Ich bin ein Berliner!

Berlin Ich liebe dich! (Berlin I love you!)

Of all the cities we've been to so far, Berlin has been our favourite.

This is a city we could live in.

Berliners are laid back, fun and have no problem speaking English. Which is good, because the only German I knew coming here was "Ja, genau" (yes, exactly) which can only get you so far, and if you don't know what the other person is saying, God only knows what you're agreeing with!

Ja, genau.

This city has an attitude and an architecture that is surprising young. While the land itself has been lived in, loved and fought over for centuries, modern day Germany was only established in 1871. And then during WWII 90% of Berlins buildings were destroyed, so its architecture is primarily a mishmash of 50's, 60's & 70's. Which is strange for a city that has existed for over 1000 years.

So we (myself, Sarah & Rosie) trained into Berlin from Amsterdam, met up with Dina (Rosie's friend who lives in Berlin) and pretty much went straight to a gig that night. The Courteeners - a Manchester band. It was kind of like travelling back in time, seeing a grungy band in a smokey bar, like Auckland gigs were before the indoor smoking ban. Apparently indoor smoking was banned in Germany too, but Berliners complained so much, they revoked the law, and now everyone smokes indoors.

That kind of sums up Berlin. They're relaxed here, and laid back, but they'll fight for their liberties when they need to. Good on em.

We also did the traditional stuff, a walking tour that touched on many of the historical places, starting at Brandenburg Gate. You'll have seen it in old black & white footage from WWII with row upon row of Nazi's standing in front of huge Swastika flags, and Hitler, in the centre with his arm raised. So it was very surreal to stand on the same spot he once did, and take a tourist snap of myself.

We visited the monument to the murdered Jews, an exhibition called the Topography of Terror which documented the rise of the Nazi's, and also 2 of the few places left where the Berlin wall still stands, as a testament to the scarily recent history of how much this city has been through.

I gotta give it to Berliners, they survive WWII, their city basically destroyed and they must've thought "phew, at least that's over" and then along come the Commies and build a wall that separates them for over 30 years. And they managed come out the other side liberal, cultured and cool.

I think it's safe to say, they've got balls.

We even managed to catch up with two of my recent German workmates Inga & Pedi. It was such a great night of pizza and beer and catching up. I particularly loved seeing them in Germany, knowing that the last time I saw them, and the next time I see them again, will be in NZ. Same funtimes, different country.

But our last day in Berlin, might have been the best. We started by going to this very cool local fleamarket and buying heavy things that I am now lugging around in my suitcase (much to the chagrin of taxi drivers who have to keep lifting it into their boots). I am now the owner of 2 very heavy (and breakable) plaster black ladies. I'm a retard. Also bought? A small red porcelain cat. A huge snifter green scarf. A tiny red plastic toy truck. A local artists canvas bag. Oh and a retro red leather wallet I feel certain is from East Germany during their time behind the iron curtain.

At least I was not alone in my buying madness. Sarah bought 3 vases.

Then that night we attended the 3rd day of the 4 day Cultural Carnival. It was awesome. Apparently over the 4 days, crowds would reach 1 million (and three Kiwi's) and we even caught the NZ band The Emerald City playing there. Good times.

Yup, it's safe to say I love you Berlin, and I promise I'll be back! But the very very best thing about Berlin? Beer was only €1.50.

Take that Paris.

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.