Walkin Like Egyptians...

I pretty much fell in love with Cairo before we even landed. When I looked out my airplane window, I saw the Pyramids, and actually gasped. They're gasp worthy. Even from the air, when everything else looks like a postage stamp, the Pyramids are huge.

When you arrive though, the first thing you notice about Cairo is the noise. The drivers, who follow no road rules whatsoever, are constantly honking. They honk when overtaking. They honk when changing lanes. They honk if someones crossing the road ahead. Honk. Honk. Honk. They honk if they are turning left. Honk. Honk. Honk. Right. Honk. Honk. Honk. It's constant. And if you're a tourist out walking the city, they honk even more.

Our first stop was the Egyptian Museum, which was near our hotel. And it was a hot day. 39 degree's. And rising. But inside the museum was slightly cooler. A nice cool 37 degree's. Much better.

It's crazy to see artifacts so old, and so important, jumbled on top of each other like toys in a kid's room. Row after row of coffin. In row after row of cabinet, room after room. We saw the awesomeness of King Tut's tomb treasure's. He was buried in that gold headgear that everyone knows, inside a gold coffin, inside another gold coffin, inside another coffin. Wood this time. Covered in gold.

And we saw a bunch of Pharoah's like Ramses II & III, inside the Mummy's room, out of their coffin's, unadorned, stripped of their second life finery. Even their mortuary bandages are unwrapped from their heads, so you could see their taut, beef jerky faces, with drawn back lips and intact teeth. Even their hair was still on their heads. For all the honour they were bestowed with in life, all the servants and slaves, all the gold furniture and jewels, all the wealth and power they held, I bet they never once thought they'd end up in a display cabinet, that little kids smear their greasy faces up against and people file past to gawk at. They'd be turning in their graves.

If they were still in them.

That night we went to the hotels rooftop bar, that had a view overlooking Cairo. We were served by the bar manager, a guy I came to call 'Corduroy', because when we first met him, he was wearing a caramel-coloured corduroy suit. I kid you not. I can't believe they even make corduroy suits, let alone find people who'll wear them. And whilst you can't buy alcohol in a shop in Egypt, because Muslims don't drink, you can still buy it at most hotels and restaurants. The no alcohol thing seemed so weird to me, since it was the ancient Egyptians who invented beer in the first place. I really have a lot to thank those ancient Egyptians for.

Our best day in Cairo just happened to be my birthday. We left early to go see the three Pyramids of Giza, and their guardian the Sphinx. Even though you know what to expect, and we've all seen hundreds of images of them (not to mention the fact they're really only pointy sandstone edifices in a sea of sand) , there really is something awe inspiring about these magical tombs that have stood the test of time. The oldest of the three, and the largest, the Great Pyramid of Giza, is not only the tallest pyramid in the world, it is also one of the oldest, at 4500 years old. Sure, they've lost a bit of their original shine, but of the original Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, these guys are the only ones still standing. Those ancient Egyptians sure were good structural engineers.

And although we know a fair bit about the Pyramids, the Sphinx is still a mystery. No one really knows when he was built, or why. Everyone has a theory, but no one knows. Myself, I like the mystery. The Sphinx is like the Egyptian Mona Lisa. For a start, he's smaller than you think, or at least his head is, but that doesn't diminish at all the effect he has on you when you look at him. Some people believe he is even older than the pyramids, and that originally his head was a lion, recarved into the pharoah head we know today, which is why it's smaller. I believe the mystery is part of his charm.

Our final day in Cairo was spent at the pools. Our guide from the previous day very kindly let us join her and her friend at their local pool on ladies only day. Going to a swimming pool in a Muslim city is an experience all by itself. Most of the ladies still wear full bathing suits that cover their arms & legs, complete with lycra headresses. And while a lot of them are plain navy, some are patterned. We saw one woman in a full body suit that was white with bright purple stars all over. She looked kind of like an hallucinogenic giraffe.

Our Intrepid trip started the next day, and we travelled 7 hours north, to the biblical Mt Sinai, where Moses apparently was given the 10 commandments by God, so it seemed fitting that our guide was called Musa, which in Arabic, means Moses. So we were literally, lead up the mountain by Moses. You can either climb the 2285 feet the whole way, or like we did, get a camel two thirds of the way, then climb the last 750 'steps'. By 'steps', what they really mean is chunks of rock laid on top of each other, one slightly higher than the last. It really is quite beautiful when you get to the top. You're on top of a mountain in a desert, surrounded by huge mountain ranges made of red dust, as the sun sets on the horizon.

Then you climb back down again in the dark for two and a half hours, and try not to walk off a cliff.

At the base of Mt Sinai is St Catherine's Monastery. It's over 1600 years old, and apparently the oldest Christian monastery in the world. It was built on the site of the biblical Burning Bush and a descendant of the original bush still grows inside the church walls.

We left the next day and continued to an area called Nuweiba, beside the shores of the Red Sea. We stayed the night at Sawa Camp, a resort built literally on the shores of the Red Sea, with mountain ranges behind. The Sawa Camp is a simple paradise. They have amazing fresh juices and salads, which were all we felt like consuming as the temperatures had soared to 47 degree's. Our huts were very basic, but perfect. Four walls. A roof. A mattress with a mosquito net. And outside in the shade of the awning, a hammock. Me and that hammock bonded. I never wanted to get up again. But I did, because the Red Sea beckoned.

If anyone's ever been snorkling in the Red Sea, you'll know how amazing it is. I can't even describe it. Apart from the beautiful, colourful fish and coral, just leaping out of the oppressive heat and into the refreshing water is worth more than all the money in the world.

Sawa was the perfect way to say goodbye to Egypt, away from the crazy bustling & frenzied streets of Cairo to one of the quietest, prettiest places on earth. And if these first few days of our Intrepid trip are anything to go by, then there are even more amazing things to come.

Bring it on.

Transylvania, mwah ha ha...

It seems fitting that as we crossed the border into Romania, it was bang on midnight.

I know this, because although we had caught the so called 'sleeper' train from Budapest to Brasov, we were rudely awoken at 11:30, then again at midnight for passport checks. This was strange, because since we left London, we haven't had our passports stamped once, or even been asked for, any time we've entered a new country. That's an EU thing. But obviously the Romanians have their own way of doing things. In the middle of the night.

We travelled first class (of course!) but I was surprised to see the toilet shoot emptied straight onto the train tracks below. Not to mention the disconcerting breeze whipping wildly in and out when you're sitting there. I'd hate to think what the loo in second class looked like.

Like I said, Romania has its own way of doing things.

So on our first afternoon in Brasov, we wandered the streets, visited the Black Church (so called from when it once survived a town fire, but changed colour for many years due to the soot) and bought a delicious bottle of icy cold water, because it was 29 degree's and getting hotter.

While I loved the bottle of water at first (deliciously cold, didn't taste like slime) I hated it after half an hour. Because that stupid bottle of water had a teeny tiny hole in it, that slowly leaked throughout my whole bag. If it wasn't bad enough that my camera got pretty wet (although an afternoon drying out in the sun seemed to fix it) the real problem was, it totally soaked through my passport, which was still in my bag from our midnight wake up by the border controllers. Fingers crossed it gets me through the rest of the trip, I'd hate to get stranded at some border because of a leaky water bottle.

Our second day in Romania was more traumatic than the first. We'd booked the Dracula's Footsteps tour (because one of us might have a wee obsession with vampires) and we visited two castles linked to Vlad the Impaler. Vlad was Bram Stokers inspiration for Dracula, apparently, which is why it was set in Transylvania, the area he ruled in his lifetime. Word has it he was a ruthless ruler and murderer. Hence why he was known as the Impaler.

Before you ask, no, we did not meet Vlad Tepes himself as a bloodthirsty vampire, out to turn us into fledgling vamp's ourselves. No. That would have been much better. I might even have liked that.

What we got intead of a tall, dark, mysterious vampire who we were strangely drawn to, was a short, fat, sweaty so-called-guide who was really more of a kamikaze, porno, conman cum taxi driver, that repelled us.

His driving "skills" were scary, even by Romanian standards, which we heard were bad enough, but this guy was off the hook. He'd text, make phone calls and watch us in his rear vision mirror, whilst only just managing to stay on the road. And let's just say the only time he was within the speed limit, was when he started from stationary.

Suddenly my passport seemed like the least of our worries, just making it home alive was more of a concern.

But I did notice as we flew through the streets and around corners, a man cutting his lawn with a scythe. I kid you not. If we hadn't been moving at the speed of light, I'd have taken a photo.

We made it to Bran Castle, or as it is now known, Dracula's Castle. As was becoming horribly apparent, our 'guide' knew nothing about the castle or its history, and said he'd prefer to stay outside anyway, while we went in, because he'd gotten into a fight the week before with the guard at the gate and he couldn't tell us anything useful about the place. We believed him. So we went in alone, and listened to tidbits of information other 'real' tour guides were telling their groups. It seems, Vlad never lived here, and though it is beautiful, this castle has nothing to do with the Dracula myth in the slightest. They call it Dracula's Castle because they make more money that way.

Typical.

Our next stop was Poenari Castle, and this place really was Vlad's home in the 15th Century. It's in ruins now, and apparently one of the most haunted places in the world. I didn't learn this from our sweaty 'guide', cause when I told him, it was the first he'd ever heard of it. No, I found this all out online. Thanks Wiki. If you can make the climb up the 1500 steps, you do get rewarded with a spectactular view though. It's mostly just the foundations of the castle left now, and our guide started hammering into a surviving wall telling us to steal a piece, so who knows how much will be left in another year...

Then we had an almost 3 hour drive back to Brasov, and that's where he got really scary. He decided we were mates enough now to share almost everything about his life. How he stole $100,000 from his employers when he was an accountant. How he deals drugs in summer to make extra cash. How he can find anyone a hooker in Brasov, man, woman, gay, straight. How he has underground connections with all the thieves in Brasov, so to call him if our stuff got knicked and he'd get it back. And then, just to top it off, he told us all about his own sexual proclivities, and how he enjoyed cheating on his wife. Hint hint.

By the end of the trip we practically leapt out of the car, threw a wad of cash at him, and ran away like death row inmates suddenly given parole.

You don't ask questions, you just get the hell outta there.

So Romania, I think there are good things here. The landscape and scenery is beautiful. They just haven't quite figured out how to cater to the tourist quite yet though. And I think we just had the bad luck to stumble accross a grade A freak.

So will I ever come back?

No way.

Budapashed!

After 2 ho-hum cities back to back, I was starting to worry that as we headed East I wasn’t going to like the places we visited as much anymore.

But I couldn’t have been more wrong!

We arrived at night and from the very beginning I started to fall in love with Budapest. Our taxi driver didn’t rip us off. A lady on the street stopped to ask if we were okay (while we waited outside our hotel to get in) and if there was anything she could do. People here smile at you on the streets.

It was also really warm, 27-28 degree’s, although the River Danube was overflowing from the rain and floods of previous weeks. In a way, both reflect this city and its people. Warm, overflowing with kindness. Cheesy, but true.

Budapest is made up of two sides, the East of the Danube, Buda and Pest, where we stayed. They pronounce Pest like a Kiwi with a thick accent would say “pashed”. Budapashed. I love it.

We did a walking tour the first morning, and visited the Terror House in the afternoon. Its located in the building that the communist regime governed from (and meted out punishment in the basements below). We learnt the Hungarians under the communist regime were treated almost as badly as the Jews were under the Nazi’s. Concentration camps, government sanctioned murders, many thousands died. It seems the Red Army liberators quickly became power hungry subjugators.

But like Berliners, Budapestians (??!) haven’t let it get them down. They’re creative, laid back and individual. And communism only ended here in 1989.

During the 45 years the Commies were in control, they erected hundreds of statues around the city. You can tell a communist statue in the same way you can spot communist architecture. It’s huge, solid, blocky and unadorned.

Basically the statues all look like giant grey concrete Lego men.

As soon as communism ended, the first thing the people of Budapest did, was take down all the statues, and replace them with new ones. Ones that have absolutely no political message whatsoever. Just pretty statues, with no message, that make you feel good.

I like the way the Hungarians think.

What they did do however, with all the leftover communist statues, was create a gimmicky park, called Statue Park, where tourists can go to look at the once dominate symbols of the stronghold the Commies had over the city, but are now simply a tacky tourist attraction. It’s a smart way to take away the power they once represented, forever.

Touche' Budapest, nicely played.

We ventured to the local Market Hall, where our guide had assured us was the best place in town to get cheap, authentic Hungarian food. She was right. We both ordered the stuffed paprika (very popular here) which is basically a capsicum stuffed with mystery meat and rice, and served with a handful of potato cubes boiled to within an inch of their lives, and all covered in some sort of tangy tomato sauce. It was amazing. I ended up going back two more times just to eat it again. Delicious.

She also recommended we try a local ‘sweet’ called Túró Rudi, which she said was only available in Hungary (reading between the lines we gathered it wasn’t really liked anywhere else). It’s a sort of sweetened reduced cottage cheese bar covered in chocolate. You even buy it in the cheese section of the supermarket. Although we were dubious, we tried it, and again, delicious! I can’t really describe it accurately, but if you ever make it to Hungary, try it.

The last Hungarian specialty we tried was strudel. Hungarian strudel is totally different to normal strudel. Where normal strudel has lots of pastry and a small amount of fruit, Hungarian strudel has lots of fruit and a small amount of pastry. My favourite was sour cherry.

We also visited the largest synagogue in Europe, the Dohány Street Synagogue. Yawn. I've discovered synagogue’s are very boring inside. But we also visited St Stephen's Basilica, which was the exact opposite - beautiful and huge. The Catholic’s really know how to decorate. It’s a church dedicated to the first king of Hungary, St Stephen, who introduced Catholicism to Hungary in order to avoid invasion. Apparently he was canonized after his death, so they decided to dig up his body after 45 years (for some unknown reason) and discovered that though the rest of him was decomposed as you’d expect, his right hand was perfectly preserved.

So of course they cut it off and put it in a display cabinet inside the church. I saw it, and I can tell you that the thousand years since, haven’t been kind to the hand. It’s small, it’s brown and definitely not preserved anymore. More like a dried out monkey hand clutching some jewels.

The Hungarian’s are also responsible for some great inventions. The guy who invented the Rubix Cube (Erno Rubik). Hungarian. The guy who added fizz to water, creating soda water (Anyos Jedlik). Hungarian. The guy who created the simple but life changing ballpoint pen (László Bíró). Hungarian. Apparently even the word “hello” can be traced back to Hungarians. They tested the first telephone exchange system, and when they said “can you hear me?” in Hungarian, it sounded like “hello?”. Needless to say, it stuck.

And then, just when I though Budapest couldn’t get any better, I discovered something wonderful. The beer here is cheaper than water.

Europe, we have a winner.

Prague...

Walt must have been here. Must have. Because Prague is exactly like a giant version of Disneyland.

Old fashioned buildings. Castles with spires. Cobblestone streets. It's all very theatrical! Trumpeters blow their horns from every tower overlooking a square. Men and women in medieval garb hand out flyers on every corner, others stand in front of restaurants, ushering you in (or trying to). Not to mention the shops with the same mass produced crap every few metres. Marionettes of everything from Harry Potter to Obama. Postcard racks literally falling out onto the streets. Tables filled with 'Praha' stamped miniature buildings. Russian dolls of Micheal Jackson, Leonardo DiCaprio, even the All Blacks. Scarves, glasses, hats, cards, books, tee shirts everywhere, and all stamped with 'Praha'. Not to mention that the accent I heard most frequently while we were there, was American.

Praha = Disneyland.

Yup, I'm sorry to say, there was little here that was original. This town is for the tourists. And that's where it lost me.

Sure there are beautiful buildings. Row upon row of beautiful buildings, the horizon dotted with cathedral spires. Museums on every corner. A church on every other. It's beautiful... but it's boring. We had to get out of the city to see the real Czech Republic.

Which was an hour and a half's train ride out of Prague, in a small town called Kutna Hora.

The hysterically ramshackle Torture Museum in Kutna Hora told us tales of murder & espionage. Prostitutes & witches. We saw iron maidens and spikey chairs, medieval nipple clamps and wooden spikes (for interrogation) that though accompanied with some pretty funny 'Engrish' signage, did give us a taste of the macabre history of this town.

And no where was this more apparent than at the Sedlec Ossuary. I had been wanting to come here since before our trip began, because the small Church of All Saints is famous for one thing. Apparently in 14th century, when the Plague hit, the church graveyard became so full, the priests decided to start using the bones of the people to decorate the church. Yup. There's a huge bone chandelier, skull candelabra's, shields, decorations & four huge skull pyramids.

It's macabre, but beautiful. The ghoulish delight I had for the Paris Catacombs was nothing compared to this.

So of course, I took about 500 photo's.

We also visited the St Barbara's Church nearby that has some of the most beautiful spires and stained glass windows we've seen yet.

So while we might be the only 2 people in the world who didn't fall in love with Prague, we definitely fell in love with Kutna Hora.

On a side note, if you travel through a country by train, but don't stop, can you still claim to have been there? If so, we have now also been to Austria & Slovakia on our way to Hungary. We really are starting to clock up some countries now.

Roll on the East.

Poland...

Poznan.

This was our first stop in Poland because Sarah's ancestors are from here. It's the fifth largest city in Poland. Which pretty much means it's Tauranga.

We only spent one night here, because in truth, there ain't much to do in Poznan. We had a lot of trouble trying to find our hotel when we arrived. Mostly because it wasn't actually a hotel, it was an art gallery. Turns out the owner has converted a couple of rooms in the gallery, to make some extra cash. For a while I was certain we were going to be murdered in our sleep, but it was actually an okay place to stay in the end. Albeit with some bad art work on the walls.

Just like a real hotel.

The Old Town Square was the best part of Poznan. The buildings are all happily painted and bar after bar line the cobblestone streets. We got a really delicious dinner at one of the local pubs, and some slightly less delicious, but very Polish dumplings. They call them pierogi. The meat ones taste a bit like dog food. Those were my favourites.

The next day we trained to Krakow, and 8 hour train trip that saw us befriend a very cute Spanish couple, and maybe send them to the wrong destination (whoops) and almost get into a fight with a couple of train conductors.

All in all, smooth sailing, and to be honest, I was just happy to have survived the night. Farewell Poznan, I will never see you again.

Next stop Krakow. Or as I've come to know her, Crack-Whore. To be honest, she's not so dissimilar from one. She's grey. She's dirty. She's falling apart.

It's almost like WWII only just ended. Unlike Poznan, the buildings here are dirty, blackened and seem like they've just been bombed. They're decrepit with missing chunks of concrete. Grey concrete. Because the paint wore off a long time ago, and it seems no one can be bothered repainting. I think communism did little for Krakow, except maintain a level of poorness that it struggles to recover from.

We discovered, when we did the Wieliczka Salt Mine tour, that Poland was once rich, very rich. Not from gold, or diamonds, or anything pretty & beautiful like that. No, Poland was rich from salt. You heard me. And if you've ever been into an underground salt mine, you'll know it's grey. And cold. Like concrete.

Makes sense really.

We also visited the 2 closest concentration camps to Krakow, and also quite possibly, the 2 worst of the Holocaust. Auschwitz & Birkenau. The first thing that hit me, shocked me, about Auschwitz when we arrived, was that it looked more like a holiday camp than a concentration camp. The row upon row of brick & tile barracks surrounded by cobblestone streets and lush lawns and tree's, disguise the horror of what went on here. In truth, the God-awful fucked up shit that happened here, made me ashamed to be part of the human race. We can be evil creatures sometimes.

Birkenau was similar, like a huge township of Stepford barracks, yet Birkenau was worse than Auschwitz for the sheer number of people killed here. Our tour lasted 6 hours, by the end of which, I was starting to feel pretty sick. It started raining as we were leaving, which seemed apt. Like the sky was crying over the place where so many people lost their lives.

But it wasn't all doom & gloom in Krakow. One of the things that made me laugh a lot, on a daily basis, was the huge number of middle aged men who wore high waisted jeans. They yanked them up so high, with tee shirts tucked in, that it didn't leave a lot to the imagination. It was awful, like a car crash. I couldn't bare to look, but couldn't look away.

Horrible.

Also, if you ever feel like a refreshing apple juice in Poland, whatever you do, DO NOT BUY ONE. Why I hear you ask? Sure, apple juice seems innocent enough, until you take a swig and realise that it's common here to have mint in apple juice. It basically tastes like apple toothpaste in a bottle.

Horrible.

Also, they drink beer here with straws. With straws! My beer kept arriving with straws, and I kept whipping them out. I was even asked if I wanted fruit syrup added to my beer!

Horrible.

And that's not the meanest thing they do to beer here. If you want, you can get a hot beer. That's right, you heard me. Boiled beer.

No thanks Poland, that's all yours. With a straw.

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.