Its pessimism that will get you a long way in London...
I arrived in London, it was raining, my holiday was over and like an incontinent relative my bank account was experiencing serious leakage at a surprising rate. I needed money and I needed it fast.
I didn’t immediately discount selling my soul and or body until I realised that from the customers perspective, they would be getting what they payed for and I as far as I was concerned the only part of me for sale was my toe nails. After extensive market research the best price I could get was a pat on the back and a concerned look thrown in for free, they didn’t even want the toe nails.
As the toe nail business just wasn’t working out I decided that it was time to dust off the old CV and eminently adaptable cover letter or as I like to think of them “those trusty, ingenious, well constructed, adeptly presented, half truths on three bits of A4”. In my opinion CV’s are simply a whimsical art form, they have no realistic reflection on a persons skill, experience or ultimately what they are like to employ.
Either way, armed with my incredible and whimsical piece of art I was unstoppable and the phone was ringing off the hook. I had job interviews galore. I prefer to liken a job interview to a first date. Both parties make ego-centric conversation about themselves before deciding if they want to jump in to bed with each other but in this case there is no food and wine to occupy yourself during the awkward silences.
Within a week I had started working for “the man” and had ended up selling my body and soul after all, of course that depends on if you consider the soul anatomical or intangible which is a whole other conversation that I as an agnostic don’t want to get in to with the caped crusaders. Yes you, you know who you are you lewd naughty dirty devout belief in the absolute little so and so’s. Oh sorry did I question the validity of something you hold dear and make you feel guilty? I feel like masturbation, in the noun and verb senses of the word, oh my god quick hand me The Cloth.
I think I’m going to... sooo get fucked by Catholicism for that.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Swiss army knives/watches/chocolate etc...
It was time to cash in on another generous offer of free lodgings, this time I was off to Switzerland to visit the lovely Amanda.
As it turns out, even the efficiency of the German trains couldn't’t help the fact that the journey from Copenhagen took an entire day and cost a shitload. Still it was totally worth it.
Incidentally I met quite possibly the nicest German guy in the world on the train. No honestly! It turned out that my ticket was wrong and I had to pay extra, having no cash I was pretty much fucked until the aforementioned ‘nicest German guy in the world’ offered to pay it for me. Now it was no measly sum, a full 30 Euros had to be coughed up. I was incredibly grateful. I arrived in Zurich where again ‘nicest German guy in the world’ proceeded to buy me a beer and a sandwich while I waited for my train change.
As I left there was handshakes aplenty and promises to spread the goodwill of the Germans, because around that part of the world, God knows they need it ;-)
After a first class journey between Zurich and Lausanne (no really it was first class, oh dear, wrong seat again Ben, tut tut tut) I arrived late at night and met up with Amanda and her friend Laura who makes a great Thai green curry by the way.
Amanda and I undertook many adventures in and around Lausanne, the first of which was a hilarious bike ride to Morges. Mainly hilarious for the fact that Amanda could hardly reach the pedals, and the ‘Amanda versus hedge’ incident which I’m sure the nation of Switzerland will be talking about for some time.
A short train ride to Montreux, town of the rich and famous was made especially interesting by the fact that it had an official Freddy Mercury celebration day, on discovering this I of course was immediately sold on the place.
In between times Amanda, Laura and I proceeded to drink cheap wine, eat well, and generally be merry.
Eventually I made it to Geneva to see the UN headquarters, but as usual due to being subject to veto by the powerful few it was closed to the weak and helpless masses that day so we just went to a Thai restaurant instead which was equally as satisfying.
With a large block of Swiss choolate under my arm it was off to London to search for a house/job/wife/life etc. Wish me luck!
Swiss photos here:
Amandas blog here:
As it turns out, even the efficiency of the German trains couldn't’t help the fact that the journey from Copenhagen took an entire day and cost a shitload. Still it was totally worth it.
Incidentally I met quite possibly the nicest German guy in the world on the train. No honestly! It turned out that my ticket was wrong and I had to pay extra, having no cash I was pretty much fucked until the aforementioned ‘nicest German guy in the world’ offered to pay it for me. Now it was no measly sum, a full 30 Euros had to be coughed up. I was incredibly grateful. I arrived in Zurich where again ‘nicest German guy in the world’ proceeded to buy me a beer and a sandwich while I waited for my train change.
As I left there was handshakes aplenty and promises to spread the goodwill of the Germans, because around that part of the world, God knows they need it ;-)
After a first class journey between Zurich and Lausanne (no really it was first class, oh dear, wrong seat again Ben, tut tut tut) I arrived late at night and met up with Amanda and her friend Laura who makes a great Thai green curry by the way.
Amanda and I undertook many adventures in and around Lausanne, the first of which was a hilarious bike ride to Morges. Mainly hilarious for the fact that Amanda could hardly reach the pedals, and the ‘Amanda versus hedge’ incident which I’m sure the nation of Switzerland will be talking about for some time.
A short train ride to Montreux, town of the rich and famous was made especially interesting by the fact that it had an official Freddy Mercury celebration day, on discovering this I of course was immediately sold on the place.
In between times Amanda, Laura and I proceeded to drink cheap wine, eat well, and generally be merry.
Eventually I made it to Geneva to see the UN headquarters, but as usual due to being subject to veto by the powerful few it was closed to the weak and helpless masses that day so we just went to a Thai restaurant instead which was equally as satisfying.
With a large block of Swiss choolate under my arm it was off to London to search for a house/job/wife/life etc. Wish me luck!
Swiss photos here:
Amandas blog here:
Saturday, September 30, 2006
Copenhagen: Party central, not to be confused with the Democratic Republic of Congo
Firstly, let me set the scene: After an e-mail to my Danish friends sent around lunch time that I would be arriving at 11pm I set off cursing my usual unorganized self hoping that they received the e-mail and that at least one of them would meet me.
Fortunately as I arrived so did a bicycle and on that bicycle there was Jonas. As all the hostels were full I slept on the floor on an air bed at Jonas's place, hilariously it took about two hours to blow up the air bed as we lacked the proper equipment, lung capacity, and determination to actually do the job properly. I suppose the two of three beers we downed didn't really help either. Bring back any memories Paul? Stu? deja vu man.
I stayed at Søren's flat the majority of the time. His flatmate Nana is a musician; no let me rephrase that, an awesome musician. So to give her due credit we went along to see her play solo at a small cafe an d then play with her 80's band the following night which was awesome even though the beers cost 60 kroner ($15NZ). It was at this point I realized that Copenhagen was Scandinavian geographically and Scandinavian in price.
This seemingly insurmountable barrier did not stop us having a good time, and since this website is called TheBeerEffect an entry would not be complete without a few stories involving myself and some fellow travelers getting seriously boozed up.
The unfortunate thing is, I'm writing this a full month later and Copenhagen treated me well, far too well so there is inevitable gaps in my memory, but for you my loyal reader, I will soldier on!
Søren's friend was celebrating something to do with clothes, I'm not sure why but it involved beer and 'Joy to the world', the song... Yes after months of searching I had found a karaoke bar. The problem was I thought that it was the first time I had done karaoke in ages, I was wrong. My memory had proved fallible, fortunately there is one thing karaoke bars the world over have and that is a long lasting memory of me and this place was no exception.
As I walked in pissed off my nut seemingly for the first time, I was greeted from the stage by the MC in English, "Hey everyone, its Ben, he's from out of town". At this point I was thinking, how the hell does that fat fucker know my name? and considering we're in Denmark, why the hell isn't he speaking Danish?
Immediately I guessed.. "ahhh, thought I had a big one last night". I rode my bike back to Søren's... wait a minute... I have a bike?
Moving on: Near the centre of Copenhagen is the 'free town' of Christiana.
Christiania's Mission Statement: "The objective of Christiania is to create a self-governing society whereby each and every individual holds themselves responsible over the well being of the entire community. Our society is to be economically self-sustaining and, as such, our aspiration is to be steadfast in our conviction that psychological and physical destitution can be averted."
So as you can imagine the place is, or at least was a Hash drug den, awesome. These days the drugs are not quite so openly sold but still obviously there. Just listen for the whistles which signal the arrival of the police.
Following a telling of the "train ride to Prague story" it was revealed that a wild Danish woman by the name of Elana had used my inebriated state to shave my pubes off, this fact was greeted by copious amounts of laughter. The party was on and Beer, as usual was my drug of choice.
There were other things that happened but I'd better just pictorially summarise them:
Perhaps the pics need a few words to go with them: Had beers, saw football game, kissed wrong girl, pretended I didn't speak English, stole a bicycle, crashed it, pissed on expensive car, crashed bike in to police station, avoided police, got back safe, woke up 8hrs later still drunk, took wrong door, wandered the streets of Copenhagen at 8.30am, snapped out of it, rang Søren's doorbell from the street, thanked god that I was at the very least wearing boxer shorts....
Running out of money, having great time, wish you were here.
Photos:
Fortunately as I arrived so did a bicycle and on that bicycle there was Jonas. As all the hostels were full I slept on the floor on an air bed at Jonas's place, hilariously it took about two hours to blow up the air bed as we lacked the proper equipment, lung capacity, and determination to actually do the job properly. I suppose the two of three beers we downed didn't really help either. Bring back any memories Paul? Stu? deja vu man.
I stayed at Søren's flat the majority of the time. His flatmate Nana is a musician; no let me rephrase that, an awesome musician. So to give her due credit we went along to see her play solo at a small cafe an d then play with her 80's band the following night which was awesome even though the beers cost 60 kroner ($15NZ). It was at this point I realized that Copenhagen was Scandinavian geographically and Scandinavian in price.
This seemingly insurmountable barrier did not stop us having a good time, and since this website is called TheBeerEffect an entry would not be complete without a few stories involving myself and some fellow travelers getting seriously boozed up.
The unfortunate thing is, I'm writing this a full month later and Copenhagen treated me well, far too well so there is inevitable gaps in my memory, but for you my loyal reader, I will soldier on!
Søren's friend was celebrating something to do with clothes, I'm not sure why but it involved beer and 'Joy to the world', the song... Yes after months of searching I had found a karaoke bar. The problem was I thought that it was the first time I had done karaoke in ages, I was wrong. My memory had proved fallible, fortunately there is one thing karaoke bars the world over have and that is a long lasting memory of me and this place was no exception.
As I walked in pissed off my nut seemingly for the first time, I was greeted from the stage by the MC in English, "Hey everyone, its Ben, he's from out of town". At this point I was thinking, how the hell does that fat fucker know my name? and considering we're in Denmark, why the hell isn't he speaking Danish?
Immediately I guessed.. "ahhh, thought I had a big one last night". I rode my bike back to Søren's... wait a minute... I have a bike?
Moving on: Near the centre of Copenhagen is the 'free town' of Christiana.
Christiania's Mission Statement: "The objective of Christiania is to create a self-governing society whereby each and every individual holds themselves responsible over the well being of the entire community. Our society is to be economically self-sustaining and, as such, our aspiration is to be steadfast in our conviction that psychological and physical destitution can be averted."
So as you can imagine the place is, or at least was a Hash drug den, awesome. These days the drugs are not quite so openly sold but still obviously there. Just listen for the whistles which signal the arrival of the police.
Following a telling of the "train ride to Prague story" it was revealed that a wild Danish woman by the name of Elana had used my inebriated state to shave my pubes off, this fact was greeted by copious amounts of laughter. The party was on and Beer, as usual was my drug of choice.
There were other things that happened but I'd better just pictorially summarise them:
Perhaps the pics need a few words to go with them: Had beers, saw football game, kissed wrong girl, pretended I didn't speak English, stole a bicycle, crashed it, pissed on expensive car, crashed bike in to police station, avoided police, got back safe, woke up 8hrs later still drunk, took wrong door, wandered the streets of Copenhagen at 8.30am, snapped out of it, rang Søren's doorbell from the street, thanked god that I was at the very least wearing boxer shorts....
Running out of money, having great time, wish you were here.
Photos:
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Fuck the Nazis...
The four days I spent in Berlin blur together as the beer was very reasonably priced, and as you know I like reasonably priced beer, a lot. The sites were pretty awesome too.
With a couple of Scottish guys I went on a organized pub crawl, not the usual sort of thing that I would normally indulge in but it was only 10 Euros and it included a good amount of free drinks which I thought would be worth it, and it was. The night was a bit of a blur and we ended at a place called The Matrix which was pretty cool, I seem to remember women dancing in cages but that may have been me, dancing in cages.
The following night we decided that because the kitchen at the hostel was so good that perhaps we should use it, cue super market visit and cue buying of Spooks. No not the British television drama series, or the little known Hip-hop group, and no, it has absolutely nothing to do with Halloween. What are you talking about Ben? Everyone knows the Smiles that you bake in the oven right? Well in Germany they have Spooks which are a scary version of the Smiles. Either way we thought that they must be just about the most awesome things on the planet, they tasted quite good too.
Post spooks we hooked up with some Aussies; Beth, Denise, and Amanda. They were keen for a beverage or two or three which suited us fine. After a fair few empty bottles lay scattered around the living room I decided that it was time to sow the seeds of an idea I had been mulling over in my head for a few days. The idea was a particular pub I had heard about. At first it was a hard sell, the name of it was 'White Trash Fast Food' but eventually curiosity, and a few more excellent beverages, got the better of them, we were off.
After bargaining with the door staff and saying that there were ten of us when there was only six we managed to get in for half price. Gotta love those law abiding Germans, they're so law abiding the thought of anyone doing something dishonest doesn't even register.
The most notable thing about White Trash Fast Food was its clientele’s propensity for anti-fascism. The place itself is just one big full on anti-fascist party. Cue the bands.
Imagine standing in a room not knowing what is about to happen surrounded by people that do. Then imagine that these people are very still but very excited, like locked and loaded mouse traps close to a mouse; they were ready to go off.
Then it happened.
From the darkness of the stage a single guitar played a single G string over and over at break neck speed. The Guitar whirred and whined, its string sounding close to breaking point when as abrupt as it started, it stopped. Not missing a beat a single spotlight centered on a punk, green Mohawk, leather jacket and piercings galore, he was holding a guitar, The Guitar.
“Fuck the Nazis”
“Hey”
“Fuck the Nazis”
“Hey”
“Fuck the Nazis”
“Hey”
The crowd responded immediately and enthusiastically to the Guitarists statement, everyone knew the script, hell even I knew the script
As the G String was stretched to its limit again and again the chants increased in volume. These guys were aggressive, hot blooded, and they were zealous. So was I.
Cool imagery huh?
With a couple of Scottish guys I went on a organized pub crawl, not the usual sort of thing that I would normally indulge in but it was only 10 Euros and it included a good amount of free drinks which I thought would be worth it, and it was. The night was a bit of a blur and we ended at a place called The Matrix which was pretty cool, I seem to remember women dancing in cages but that may have been me, dancing in cages.
The following night we decided that because the kitchen at the hostel was so good that perhaps we should use it, cue super market visit and cue buying of Spooks. No not the British television drama series, or the little known Hip-hop group, and no, it has absolutely nothing to do with Halloween. What are you talking about Ben? Everyone knows the Smiles that you bake in the oven right? Well in Germany they have Spooks which are a scary version of the Smiles. Either way we thought that they must be just about the most awesome things on the planet, they tasted quite good too.
Post spooks we hooked up with some Aussies; Beth, Denise, and Amanda. They were keen for a beverage or two or three which suited us fine. After a fair few empty bottles lay scattered around the living room I decided that it was time to sow the seeds of an idea I had been mulling over in my head for a few days. The idea was a particular pub I had heard about. At first it was a hard sell, the name of it was 'White Trash Fast Food' but eventually curiosity, and a few more excellent beverages, got the better of them, we were off.
After bargaining with the door staff and saying that there were ten of us when there was only six we managed to get in for half price. Gotta love those law abiding Germans, they're so law abiding the thought of anyone doing something dishonest doesn't even register.
The most notable thing about White Trash Fast Food was its clientele’s propensity for anti-fascism. The place itself is just one big full on anti-fascist party. Cue the bands.
Imagine standing in a room not knowing what is about to happen surrounded by people that do. Then imagine that these people are very still but very excited, like locked and loaded mouse traps close to a mouse; they were ready to go off.
Then it happened.
From the darkness of the stage a single guitar played a single G string over and over at break neck speed. The Guitar whirred and whined, its string sounding close to breaking point when as abrupt as it started, it stopped. Not missing a beat a single spotlight centered on a punk, green Mohawk, leather jacket and piercings galore, he was holding a guitar, The Guitar.
“Fuck the Nazis”
“Hey”
“Fuck the Nazis”
“Hey”
“Fuck the Nazis”
“Hey”
The crowd responded immediately and enthusiastically to the Guitarists statement, everyone knew the script, hell even I knew the script
As the G String was stretched to its limit again and again the chants increased in volume. These guys were aggressive, hot blooded, and they were zealous. So was I.
Cool imagery huh?
Friday, September 15, 2006
Good bye Turkey.
I flew to Vienna from Istanbul because the train out of Istanbul would’ve taken a few days rather than the hour long flight and I didn’t think there was much point in revisiting places that I’d already seen.
Nothing was really notable about the flight itself apart from the red stockings on the lovely Austrian Airlines staff which kept me thoroughly entertained.
It was good to see Heidi, Silvia, and Helmut again, and I am forever indebted to them for their hospitality. As Heidi was working pretty solidly Helmut and I did things like hiring out DVD’s, watching TV, and eating takeaway pizza, it was almost normal; he didn't speak English but it was just what I needed.
As travellers know, trying to do simple day to day things in a completely different setting/language/currency etc. is one of the cool things about traveling. The unfortunate thing is, cue double edged sword scenario, the novelty wears off. I guess I’m missing the carefree days when I knew exactly when I was going to get my next meal/shower/tikka masala with a garlic naan, etc.
So I’ve decided to make some attempt to return to “normality” (what ever that is), and make my way back to England to get a good curry.
But before my curry wishes could be fully satisfied, a promise I had made months ago to some Danes back in Romania needed to be fulfilled. I departed for Berlin with my eyes ever northwards in the direction of Copenhagen.
Nothing was really notable about the flight itself apart from the red stockings on the lovely Austrian Airlines staff which kept me thoroughly entertained.
It was good to see Heidi, Silvia, and Helmut again, and I am forever indebted to them for their hospitality. As Heidi was working pretty solidly Helmut and I did things like hiring out DVD’s, watching TV, and eating takeaway pizza, it was almost normal; he didn't speak English but it was just what I needed.
As travellers know, trying to do simple day to day things in a completely different setting/language/currency etc. is one of the cool things about traveling. The unfortunate thing is, cue double edged sword scenario, the novelty wears off. I guess I’m missing the carefree days when I knew exactly when I was going to get my next meal/shower/tikka masala with a garlic naan, etc.
So I’ve decided to make some attempt to return to “normality” (what ever that is), and make my way back to England to get a good curry.
But before my curry wishes could be fully satisfied, a promise I had made months ago to some Danes back in Romania needed to be fulfilled. I departed for Berlin with my eyes ever northwards in the direction of Copenhagen.
Sunday, September 10, 2006
Yes mum, I am looking after myself...
After all the e-mails of concern over the previous entry, I guess I better follow it up pretty quickly with the recuperation part of the story.
After the horror of the food poisoning of the last week, I decided that I need some rest and relaxation. I thought to myself that it would need to be in a place that I felt comfortable just doing nothing, apart from home there was only one place that sprung to mind, that place was Selçuk, Turkey.
I stopped briefly in Çanakkale where I had enough time to consider another visit to the Gallipoli peninsula, but decided against it on the grounds that apart from seeing it a month beforehand, I was scared that it wouldn't live up to the first time I visited. I'll save a second visit for an ANZAC day sometime in the future.
"So, here we are in Selçuk" I muttered as I exited the stuffy and sterile air conditioning of the bus. As before it was a beautiful sweltering day, and as before I wandered towards the ANZ Guesthouse where I knew I would meet Michael and Mehmet at the carpet shop. This time however the smiles and hand shakes (there is always handshakes in Turkey) were a reunion rather than a meeting, I was feeling better already.
I don't know how long I stayed, sure I could probably work it out, but to be honest I don't really want to know. I must have taken off my watch to have a shower one day and just forgot to put it back on. It was good to lose track of time.
Not to say that I didn't do anything at all, I had beach days, sleep in days, read a bad book days and... well that was about it, until Harry (the owner) asked me if I knew anything about computers. Before long I had redesigned the breakfast menu and received a free dinner for my trouble. Soon after it was my pleasure to attempt any odd job Harry or for that matter, anyone in town could offer.
The odd jobs ranged from simply correcting spelling or grammar to selling boat and bus tours. I was pretty much living for free for about 3 hours of work a day, which still left plenty of time for sleep-ins, books, and beach days.
Daniel worked around the corner and had been living "the lifestyle" for about six weeks longer than me. Being Kiwis, Otago Uni boys, and in the same situation we naturally hung out a bit. It was hilarious watching the Turks observe us as we chucked a Rugby ball around. Ever the triers, the Turks joined in but they simply could not match us in hand-eye coordination with an oval ball, this was round-ball country and we revelled in our superiority.
During a sleep-in day I was woken around mid-day by Daniel who had managed to find a pub in a nearby town with a Satellite dish that could possibly pick up Sky sport. This meant, he explained slowly to my sleepy brain that we could watch the Springboks play the All Blacks live in a few hours time. Of course I was interested, relative to the previous weeks this was an event, an occasion, a momentous spectacle worthy of beers! A trip to civilisation! What was I going to wear?
On arrival we were sorely disappointed to learn that there was a English Rugby League final on at the same time and there was only one decoder. A disappointed look between Daniel and myself passed between us as our dreams for a taste of home and a worthy occasion for beers disintegrated in to little pieces.
This did not stop the Turks however, as we all know the Turkish pride themselves on perfect customer service. Perfect customer service, as I am reliably informed by my previous profession is where a win/win situation takes place. This win/win situation came in the form of a quick call to the towns resident set-top-box hacker, a soldering iron, and a quick fiddle with the remote control. Suddenly everyone was happy. Beers were followed by beers which was followed by an All Black win.
Our revelry back in Selcuk that night was infectious, we combined the forces of three or four local hostels for a party back at my place on the rooftop terrace. Daniel and I proceeded to teach people from fifteen different countries the intricate nuances of Otago University's best export, and I know you know I'm talking about 'Circle of Death' right?
Waking the next afternoon with a pleasant hangover I decided it was time to move on.
After the horror of the food poisoning of the last week, I decided that I need some rest and relaxation. I thought to myself that it would need to be in a place that I felt comfortable just doing nothing, apart from home there was only one place that sprung to mind, that place was Selçuk, Turkey.
I stopped briefly in Çanakkale where I had enough time to consider another visit to the Gallipoli peninsula, but decided against it on the grounds that apart from seeing it a month beforehand, I was scared that it wouldn't live up to the first time I visited. I'll save a second visit for an ANZAC day sometime in the future.
"So, here we are in Selçuk" I muttered as I exited the stuffy and sterile air conditioning of the bus. As before it was a beautiful sweltering day, and as before I wandered towards the ANZ Guesthouse where I knew I would meet Michael and Mehmet at the carpet shop. This time however the smiles and hand shakes (there is always handshakes in Turkey) were a reunion rather than a meeting, I was feeling better already.
I don't know how long I stayed, sure I could probably work it out, but to be honest I don't really want to know. I must have taken off my watch to have a shower one day and just forgot to put it back on. It was good to lose track of time.
Not to say that I didn't do anything at all, I had beach days, sleep in days, read a bad book days and... well that was about it, until Harry (the owner) asked me if I knew anything about computers. Before long I had redesigned the breakfast menu and received a free dinner for my trouble. Soon after it was my pleasure to attempt any odd job Harry or for that matter, anyone in town could offer.
The odd jobs ranged from simply correcting spelling or grammar to selling boat and bus tours. I was pretty much living for free for about 3 hours of work a day, which still left plenty of time for sleep-ins, books, and beach days.
Daniel worked around the corner and had been living "the lifestyle" for about six weeks longer than me. Being Kiwis, Otago Uni boys, and in the same situation we naturally hung out a bit. It was hilarious watching the Turks observe us as we chucked a Rugby ball around. Ever the triers, the Turks joined in but they simply could not match us in hand-eye coordination with an oval ball, this was round-ball country and we revelled in our superiority.
During a sleep-in day I was woken around mid-day by Daniel who had managed to find a pub in a nearby town with a Satellite dish that could possibly pick up Sky sport. This meant, he explained slowly to my sleepy brain that we could watch the Springboks play the All Blacks live in a few hours time. Of course I was interested, relative to the previous weeks this was an event, an occasion, a momentous spectacle worthy of beers! A trip to civilisation! What was I going to wear?
On arrival we were sorely disappointed to learn that there was a English Rugby League final on at the same time and there was only one decoder. A disappointed look between Daniel and myself passed between us as our dreams for a taste of home and a worthy occasion for beers disintegrated in to little pieces.
This did not stop the Turks however, as we all know the Turkish pride themselves on perfect customer service. Perfect customer service, as I am reliably informed by my previous profession is where a win/win situation takes place. This win/win situation came in the form of a quick call to the towns resident set-top-box hacker, a soldering iron, and a quick fiddle with the remote control. Suddenly everyone was happy. Beers were followed by beers which was followed by an All Black win.
Our revelry back in Selcuk that night was infectious, we combined the forces of three or four local hostels for a party back at my place on the rooftop terrace. Daniel and I proceeded to teach people from fifteen different countries the intricate nuances of Otago University's best export, and I know you know I'm talking about 'Circle of Death' right?
Waking the next afternoon with a pleasant hangover I decided it was time to move on.
Friday, August 25, 2006
Dry Humour...
Istanbul... I think I'm going to die in a horrible vomiting shitting mess. The fact that I am here today writing this proves that I didn't die, though I wished that I did at the time.
"Arse of steel, arse of steel" I calmly repeat over and over to myself. One question remains as I make it to the hostel, "How have I not shit my pants yet?"
I collapse, a doctor is promptly called, who promptly calls an ambulance, which promptly arrives and rushes me to hospital. As I'm in the ambulance a single thought enters my dehydrated semi-conscious brain, "When I wake up, I hope they've cleaned the shit and vomit off me".
Once I regained my conscious ability to think my first thought, rather then being something profound about near death experiences, the meaning of life, or the way silent Velcro works, was "fuck somebody shit their pants". My second thought followed within seconds, simply "Oh fuck". Holding my breath made the unconsciousness come faster.
For a holiday experience I'd really recommend waking up in a pile of shit stained sheets on a low bed in the hallway of a busy foreign hospital, it really puts things in to perspective. There will forever be the before and the after, life changes from this point onwards.
As I regained my strength but certainly not my dignity; "No" I thought to myself, "dignity would come much later", I was acutely aware of a stabbing pain in my arm. "Hurt, pain" said a Turkish accent, despite the words not being a question "Yes" I answered, to no one.
It turned out that he was a Doctor and he was squeezing a bag which led to a drip in my arm. "What are you doing?" I asked accusingly. "Hurry hurry, busy busy" he said indicating the already overflowing hallway, I took it to mean that the concept of triage had decided to check me out as quick as possible.
I was allowed a shower and soap which went someway to restoring dignity. In a plastic bag I found my clothes with a bit of vomit on the tee shirt but thankfully, and incredibly no shit whatsoever. To this day I don't know whether they had washed my boxers or if I'd managed to hold on, I'd like to think it was the latter, and I'll swear to the day I die that that's what happened if anyone asks.
Dignity restored, and feeling like a million dollars mostly due to my newly and speedily hydrated body, I knew that I needed receipts for my medical care for insurance purposes. This was denied me by the long line and no English speaking receptionists. Fuck it.
The comedown from the magical Saline solution didn't take long, so I slept for about 12 hours and woke with a pain in my stomach. A burning ring of fire later and I thought that I'd better get in to the prescribed medicine.
Three days later and feeling like I was about to lapse back to square one, I crawled downstairs and hit Wikipedia. One final shit, I was determined that it was to be the final one, and I was off to the pharmacy with the name of a drug. Of course the drug was prescription only, my face dropped and I thought maybe if I shit myself here in the pharmacy they'll get the picture that I'm not fucking around.
Instead of shitting myself I calmly place twenty lira on the counter and look the pharmacist in the eye, he holds my gaze. I repeat the process until there is a hundred lira on the counter, his gaze falters. I've got him, he's mine, and so are the drugs.
Forty minutes later gazing at the beautiful Blue Mosque of Istanbul, words drift aloud from my lips "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I smell no sulphur."
Ironically and without emotion, my raw chaffed arse gets the joke and laughs with relief.
Thankfully there are no photos.
"Arse of steel, arse of steel" I calmly repeat over and over to myself. One question remains as I make it to the hostel, "How have I not shit my pants yet?"
I collapse, a doctor is promptly called, who promptly calls an ambulance, which promptly arrives and rushes me to hospital. As I'm in the ambulance a single thought enters my dehydrated semi-conscious brain, "When I wake up, I hope they've cleaned the shit and vomit off me".
Once I regained my conscious ability to think my first thought, rather then being something profound about near death experiences, the meaning of life, or the way silent Velcro works, was "fuck somebody shit their pants". My second thought followed within seconds, simply "Oh fuck". Holding my breath made the unconsciousness come faster.
For a holiday experience I'd really recommend waking up in a pile of shit stained sheets on a low bed in the hallway of a busy foreign hospital, it really puts things in to perspective. There will forever be the before and the after, life changes from this point onwards.
As I regained my strength but certainly not my dignity; "No" I thought to myself, "dignity would come much later", I was acutely aware of a stabbing pain in my arm. "Hurt, pain" said a Turkish accent, despite the words not being a question "Yes" I answered, to no one.
It turned out that he was a Doctor and he was squeezing a bag which led to a drip in my arm. "What are you doing?" I asked accusingly. "Hurry hurry, busy busy" he said indicating the already overflowing hallway, I took it to mean that the concept of triage had decided to check me out as quick as possible.
I was allowed a shower and soap which went someway to restoring dignity. In a plastic bag I found my clothes with a bit of vomit on the tee shirt but thankfully, and incredibly no shit whatsoever. To this day I don't know whether they had washed my boxers or if I'd managed to hold on, I'd like to think it was the latter, and I'll swear to the day I die that that's what happened if anyone asks.
Dignity restored, and feeling like a million dollars mostly due to my newly and speedily hydrated body, I knew that I needed receipts for my medical care for insurance purposes. This was denied me by the long line and no English speaking receptionists. Fuck it.
The comedown from the magical Saline solution didn't take long, so I slept for about 12 hours and woke with a pain in my stomach. A burning ring of fire later and I thought that I'd better get in to the prescribed medicine.
Three days later and feeling like I was about to lapse back to square one, I crawled downstairs and hit Wikipedia. One final shit, I was determined that it was to be the final one, and I was off to the pharmacy with the name of a drug. Of course the drug was prescription only, my face dropped and I thought maybe if I shit myself here in the pharmacy they'll get the picture that I'm not fucking around.
Instead of shitting myself I calmly place twenty lira on the counter and look the pharmacist in the eye, he holds my gaze. I repeat the process until there is a hundred lira on the counter, his gaze falters. I've got him, he's mine, and so are the drugs.
Forty minutes later gazing at the beautiful Blue Mosque of Istanbul, words drift aloud from my lips "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I smell no sulphur."
Ironically and without emotion, my raw chaffed arse gets the joke and laughs with relief.
Thankfully there are no photos.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Goreme, no kebabs please.
Still with most of the guys from the boat, I check in to Kose pension at around 6.30am with Kim cause shes so god damn organised. Crashing out for a few hours is required following our gazillion-hour overnight bus journey. It takes a morning snooze and a walk around to realise that we are in fact in a really, and I mean really beautiful part of the country.
Surrounded by volcanically created scenery we take lots of photos and hit the open air museum in the afternoon. Its hard to enjoy in the 45 million degree heat but impressive all the same. An early night and a swim in the hostel pool concludes the day.
Taking in the main sites of Cappidocia proves to be a sweaty all day task, apparently the bus has air conditioning, apparently. Highlights of the day include a walk by a river where some old women appear to be beating a sheep to death, and me climbing in to a fairy chimney closely followed by a woman who gets stuck and holds up the entire bus, I was the only one who found it hilarious though.
I meet a carpet salesman and his Canadian wife while wandering past their shop. The man is having difficulty with his digital camera and he can't speak any other English apart from the word "help". His wife explains that despite the instructions being in English she can' be bothered reading them, and would I like some tea? Of course I want tea, what do you think I'm doing walking past a carpet shop for?. Fixing the digital camera takes about 12 seconds and we chat for a few hours about nothing of consequence but its nice to experience some more Turkish hospitality.
The next day I spend lazing around in the pool with Jess and her British friend until grabbing a kebab and taking another overnight bus to Istanbul.
The photos are far more impressive than today's meagre writing effort so you'd best look at them here:
Surrounded by volcanically created scenery we take lots of photos and hit the open air museum in the afternoon. Its hard to enjoy in the 45 million degree heat but impressive all the same. An early night and a swim in the hostel pool concludes the day.
Taking in the main sites of Cappidocia proves to be a sweaty all day task, apparently the bus has air conditioning, apparently. Highlights of the day include a walk by a river where some old women appear to be beating a sheep to death, and me climbing in to a fairy chimney closely followed by a woman who gets stuck and holds up the entire bus, I was the only one who found it hilarious though.
I meet a carpet salesman and his Canadian wife while wandering past their shop. The man is having difficulty with his digital camera and he can't speak any other English apart from the word "help". His wife explains that despite the instructions being in English she can' be bothered reading them, and would I like some tea? Of course I want tea, what do you think I'm doing walking past a carpet shop for?. Fixing the digital camera takes about 12 seconds and we chat for a few hours about nothing of consequence but its nice to experience some more Turkish hospitality.
The next day I spend lazing around in the pool with Jess and her British friend until grabbing a kebab and taking another overnight bus to Istanbul.
The photos are far more impressive than today's meagre writing effort so you'd best look at them here:
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Olympos, Turkish style...
Due to being my usual disorganised self I hadn't booked anywhere to stay and it was pretty much the busiest time of the year. Fortunately I had met Kim on the boat trip and she was over-organised and had overbooked and prepaid, this we found was advantageous to us both. We stayed in a room named "Sunset Strip". The "luxurious" Sunset Strip kind of had its own toilet and shower and was outfitted hilariously with, for two people that don't really know each other, a double bed. And just for your information, yes Kim is a total wild one in bed. I honestly haven't had such hilarious conversations with a sleep talker since 1992 where my younger brother Daniel, at age seven thought that 1am in the morning was a good time to do his tax returns.
Apart from Kim's night time shenanigans, Olympus was relatively uneventful, though there were a few moments to remember. There was a decent rock to jump off at the beach and I met a group of local kids, some of which were crazy enough to jump off the rock head first. Also during the beach visit I noticed that there was a decent amount of good skimming stones along the beach. I was having a grand old time skimming stones, right up until the point where I inadvertently hit one of the local kids on the head with a rock. I guess I was fortunate that he could understand the word "sorry" in English, pretty funny in hindsight actually.
With making a sly getaway at the forefront of my mind, I ended up going quad biking with some of the guys from the boat trip, it was notable for a ripe-for-the-picking fig tree, my hooning, and one of the other guys (Ben) driving in to a ditch.
After quad biking we checked out the famous Chimaera flames (above) which were pretty cool.
On our last day in Olympos we went to lunch at a cool restaurant situated in trees on a river and literally ate lamb-loads of lamb cooked in a kind of Turkish hangi before taking the night bus to Goreme.
Click here for all the Olympos photos.
Apart from Kim's night time shenanigans, Olympus was relatively uneventful, though there were a few moments to remember. There was a decent rock to jump off at the beach and I met a group of local kids, some of which were crazy enough to jump off the rock head first. Also during the beach visit I noticed that there was a decent amount of good skimming stones along the beach. I was having a grand old time skimming stones, right up until the point where I inadvertently hit one of the local kids on the head with a rock. I guess I was fortunate that he could understand the word "sorry" in English, pretty funny in hindsight actually.
With making a sly getaway at the forefront of my mind, I ended up going quad biking with some of the guys from the boat trip, it was notable for a ripe-for-the-picking fig tree, my hooning, and one of the other guys (Ben) driving in to a ditch.
After quad biking we checked out the famous Chimaera flames (above) which were pretty cool.On our last day in Olympos we went to lunch at a cool restaurant situated in trees on a river and literally ate lamb-loads of lamb cooked in a kind of Turkish hangi before taking the night bus to Goreme.
Click here for all the Olympos photos.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Four days of pirating pleasure...
Looking back on it all, all the days seem blur in to one. Basically I spent my time swimming, drinking, reading, eating, snorkeling, fishing, and then repeating the cycle with a great bunch of people.
I guess there was one particular moment of note though. After mooring in a bay for our final night on the water with about 20 other boats we found ourselves taking a water taxi to a bar.
Firstly, I should explain that this is not the kind of terrain that one would expect a bar to exist in, a rocky but calm bay on the Mediterranean coast of Turkey only accessible via boat, and utterly devoid of people. In fact it seems like this is the last place someone would put a bar. I guess no one told the owners of Smugglers Inn.
On arrival the said owners of Smugglers Inn 'treated' the crowds of people to a selection of pop music from various times in the last thirty years. You know the kind of music that everybody knows the words to and screams at the top of their lungs and dances like flocks of headless chickens to? So um yeah that's basically what we did for a few hours. Eventually in the early hours of the morning, sweating and laughing, we caught the water taxi back to our boat.
But our hardy drinking souls had not quite finished yet, no not when there were still cold beers on the boat to drink and pop songs still fresh in our minds. During this final beer someone had a fantastic idea (well all ideas at this stage of a big night out are fantastic), Lets streak! This so-called 'fantastic idea' was later attributed to me, however to this day I disagree to it being my idea personally, in my opinion it was more of a group decision arrived at collectively after some rigorous democratic debate.
Either way there were ten very drunk and very naked people in the Mediterranean that night. However there was one problem, the definition of streaking implies that one first get naked and then run around stupidly in front of people who are not, as we were, in a state of undress. Where the hell were we going to find such people in the dead of the night? let alone somewhere to simply 'run around stupidly' while swimming in the middle of the bloody Mediterranean?
The answer was quickly discovered after some more 'rigorous democratic debate'. 'Hey look a boat' someone shouted, 'lets go' added another. So there we were, drunk, naked as the day we were born, and about to climb aboard another boat with the intention to 'run around stupidly'. Climbing aboard presented no real problem, they had conveniently left a ladder down so that we could do so. The problem was that unlike the pirates of time gone by, we were neither stealthy, ruthless, or indeed cunning. Between us our pirate skills amounted to drunkenness, loudness and an exceptionally high quality of stereotypical pirate-like quotes.
'Hand over ye booze and women ye scurvy scoundrel, or I`ll keel haul ye and throw ye bloody remains to the sharks, ARRRRGHH'
Hence with only one of us on board the ladder was withdrawn and one unlucky soul was made to unceremoniously walk the plank. We returned defeated but defiant to our own boat and slept soundly, the subject of our dreams being similar to your average Wilbur Smith novel.
Finally, a collective sigh was uttered as peace reigned again over the Mediterranian, ...
Boat trip photos here:
I guess there was one particular moment of note though. After mooring in a bay for our final night on the water with about 20 other boats we found ourselves taking a water taxi to a bar.
Firstly, I should explain that this is not the kind of terrain that one would expect a bar to exist in, a rocky but calm bay on the Mediterranean coast of Turkey only accessible via boat, and utterly devoid of people. In fact it seems like this is the last place someone would put a bar. I guess no one told the owners of Smugglers Inn.
On arrival the said owners of Smugglers Inn 'treated' the crowds of people to a selection of pop music from various times in the last thirty years. You know the kind of music that everybody knows the words to and screams at the top of their lungs and dances like flocks of headless chickens to? So um yeah that's basically what we did for a few hours. Eventually in the early hours of the morning, sweating and laughing, we caught the water taxi back to our boat.
But our hardy drinking souls had not quite finished yet, no not when there were still cold beers on the boat to drink and pop songs still fresh in our minds. During this final beer someone had a fantastic idea (well all ideas at this stage of a big night out are fantastic), Lets streak! This so-called 'fantastic idea' was later attributed to me, however to this day I disagree to it being my idea personally, in my opinion it was more of a group decision arrived at collectively after some rigorous democratic debate.
Either way there were ten very drunk and very naked people in the Mediterranean that night. However there was one problem, the definition of streaking implies that one first get naked and then run around stupidly in front of people who are not, as we were, in a state of undress. Where the hell were we going to find such people in the dead of the night? let alone somewhere to simply 'run around stupidly' while swimming in the middle of the bloody Mediterranean?
The answer was quickly discovered after some more 'rigorous democratic debate'. 'Hey look a boat' someone shouted, 'lets go' added another. So there we were, drunk, naked as the day we were born, and about to climb aboard another boat with the intention to 'run around stupidly'. Climbing aboard presented no real problem, they had conveniently left a ladder down so that we could do so. The problem was that unlike the pirates of time gone by, we were neither stealthy, ruthless, or indeed cunning. Between us our pirate skills amounted to drunkenness, loudness and an exceptionally high quality of stereotypical pirate-like quotes.
'Hand over ye booze and women ye scurvy scoundrel, or I`ll keel haul ye and throw ye bloody remains to the sharks, ARRRRGHH'
Hence with only one of us on board the ladder was withdrawn and one unlucky soul was made to unceremoniously walk the plank. We returned defeated but defiant to our own boat and slept soundly, the subject of our dreams being similar to your average Wilbur Smith novel.
Finally, a collective sigh was uttered as peace reigned again over the Mediterranian, ...
Boat trip photos here:
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