Amsterdamned...

The last time I had been to Amsterdam was a good 15 years ago. And I have to say, in 15 years, she hasn't changed much.

Just like Paris is huge, because France is huge. Amsterdam is small, because Holland is small.

Our first afternoon/evening we met up with Rosie who'd flown in from London, and drank beer and wandered the streets of the red light district. There really are pretty girls inside neon lit windows, on display in their underwear in the same way the French display their pastries and croissants. It's a bit weird, but also quite cool. You can't go to Amsterdam and then judge it by our prudish NZ standards, you just have to go with it. She's a crazy old town, but quite safe and lots of fun.

Yup, it's safe to say, Amsterdam is a party town.

But we did educational stuff too! We visited the Anne Frank museum which has changed a lot since the last time I saw it, which was when I was 14 on my first visit to Holland. Back then it was just an empty house with a glass case downstairs that held her diary and a few plaques on the wall as you wandered through. Now it's a fully interactive educational museum that aims to open people's eyes and ultimately end discrimination. Anne Frank would be proud.

Then after all that good, cultural, smart stuff, we decided to meet up with our old flatmate Bas (hi Bas) and go and get drunk.

So we ate no dinner and drank Heineken and talked the night away. It was grand. So the next day, sifty and hungover, we spent the afternoon in the park and wandered the street of pretty Amsterdam, away from the dodgy (but fun) red light part. She really is a very beautiful city.

We only had three short days in Amsterdam, and unlike Bruges, three days was definitely not enough, but have no fear Amsterdam, I'm sure we'll meet again.

I am a half blood after all.

In Bruges...

What can we say about Bruges?

Fook'n Bruges!

Thats what Colin Farrell said, and he was both right, and wrong about that.

Wrong because, when we arrived in Bruges at 9:30pm it was dusk (it doesn't get dark round these parts till 10pm this time of year) and Bruges at dusk, is quite simply, beautiful. The mix of modern neon lights with ye olden day brick and tile houses all jumbled together like a jigsaw puzzle is adorable.

She has tiny little cobblestone streets that wind their way around a seemingly endless maze, broken up only by pretty canals full of swans and ducklings, and 500 year old horse bridges.

Sweet. And evil.

The first place we went for lunch when we arrived, served me a delicious and traditional Belgian meal of moules & frites. Aka mussels and chips.

The chips were fine, but the mussels tried to kill me.

At first I was fine, but as the hours passed and my stomach started making weird gurgling noises, I had to race back to the hotel in barely enough time before I started vomiting. I spent the good part of the afternoon and evening bent over some fine Bruges china. Not exactly how I had wanted to experience the place.

Fook'n Bruges!

But apart from this one minor blip in the road, I have to say, Bruges was pretty cool. There's no McDonalds or Starbucks. No mall or mega movie complex. It really is a township from another time.

We did the obligatory climb to the top of the clock tower a la 'In Bruges' and we visited the church that claims to have a vial of Jesus blood. We also managed to have dinner at a traditional Flemish restaurant (I didn't order the mussels this time) and I partook of the local Bruges amber beer. Sarah and I also both drank the very tradtional Kriek Cherry beer. It tasted a bit like cold cough syrup. Sarah loved it, but I definitely prefer the less sweet De Post version in NZ.

We also went to the frites museum, and learnt everything you never wanted to know about chips. Turns out, they're made from potatoes. Who knew?

And pretty much that's about all there was to Bruges. It was cool, and cruel, but we liked it.

And three days was definitely long enough.

Gay Paris!

Our week in Paris has been eye opening to say the least. We were warned, in advance, about the French. About their rudeness. Their lack of patience. Their hatred of tourists.

We were warned. And we thought we were prepared. But we really weren't.

Because the people of Paris were amazing! We expected grumpy Frenchies refusing to speak to us in English, yelling hard-to-understand French abuses at us that we'd still clearly understand in the universal language of intonation and rude gestures.

But the French were lovely, giggling politely at our terrible French accents (mostly Sarah's, lets be honest) using sign language as a way to communicate with us if they couldn't speak English, and answering us in English if they could. Clearly hearing us butcher our way through their beautiful language was more insulting than having to speak English themselves.

And thank God cause I didn't understood much of what they said. Sixth form French was a long time ago.

Paris je t'aime.

And then there was Mona. What is it about that girl? She's old. She's flat. And she just kind of stares at you. But my God she's amazing. In a way I can never describe, seeing Mona in the 'flesh' was one of the highlights of my life. I love her.

The Louvre itself was incredible. There are so many works of art just jumbled together on walls, in room after room, that we were both overwhelmed. You really need a few days in that place to really absorb all it's awesomeness. I, for one, want to live there. I could totally set myslef up in Napoleon's ridiculous apartment with 3 metre tall chandeliers and more gold embossed furniture than is really decent. I would have to get a new bed though. That guy was really short.

We also climbed to the tippy tippy top of La Tour Eiffel, and though the climb up the 7556 steps (that's what it felt like okay?) almost killed me, I was delighted to see they offer glasses of champagne at the summit for the thirsty.

Not water. Not juice. Not snacks. Just champagne. You can see why I really like the French.

We also went to Disneyland Paris. It was average, avoid it. Notre Dame. It was beautiful, but no hunchbacks in sight (apart from some of the tourists). Dali Museum? Check. Montmartre? Check. Arc de Triomphe? Check.

But maybe my favourite thing (apart from standing before the unnerving gaze of Mona) was going down into the Catacombs hidden underneath the city. About 6 million Parisians are interred there, their bones put together in a macabre sort of decorative wallpaper for tourists to view. And none of it was behind glass, you could just reach out and touch the bones. If I had wanted, I could have stolen a skull.

I didn't.

But I could have.

So thank you Paris for a wonderful time in your beautiful city! I'm even starting to forgive you for the €8 pints.

Drunky Monkeys...

Yup. It's been a week of beer. Frequently before midday. Once before breakfast.

You heard me.

It's also been a whirl of fish and chips and bruises. Good times in ye olde London towne. What we've loved the most? Rosie and Judd's Borough markets ritual (coffee, cake & foogasmic sausage roll). That AMAZING Vietnamese restaurant on Old Street. All the beer. Rosie's hospitality and mad/crazy/beautiful hair/personality/flatmates. Oxford Street. Kerry Jenkins. Soho. Wooden spoons. The rockin ladies of Holloway Road. London, we miss you already.

Six days flashed by and all of a sudden we were on a train destined for Paris. It goes through a tunnel under the sea surrounded by enough ocean pressure to crush a car.

Clearly much safer than a volcano.

So now we're in Paris, the city of love. Its is definitely the city of kissing. Everywhere we go guys and gals are tonguing each other with a passion. I have no idea how anyone gets anything done around here.

Worst thing about Paris? The €8 pints. That's right. Eight Euro. $16 NZ dollars. For a pint. No fear of becoming an alcoholic in this city. Paris you fooled me! I feel like a kid who was promised Wii and got an Atari.

But the best thing about Paris so far? The markets just outside our hotel have everything from tables piled high with a twisted mess of knives and forks to 1970's bedroom suites. Old cases with violins on the pavement and retro industrial worklamps. Posters of naked tattooed ladies from the late 1800's to the biggest, juciest, weirdest looking tomatoes you've ever seen. I want to buy it all!

And then there's the Eiffel Tower. I'm sorry, but it really was SO cool to finally see it in person. And so far the French we have met have been lovely, and smiley and helpful. Even happy to speak English. Maybe Paris is just lulling us into a false sense of security, and we will soon be pounded over the head by irate Frenchophiles for butchering their mother tongue every time we say "Merki boocoop". But until that time comes, Paris je t'aime.

Even if the beer is stupidly expensive.

London...

We made it! Although as we were flying in and the plane was engulfed in thick black dust clouds, we thought, this is it, we're going to die.

Turns out, not the volcano trying to kill us, just London smog. Not so good for your average human being, but perfectly fine for jet engines.

So after 30 hours of flying, and 3 hours of sleeping, we were totally wired and up for anything. So long as it was a shower. Mostly because one hour into our journey we both spilt our mini bottles of celebratory bubbles into our laps and smelt of stale cat wee for the duration of the flight. Took a while for the undies to dry out too.

Ungood.

So London has started well and truly as we mean to go on, we arrived at the tail end of Rosie's flat warming party which still had some hard core stragglers at 9am when we finally made it. The last 3 days have been a blur of eating, drinking, falling over and having a grand old time. Thank you Rosie. Thank you London.

Next stop?

Paris. See you there.

Limbo...

Apparently flights have resumed. The ash hasn't really diminished, just turns out the volcano wasn't such a big problem after all.

Choice.

That said, we're still in Auckland for another 10 days. Those of you that are the studious diligent kind will be pleased to know that Sarah has been working, toiling away at school, keeping her mind off the fact that we're not in London. For the rest of you, you'll be pleased to know that I've been watching a lot of DVD's and drinking a lot of beer. In times like this, really, beer is the only answer.

Ahh beer, so always there for you in times of need. And boredom.

So this is what limbo feels like. I thought there'd be more of a waiting room feel. Clinical smell. Really old magazines. Kids crying. Turns out limbo ain't so bad. Just deadly dull. So the countdown begins. Again.

And if that second volcano starts up,there really won't be enough beer in all of Aotearoa to placate me.

Cross your fingers. Hold your thumbs.

Off To A Bad Start...

Eyjafjallajokull

A week ago we'd never heard of it. Now we hate it. What was supposed to be the start of a great adventure to far off lands, quickly became a nightmare of unprecendented proportions.

Stupid volcano.

Sarah and I should be in London right now, drinking beer, seeing bands, living the life of leisure. Starting our excellent adventure. Instead, we're still in Auckland. Grounded. I was never grounded as a teenager, but now as an adult... grounded.

By a volcano.

I think as a parent, Eyjafjallajokull is doing a bad job. For a start she's (I presume she's a she, cause she's a bitch) smoking right in front of us. A lot. Everyone knows chain smoking for days on end is bad. Especially in front of the kids. She also has a bad temper, spewing obscenities out. And she's fat. She's an angry, fat, chain smoking bitch. Yup, she sure is a mother alright.

So when will we get off this island and start our excellent adventure? May 1st. That's if the bitch lets us leave.