampered the rest of the way, I and my German host scuttled back to safety. And then we waited. It takes about two or three minutes for the train to go past, from the time the guard comes down, but there's two damn good reasons for that. One: they barrell past at about 100 km/h Two: being electric, you can't hear them coming. Lucky for us we were looking in the correct direction. They make a hell of a racket going past though and the woosh you feel when they go past: a freaky feeling, very very freaky considering you could put your hand out (if you weren't pulling it back from the negative draft created by the train) and touch some part of the train (also if you had no further need for the limbs below the shoulder).

Electricity (Snap crackle pop)

There was a minor electrical storm chasing us home, occasional flashes of lighting interspersed by distant thunder. No rain though. I was literally looking over my shoulder for about half the way home.

Day Three was a public holiday (thanks be to Jaysus and the christian legislators) and as a result there was very little happening, except for more heat. Yay for skylights. We also went down to the Rhein for some beers with the TTCs as they were moving on the next day, off to Berlin in preparation for the final.

Day Four was Friday and I went to a concert given at the school of my host (he was performing in it as well), and I hoped to purge the tunes of Mary Poppins and the Lion King from my head (as he was the accompanist to a choir, he had to have these tunes down pat, which he did, believe me... I missed the soccer match at 6pm which was the Netherlands game, but caught the Mexico-Angola game at 9pm.

Day Five I went for a run along the Rhein, extremely angenehm (pleasant) and some effort towards working off the München part of my pot belly. Undid all the work later that evening when I went to a club with my host (interesting experience to bike to a club and then bike home again - I was not drunk in charge - and my host told me that the police were quite hard on cyclists at night, meaning that they would pull you over and check you, (rather than run you down in their Beemers))

Day Six was fairly restrained due to the antics of Day Five however at 4pm we cycled down the Rhein to Bonn city and had a currywurst and went and saw the Beethoven house (being the birthplace of Beethoven), took some photos and then sprinted back the 6kms to get back in time for church at 6pm (which, unhappily, coincided with the Brazil-Australia game, however that is what you get for drinking late into Sunday morning and then sleeping all day) however I was able to get back in time to catch the rest of the second half.

Day Seven and today have been spent sorting photos, accommodation, blog updates and general sleeping needs. And a haircut!!! I have had a haircut. So now my hair is short again but this time it has shape...

I think the photos are going to be all over the place so just enjoy :)

The town hall in Bonn with some bemused onlookers

The garden at the back of Beethoven's house - no cameras allowed inside and this photo was the most picturesque there was...

Panoramic photo of the Rhein #1

Panoramic photo of the Rhein #4

Panoramic photo of the Rhein #2

Panoramic photo of the Rhein #3

Town centre of Bad Godesberg looking up to a fortress. (...)

The electricity is in wires up above us, Jimmy...

Greenery ü

More greenery and emergency hydration planning üü

Greenery #2

UPDATE: I've just realised the panoramic photos are mixed up. Fixed.

Bonn - Trains and Day One

2006-06-19T15:04:00.000+01:00

I wondered why the carriage was so hot. 34 degrees. 34 DEGREES!!!!! Bonn put on its best heatwave all year to welcome me to the city.

Travelling on trains all day and then having a mini-crisis over whether to buy a ticket for the one-stage connection to my friend's house, or to wing it and act the dumb Kiwi if nabbed. I chose the conscientious route and immediately had issues with the ticket machine.

Enlisting the help of my fractious German and a friendly local, I secured a ticket for the short trip and was greeted off the train by some more trans-Tasman cousins who were staying with my friend in Bonn. Can't get away from them!

Some sights from the local area coming up.

Bonn Index

2006-06-19T14:08:00.000+01:00

The City Profile

Day One
Days Two-Eight
Days Nine-Ten
Day Eleven
Day Twelve
Day Thirteen
Days Fourteen-Fifteen

The Scorecard

Bonn - die Stadt (the city)

2006-06-19T13:22:00.000+01:00

Bonn was the capital of West Germany until the reunification of East and West Germany in 1990 and retains the international flavour of a capital. I am staying in the district of Bad Godesberg, slightly south/southeast of the city centre, an area where the majority of ambassadorial and diplomatic staff were housed while Bonn was the capital. Today, some active embassies remain in Bonn, mostly from poorer nations who could not afford to relocate to Berlin as many others have. Situated on the Rhine, it is fairly close to sea level, with some hills nearby. For the better part it is however flat and undulating, making it easy to get around on bike or on foot. Alongside the Rhine there are paved bike and footpaths, providing a pleasant opportunity to get some exercise along the fast-flowing river.

Soccer clips

2006-06-19T12:45:00.000+01:00

Browsing through You-Tube I see a few clips available:

The goals from the Argentinian rout of Serbia & Montenegro
(who is that commentator who yells "Goooooooooooooooooooooooal!!!!!" every time a goal is scored? I'm sure I've heard him in clips of other matches as well)

The Dutch invade Germany

"He pulled my hair, Sir!"

Soccer update

2006-06-18T22:41:00.000+01:00

It is Sunday night and I saw the second half of Brazil's 2-0 win over Australia and the full 90 of France vs South Korea on the box. Australia had, by all accounts, a blinder of a first half and were looking to keep it that way in the second, but for the efforts of Adriano and Fred.

France opened up the account nicely with Thierry Henry bringing his country back from the 8-year drought (with regards to goals in the World Cup) in the 8th minute, but alas that France didn't win! What was expected to extend out to 2-0 or even 3-0 with this punter thinking that France "dismantling" South Korea's game would be an apt description, the game was evened up by a surreal sequence of three touches. At around the 80th minute, South Korea finally got their first shot on goal (albeit a tame header that Fabian Barthez swallowed) and then shortly after, an unspectacular run down the right line by Seol Ki-Hyeon preceded a very useful cross across the goal mouth, with one header pushing the ball back into the danger zone and the daintiest of touches from Park Ji-Sung sending the ball over the French keeper, and despite a despairing swipe, Barthez could only watch, stunned, as the ball carried on to hit the side netting, sending the fans in attendance into noisy rapture.

Given that South Korea looked amateur in their ball retention and France by contrast were slick, mobile and superior, the result has undoubtedly stunned French fans and other pundits expecting France to cruise through the match. Yahoo I say! A little bit of upset here and there does nobody any harm at all.

Meanwhile...

In the news: Togo exhibit all the characteristics of a mobile soap opera with their version of 'Reality World Cup', Dutch goalie and captain Edwin Van Der Sar becomes an economics consultant, German flag-waving gets the green flag (more on that later), Swedish tactics get a dose of investigative journalism and a list is compiled of the tournaments' best-named players (also see an explanation of Brazilian nicknames).

Looking forward to a possible Germany - England matchup directly in the second round! I also found this post on the tiebreaker rules for the tournament.

Bring on the new week!

I've heard it all before...

2006-06-16T11:23:00.000+01:00

Via WorldCupBlog: Flirting with the locals

I am sure I have heard this somewhere before: be as boring as you can... I just had to laugh! Asking for all sorts of trouble.

One way perhaps is to ask them to show you the local river, or failing that, the local pub. I'll see how I go.

The City Reports

2006-06-13T09:35:00.000+01:00

For indexing purposes:

Geneve
München
Bonn
Köln (reduced edition)
Hamburg
Berlin
Stockholm

München Index

2006-06-13T09:30:00.000+01:00

Just for indexing purposes:

Arrival
Profile

Daily reports:

One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight

Scorecard

München: the scorecard

2006-06-13T08:46:00.000+01:00

Righty then. You all remember the scorecard?

Greenery

Well. A mixed bag on this one. The positives: trees in the city, grass at Der Residenz, random green shrubbery along the middle of roads, plants in offices in the Hauptbahnhof and lots of grass, trees and flowers at Dachau.

Unfortunately, it appears that Müncheners in the city do not water or mow their grass verges. In fact, they are more likely to concrete over them, because that is all I could see. It was a different story out in the suburbs, but that's not where I spent most of my time, so bad luck. The grass at Der Residenz was also a little underwhelming: unmowed, sparse in places and not very springy.

Lastly, the fiasco of Friday night means that access to soccer-friendly fields pulls this score right down.

Score: 3 out of 10

Entertainment

Müncheners do know how to party, there is no doubt about that. Ease of access? A very strong effort with at most a 10-15 minute walk required to get to beer, discothekes or Wurst.

Vibe? I have to say I liked the vibe wherever I went, with the exception of the dive across the road from the hostel. Münchners love their beer and anyone who loves their beer. The beer halls are collegial, jolly and filled with hohos (laughter, lest anyone think otherwise). The discotheke was pumping but the dry gas effect operator (woah, stylie man...) could have done with a bit of restraint. Unimpressed at reeking of cigarettes coming back from the discotheke or certain establishments. The sooner Germany/München becomes smokefree the better.

Extent of advertising for gigs/concerts/cage fights? Well, I missed out on seeing any cage fights, but maybe I should have kept my eyes open for longer, because I also didn't see any ads for such fights. Again, a strong effort as with ease of access.

Overall assessment: with the exception of the dive, I felt safe wherever I went, apart from the fiasco I was hardly cramped for room, and general feel-good factor? Awesome, once I got used to the idea of making my own fun.

Score: 7 out of 10

Beer

The drink: always well presented with coasters that were happily souvenired by yours truly. Each beer had a distinctive taste, but I'm a little disappointed I didn't find a dark beer to try. Plenty of ales around and regrettably, also radlers. I did however ask for it so I won't hold that against the city. There is a lot of tradition behind these beers, but I was unable to extract any beer stories from the locals (surprisingly). I should really ask next time.

Price? Impressive, but only if you forget how much the Euro equals to the Pound/NZD. Expect to pay no more than €3 for a o.5l decent, local beer, approx €5-€6 for a 1.1l stein. Even with the exchange rates factored in, beer is well-priced here. It also helps that they don't need to import it...

General drinking satisfaction? Somewhat tempered by hangovers, the wary traveller can avoid unproductive hangovers by drinking carefully and not mixing drinks. Top effort from München on the beer front.

Score: 10 out of 10

Religion

Based on Sunday's experience in the House of the Lord, München scores quite highly in this category. Die Frauenkirche was clean, well-presented, well-organised, massive, but not without one technical blowout, being a burst of feedback from the lapel mic of the priest over the PA system.

Being in the heart of town (along with other churches), I initially was impressed with the quality of revered silence in the church, however all those bloody tourists coming in and letting in the city noise come in kinda spoiled it. So the church was popular but the silence suffered a little. A respectable band of faithful turned up for Mass at 6pm on Sunday, good to see.

Overall satisfaction: very high with this one. It was lingering however in the back of my mind that there weren't a hell of a lot of other religions obviously present in München. A minor sticking point.

Score: 8 out of 10

The City

First impressions of the city and people: I thought I had seen commercials when I turned up to Picadilly Circus, but München Hauptbahnhof gave it a run for its money. Grundig apparently sponsor the back wall of the station, the final view, and strewn across another wall is 'Trink Coke' and plenty of advertising elsewhere. The trains were impressive and seamless. So of the city: commercial, developed, slick. The people? Although it took me until Friday to meet Die Germans (get the plural right this time), these guys were so welcoming, so generous and such good company that they are the saving grace for chest-rubber and dominatrix-versucher (searcher for dominatrices) that the people get a double-thumbs up.

No arrests to speak of.

München generally exceeded my expectations, but I would not want to live here. Given that the tour guide had developed gout in the 5 years he has been here, it doesn't bode well for other newcomers who like beer. I also need the sea nearby: I woke up with a dry throat every morning and the air is plainly not as humid as back in Auckland.

Score: 7 out of 10

Total score: 35 out of 50 or 70%. I'd come back and visit again.

München - Day Eight

2006-06-12T18:31:00.000+01:00

On an odd note - the guy to one side of me is rubbing chest on webcam to his girlfriend, and the other is writing down contact details for dominatrices. You take your chances at an internet café...

Well, I've spent most of the day updating! I did however find some hair gel - yes I need hair gel now! - and I had a great breakfast with stuff from a bakery. The Germans know how to do a lot of stuff well and bakery food is one of them. I'll be holding back full endorsements however until I find a decent pastry pie like my local bakery does at home. Only then, Deutschland, only then....

München - Day Seven

2006-06-12T18:20:00.000+01:00

Having arrived home at 5:45am, I entered the dormitory to send some of the Korean girls scurrying back to bed - I have no idea what I interrupted, if anything...

I got up for breakfast and, while cleaning my teeth afterwards, decided I could wait for a shower as about 5 guys poured in and baggsed the showers. I went back to the dormitory and found one of the cleaners clearing up the beds of the Koreans, who had checked out. I lay on my bed and pretended to read the newspaper until she left. The effort (a good half hour) left me exhausted and I fell asleep until about 2pm when some new people came in. I decided it would be a good idea to have that shower, but alas, the scary cleaner (as she was then, she said good morning to me on Day Eight) was in there, cleaning the bathrooms. Again, I waited until she was gone and then went in and had a shower.

I then went and sat in the Frauenkirche for the next three hours, not a little hungover and waiting for the next Mass to start at 6pm. After Mass, I walked back to the hostel and stumbled across some live big band music and a food stall barbecuing sausages. It took me about 20 seconds to make up my mind to stay. Yum.

Got back to bed at a decent time, only to have a snorer check in at 12am! The best laid plans...

München - Day Six

2006-06-12T16:56:00.000+01:00

Dachau

Dachau is not the place to go for good times. It is a place to go to be reminded of the depths to which we can sink. Most of the camp has been preserved or restored, however there are parts which no longer exist, or for which only the foundations are visible.

Dachau itself was a concentration camp, not an extermination camp. What this means is that it was a 'holding camp', however that by no means suggests any of the atrocities committed there were any lesser than elsewhere. It was originally setup as the 'model concentration camp' for holding political enemies of the Nazi regime, on the grounds of an old munitions factory. While death was not imminent as it was in an extermination camp, death was brought about by work. 'Arbeit macht frei', one of the most photographed slogans on the camp gate is one of many peverse ironies of Dachau. It translates to mean 'Work Produces Freedom' but work is mainly what killed prisoners at Dachau.

The tour guide gave us an insight into the mindset of the prisoners, and of the SS tactics to control thought and action, through propaganda, torture and the stripping of prisoner's individuality and personality. Giving up one's possessions and clothes. Being prohibited from having your hands in your pockets (so as to treasure a secret hoard perhaps), shaved heads, and regimented roll call were all part of the SS machine. I won't say much more, except to urge you to visit Dachau (handheld digital audio guides are also available)

Ironies

- Escape-risk prisoners were often made to wear a special badge on their backs. We see them these days on archery fields.
- The gate that says 'Arbeit Macht Frei' is in fact a copy - the original was 'liberated' and is perhaps somewhere in an American GI's basement.
- Each barracks had a communal room in which the prisoners could mingle with each other, but they weren't allowed in.
- The German riot police now reside and train in the area that SS guards were housed and trained in.
- The memorial monument to prisoner solidarity (next to the wire one - not photographed), a colour reproduction of the assorted badges etc that prisoners had to wear, linked by dark chain links. However, it does not include the badges that homosexuals were forced to wear (colour coded pink). This is a sore point among ex-prisoners today and mocks the memorial to solidarity.

There is plenty of horrific irony to be found at Dachau. What was odd is the presence of trees and flowers and grass, and birds singing. It all doesn't fit and isn't easily categorised to a metaphor about time standing still or time moving on. There is lingering death there.

The Unknown Prisoner

This memorial was the tour guide's favourites and I was easily able to see why. In the photo you will notice several indicators of rebellion: hands in pockets, feet not side by side and head upright. the text underneath translates roughly thus: 'To the dead, honour, to the living, caution/warning'.

A sombre afternoon was had there.

The evening

Anxiously waiting for the SMS to deliver the address of the birthday party of one of Der Germans to which I had been invited last night, I headed off to the beer hall where we had met and sat down to enjoy a Currywurst which comes with chips, as well as a pretzel and a beer. I resolved to wait until I had finished the beer and then head back for an early night if no answer.

The first thing I noticed upon re-entering the beer hall was the presence of two more trans-Tasman cousins, so of course in the spirit of things I naturally sat down at their table (away from them) and the night began.

I was devoid of any overt Kiwiana except for my greenstone, but it didn't show up very well against the dark shirt I was wearing. What I did have though, was a big black All Blacks scarf which was the present for the girl whose birthday it was and also to thank them for the hospitality they showed me the previous night.

The opening

What made things interesting is that two American girls (one known to the Aussies) came in and sat down across the table from me (next to their corner). As close as I was, I occasionally got some glances when a particular funny joke was made, you know, the kind to check and see if you thought it was funny as well. So at thos moments I grinned in appreciation and turned back to my dinner. Then one of the Aussies excused himself to go too the bathroom. As the conversation had been one to one (Oz-Am, Oz-Am), the new American girl turned to me and asked me which country I was from.

Cut and thrust

Not being one to step away from a wrestle with Australians, I started up a conversation with her and once the other guy returned from the loo, I declared myself to be a Kiwi and met all four of them. Out came the sheep jokes.

I was nigh on finishing my beer, but it was still early days and when an Australian orders another beer and suggests you do too, it is unsporting to do otherwise. Out come the litre steins.

I check my phone and find a text with the meeting point and time and it is still a few hours off. The atmosphere is getting a bit more lucid and the three boys become a little silly as you do when drinking beer. Out come the cameras.

Aussie #2 makes an ill-timed and room-clearing comment about American #2's wardrobe needs. The table is shocked into silence, and American #2 confiscates his beer, places it to the other end of the table, takes his sunnies, dunks them in the beer, takes his hat and places it over the top of the stein in a grand finale accompanied by cheering from Aussie #1 and The Kiwi. Aussie #2 has already had his beer confiscated once tonight by American #2 and he ably returned into favour with a redeeming and charming comment (To Aussie #1: 'What do you mean? She's on her A-Game!" - Referring to further banter on American #2's wardrobe needs and reflecting earlier conversation on the state of American baseball) but there is no escaping this one. He correctly states that he will not simply 'say something', but that it has to be 'from the heart'. This carry-on goes for a while, and Aussie #2 seems supsiciously unpertubed at losing his beer.

The Kiwi reminds Aussie #2 that he is falling behind in his beer. Aussie #2 ignores this and turns to American #1.

American #2 starts taking pictures of Aussie #1 and The Kiwi, who are more than happy to play up for a camera. In a surprise move, The Kiwi gives Aussie #1 a quick kiss as the camera flashes and the Aussie is understandably shaken but unhurt. American #2 shows the trans-Tasman cousins in a surprisingly comical picture - Aussie #1 has a nonchalant look as he gets a kiss on the cheek. NZ - Australia: 1-0.

Later...

At the German discotheke, the Kiwi notices two raggedy looking chaps in yellow on the dance floor. It is 3am and The Kiwi strolls over to Aussies #1 and #2. Aussie #2 recognises The Kiwi and immediately grabs him, depositing a dirty great, unsubtle, stubbly MAN KISS on his cheek, no doubt attracting the attention of security staff up on the stage. NZ - Australia: 1-1.

The Kiwi notices that security have just spoken to Aussie #1. The Kiwi makes mental note not to get chucked out with them.

How to dominate a German discotheke

Some lessons from a converted warehouse out the back of the Hauptbahnhof:

a) Recall all those moves you picked up at the Waterfront Bar, Coast and Leftfield/Float on Auckland's Viaduct Harbour. They work the same wherever you are.
b) Do not tank up on beer. It slows your feet down. Also a lesson you should know from Auckland.
c) If you insist on drinking beer, keep your empty. It is worth a full new one. It is also worth €1 if returned unsmashed at the end of the night with the special token.
d) Ignore the boyfriends on the stage. They can't dance anyway.
e) Make sure you have some German friends for backup/translation/special getaway needs if it all turns nasty
f) Note where the Aussies are, they may perchance create a handy diversion for you.
g) Mouth like you know the words. Doing the 'fish impression' is not helpful unless you are constantly moving your head so as not to give away the fact you have no clue what you are saying.
h) Don't bother getting water. It's not free and it's also carbonated, meaning it is totally useless for your needs. Get Red Bull or something like that instead.
i) Take regular breaks. Less is more when you're on the dance floor and mysterious exits simply add to your appeal.
j) Do not bump into the boyfriends accidentally unless there is a very good reason to, such as escaping a fire on the stage.
k) Push the boundaries but don't push your luck. Germans are not famed for their sense of humour.

München - Day Five

2006-06-12T16:18:00.000+01:00

Pictures to accompany this post

Getting into the spirit of this travelling bizo, I decided to venture in seach of laundry facilities. Having found the hostel's facilities not more than two minutes crawl from the dorm, I happily loaded up and washed and dried a load of washing for €5. Not sure if this represents good value, but I was happy to have clean, non-cigarette stinking clothes again! Probably about 4-5 kgs of clothes.

I then set off to the Viktualienmarkt in search of some lunch and a beer. I had the afore-mentioned Weißwurst mit Weißbier and wandered back up toward the Hauptbahnhof to find a train out a dedicated fan area out at a non-hosting stadium outside München, also to see the Germany game. What happened out there was a total fiasco.

German Efficiency

One would think that Germans could organise the proverbial drinking session in a brewery, and most often they do - not needing any invitations - however the shambles that was Friday afternoon was incredible.

It began ordinarily enough, heaps of fans heading out to the heavily publicised 'Fan Fest' are out at the Olympic Stadium, where a massive screen beckoned with coverage of every world cup game, especially for local games (at another stadium) where. Cue long lines in sun, beer and normal sporting banter that happens in queues at sporting events.

It gets to the point where any progress through the gates is good progress: every time someone got in at the front and the crowd moved forward, everyone would go, "Aaaaaaaah" and crush forward (and then this guy behind me was going in German, "And another 3 centimetres, aaaah...")

In the end, they shut the gates, but not before people started chants, the ones I could understand were "Die Mauer muss weg" (The Wall Must Go - an oblique reference to the Berlin Wall) and something else I can't actually remember... It was just one of those hire-a-fence grill jobs and someone pulled apart the fence at another point and people started pouring through it. The cops (which look more like military) started rushing around and it actually got a bit tense for a moment... I was in fact waiting for the wall to be pushed over and people to run over it and into the stadium.

Given that the beer people had been consuming (in the sun for the past hour in the queue) was in bottles, quite a few bottles started to get smashed and broken glass was all over the concrete. The initial crowd thinned out as people started to get ideas on how else to get into the arena, climbing over fences, going through fences etc. Personally, as soon as I heard that the gates had been shut, I started getting away from the crowd and got my camera ready. What was odd was that I spotted a cop doing exactly the same! Most likely to snap offenders and bar them from future events, I dunno.

Despite the pressure, the fence held, and the police told us over a loudhailer to piss off and watch the game in a pub somewhere else. So most did.

Desperate times...

I gapped it back into town and went back to the beer hall I went to with the Australians and by that time was so thirsty AND not striking up the courage to ask for a beer (odd I know, but you can't ask for a beer at the counter, you have to sit at a table and wait for a maid to come by, and then you wave your hand at her to get attention), I finally succumbed and ordered a Radler.

Well it tasted superb for about the first five mouthfuls, that was how much it took to quench my thirst (of course, not being water it was only a temporary measure) and then it took me forty minutes to finish the rest off (it was only a 0.5l glass). Second half, the people at the table I was standing behind, watching the game invited me to the seat that someone had just vacated. I gratefully accepted and continued to watch the game.

Earlier, a guy from the group had asked me whether I was married (I had my silver ring on my third finger on the left hand) and when I replied in the negative, he turned to one of his female companions and loudly said (in German) "Not married!" She promptly blushed and I turned back to the game.

Der Germans

Well, these Germans love their footy. They absolutely went spare and started jumping on the tables whenever one of the 4 goals was scored. Absolutely crazy. Admittedly, the goals were very impressive, but all the same - on tables?

Cut a long story filled with booze short, I travelled out to the suburb of Schwabing with this group and we found some food in amongst all the street parties after the game. We then went to another beer hall-discotheke (outside/inside) where more German chanting ensued.

I got back to the hostel with German armbands on, a big German flag on a stick, and draped in another German flag. My All Whites shirt that I was wearing was co-opted to become part of this getup and I gingerly climbed up the ladder to my bed on top bunk.

München - Day Four

2006-06-12T14:52:00.000+01:00

I finally went on that tour, and it wasn't all the bad... Pretty good in fact!

The Alte Rathaus (old town hall for the unaware), located in Marienplatz, is a pretty spectacular example of Gothic architecture. The Glockenspiel, in the tower of the town hall is something that, while novel, is pretty impressive. Every day at 11am, it comes to life with a recital of two important stories, with melody and pantomime. The first story is of the marriage of a German princess and the cousin of an invading King (I think it's either Swiss or Austrian). The tour guide prefaced the recital, saying that the Germans had never been married before, so they didn't realise that it shouldn't have been quite a happy affair. The second story, he explained, was of the Black Death - not just the end of married life, the end of life full stop. It came out funnier live - I guess you had to be there.

So along with the beating out of the tunes of the glockenspiel, there is also a pantomime given by figures on wheels and machinery. I'm not going to go into more details here than to say that it is worth the visit and the story (also because I can't remember enough details to make the story worth retelling here).

The rest of the tour

As I've said before, you take your chances in the internet café and it's a tough ask getting these photos online. I'm going to go back to using shutterfly because it's too much hassle trying to edit these posts etc etc blah blah tech geekanoid. The only issue is that Shutterfly reproduce the pictures in a lower quality format. I have the originals in high-resolution JPEG if anyone wants them. You'll notice that I have done a few shots of the same subject, slightly differently each time. This is a bit of an experiment so that when I get home I can get prints made up and form an overlapping montage. I don't know how successful I'll be.

Alter Peter (Old Peter to the unaware) is a church that has a bit of history: the first time it was built it had two towers, and one of them collapsed (I think). When it was rebuilt, there was a fire in one tower and it caught fire and burnt to the ground. It was also flattened in WWII. It now has only one tower.

Parkplatz (Parking spot to the unaware) shows that Germans look out for their dogs' needs, too.

The Viktualienmarkt is essential consumption for visitors to München. Apparently food from over 60 countries is available here: the linguists among us will have already noticed that it resembles 'victuals' meaning snacks and roasted peanuts for knights (back in the day) and it is of course a massive food and beer market. On offer is (among much, much else) Wurst mit Sauerkraut, which is in fact not as bad as it has been made out to taste. Kind of like shredded sweet lettuce in vinegar (but a lot nicer than that!).

I have also been back there and had Weißwurst mit Weißbier, which is literally white sausage and white beer. Think light Belgian beers and you get an idea of a Weißbier. A great meal!

In plain sight is also the Maypole at the markets - the Germans get into their May Day dancing much more than the English do. The tradition (as I now understand it) has the Maypole (and smaller versions thereof) as symbols of vitality: the great thing was for one village to steal another village's maypole - if they do, then the second village buys the first village's beers that night. Similarly (or maybe not so), if a young lederhosen-bound German male has his eye on a young lederhosen-bound female (or one in a dress) then he erects a Maypole in the front yard of the house where she lives. If it stays up for three days, he gets to ask her out to the movies. It's out the front so that if there was another lederhosen-bound young German male with his eyes on the same female, he has three days to steal the maypole from the yard and replace it with his own. And on it goes until someone says something about the other one's mother, then it gets nasty.

A girl I met on the tour told me about how last year a maypole turned up, trussed to the clothesline out the back of their flat. The girls didn't do anything with it and it stayed there for months. It was apparently intended for one of her flatmates but I didn't find out whether the anonymous paramour came back and asked the flatmate out.

The Residenz is the former living quarters and palace of the Bavarian royal family. It is now a museum, but because we were on a free tour we simply went round by the windows. Of note is the grass shown in the photo, because München was not heading for a good score on the greenery count. More later.

The Hofbräuhaus (Royal Brewery Hall to the unaware) is one of the most famous beer halls in the world, notably that it was the location of Hitler's failed Putsch back in the day. It is now a respectable establishment filled with respectable beer and oompah-pah music.

The Frauenkirche (Church of our Lady .. I'll stop the 'unaware' bollocks) is a beautiful Catholic Church and the footprint is the original architect's. A good but false story is that the footprint is the Devil's, and that the Church was built by the Devil as well:

The Church was built in 20 years (back in the day), which was apparently an impressive timeframe for such a structure. It helped that nearly all the building material was avilable locally. One day, the Devil is cruising around München and he sees a new church being built. A new church! But I own München, says the Devil! So, he goes along to the architect who is standing in the entrance to the church. The Devil says to him, "Say, I'll give you a hand building this church - I'll help you to build it within 20 years, but as long you don't put any more windows in in." The architect goes, "Hmm, sure, OK - I won't put any more windows in." The Devil is pleased because a church with only one window would be dark and cold, and no-one would want to go there.

20 years go by, and the church is finished. The Devil is crusing around München again and he sees that the Church has heaps of windows! He immediately finds the architect and says, "You broke our agreement! Your soul is now mine!" "Aha", says the architect, "I tricked you, Devil! When we had our agreement, we were standing in the one spot where only one window is visible. Everywhere else you can see the rest of the windows!" And the Devil realised he had been tricked and stamped his foot in rage and left the footprint.

Long story - not sure if I got it right.

There is a place where there used to be a statue commemorating Hitler's Putsch. It was erected in one of the streets and people were required to give the Nazi salute as they passed it. Before the statue is a Vulcan Lane-esque side street that came to be known as Dodger's Alley, where people would detour if they didn't want to salute. The Gestapo got wind of this and started questioning people who walked down the alley. As you may have guessed, the statue has been pulled down.

München - Day Three

2006-06-12T14:00:00.000+01:00

I woke up with a(nother) hangover and felt decidedly seedy. Philippe the Swiss had checked out and disappeared while I was at breakfast and so I wasn't able to say goodbye, which was a little disappointing.

The Promise

I had resolved to go on the free day tour of München on Day Two, but due to the well-honed art of procrastination, I ran out of time to go and settled on the internet café instead. Cue Day Three: after telling the Aussies about the day tour and how I 'was going to go on it' today, guess what I did instead?

More emails, less walking, no city tour. Lazy Matt.

In the evening I trotted over to a local pub I had noticed across the road from the youth hostel as I was blimmin thirsty (not having drawn up the courage to raid the taps from the hostel's kitchen by myself yet) and so I went inside and ordered a coke, and sat down to watch the soccer action (at that point, inane opinion and 'analysis', but eventually, the Spain-Croatia friendly). The coke was disappointing - cold, yet midly fizzy - and the atmosphere was atrocious. Surly guys mutteringSHOUTINGmuttering to their reflection in the mirror behind the bar, clearly drunk guys clasping their beers in a silent, suspended state of mid-hiccup and the filthy, acrid stench of cigarrettes in the air. For about 15 minutes after I arrived, all I could hear were dance anthems coming from the Wurlitzer (including 'One more time' by Daft Punk?!) and after a while, one of the barflies finally changed the audio to match the visual (said inane opinion and analysis).

The game itself was pretty exciting but I can't remember the score. I left having spared myself the trial of finishing a beer in the place and reeking of cigarettes.

München - Day Two

2006-06-12T13:11:00.000+01:00

I woke up and headed downstairs to the breakfast area with some trepidation, unsure of what 'delicacies' were in store for me. I needn't have worried.

The menu:

Apple juice ('fruit juice')/Coffee/Tea
Sliced bread/Brötchen (Bread rolls to the unaware) with fruit jams
Sliced hams and sliced cheese
Hard-boiled eggs if one is quick

Cornflakes (but not like at home - sugared)/Muesli
Yoghurt and Milk to top

Crisp, juicy Royal Gala apples from New Zealand!!! Woohoo!

Australians

Also at breakfast were a few keen beans from WA (dubyeh), one of whom needed some assistance with the juice machine. Being a lonely Kiwi on Day Two of The Adventures, I bowed to my instinct and introduced myself as a Kiwi and subsequently had breakfast with these chappies. Some of these guys had tickets through to the semis to watch the Oz games, and the ones that didn't had other plans, one of whom planned to go through Austria and maybe down to Greece to see some mates, which sounded pretty sweet.

They had been travelling around Europe and had just come from the Czech Republic, where it appeared the most memorable time was out-drinking some Yanks they met (not hard now, they drink Budweiser...): in between some sculls, the Aussies bought a round of absinthe to which the Yanks all started protesting, saying, "Nah man, we can't drink that stuff, you'll make us yack dude" ('Yack'. Interesting synonym...). The Aussies pressed the Yanks, and they took the shots.

One Yank couldn't even finish the shot, and it ended up on the floor, another 'yacked' on the floor immediately, and a third ran for the toilets straight away. It seemed as though, from the way the guy was saying, they all disappeared as soon as the shot was downed (or not). The visual image of Americans fleeing a bar with some Aussies left at the table looking amused was simply brilliant.

This little story was concluded (or prefaced? not sure) with the assertion that the Czech Republic is Beer Country. So that is now on the list, along with Belgium.

Philippe the Swiss

Getting back to the dormitory, I found the unknown co-inhabitant on his bed reading a map when I came in. We immediately introduced ourselves and I tried my faltering German on him. He was very gracious about it all, even while correcting my mistakes (trust me, Germans will also correct your mistakes!) and he was in town to find Radio Free Europe, as he was doing some research about the 1980 strikes in Poland.

It sounded extremely interesting I badly wanted to 'blues' along with him but knew it would have been insanely rude. So I spent most of the day in an internet café, acclimatising, catching up on news and generally hiding from München.

The Aussies

I staggered back to the hostel at about 6pm after about 6 hours straight in the internet café to find the Aussies drinking in the common area of the hostel by the lobby (within regulations, of course). I sat down with them and began to sup on one of the beers from the vending machine (yep, how bizarre - but convenient!), listening to the banter. The German beers are produced in big, solid glasses, and I suspected a few bottles went the way of the Big Glass Factory in the Sky during testing. I was surprised that a) the bottle didn't break after tumbling down and b) that Germans would tolerate frothing their beer up in this manner, perhaps it was simply based on the idea that people from out of town would be less likely to complain than the local, more discerning Münchner. Either way, the beer tasted fine.

We ended up heading out to a Bierhalle (take a guess) where we were greeted upon arrival by a big (big!), jolly Kellner (waiter to the unaware) who directed us to a table to sit. No sooner than we had sat down then a beer maid (I'm unfortunately unaware of the proper word for such a position) waltzed up with four 1.1L steins in her arms. She dumped them on the table, leaving us open-mouthed in wonder and returned with a bowl of massive pretzels (obviously to accompany the beer). We also ordered some food and that was also superb. I recall one of the other guys got a whole roasted chicken and he was pretty happy with it. I got a Weißwurst, which entailed two generous boiled sausages (still in water), with white flesh and some fries (for old times sake). The fries were bad shoestrings, I can only assume that it is a subtle hint that if you want pommes frites then go to France (', this is beer and sausage country love'), however the sausages were fantastic. You get a packet of sauce with it, stuff which I have never tasted before but goes fine, I think it is almost a peanut sauce. Couldn't say for sure.

After dinner, I and one of the trans-Tasman cousins ordered another stein while the others started practising a trick I haven't seen before: piling up coasters on the edge of the table, flipping them up with the back of the hand and then catching them after they do a half-somersault. The more you can do, the better. Could be an interesting drinking game...

On this occasion one of the guys got about 25-30 without spilling any, and that apparently meant that Oz were now going to make the quarters. Mission accomplished, so to speak.

Afterwards

It came time to settle the bill, and we all divvied up what we owed in cash. When the maid came back, we weren't able to give her the exact cash but went over by about 7 euros I think. One of the guys gave her the cash and she repeated back to him in German the amount we had given her. He said (not understanding), "Oh, yeap..?" and a huge smile came across her face.

She of course thought we were giving her a 7 euro tip.

Our reactions quickly dashed that hope and she returned shortly after with the change (sans smile). We left and went back to the hostel.

I lumbered into the room at about midnight and saw Philippe sit up quite quickly in his bed. I immediately apologised for waking him, but he told me had been listening to the radio. He then told me about his day and how he couldn't find Radio Free Europe, but at that stage I wasn't really in a position to comprehend much more than he was relly relly relly disappointed. Evening came and morning came.

München - Day One

2006-06-12T13:01:00.000+01:00

Arriving at the Hauptbahnhof (main train station to the unaware) at about 5pm, I had endured about 8 hours of train travel, a 6am start, a moderate but persistent hangover and equally persistent moments of panic and depression, either that I was a) on the wrong train b) in the wrong country c) wanting to go home or d) I was going to ask someone something rude instead of how to find the bathroom.

Of course, I made it on schedule as planned and as prepared for, I endured the moments of panic and managed to avoid offending any locals with either my accent or misplaced verbs. I found the youth hostel easily enough ("only 200 metres from the train station!") and checked in to the local internet café (this one) and found a kebab for tea and went to bed.

This little mama's boy had only moved out of home three weeks prior and this was the first night alone, that is without a) parents in the same house - NZ b) sisters in the same flat - London or c) sweaty, snoring Kiwis with whom I had been boozing and accordingly knew well enough - Geneva. I've worked out since that first night that having a hangover is not the best way to operate if one is alone. As luck would have it, I also found myself the sole occupant of the 6-bed dormitory I was staying in.

My prayers were answered at midnight, when a figure came clumping in, dumped his bags on the floor and proceeded to fall asleep in one of the other beds. This was Philippe, the Swiss.

München: Die Stadt

2006-06-12T12:37:00.000+01:00

München (Munich to the lazy) is a city of approximately 1.3 million people, of sunshine, reasonable temperatures and some height above sea level. So apart from the occasional freezing temperatures and lack of open sea (the Danube is nearby though), it's in some ways similar to Auckland.

Speaking to my own experience here, there has been a lot of sunshine and a little rain, but nothing to trouble the meteorologists. Not so windy to speak of either.

To the left is the crudely manipulated map I promised you - you take your chances at internet cafés and it turns out this one has some superb photo editing software but no MS Paint - so you have one constructed line showing the trip from Zürich to Stuttgart and then a freehand line going from Stuttgart to München, as there is no direct service from der Schweiz (Switzerland to the lazy) to München.

Despite being deep in Bavaria and heavily Catholic (mostly conservative also) it is also quite a vibrant city, something one of the tourist brochures claimed and about which I was at first quite dubious.

Onward!

Geneve - München

2006-06-06T17:08:00.000+01:00

So, Geneva is finished with! A very interesting city. As one of the boys put it, there "isn't really a lot to do there. A pretty boring city in fact." No there isn't really a lot to do there, but then again the needs of a young Kiwi rooster like myself are going to differ from those of an aged, filthy-rich Italian or French couple. One can clearly see that there is a lot of coin floating around from the prominence of hotels and people sitting on a patch of grass in the sun doing diddly-squat.

A touch of culture jamming around the place: some interesting things to think about - (the first of these photos was a tad bizarre - the face must be some politician's).

And onto the game!

Soccer

The weekend promised to be filled with booze, headaches and a few slurred phrases and it is without doubt that Saturday night did its part. The Beige Brigade congregated at Mr Pickwick's and got stuck into some cheap 42Below that had been kindly put on the bar by some benefactor (either that or it was part of the tour costs - either way it was delicious) and a few of the boys then proceeded to get absolutely blotto, with one star performer sculling a litre of beer and promptly returning it to the empty vessel, untouched if not for a sprinkling of stomach acid. That was eventually taken off him, as he had then attempted to drink it again. Rumour has it that the jug was left on a table whereupon some old fellas mistook it for abandoned beer and tended to it. I found myself coaxing him down the street back to the hostel and pushing him into his room before returning to finish my beer at the pub. Given that he was twice my size, I'm rather pleased that I had the opportunty earlier in the day to make his sober acquaintance and insert my visage into his short term memory.

The following day was Sunday and I managed to walk through the red-light district in search of an internet café, armed with nothing less than a pretty pink handbag and some sunnies! Since access to the lockers and bedrooms is prohibited between 10am-3pm each day, I decided that it would be good to get all my gear so that I could leave with all the others at the scheduled time of 3pm to get to the game. Of course, I left my match ticket but didn't forget that piiiink handbag. I realised my folly as I felt increasingly uncomfortable from the looks I got from burly bikers having a coffee, old women walking past, Brazilians walking past, but in the end I found a cafe, nursed my slight hangover and headed back to the pub in time for our 3pm departure with an hour to spare for lunch and a Guiness. When we did eventually get on our way to the game, some chants started up, most notably "The Wheels on the Bus go Round and Round" and "Oma Rapeti". We tried "Slice of Heaven" but it died after everyone had bawled the opening dah-dah-dahs.

The police were out in force but so were the Brazilian fans! For such a mob that was as noisy as they were, they were suprisingly well-behaved, very un-agro. It was pleasing that for our part, we did not begin to mock their god for needing 'Dental work, dental work..'. We did however shout down any other of their fans in front of us with "Sit down, shut up - sit down, shut up!" to the tune of Big Ben...

The game itself was pretty exciting. We always knew that a goal for New Zealand would mean that we had in effect won the game, no matter how many goals we let in. So we were excited. the first half was superb, with some gutsy defense and committed tackling on the Brazilian superstars by the boys from Aotearoa. We were more than happy to boo the ref when he carded one of our players too. Half-time 0-1 to Brazil.

The second half was when Brazil finally got going. When they play teams like NZ, you sometimes wonder whether they are just toying with the other team or actually struggling. Although Brazil got in 3 extra goals, they were hardly convincing in their play and could really have been embarrassed by a stronger team. Full-time: 0-4 Brazil.

I was proud to stand and clap with everyone else in the stadium when Ronaldinho left the field, in a spirit of solidarity that comes from the only truly global sport. Even more so when the All Whites returned to our end after the match to clap us, we were only too happy to scream our approval of our boys against the World Cup favourites. Some photos of their top effort.

And of the handbag?

Crazily enough, I found myself being interviewed by a guy from TVNZ on Sunday afternoon and as I had been drinking and it was fairly spontaneous, I'm sure I spoke utter dribble. But if it does turn up somewhere, let me know. I'm sure I managed to annooy a few people with the handbag, but it definitely amused a lot more, especially a) the Kiwis who had heard about the original story, and b) the rest who had heard of Tana Umaga. For all those who didn't fit into that category, it was a great conversation starter.

I don't think however that I will pull it out again until I am safely back among Kiwis. I was seriously worred in Geneva when I was wandering around by myself, and I'd have to be stupid to try it again in Germany at a time when neo-nazi groups are becoming more prominent, with the influx of visitors from around the world, especially in conservative, Catholic Bavaria.

Trains

Now the train system in Europe kicks butt. It seriously does. I had planned to do a post on trains and how to use them, but I'll lead you to a superior site intead: the Man in Seat 61. The Guide to everything Europe and train. Nuff said.

I got onboard at Geneve station and realised when the conductor came around, that I had somehow scammed my way into first class. I wondered why I was so impressed with the train...

Unfortunately I couldn't scam my way past the conductor and I sure as hell wasn't paying a supplement on top of the ticket I had purchased, so I scammed my way over to Second Class and continued to be impressed. The tracks on the high speed sections of rail are cambered so that at parts it feels almost like being in a bob-sled (except I don't know what being in a bobsled feels like) or being on a virtual roller coaster where the seats tilt sideways in anticipation of a curve. Very cool feeling and comforting from a safety side of things (back in Auckland I swear they go the same speeds without any camber on the tracks so one is shunted from side to side (instead of gliding smoothly across the mountain range...). Anyway, the trains are good. You get it.

The main train stations at Stuttgart and Munich are massive and one of the bigger trains would have been about 500 metres long! Of course I had to walk that far out on the platform, but it was well worth the wait. This train was soo quiet ("Glides as softly as a cloud") and I honestly could not hear the rails. You could feel the vibrations occasionally but other than that it was like flying, except that the only noise is the airconditioning, which was probably as loud as someone using a vacuum cleaner at the other end of the house.

On the trip from Zürich to Stuttgart there was this old German couple with their dog, a spaniel. Apparently the dog had a ticket - I couldn't make out what the lady jabbered out to the train conductor in explanation for its presence. Weirder though, she started feeding the dog biscuits on the floor! There goes the 2-second rule for me!!! And then, she gives it a drink with a bowl she has bought along just for the dog!!!! I started wondering what would happen when the dog needed to do some business, although luckily for me, it didn't. Good, because it was right next to my feet and had already jumped up on to my lap once. Cute dog, but a bit of a shock.

My experience with German customs officers was brief - they boarded the train at the last Swiss stop and exited at the next German stop over the border, and you just had to have your Paß (Passport) oder Papiere (papers) out ready for inpsection. They came along and eye-balled everyone, strolled past me and then when they came back past me simply said, "That's OK" (obviously seeing the cover and guessing my age - Kiwis under 30 do not need a visa to enter the country, but you do need one to stay longer than 90 days or start work). They looked pretty heavy though, similar to how Kiwi soldiers look. Or maybe it's just every German police officer and customs official looks pumped 24/7.

Into Germany

It is very clear that Switzerland becomes more and more German the closer you get to the border (duh). I suppose I feel obliged to comment on that because Geneva was very French or even Italian by comparison.

So I'm here sitting in a München internet café and promising myself that I will not miss tomorrow's free daily walking tour of the city. I also found the awesome microfibre towel that my workmates gave me as part of a leaving present, I had been using a cheaper, smaller, and less satisfactory towel in Geneva (with OK results) so it was a bonus. Happy Matt.

Next?

Find some Wurst and Bier. Pröst!

Gumby alert

2006-06-06T16:44:00.000+01:00

Newsflash: Costa Rica has to train some of its players away from each other so that they don't start biting each other and giving the rest of the squad measles, or at least from breaking their metatarsals.

Hat-tip: WorldCupBlog

Hooliganwatch

2006-06-06T16:13:00.000+01:00

Latest Hooliganwatch

Geneve Index

2006-06-05T22:37:00.000+01:00

For indexing purposes:

First thoughts
Last thoughts

Geneve

2006-06-04T12:02:00.000+01:00

Locale: Geneve, CH

Well this is a very cool city and I can highly recommend it.

I'm in an internet café using a €uropean kezboard with about a billion more characters available to use, but mz onlz complaint is that the letters z and y are in the opposite places. So this means that mz tzping appears to more East European or Cyech flavour.

Languages spoken: French, German, English, Grunt. So far I have successfullz asked for directions (to the pub) in German, thanked someone in French, checked into the hostel in English, and grunted with about 120 other Beige Brigadiers at the pub last night. So the order of the daz is Fotebol, and we are dwarfed bz the Brayilian fans. The Beige Brigade are gathering and heading off to the ground shortlz, and zours trulz is packing one mean pink handbag. If zou can see the game tonight ä(and I stronglz recommend that zou do) look for the 'Bring Back Buck' banner, and then look for a pink handbag. In fact, just watch closelz. We'll be making the most noise in the stadium and making the All Whites feel right at home.

Dönt méntiôn thè wàr, English fans have been told: 'See the conquering hero come' is not endorsed as the chant of choice, but something tells me thez will be rowdz all the same. After all, 'Two World Wars and one World Cup, doo dah, doo dah...' is hardlz going to fill the Germans with a sense of European unitz and fellowship. If I can remember anz of the chants from tonight, Iàll post them up. Photos to come when I can coordinate mzself appropriatelz.

And accommodation. the zouth hostel rocks. More later.

More oddities & soccer!

2006-06-02T15:22:00.000+01:00

Safety lesson #2

So you all remember the safety lessons from Dubai? Here is another one, taken outside a Tube station (the Underground).

Not near the escalators but I'm guessing a service entrance. Still, it doesn't pay to fall over on the Tube, be it on the electrified tracks, or in front of the policemen with semi-automatics, or really anywhere on-camera (which counts for about 95% of the Underground). Plus you can do yourself a nasty injury if you fall down a moving escalator. I managed to avoid ever doing that back home and I don't intend to break new ground in London.

Now this one actually looks like a spray can. A bit of an odd thing to clean up after one's dog with.

Last weekend we broke new ground in the art of drinking whiskey - from a flute! Here is an associate who was rather amused at the choice of receptacle for the Jamesons that evening. I believe all the decent glasses were in use by the womenfolk for the drinking of wine. Note the classy juxtaposition of the Stella Artois in the other hand, almost out of shot...

Soccer

It would seem appropriate, given that pink is the colour of the London boys AND that the use of handbags has now been endorsed both as an effective means of shutting up a drunken friend as well as a somewhat profitable exercise, that I should make the following choice for my standout accessory at Sunday night's game against Brazil:

Look for the Beige Brigadier with a pink handbag, black and white wrist bands, a big beer in his hand and chances are that will be me. I'd also be politely interested to hear if one of the multiple camera crew feel it appropriate to broadcast my image into your living rooms.

So, on, on, on to Geneva and the World Cup!!!

Videos and other hilarities

2006-06-01T12:52:00.000+01:00

Soccer

So Germany drew 2-2 with Japan two days ago. The first Japanese goal looked offside - but I'm sure German fans won't be pleased about the result regardless. Meanwhile, Poland and Colombia clashed with a spectacular screw up by the Polish keeper, letting in one of the more odd goals you will see in soccer. And what is obviously a manufactured but nonetheless brief insight into the moves and celebrations perhaps of Peter Crouch.

Rugby

The Super 14 was packed with moments of sublime humour - read more at Sir Humphrey's.

Soccer

Off to Switzerland on Saturday - I have finally booked my flight and connecting train to Munich for Monday. More posts to follow soon!

London

2006-05-26T14:45:00.000+01:00

So, yours truly went wandering in London unaccompanied...

I visited the National Art Gallery and spent most of the morning there (out of interest, not because I got lost inside!) and then went in search of a pub for some lunch.

So the Gallery, overlooking Trafalgar Square and Nelson's Column, was pretty impressive. A lot of art inside (duh) and some fascinating work from Duccio and Ugolio di Nerio , Cezanne, Caucagin, and of course (among many others) van Gogh. Speculation abounds that he used yellow a lot because he drank too much absinthe and developed retinal problems, or that he just really really really liked that colour. I'm not an Art History student so I wouldn't know. But it was interesting.

Then on to the pub. I set off with an appetite for lunch, then spent half an hour walking around trying to find a bloody pub to eat it in! I found one at 11:30, requested some lunch and was informed that the kitchen wasn't open yet. No problem, I said, I'll have a beer and wait.

The problem was, I chose a disgusting beer - Old Speckled Hen. It just about killed my appetite, and then I had to eat the meal to remove the taste of the beer. It just about spoiled my day.

I amused myself by pretending to enjoy the beer as I watched suits emerge from and then hurry back to their lairs with lunch, on the street outside. I was struck by how many guys were wearing pink, not just pink shirts, but pink ties too. Plus, it didn't matter if one was young or old, there were plenty of old fellas strutting around in pink. Nor did it matter if one was short or tall. I had to stand up from my seat to see a wee man bustling up the footpath in his pinks as well.

Now, I'm all for progress and all that, but it was fascinating to see the parade of pink. And as an aside, some of the guys were impeccably dressed, even with a splash of pink. Very stylish indeed.

So I finished my sojourn into what could be called 'downtown' London and headed home on the Tube.

Suspicious packages

2006-05-24T15:22:00.000+01:00

Remember that feeling when you had as a kid when you realised a different type of chocolate had been brought home from the supermarket? You unwrapped it gingerly, sniffed it critically and then chewed it thoughtfully, giving it a thorough inspection. If it was bad, the rest stayed in the freezer, pushed right to the back or down the bottom, hidden under the blocks of chicken stock and your parents' wedding cake. If it was very bad, you didn't swallow any more but deposited it straight into the compost bucket. If it was good though, you made a mental note to tell whoever it was that bought the shopping that day...

I came to London with a heavy heart, knowing that I was leaving the Dunedinen-brewed-Cadbury-laden shores of New Zealand and coming to London, centre of imitation chocolate in name, taste and price...

I viewed the sweet stand outside the train station with suspicion. Its wire grills and ventilation holes screamed a message of desperation, of hurt and humiliation. I approached the man inside and squeaked, "One Cadbury Dariy Milk, please". He asked me which kind I wanted (which kind of Dairy Milk?!?) and I handed over 45p.

Now the price wasn't bad (translated to $1.50) but all I wanted was the sensation of rich, creamy chocolate disappearing down my throat faster than you could say slow down sunshine. Alas, I got through the first cube and realised that I was not in the same country as Cumberland St any more.

I set the last two cubes of chocolate in the freezer. That was yesterday.

I opened the freezer today with a sense of resigned mediocrity: there was bad chocolate in the freezer but I was getting desperate, with only half an hour since breakfast. I put the last of the bad chocolate in my mouth and felt the recoil of my taste buds as I chomped it down.

Itinerary Take 2

2006-05-22T20:24:00.000+01:00

Ok, so my first attempt was a little 'optimistic'. If I'm not going there 'for the soccer' (which I'm not, considering I don't have any tickets), then I'm probably going there for the country (so I should see as much of it as possible)? It would be a bit more accurate to say I'm somewhere inbetween.

I'm not going to the soccer, but I am definitely in Germany because of the soccer and I have an All Whites shirt that I'm going to wear every night I can make it last (I'll wash it every second morning or so if I can be bothered), so in terms of countryside, that can wait (well, most of Germany can wait). Sorry, Nuremberg, sorry Leipzig. Next time.

So:

Switzerland.
Munich.
Bonn.
Cologne.
Düsseldorf.
Hamburg.
Berlin.

A heavy focus on West Germany and the Rhine, but Berlin (in the heart of East Germany) is at the end of the list and I can always stay longer if I can afford it. 1 week or so in each city after Switzerland (maybe only a few in Düsseldorf), then a reassessment post-World Cup.

The Price of Experience

2006-05-19T19:16:00.000+01:00

Cash is king, as they say. Below is the ledger of experience, with negatives for losing money or having paid too much for something when a cheaper alternative is available, or some stupid activity that can be quantified in money terms, and positives for free stuff, cheaper stuff, and finding money. This one will be updated as further events warrant.

Negative

- Deciding not to to take my purpose-purchased tent and backpack: $550 NZD
- Wardrobe worries: losing € 55 EUR in Dubai

Positive
- Despite being inept at weighing my own luggage and turning up to the airport 8kgs over, having the excess baggage charges waived (as much as $20/kg over?): $160 NZD
- Scoring a free continental breakfast due my own ignorance (and quick-talking skills): NZD $50

The Equation
- Realising how stupid with money some people get when overseas and/or by themselves: priceless.

Further notes to the exercise of Packing

2006-05-19T18:55:00.000+01:00

All I really have to offer is this: Give yourself time, and plenty of it. 2 hours before you leave is not a good time to be agonising over which jumper you take.

For all my prudence in checking the weight limits, I totally forgot about it when packing. I hauled my first suitcase onto our antique scales and watched the dial shoot up to 17kgs, out of a possible 20. Well, I thought, the second suitcase is going to be pretty light! Given that I still had to pack a 3kg tent and a 1 kg backpack, I got stressed pretty quickly.

Stress turned into action when I decided that I was not taking my tent. A decision that I needed to have made last week, I realised that the chances were I wouldn't need one for the time being. Out goes the tent.

The softie became tough-bitten: out goes the furry rugby ball, out goes my 2nd-favourite hoodie, out goes the boxed wine opener set, my fourth pair of shoes (the jandals stayed) and other non-essential clothes. I decided that my second checked luggage was now going to be another suitcase, not my backpack (for travelling in Germany). Rather hurriedly, I decided that I would simply buy another backpack or make do with a suitcase and a smaller day-pack (price of experience).

Time is of the essence. So, stop playing D&D, WarCraft or solitaire and start packing for your OE today!

Flights

2006-05-19T17:25:00.000+01:00

Auckland - Dubai

Rather than spout on in a boring way about everything to do with the flight and What I Did On The Flight, I'll just keep it simple:

- Service was good (to a high standard)
- Food was good (better than average)
- Alcohol was good (welcomed)
- In-flight-entertainment was superior, but could be improved by less 80's style arcade games and more 90s style arcade games, and more recent movies like the Da Vinci Code. Beating your competition means having the films before they come out in the cinemas anywhere. Period. Then some [crazy rich] people will fly with you even if it means only to see the movie.

We had a stop in Melbourne to pick up new crew (the old ones were burned out and traumatised by the grunting coming from the old man in seat 23C) and I took a snap in the airport of what could only appear on an Australian flight information screen:

And so relax I did, despite slight distress at being unable to check my phone for text messages.

Dubai - London

After the experience of Dubai, the plane trip was prefaced by a startling challenge from an Emirates official in the boarding lounge: as I walked through the passport check, this man approached me and invited me to go to a table to obtain some refreshments, but all I heard was, "Young man, come over here (motioning with his hand) and ..." and fears of more hidden costs under the fruit bowl, charges of misappropriation, loss of hands and/or thieving fingers welled up inside me. Once I realised the diet-Pepsi, 7-Up and cut sandwiches were free, my anxiety abated and I consented to a diet-Pepsi, for politeness' sake rather than any nutritional or emotional benefit. After all, it seems a good idea not to annoy people who you are in fact dependent on to get you out of the country alive.

On the way on the plane I picked up a copy of the Khaleej Times, a surprisingly, compellingly good read. Respectful and non-tabloid editorialism went hand-in-hand with thorny issues and public matters, such as the prospect of night-shifts for workers in Dubai, the suburban outrage and opposition, or a section devoted to public service-style airing of complaints about the service of companies, with a section directly below for public rebuttal (but most often public thanks and retractions from the companies involved. More than once I saw requests from the companies to have the complaints formally lodged with them). A nice touch, giving the party concerned an opportunity to respond in the public manner that the complaint was lodged. From local politics, to regional and world news, the paper was surprisingly in-depth and could put a few big name daily newspapers from Auckland to shame. On to sport and a tabloid pullout, perhaps to placate the British constituency who live in the UAE?

On-board, the woman sitting next to me filled me in on local matters and scenery, pointing out that the haze I saw was in fact smog, from an over-developed and struggling coastal spot called Dubai. She was matter-of-fact about the plight of Indian workers who were providing the labour for Dubai's expansion, stating that they had no regulations to protect them, harsh penalties for industrial action, and a pile of back-pay that they never saw. She said that the first round of expansion in Dubai (in terms of the round of 'generation', first batch of on-selling of buildings and high-rises constructed), had gone through but prices were now unsustainable - no one was buying any further because it just cost too much, as developers and speculators racked the price and the profit up. A little bleak for what I would regard as a still-developing international destination.

This flight was tricky because although it was only a 6.5 hour flight, it was 6.5 hours on the end of a restless 5 hour stopover in Dubai and a good 12-16 hours flying overnight from Auckland. This time, because there seemed to be More Happening, I'll briefly indulge in the details of During The Flight.

This time I had the privilege to be sitting at the front of economy class, so I had the opportunity to glimpse into business class whenever the flight attendants moved between the two, but also to witness the phenomenon of 'autonomous upgrades', of which two people tried to fulfil during the flight.

The first was a grumpy man who clearly had a chip on his shoulder that he wasn't in business class (or perhaps he was a trained interior decorator and the curtain design was extremely offensive to him). He wandered up to the front of economy class, which I noticed immediately because there were no attractions up there, no paintings, mini-bar or live band and people passing my row inevitably kept going (through the curtain to business class). He sidled through, into business class and must have been stopped immediately because I heard him ask where the toilets were (clearly he wanted to get to the business class ones). He stepped back into economy class with a flight attendant nearly in his face, and then he asked again, to which she said, "The toilets are down there sir", pointing back down the aisle to them. She took a step backwards, drew the curtains in a flash and then disappeared back into business class. He grumped back to the toilets and although I couldn't hear them, I imagined he was mouthing some pretty foul words.

The second was a woman who perhaps again wanted to use the business class toilets (I should really have looked back and checked to see if the economy class ones were occupied). She walked up to the front of economy class (the curtains were drawn this time), briefly stuck her head through the curtain and then proceeded to squeeze her way across the middle section of seats through to the other side, in the process waking up a guy sleeping. She then stuck her head through the curtains on the other side, before walking back down that aisle. Not so funny this time, but I only noticed because I was hoping she might get asked by a flight attendant what she thought she was doing.

At this point I turned to my trusty iPod to stave of doziness and fired up some stirring rhythms. It kept me awake but didn't stop me half-falling asleep: the first time I startled back awake, knocked an empty cup off my lunch tray (they hadn't been collected at that stage) and just about set the rest of the contents over the woman in the seat next to me. I found it staggering she didn't notice.

The second was over north Iran somewhere and my head suddenly drooped forward off my headrest and smacked the side of the cabin (I was in a window seat). The smack served to wake me up and I think I saw one of my legs jump too. I was just as concerned as the first time because I still had a mess on my tray that could have quite easily become a mess on the wall in front of me, the floor, my lap or again, the poor woman beside me. I looked around this time and she had again missed it, just like the rest of economy class who I'm sure heard the thud as my head made contact.

I decided to bring in Sudoku to help pass the time.

Halfway through the second one, two old fellows came out of business class and carried out a conversation (in what they obviously regarded as hushed tones). I stopped my music and massaged my ears as if they were sore (red perhaps) and had a listen. It appeared that they had not 'stepped out the back' to sort out their differences (over a lady?) as I had hoped, but still, they were in fact discussing a lady. I think it may have been a sister or close friend of theirs - they were freckled enough to be brothers. Whatever it was, they finished their conversation, only parts of which I was able to decipher, and sidled back into business class.

I gave up on Sudoku after doing two, mucking up the first one about six squares from completion but doing the second OK. Concentrating was beginning to get on my nerves.

Luckily, a flight attendant soon turned up with a tray of drinks. I was definitely tired, because my first thoughts were that they were generous triples of vodka, whisky or orange juice. Upon drinking the brown liquid (which she told me was apple juice but I had my doubts...) I discovered that they were in fact meagre cupfuls of water, apple juice and orange juice. The apple juice tasted mighty fine but perhaps could be explained by my thirst a the time.

Not too much else to report for the flight except that it was cloudy over Germany so I missed out on any views from the camera underneath the plane (feeding into the entertainment system) and watched Morgan Spurlock's documentary on living on the minimum wage (free entertainment: a tour of your local bank branch - HA! 'Now, here is the stamp that we use to stamp your book, and here is our drinks cabinet, hands off please...') and some historic world cup matches.

We circled around Heathrow for quite a while, and the first turn we did was around a huge pillar of cloud. Sure the pilot has outer beacons that they need to stay in, but I'm sure they saw this cloud and said to the other pilot or navigator, "Hey Jeff, I just want to give that cumulonimbus the run-around. Give us half a minute will ya?". It's quite possibly the kind of thing I'd do as a pilot if I could avoid losing my job over it.

The Last Day - Students

2006-05-19T16:54:00.000+01:00

Some great moments from the last day in NZ - which was more stressful than I had expected...

Sitting on a bus into town to get some more medicine from the doctor, I was sitting in front of two uni students. The details are sketchy, but the conversation was going sort of like this:

Student 1: "How many theories do you have?"
Student 2: "Uh, what do you mean?"
S1: "Like, theories man! Do you have a theory on everthing? You gotta have a theory on everything!"
S2: (guardedly) "Well, there's a lot of stuff I don't know..."
S1: "Exactly! That's your theory about everything! The fact that you have a theory on what you know, that means you have a theory on everything!"
S2: (polite pause in which S1 starts again)
S1: "Now, this is some total esoteric bullshit here, but the fact that you have a theory that encompasses the limits of what you know, means that you have a theory on each thing that you do know! I mean, how many more theories could you have?" (laughs to reinforce absurdity)
S2: (slowly) "Your point being...?"

Now, there were actually many more lines in that conversation before it reached S2's sensible query and I sniggered aloud and then hid my smile as the conversation continued:

S1: "Oh, by the way, my name's Alex." (offers hand)
S2: "Oh, sweet man, I'm Dave." (they shake hands)

(more hiding of smiles by me)

S1: "Dave. Common name... I have a theory about Daves"
S2: "You have a lot of theories..."

The [mostly one-sided] conversation of absurd lengths that I was listening went on to discuss common names and the fact that if parents tended to call their kids uncommon names, those names would become common, and then which names would be uncommon? At that point, I felt like interrupting and saying that most parents call their kids common names, which is why the names are common, and that you'd only see the opposite happen (ie. the commonality of first names disappearing) when it becomes common (but not fashionable) for parents to give their kids uncommon names, for example like Crouching Tiger, Perseverance or Mantel (as in Mantelpiece)*.

I kept my mouth shut because I was not a student anymore and I didn't particularly feel like becoming part of S1's audience. I did think I recognised him from one of my Stage One Philosophy lectures (which I sat in 3rd year) and had a suspicion the conversation could get louder and more bizarre. I remember having such conversations up at Shadows myself, but we were not at Shadows and being 10am, it was a little early to be under the influence of anything strong enough to encourage such abstract monologues.

S2 got off the bus before the university stops.

* Apologies to anyone with the above names.

Dubai - the airport

2006-05-18T06:09:00.000+01:00

Arriving groggy and tired in Dubai at 5am, I was greeted out of the plane by dry heat, an orange haze above the horizon and an electric bus, to transport passengers to the terminal. There were hints of Jack Brabham from the chappie behind the wheel, but we got to the terminal in one piece, despite the traffic going the wrong way up the road (due to my groggy state it only registered as a 'minor' matter and didn't particularly bother me). The heat at 5am with the sun only visible for the last 30 minutes or so was a sniff of how hot it must get at midday (this morning's forecast was a high of 35 degrees).

With that in mind I headed off to find a shower - the first real adventure on foreign soil. Surprisingly easy to locate, clean, well-presented and pretty much the best shower I've had in a while, it clocked in at NZD $44.00. I'll be reviewing how much that shower was worth in real terms when I get out at Heathrow... The only shame is that I didn't pack a change of clothes, but at least my skin feels clean!

Walking around a foreign airport has taught me many things. The first is that you need to know beforehand about the weaknesses in your wardrobe. Not specifically relating to malfunctions (there weren't any), but to holes in your pockets (both literal and figurative types).

I changed some money into dirams, stuffed the paper into my pocket, then 20 seconds later pulled out my phone from the same pocket and promptly dislodged the notes out of my pocket, onto the pristine marble floor, never to be seen again. Of course, I didn't realise that had happened until I arrived at the internet cafe with no notes in my pocket. Back to the exchange kiosk. (Value of experience: - 55 EUR)

The second thing that is handy to know is where the free stuff is. I found out quite happily, that Emirates have a lounge where transit passengers can present their boarding passes and sit down to a buffet meal before the next flight. I sat down after collecting a plate full of scrambled eggs, croissant, sausage, beans, pancakes and maple syrup and was delighted to accept the offer of an orange juice from an observant waiter.

I got up from my table, quite satisfied and composing a song in praise of Emirates when one of the waiters approached me with the bill for my meal. It transpired that I had wandered into a premium restaurant, out of the Emirates area and was up for a bill of 55 dirams (approx NZD $50)! I pleaded ignorance with the waiter and he went to get the manager. He came out, with a half-scowl lining his face as he listened to my story. The area, I explained, was not well marked and it was not apparent that I was entering a different restaurant. I allowed my voice to escalate slightly as I reassured him that it was not an issue of refusal to pay, but simply feedback that I would have served myself differently had it been signposted as being apart from the Emirates area.

He nodded throughout and then extended me his hand. I shook it and he waved away the bill. As the grin rippled over my face, the original waiter offered me his hand as well. I shook it firmly with a restrained but appreciative smile on my face. I then attempted to leave the premises to catch my next flight, and just about walked into the kitchen. Turning on my heel, I ambled out the main exit past the waiters, not wanting to push my luck by looking back.

The third thing about international airports is on the issue of cellphone roaming. I was caught out by a glitch in Vodafone's system that meant I was unable to roam for the final month of my connection (having planned ahead and advised them I was stopping the account). This meant I was unable to check messages firstly in Melbourne and then again here in Dubai.

83 dirams later (price of experience), after an 8-minute call to NZ, I revoked the instruction to close the account and was duly allowed to roam again. Cue 20 messages, 5 of them from the Dubai GSM carrier ETISALAT, welcoming me and informing me of all the services available to me, their valued customer.

I have now checked my messages but dare not spend any more money by replying while roaming - when I come to close my Vodafone account next next month I may not be able to! (As an aside, the people who I have texted, or who have texted back to me, I'll reply in due course once I get my UK SIM sorted).

Dubai being the burgeoning city of growth that it is (depending on who you talk to), obviously has some important safety messages it needs to get across. The following pictures were snapped inside the airport on the edge of a construction zone with scaffolding. Needless to say, attitudes vary across the world, almost as much as what kind of objects fall from above...

Now on to Heathrow!

Further posts pending for the flights and the price of experience.

UPDATE: Posts done and pictures added.

Pre-takeoff

2006-05-15T13:41:00.000+01:00

In preparation for my imminent departure (2 more sleeps!) I have relinked all the stuff that is kind of handy before leaving, into this post, so that I can redesign the blog to being a 'post-departure' blog (which of course it is meant to be!).

So:

My to-do-list
Getting a Visa
Travel Money
Travel Insurance
Packing and Further Notes to the Exercise of Packing
The Price of Experience

What I'm leaving behind:

Beer - I, II
People - I and Students
Rugby - I, II, III

See also the archives for December 2005 through May 2006. Minor updates with new posts post-departure.

Ripped

2006-05-15T13:29:00.000+01:00

After an intense final game of indoor soccer on Sunday night, I looked down at my pants to find this humungous tear in the fabric, as illustrated. Odd, because I hadn't heard any sound effects during the game that would herald such a rending of one's garments.

I was momentarily concerned that the rip had been caused by sharp object of some nature, and given the approximate area of the rip, that further damage may have been done. I was pleased to note that it was not so.

So apart from sending another set of fabulously coloured shorts to the great Fabric Factory in the Sky (oddly enough, which I had never worn to soccer before), I now need to purchase some new togs.

Packing (and dumping)

2006-05-14T04:48:00.000+01:00

The only way to survive an enforced pack-out and dump-out (if going on OE, or last child to leave the family home) is to break it down into small, achievable victories.

- Decimate your clothing collection - give your associates, siblings and parents half an hour to claim any items before you place all your discarded clothing into a recycling bag.
- Decimate your gadget collection - reflect on how much junk you actually hold onto in the naiive mindset that it will either become a) handy one day or b) worth heaps. Neither will happen, and the gadgets merely go through batteries and your wallet. It's time they left.
- Decimate your satchel/bag collection. All those complimentary satchels you held onto because they will help you 'remember' the great time you had on conference or tour or at work or yesterday, they take up room and they only hold whatever you had to hold that day. You haven't emptied them because you didn't need to get at those notes or receipts or whatever. You haven't used them because you didn't need to (or didn't want to). It's time they left too.

It is different for every person leaving home - different for the eldest, middle children, youngest. The youngest has the biggest amount of junk to dispose of and has up until this time developed a penchant for collecting things - the hangover of hand-me-downs. Leaving home is a chance to break free of this debilitating tendancy, to get rid of a lot of junk and to feel empowered doing so.

The older siblings have it easier - they aren't in danger of being disinherited by a disgruntled sibling left at home with junk to take care of. The youngest however rides a tightrope above the abyss of disinheritance if they try the same trick on the parents.

The systematic scorecard

2006-05-14T04:30:00.000+01:00

Righto. I have arrived at a few key characteristics and checkpoints for each German city that I will be in:

Greenery

The score attained in this category will depend on:

- ease of access to soccer-friendly fields
- presence of trees in the suburbs and in the city
- quality of the grass verges (ie. dead/dying/alive)
- an overall assessment of texture, smell, spring factor and general satisfaction

Entertainment

- ease of access to entertainment venues
- vibe at said venues
- extent of advertising for local gigs/concerts/cage fights
- an overall assessment of 'feel-good' factor, security, space and general entertainment satisfaction

Beer

- the drink: a) presentation b) taste c) kick or 'hangover factor'
- price
- the extent to which the story behind the beer is either a) quirky b)a conversation starter or c)just plain nuts
- an overall assessment of the beer's chi, its colour, texture and general drinking satisfaction

Religion (to be assessed by visiting a Catholic Church)

- general impression of the church's exterior and interior (including the stained-glass, the roof, the altar, Tabernacle and whether or not the windows are clean)
- quality of revered silence (not of the ECHO FACTOR)
- number of people also in the church apart from me
- an overall assessment of the feng shui, any musical ambience, religious calm and general praying satisfaction

The City Itself

- first impressions of the city and the people
- lasting impressions
- my arrest tally
- an overall assessment of the infrastructure, comparison with the matching tour guide/Lonely Planet guide, would-i-want-to-live-here factor and general satisfaction.

Five categories with each category worth 10 points each (2,2,2,4). Further changes may be made as I see fit.

Maps: The Beginning

2006-05-09T02:48:00.000+01:00

New Addition to the sidebar: Maps

As promised at the outset, I have finally got off my A and got some maps into G. Courtesy of the CIA, found here (Hat-tip: Michelle), I have customised some maps and will update them as I move through Germany. I hope this will help me to be systematic about my city profiles. As they say though, even the best laid plans...

Additional Antipodeans

2006-05-01T11:58:00.000+01:00

New entrants as per the sidebar: some highlights:

"I'll never get over the semi-Orwellian chill of the embedded PA system turning itself on in Korean apartment buildings. "Please close the veranda windows when the temperature drops below freezing. Otherwise the water pipes will burst." It's not even exactly efficient, because what if no one was home. A friend finds the previous tenant had taped over part of the speakers, in a partly successful attempt to muffle the blaring intrusion" - miss stinky (back in) in seoul

and

Hamish Carter: his long-lost expat twin revealed!

and

(not sure if this is antipodean, but) Japanese Un-PC

So there are some interesting things out there, such as this pictorial blog of a UK med student. Now, back to more productive things....

What I'm leaving behind - Rugby III

2006-05-01T09:39:00.000+01:00

As heard on TV3 news tonight from the effervescent Hamish McKay, commenting on the fortunes of the Kiwi Super 14 forwards:

"[T]wo happy hookers: the sad one, Anton Oliver; the happy hooker, Andrew Hore..."

I mean, I'm really going to miss the male bonding while I'm overseas and not just in the scrum either...

Destination Germany

2006-04-30T05:04:00.000+01:00

I have a tentative itinerary:

Locale: By when: For which game:

Switzerland 04 June NZ v BRazil
Switzerland to Munich 13 June France v Swiss
Munich to Nuremberg 15 June England v Trinidad
Nuremberg to Stuttgart
Stuttgart to Karlsruhe
Karlsruhe to Mannheim
Mannhiem to Frankfurt 21 June Holland v Argentina
Frankfurt to Bonn 22 June
Frankfurt to Cologne 23 June Togo v France
Cologne to Dusseldorf
Dusseldorf to Hannover
Hannover to Bremen
Bremen to Hamburg 30 June W53 v W54
Hamburg to Berlin 09 July Final

There are considerations of accommodation to go through as well - transport shouldn't be an issue due to the Weltmeister Pass.

And I've only scratched the surface. Aagh!

Money

2006-04-29T05:03:00.000+01:00

Planning is everything, as you well know. If you are smart with the money planning, you can save yourself money and worry before the big OE. Specifically:

- Spending money
- Foreign currency
- Buying a ticket
- Visa application fees
- Acess to money

Spending Money

The best thing to do is to call your bank (push '0' until you get the operator) and ask them if they have an account that 'rewards regular deposits' or 'the best account for regular deposits' (if you prefer not to deal in their language) and the chances are they will have one. You'll be looking at large withdrawal fees, but provided you put in a certain amount each month (generally around $20) you should be able to get an account with a little bit of interest.

Check out your bank's website, call them and if you get nowhere, check out interest.co.nz for some pretty handy comparisons of the financial institutions offering deposit rates. Newcomers like RaboBank and Superbank will be keen to obtain market share so you can expect them to offer some pretty competitive rates in the short term.

With all the banks, you can set up an automatic payment so that when your pay (or benefit) comes in, you can divert a good portion of that to an interest bearing account that you can't withdraw from very easily (although if you can save up for a decent OE off the dole in anything less than 2 years I'd take my hat off).

The key is to have a goal in mind. Work out how much you will need for each day or week (be generous with this figure) and then work out how much you will need for how long you intend to be travelling, and not working. Work out how much you need in total and divide that amount by how much you can put aside each month. The answer will be how many months it will take before you are ready to resign.

Obviously, this is going to be hard if you haven't done a lot of travelling before, so get advice from people you know overseas, or who have travelled overseas before. Bear in mind that a stint in Hannover is going to cost a wee bit more than a stint in Hanoi.

Foreign Currency

Foreign Currency, or Foreign Exchange or FX is a tricky business that involves a lot of risk and luck. There is no science to FX, only a few basic concepts that you can use to keep out of trouble. No one will 'advise' you on FX and any financial institution that offers foreign exchange makes its money by commission on transactions involving FX (that is, buying or selling).

Depending on where the NZD 'is', you may or may not want to think about purchasing your Foreign Currency early and in instalments. Using the National Bank's graphs as an example, you can track what the NZD is doing relative to the major foreign currencies, daily, monthly, annually and since the float of the NZD currency (1985). If the NZ dollar is high against these currencies (that is, that $1 NZD will buy more of the specific currency), then that is good for you. If it is low, that means that you get less foreign cash for your moolah.

What you want to look at are the trends, so what has the specific currency been doing in the last month, the last year, the last 10 years?

If at the moment the dollar is climbing, then buying foreign cash early is only going to limit what gains you may make by buying later when the Kiwi is stronger. However, the key to remember with FX is that you must protect yourself against possible losses rather than try to make possible gains.

This is a vital thing to remember, because with FX you can lose money very, very easily if you buy and sell to try and make a profit. Buying the currency before you need it protects you against adverse FX movements, that is, if the bottom drops out of the Kiwi, you will be able to buy less cash than before. So if you have already bought your cash, you are in a better position.

If the Kiwi is going down, you want to buy your cash as soon as you can, unless you think the dollar is going to rise very soon. I was extremely lucky in that I purchased a wad of Euros just after the peak in December 2005 and I have protected myself from having to pay about NZD $600-700 more for the same amount of currency five months later.

Having a foreign currency account makes it a lot easier to store the cash (rather than have USD bills under your mattress, liable to be stolen or lost in a fire), and you can also transmit those funds directly overseas into your overseas bank account.

Of course, all this information is not intended to be a guide to purchasing foreign currency. Any transactions that you enter into are your entire responsibility and you should seek independent financial advice before making such transactions.

Buying a ticket

This is the one thing that will set everything else in motion. Without a travel date, you can't apply for a visa, get travel insurance, budget, plan a farewell party or pretty much do anything, so it's important that you do it carefully but quickly.

Talk to at least two travel agents to get an idea of the best time to fly to your destination, ask about deals, and ask about discount packages. Browse through the airlines directly on their websites and compare prices.

Talk to other people who have travelled.

Save up so you can actually buy the ticket.

Visa application fees

Comes out of your spending money. An important thing to factor in, expect at least $200 up to $500 if you are travelling to different countries and want to stay longer than a standard visitors' timeframe.

Access to money

This is a biggie.

1) Register for Internet Banking with your bank.
2) Register for Phone Banking with your bank. Write the international number down.
3) Ask your bank about a discounted fee option for while you are travelling, and aim to have just one account open while you are overseas, so as to avoid paying monthly account fees.
4) If you have a credit card, think long and hard about cancelling it before you go. If you leave it open, you need to leave enough money at home in your bank account to pay the bill each month, but it does give you that flexibility until you are sorted and settled at your destination.
5) Cancel your cheque book if you have one.
6) Open a bank account in your destination country if you can, before you go. If going to the UK, check out 1stcontact.co.uk/nz or HSBC's website. If going elsewhere, check with that country's consulate services, via the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Trade.
7) Wire money across to your new bank and ask them for 'debit cards' (which are similar to Eftpos cards) and a cheque book.

Think about buying travellers' cheques before you go. These are personalised and can be insured by travel insurance, and can be stopped if lost or stolen. If going to a 'Western' country (use your imagination here), you will have very little trouble getting them cashed. Take some cash in your wallet or purse as well, but not a lot if you can help it. The safest place for your money is in a bank account, not in your wallet. No one plans to get mugged, but if it happens to you then at least you'll still have some money to survive on afterwards.

Think about taking a backup wallet that you can use as your 'real' wallet if you do get mugged, maybe take an old Eftpos card or credit card that no longer is valid or works, that you can hand over with some cash to satisfy any robbers. Note down somewhere in your records the number to get hold of your bank from overseas. Most banks should let you call collect if your card is lost or stolen.

Again, this info is provided for information only. For best results, talk to your bank and one of their competitors.

UPDATE: A very important point which I have just realised (that I should have realised ages ago): you get different rates when you sell foreign currency depending on the type you have. Note this really only applies if you have excess currency.

Cash costs the most (ie. has the worst rate for you) because of the associated costs with storing, counting, securing and transporting it. It is the most unwieldy form of FX for a bureau to hold. Cheques (also known as AM Buy or Draft Buy) are less of a hassle and therefore slightly better for you. Telegraphic or International Money or Wire Transfer are the best: electronic and therefore much better for you. So that means, wire your money back to your NZD account, don't bring back a cheque or cash (that is, if you have enough money to wire back).

Travel insurance

2006-04-25T06:39:00.000+01:00

I checked all the usual suspects and a sticking point is the 'renewability' option, that is, being able to renew your insurance while overseas after the 12 months has expired. Certain policies available even stipulate that you have to actually return to NZ before the policy will be renewed!

On the recommendation of a work colleague, I found what so far has been the best option and likely candidate for my hard-earned dollars: Downunder Worldwide Travel Insurance. They have a policy that is custom-made for the 'Big OE' and from what I can see of it, it looks pretty good.

At (currently) $629.00, the policy beat the pants off anything that Mike Henry, STA or Southern Cross could offer by a difference of about $400.00 up to $1,400.00! That's a lot of beer you can buy with NZD $400.00, even in the UK...

The specific cover levels in the Downunder policy aren't very high, although if it's a 'true' OE you'll be leaving your desktop computer and Gucci sunglasses as home so you shouldn't need them. I think the most expensive thing I'd be taking over would be my iPod, but that has devalued so much it's probably only worth about $50 now....

Anyway. It looks good. I'll be getting it soon.

What I'm leaving behind - Beer II

2006-04-17T12:33:00.000+01:00

Orange road cones are like candy: irresistable.

What I'm going to? I

2006-04-17T05:28:00.000+01:00

This is an incredible photo essay on the 'grime' genre and London youth.

Hat-tip: MavXP

Who I'm leaving people - Kiwis I

2006-04-17T04:45:00.000+01:00

#1

Now my good friend Maria von Trapp is actually staying in the country, but seeing as she is pretty au fait with this blog business it's always a good idea to observe the rules of the two way street.

I'm certain there are more expats out there, I'll have to take a bit of a dive some time soon into the blogosphere and take a look.

Anyway, go and have a look at her blog. It's good.

#2

I am also leaving behind the Beige Brigade, or so I thought. It turns out that there is a mission being planned for a particular soccer match involving the All Whites and a major superpower (not the US - a soccer superpower), being played in the idyllic surrounds of Geneva in early June. Further details here. I will be there.

What I'm leaving behind - Beer I

2006-04-17T04:35:00.000+01:00