Thanks to complete ineptitude, rare internet cafes and the simple fact I was busy having fun, I am now 2.5 months and 7 countries behind.
BUT NO MORE! Due to popular and incredibly persistent request here it is at last: Episode 10.
Needless to say the happenings since where I left you last time - freshly arrived in Sweden back in June - have been numerous. And intense. So I’m going to do my best to summarise here, but as always some formalities.
Miss you all. Yes I mean it. And yes I mean you. And welcome also to the new additions to these travel emails, I hope you enjoy them and if you’re lucky, you might even remember who I am!
Photos and videos are abundant! Inks to both at the bottom of the email. Seriously, some of the videos from Malta especially are awesome, bordering on terrifying.
And now, back to Sweden…
Swedish Graduations
It was awesome indeed to be back in Scandinavia, especially since the ski pants I was wearing to reduce the weight of my luggage didn’t look quite as stupid as they did in Spain. You want odd looks guys, walk through a Spanish airport in ski pants. In summer. Frankly I’ll pay the excess luggage charge next time.
Greeted with that massive Swedish enthusiasm I remember at the station and dove straight into it. For those who don’t know the story it goes like this. After my last stay in Sweden I was invited back to the high school graduations (cough) of my friends there. The description of ‘5 solid days of partying’ was pretty convincing so here I am again, ready to go.
They weren’t joking. Within 24 hours of arriving we’re on a ferry to Denmark and back, on the roof and rather happy with ourselves. Next it was back to the local night club, also on a boat. All around a great night but apart from nearly slipping up on a banana on the dance floor, not too eventful.
Happily this was only the warmup. In Helsingborg there is a castle with about 200 steps leading down into the town. The tradition when you finish high school is to dress up in a white dress or suit, run down these steps and do 3 laps of the statue at the bottom. If you can imagine an invading barbarian horde with exception dress sense, that’s more or less what it felt like standing at the bottom of these steps. This effect was enhanced by the pelting rain and the fact nearly all graduates were chanting at the time.
3 laps of the statue at the bottom don’t sound like a big deal does it? Try doing it with 2000 students. All schools in Helsingborg graduate on the same day. Let’s pause here to allow the teachers among us to recover. The overall centrifugal effect means that the students on the outside have to run, and those near the middle end up doing closer to 15-20 laps because they literally can’t get out.
Next they load into trucks, vans, car and one extremely awesome bathtub pirate ship and drive around town for a few hours, before heading to people’s respective homes to celebrate. Then, the bar. I vaguely remember teaching someone to dance at some point here (quite likely against their will) however I refuse to comment on this on the grounds I may incriminate myself.
However it was when the club closed at 4am that things started to get interesting. ‘Why don’t we go on the ferry?’ said some genius. The fact no one was selling tickets for the first ferry didn’t bother us in the least. Until we got to Denmark that is and were asked for said tickets. Uh oh.
It was my time to shine. One lesson from this trip - there is no problem in the non-English world you can’t get out of using an Australian accent and a large dose of wide-eyed innocence: “Tickets? Oh bugger mate, didn’t realise we needed any! Can you cut us a break cobber?” (yes I actually said that…). 30 minutes and one bewildered ticket inspector later we were back in Sweden, I had made a walking stick out of an umbrella and we sang in the rain, through a fountain and arrived back home at the tidy and extremely bright hour of 6am.
Needless to say the next 2 days were spent recovering.
The ‘oh bugger’ moment and Epic Descent
I’ve been doing Europe with a Eurail pass: 3 months, any train I like. I highly recommend if you plan to move around a lot. It was on my last day in Sweden that I realised I now had 10 days to get to Malta before it ran out. And no idea how to get here, where I was staying, or reliable internet connection to organise these.
Bugger.
And so began, the Epic Descent through Europe.
Helsingborg, Sweden to Berlin, Germany
After arriving in Berlin at 11pm and the rain, remembering how the trains worked, and reaching my hostel, I made an interesting discovery: the reason my bed was so cheap to night was because I was staying in a 50 bed dorm. It was like walking into a barn. Fortunately one of my mates from my earlier trip there, Elmar, managed to catch up with me for a beer and turn the night into a great catch up. Berlin is indeed a city to experience with friends.
Berlin to Dusseldorf
A short one to visit a friend from the Castle Rieneck Jubilee, Wiebke. Plenty to see in Dusseldorf, not least the very very many breweries there and park benches made of fluro tubes. Awesome.
Dusseldorf, Germany to Venice, Italy
Yep, that’s right, Venice. 19 hours, three countries and a hell of a sore arse later, I finally arrived in Venice, where I quickly came to appreciate the complete lack of logic in the street design, abundance of steps, and lack of signage as I blundered around with my carriage, trying to find my youth hostel at 11.45pm. If it hadn’t been for the guy on the balcony I would have completely missed the place, largely because you had to cross a drawbridge to get to it.
The Venice Fish hostel goes down as both the funnest and dodgiest hostel I have even been in, as well as the first to have it’s floor held together with duct tape. Spent a few days in Venice and it can be summed up thus: you can tell that you’re in Venice because you’re lost. When you are no longer lost, you are no longer in Venice. Don’t even bother buying a street map - half the streets aren’t even on it, and unless you have a compass, the rest aren’t going to help.
Mind you this is half fun. Get lost in Venice and you find all manner of stores, boutiques, bridges, churches, alcoves and people. The masks made there are incredible, as are the odd art exhibition, gondolier, and architecture, especially since most of it is sinking at a fair pace.
Two warnings about Venice though:
1. Do not piss of the Gondoliers. They run this city. One English bloke managed to throw up out the window of the hostel, directly on top of one of the gondoliers. Within 2 hours a crowd of 20 or so of them, plus the local cops were out the front, looking for blood.
2. Do NOT swim in the canals. Sure it sounds like a good idea after a few beers, but a swan dive off the balcony will get you an infection of every orifice you have, plus a few you didn’t know you had.
Venice to Trieste to Sicily
One of my good mates from RYLA back home, Mr Aaron Callagari take a bow, told me that if I come to Italy, I have to visit his home town, Trieste. So I did a quick day trip out there and now wish I had have spent a few days. Beautiful town, featuring cliffs, castle and a fair bit of history. Also a hell of a strong wind and no less than 50 broken umbrellas. I recommend!
Next though, it was the big trip; Venice to Sicily for the ferry to Malta. A total of 25 hours in the train. Argh. But it did have the distraction of yet another Denmark-style train-into-boat excursion. Always fun. So after hanging around Sicily for a few hours I eventually found the departure point for the ferry, met a dozen other anxious tourists wondering if we were in the right place, and set off for the long awaited rest - Malta.
**Break to reality** As I’m writing this email it’s 3.40am and I’m in Ireland, staying with some mates I met back when I was ski guiding in Switzerland. And 15 minutes ago his sister just walked through the door after a big night and is currently simultaneously amusing me and making me feel extremely old. So if the writing starts to get bit distracted here, that’s why. Drunken Irish interference. **Back to the show**
Malta
After 6 months of tripping around Europe with an average of 4 days at each place, I was looking forward to 3 leisurely weeks in Malta to recover. In retrospect, this was a very silly thing to expect. Incidentally, Malta is a small island in the Mediterranean, just south of Italy.
The crossing to Malta was rather rough. As in, throw you 5 meters across the cabin while you’re doing laps around the boat to try to feel less sea-sick rough. This turned out to be a great bonding experience and I made pretty good friends with a couple of Russians, Kris and Kate, and Jon the Canadian banker.
On landing I was met by Ramone and Matthew, two of the Maltese I guided skiing back in Switzerland, who insisted that sea sickness was irrelevant - it was time for a beer.
So my first resounding image of Malta is sitting at a beach side café, looking out over the bay towards the night lights of Paceville, drinking beer with Ramone, Matt and a half dozen other Maltese they introduced me to.
The happenings on Malta are too numerous to cover them all, so here's some highlights for you:
Exploring Valetta
Valetta is the capita of Malta and originally a fortress city. As with the rest of Malta, the entire city looks like it was carved out of the rock rather than built. Everything gives the feeling of being ancient and riddled with history. There are aso a number of museums here including the Archaeological museum. I bought my ticket; I expect a full experience. Therefor I was rather annoyed to find the top floor closed for renovation. In retrospect however, attempting to break into the top floor via the elevator which was fairly obviously barred off was not the smartest move I could have made. Sure enough, no sooner am I in the elevator and press the button, all the lights go out. Now I have a decision to make: do I call the emergency button and try and explain what the hell I though I was doing? Or do I take the Holiwood exit through the top of the lift? Eventually I just pried the doors of the lift open, escaped the museum and considered myself very lucky.
Russian toasts and Canadian pads
Called up the guys I met on the ferry over and arranged to catch up for drinks. After this went well I got an invitation to head out for a drive with these guys, and then a Russian dinner back at Jon's place. Obviously too tempting to pass up. What I didn't know is that, a) Russian food is awesome, and b) Jon has a batchelor pad that would not be out of place in the Hilton. So several bottles of wine, excellent cooking and shamefully, a can of Fosters for me (I had to try it at least once), I was introduced to Russian toasts. These aren't the standard 'To health and happiness' toasts. Every diner is expected to stand up and give a speech, and a good one dammit! In fat if you're not up to standard you will be asked to start again! Needless to say, I love this idea.
Pitchers, pools and why I'm no longer welcome at the Hilton Hotel
So it was a Friday and Matt got in contact with me: 'We're going out'. Seems Matt knows someone who's rcently opened a club in the notorious Paceville area and this place has a promotion on, 2 pitchers for the price of one. Now what you need to understand about Malta is that alcohol is cheap - getting a second pitcher free saved me about 4 Euro or $8 AUS. Also, alcohol is drunk in vast quantities - these pitchers came with straws in them.
Needless to say, when I decided to walk home I was not in full command of my senses.
It was a nice warm night, like they all are in Malta, so I decided to walk back along the beach. All was well until I hit a wall. Well I was buggered if I was going to go all the way back to the road, so, naturally, I climbed over it. Again, you would have though seeing a rather luxurious pool on the other side would have set off some alarm bell yeah? But no. It was a full 10 minutes before the security guards noticed me, followed by a brief chase that ended with me vaulting over the wall and legging it to the hostel. I am fairly sure I was singing something rather loudly and I suspect it wasn't polite.
Mad dogs and Australian cyclists
After the first week I moved in with Ramone for the next 2. Among other acts of awesome hospitality, I was loned a mountain bike to get around on. Given Malta is only 30 miles long and 18 miles wide, this seemed the perfect solution. So when Jon and Kris invited me to come along to Paradise beach in the far north of the island, I didn't even bat an eyelid - I'll ride there!
Mistake.
Sure, 30 miles ain't too far on a bike. However, 30 miles in 38 degree heat, 70% humidity, over seriously undulating terraine makes it just a little more difficult. Especially when you run out of water half way. And most especially when you decide that cutting directly cross country towards where you want to go sounds like a good idea. All in all it took me 3 hours. Pain.
Concerts
The Maltese know how to party and thanks to some awesome connections I ended up at two of the better concerts in town. It turned out that Ramone's job is building stages which is no easy feat when you're doing it in the Maltese sun and everything is made of metal or black fabric. But it has it's perks - namely, backstage access.
The first major concert was Moby. Love his music but had no idea how he would go in concert; after all he's more a composer than a performer. As it turned out, he's pretty amazing, but frankly it was worth going to watch the crowd alone. As I said, the Maltese know how to party. It's like they're just looking for a reason to go nuts, run around, dance like maniacs, stand on people's shoulders, crowd surf. You name it, they tried it. Set again the back drop of a dark orange sunset then a full moon, it was an amazing night.
The second was the Isle of MTV concert. Anywhere else a concert featuring Lady Gaga and the Black Eyed Peas would be pretty pricey yeah? In Malta, it's free. The tourism board paid for it to encourage visitors. And while swine flu deterred a few people, about 40,000 still turned out for the night. Can't say it's my kind of music, but still a pretty awesome night.
Fireworks! Run for your lives!
The Maltese have a completely different attitude to gunpowder than pretty much anywhere else. I rocked up right in the middle of the festival season, during which every town on the island has a village feast. I was told by the Maltese that these are rather boring, mainly for families. Me and Jon decided to give one a visit anyway and see what it was like.
Back home any fireworks display will be cordoned off by 200m, occasionally with security guards, with the fireworks being fired very very high to avoid any fire risk. It is a serious undertaking liable to be cancelled at the drop of a hat.
In Malta, the display is set up in a field. The fireworks go off close enough to the ground that we were under a rain of ash and I personally saw the ground catch fire 4-5 times. But that was nothing because then they brought out the catherine wheels. These diabolical contraptions are a series of gears, pullies and frame metal designed to make the freworks strapped to them move in the most interesting way possible. The are usually powered by rockets.
So picture the scene: fireworks being rotated at random angles on a machine made from light steel and duct tape, with the crowd standing back at a safe distance of say, 2 meters. I swear I saw one rocket break off and miss going into someone's window by 30cm.
And here's the best bit, when me and Jon arrived at the feast 2 hours prior, we had walked directly through this display and wondered what all the paper tubing was for. The fuses for the entire display were at eye level and completely unattended. One kid with a lighter and a deathwish could have set off the entire show in 2 minutes flat. And yet no one is ever injured! So much for OH&S...
Relations
The main reason for being in Malta was that my Grandfather hails from there and I wanted to track down some relatives. To do this I had to head to the island of Gozo, where I was welcomed by the extremely helpful Laurie Saliba, shown the many natural wonders of the island and set in pursuit of distant 5th cousins. Unfortunately the only two people who may have remembers my great grandfather were two old ladies. One blind, the other deaf. We never managed to meet them, but I can only imagine the scene if we had...
Onwards to Italy
After 3 weeks of chilling it was a bit of a shock to realise I was leaving Malta. I'd become quite attached to the place and suddenly it was back to the fast paced life of youth hostels, trains and guidebooks. So it was with heavy heart I loaded myself onto the ferry, said goodbye to all my mates there and headed for Italy.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Yeah I know, I'm doing it again. But let's face it, this email is now moving on 4 pages and I'm tired damn it. Frankly, if you've made it this far, you're doing an incredible job! Next edition will be out soon, hopefully in a few days. Here are some snippets for you:
- Mountain climbing, boat hire and running out on the bill in Amalfi!
- Escape from bushfires in Corsica!
- Dangerous under-bush liaisons with French people!
- Foiling criminal masterminds in Milan!
- The Irish get me drunk! Repeatedly and mercilessly!
Some more good ones due to go up on Facebook and Youtube very soon, well worth the look I would say!
http://www.facebook.com/
http://www.youtube.com/user/
So, until next time, keep those replies coming!
What cheer!
Gordon
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