elsewhere's TravelStream™ — Recent TravelPod.com entries TravelStream™ news feed for member elsewhere on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/elsewhere en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Thu, 08 Nov 2007 07:28:16 -0500 http://www.travelpod.com Tokyo — Tokyo, Japan http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elsewhere/liameboverseas/1194108240/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elsewhere/liameboverseas/1194108240/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elsewhere/liameboverseas/1194108240/tpod.html Thu, 08 Nov 2007 07:28:16 -0500 Liam and Eb trek forth into the great beyond in search of lederhosen and smallgoods of dubious origin.
Tokyo, Japan

Hey all, Liam here.

Since the last update we've left the US, reached Japan, and have found a (bizarre) place to update - a cheap, rentable all-night manga comic and internet 'booth' of the kind that some people here apparently live and sleep in.

We've got some catching up to do - this entry covers Toronto, Niagara, Seattle, the San Juan Islands and San Francisco - hope you enjoy!


Toronto:

It took a surprisingly long time to get to the Toronto coach station, but the scenery along the way was very appealing - trees with leaves of red, green and gold lined the road on both sides for almost the entire journey.

The low thrum of the bus was only broken by the occasional low muttering of the bus driver urging people to 'keep their laps clear of baggage', which was frankly unsettling. Once we finally arrived, Toronto had the appearance and atmosphere of a larger and more urbanised Montreal, with a similar feel and layout, but no signs in French.

We checked into the hostel and took to the streets for some nightime wandering - the city looked somehow bigger at night, with fully lit skyscrapers stretching up all around us. At one stage we passed one of a bunch of massive trailers by the side of the road, which on closer inspection proved to be accomodation for the 'Betty Ross Stunt Double' in the production of 'The Incredible Hulk 2' - this was as exciting as it sounds!

Toronto was a pretty interesting city in its own right, but we had also intended it to be a staging point for exploring Niagara falls, and a few days later we were onboard a small tour bus with a few likeminded touristy types.


Niagara:

The first stop was a remote Canadian winery that specialised in something called 'Icewine'. We had never heard of Icewine (to me it sounded like an obscure Norwegian metal band) but it turned out to be wine created from frozen/thawed/frozen grapes, apparently only able to be produced in a few locations in the world for reasons I didn't fully understand.

We all lined up for a tasting and all agreed that the wine was 'pretty good' (though I may not be the best judge - my wine expertise is limited to the abilty to pick a red wine from a white by its colour).

After what seemed an age, we were finally on approach to Niagara. The spray from the cascade reached high into the sky, throwing rainbows into the air that could be seen from a considerable way off. Helicopters buzzed high over the spray, and tour busses clogged the streets around the falls.

Niagara as a town was kind of like a mini Vegas, with wax museums, fast food places, tacky gift shops and other tourist traps of every size and shape. In short, the town of Niagara was awful. The falls however, were truly impressive, and we rashly decided to hop aboard one of the many boats that sail directly into the spray.

We joined a long line of tourists in order to get outfitted in a rain poncho that didn't look unlike a giant condom with 'Maid of the Mist' emblazoned on it, climbed aboard the ferry, and got underway. The ride consisted of a slow approach to the roar with some cheesy audio commentary thrown in, followed by a thorough drenching that lasted around 5 minutes - 5 minutes of blinding water and white noise. It was still pretty good.

We headed back to Toronto soaked but satisfied, and after exploring the city a bit more, took a coach to New York to await a flight to Seattle.


New York:

We decided to stay at what was apparently the biggest hostel in the US to save a bit of cash. This was housed in a huge former hospital that had a very creepy 'Silent Hill' vibe, particularly late at night while wandering echoing, empty corridors in search of a toilet.

While waiting to check in, a middle aged New Zealander in a Hawaiian shirt approached me in the line and confidentially informed me that he was a multi-millionaire in town to meet Bill Clinton and to present him with a plan to save the planet.

"Oh, haha..." I started, before realising that his face was a picture of complete seriousness. I quickly adjusted my own expression to one of the same gravity. "Oh, oh. Yes.." I said, slowly nodding and frowning, but it was too late. He had left to find a more receptive audience in the form of a worried-looking Korean girl two people back.

It was eventually time to fly to the west coast - to Seattle via Minneapolis - and after the usual security shenanigans at JFK airport, we were on our way.


Seattle:

We touched down in Seattle in the pouring rain and promptly met with Eb's cousin who was happy to see us. She drove us from the airport over the huge Lake Washington and pointed out the house of Bill Gates (well, the corner of the house) which was faintly visible among the thick trees that covered the shores of the lake.

Eventually we entered a heavily wooded suburb owned by Microsoft and seemingly populated almost exclusively by its employees. Small and large groups of programmers wandered the streets wearing scarves and carrying laptops, looking cold and jittery. Others raced past in Microsoft-badged sports cars.

We were staying with Eb's cousin while in Seattle, and were given the guided tour. We liked what we saw - the reds and golds of autumn combined with the evergreens, chilly conditions and weatherboard houses created a nice atmosphere. We also wandered over and took a tour of Microsoft, which proved to be interesting.

Seattle was a good city for walking, with the rest of the week spent taking extended walks around the city itself, visiting a market where the fish is literally thrown at shrieking customers and checking out the original Starbucks store, of which there are roughly 2 squillion in the downtown area alone.

The original Starbucks store didn't seem like much - the mermaid logo was different, it had a local feel - but the place seemed to have spread like a virus over Seattle. At one stage we stood in an intersection and counted 4 Starbucks stores in our line of sight alone. After Seattle, the joke about the new Starbucks opening in the bathroom of a Starbucks didn't seem so far-fetched.


Mount Vernon / San Juan Islands:

Eventually we decided to take a break from Seattle and head north to the small town of Mount Vernon to visit another of Eb's relatives. They were also happy to see us and graciously took us on a tour of the San Juan islands, a beautiful part of the country near the Canadian border.

It was here we learnt of the little-known 'War of the Pig' between America and England. Apparently an escalation of tensions between English and American settlers in the region resulted in the shooting of an English settlers' pig by an American, which triggered the military on both sides to set up opposing camps and await a declaration of war.

The declaration never came, and 20 years later the English went home. I'm not sure why this exciting piece of history hasn't been given the Hollywood blockbuster treatment, but I:m pretty sure the script would write itself.

We wandered around charming hamlets such as Friday Harbour and took a relaxing ferry cruise around more of the San Juan islands, some of which were apparently privately owned. The islands themselves were often teeming with wildlife, and we saw more animals here that at any other time on the trip.

After bidding Eb's relatives farewell, we boarded a plane and headed to warm, sunny San Francisco.


San Francisco:

We arrived fairly late at San Francisco airport, and began the long train ride to the hostel. We had booked a place near the center of town, near a slum area with the memorable name of the 'Tenderloin District'. Tenderloin appeared as if some sort of guerilla warfare had recently occured there - the area was all trashed tenements, police tape and scary hobos. After warming our hands over a flaming barrel, we resolved to move accomodation as soon as possible.

The nicer areas of San Francisco had a strangely familiar look - the steep streets and tramcars served as the backdrop a lot of 70's Hollywood flicks that sprang to mind as we strolled up and down the exhaustingly angled hills.

We took a few pics of Alcatraz off the coast, wandered up past the docks and were particularly impressed by the sight of the Golden Gate bridge - the scale of which we hadn't realised until we were up close. A low haze hung over it in the afternoon sun as it stretched off across the bay.

After a day or two of walking around and checking out the sights, we decided to move to a motel-looking hotel constantly soaked in California sunshine a little closer to the airport. The place was run by a relentlessly cheerful guy who seemed to have originally modelled his look on Don Johnson from 'Miami Vice' and decided to stick with it. He was a wealth of information about the area, and we took several relaxing walks on his advice.

In no time at all it was time to fly out again. After going through security twice due to a ticketing error we were on our way. We seated ourselves, and found that for the 11 hour flight we were seated next to a hyperactive child who proceeded to kick his tray table, slide under his seat, screech, slap his seat-screen, and generally get into 'monkey shines', as the elderly woman next to us would no doubt have called them.

After about 3 hours of this, we were silently wondering whether anyone would notice if we jettisoned him out of an airlock. With an hour to go till we landed, he threw up his airline 'Western Style' meal lavishly in the lap of his mother, then fell into a deep slumber during the last 10 minute taxi down the runway to the gate. At least we were in Japan.

====================

Thanks for reading this stuff once again. Tokyo, Kyoto, Osaka, Himeji and Nara are (hopefully) coming up soon, as written by Eb. Cheers!
]]> Himeji Pin — Himeji, Japan http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elsewhere/liameboverseas/1194108000/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elsewhere/liameboverseas/1194108000/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elsewhere/liameboverseas/1194108000/tpod.html Sat, 03 Nov 2007 12:40:49 -0400 Liam and Eb trek forth into the great beyond in search of lederhosen and smallgoods of dubious origin.
Himeji, Japan

Himeji Pin
]]> Osaka Pin — Osaka, Japan http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elsewhere/liameboverseas/1194107940/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elsewhere/liameboverseas/1194107940/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elsewhere/liameboverseas/1194107940/tpod.html Sat, 03 Nov 2007 12:40:04 -0400 Liam and Eb trek forth into the great beyond in search of lederhosen and smallgoods of dubious origin.
Osaka, Japan

Osaka Pin
]]> Kyoto Pin — Kyoto, Japan http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elsewhere/liameboverseas/1194107880/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elsewhere/liameboverseas/1194107880/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elsewhere/liameboverseas/1194107880/tpod.html Sat, 03 Nov 2007 12:39:13 -0400 Liam and Eb trek forth into the great beyond in search of lederhosen and smallgoods of dubious origin.
Kyoto, Japan

Kyoto Pin
]]> Tokyo Pin — Tokyo, Japan http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elsewhere/liameboverseas/1194107700/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elsewhere/liameboverseas/1194107700/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elsewhere/liameboverseas/1194107700/tpod.html Sat, 03 Nov 2007 12:37:38 -0400 Liam and Eb trek forth into the great beyond in search of lederhosen and smallgoods of dubious origin.
Tokyo, Japan

Tokyo Pin
]]> Seattle — Seattle, Washington, United States http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elsewhere/liameboverseas/1191714480/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elsewhere/liameboverseas/1191714480/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elsewhere/liameboverseas/1191714480/tpod.html Mon, 15 Oct 2007 00:51:52 -0400 Liam and Eb trek forth into the great beyond in search of lederhosen and smallgoods of dubious origin.
Seattle, Washington, United States

Hey all, Liam here.

We're currently staying in windswept and frosty Seattle after travelling from windswept and frosty Minneapolis. We're pretty surprised by how cold it is here - I may have to pause occasionally to wipe condensation off the monitor - but it's a great city.

We updated recently with Eb mentioning her U.K nemesis - the bizarre 'Electric Shower'. Since then we've travelled quite a distance, with this entry covering the U.S.A and Canada from New Jersey to Toronto, with New York, Boston, Portland, and Montreal in between.

New York:

The flight to the 'States was the most turbulent we had ever experienced (at one stage it felt like we were eating the in-flight meal while in the grip of a seizure), but we eventually landed at Newark airport spattered with 'ranch dressing' but otherwise unscathed.

As a warm welcome to the Land of Liberty, we were hearded through customs to answer around 230 random questions posed by a couple of unsmiling officials ("Sir, again this is a hypothetical, but if you were to decorate a bedroom, would you use throwpillows? What is Boyle's law for the expansion of gasses?"), before catching a shuttle bus out to our cheap New Jersey hotel near the airport.

We were staying in New Jersey for a couple of nights in order to get our bearings and to get some rest, and we were so exhausted by the time we arrived that we collapsed clothed and already unconcious onto the bed. Due to the time difference I woke late in the night and, unable to sleep, flicked on the television. I discovered after an hour or so of trance-like clicking that there were over 1000 channels, and that most of them were showing infomercials, ads for prescription drugs and ads for lawyers offering to sue drug companies for the drugs the previous ad had been touting.

I sat there zombie-like, my thumb a blur on the 'next channel' button, until I noticed sunlight leaking through gaps in the dusty plaid curtains. I did manage to catch a couple of hours sleep before we decided to head into New York, and kept myself awake with a truly massive styrofoam bucket of American coffee.

Through the windows of the train into the city were a forest of billboard advertisements - some for a new burger at McDonalds known as the "Third Pounder" (a truly massive wad of artery-clogging beef-like substance designed to put you on life support), and others that had uplifting messages like "Help Wanted: To Stop the Killings in New Jersey!" Nice.

Eventually we arrived at New York Penn Station and emerged into the blinding sunshine. The scale of the place was the first thing that struck us - towering skyscrapers loomed all around, and the grid-pattern streets stretched off as far as the eye could see in all directions.

Racing along these streets was a steady stream of traffic like a blur of colour - familiar looking yellow cabs, massive SUVs, bike couriers and massive ostentatious stretched Humvees. The white noise of the city was punctuated by the sound of car horns and sirens, and people were absolutely everywhere.

We wandered the streets for a while with heads on swivels - everywhere was a semi-familiar sight, probably seen in countless movies and TV shows. We spent the day visiting Times Square, attempting (unsuccessfuly) to get tickets for the Letterman show, exploring the cavernous NY Library and just generally being swept up in the rush of the place. Everything felt larger than life and everything seemed to demand our attention at once.

We had organised to meet a friend we had originally met in Europe for dinner, and were taken to an out-of-the-way Indian restaurant for a decent meal later that evening. We talked long into the night, and she offered us the use of a NY apartment for a couple of days over the weekend - an offer so exceptionally generous that we jumped at the chance.

The apartment was a two bedroom place near Central Park that was light, airy and fully furnished - in other words, the opposite of what we were used to staying in. We couldn't believe our luck, and the weekend was spent walking in Central Park, sampling life-threatening American food, avoiding people asking for (or flat-out demanding) spare change, and generally enjoying the atmosphere of the place - both interesting and overwhelming.

NewYork also turned out to be a brilliant place for 'people watching' - one of the highlights being an angry-looking man wearing an outsized Stackhat and propelling himself down the street on rollerblades by using ski-poles. Another was a fedora hat-wearing pimp having an animated conversation with one of his 'employees' - a conversation that seemed to be directly lifted from an episode of 'Jerry Springer', complete with hand gestures.

Sadly our time was up in the apartment, and after a guidebook consultation, we decided to press on northeast to Boston. In order to travel the inexpensive way we took an ultra-cheap (and "semi legal") 'Fung Wah' brand bus from Chinatown in NewYork, arriving a few hours and a brush with a truck convoy later near Boston's own Chinatown.

Boston:

The skyline of Boston as we approached over a bridge was brilliant in the afternoon sun - all gleaming skyscrapers and drifting white clouds. We left the huge and hobo-packed central bus station and began wandering in the general direction of a hostel.

The city itself was amazingly clean as we strolled through the wealthy financial district and kinda clean elsewhere, which made for a pleasant walk. The place had the air of a rich town, and even the seedier parts didn't seem so bad.

The guidebook for the US that we had picked up was a couple of years out of date, as we discovered when we found that the cheap youth hostel listed in our book was now Boston's local 'Hooters' restaurant. This took us by surprise. We only stayed a few nights.

We started looking for cheap alternate accomodation. Prices we were quoted in hotels left us quietly gasping or holding on to the concierge desk to avoid staggering backward, and without any other cheap options in sight, we took a cab across a bridge to the adjacent city of Cambridge - the site of Harvard university.

We eventually managed to get a room in a bed and breakfast-style place, and spent the rest of the day wandering. Everything about the area seemed wealthy; we noticed that the homeless were better dressed than we were (though this was probably unsurprising - we'd been wearing the same clothes for over 4 months). The place had an energetic vibe, particularly around the university.

That evening, we decided to head to a busy student pub for a drink or two and to sample some local Boston cuisine - namely a dish we had been recommended called 'New England Clam Chowder' - a rich seafood concoction that turned out to be delicious. I ordered another huge bowl and a couple of pints of Guinness besides to make a night of it.

As a surprising revelation, beer and buckets of clam chowder don't mix. I can't stress that enough. I realised this too late, however, as I lurched queasily back to the B&B and decorated the bathroom for a couple of hours.

I opened my eyes at 10am the next day (they focussed at around 10:15), and after managing to eat some toast and down some coffee I began to feel human again. We tackled a bit more of the city before deciding (on the advice of a local we got chatting to the night before) to head on to the small city of Portland in the state of Maine, further to the north.

Portland:

We arrived in Portland to find that the coach station was located in an area known as South Portland - a run down, empty-feeling district with stores that sold things like bait, or knitwear, or both. Maine had a very remote feel - the landscape featured scrubby evergreen forest, old weatherboard houses and truck stops - and Portland felt miles from anywhere.

We were pretty hungry after the lengthy coach ride, so Eb went into a local supermarket while I waited outside. A machine next to me dispensed cans of a beverage called 'Bubba Cola', and a large 'No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service' sign was displayed on the door of the supermarket itself. Eb eventually emerged and stated that she had found nothing that wouldn't immediately clog an artery or three. Instead, we ducked into a very friendly local Japanese takeaway place and had a decent meal.

Americans (with only a few exceptions) had been both friendly and helpful, and that trend continued when we were dropped off at the 60's era hotel where we were staying by a chatty and informative cab driver. Unfortunately we had booked the place over the Internet and it turned out to be next to a freeway a considerable distance out of town.

We gamely attempted to walk to central Portland, but found there was no access for pedestrians - our way constantly barred by major roadways, aquaducts and other impassables. This resulted in us using cabs to get around - costly, but worth it for the drivers who were all eccentric and informative guys.

Central Portland had a nice small town feel, with tiny coffee places, tiny restaurants specialising in seafood, and decent pubs. One store we stumbled across dealt specifically in salvaged items from shipwrecks and bizarre trinkets brought back from exotic locations by sailors, which resulted in a fascinating (and often grisly) collection.

We decided to blow a bunch of cash on eating a lobster for reasons that we've forgotten, and after a tour of the waterfront, decided on a place that featured a Spanish guy playing a bit of live entertainment. At one point, he noticed some guy attempting to find the toilets and started singing directions while playing flamenco, to the man's considerable embarrassment. The lobster turned out kinda small and shockingly pricey, but nice.

We had planned to catch a coach to a town called Bar Harbor, but it proved to be just about impossible from where we were. Instead, we opted for a change and decided to head to Montreal.

Montreal:

Unfortunately it also proved impossible to travel directly from Portland to Montreal, as we were informed by a woman from the coach company whose obvious deep hatred for her job seemed to be only eclipsed by an even deeper hatred of people in general.

"Two tickets to Montreal, please." I said, and waited. She was staring at something intently on the her monitor, dead-eyed and slowly chewing on a piece of gum (or jerky? tobacco?). She waited a full 5 minutes before turning her attention to me. "Whut?" she grunted. I repeated our request.

She looked at me like I'd just coughed up something infectious. "Yer gonna hafta talk slower. I jus' can't understand you." she drawled. "Two. Tickets. To. Montreal." I said, annoyed by this point. She slowly punched a few things into her keyboard. "Whut's yer name?" I stated my name. She slumped back in her chair and stared like I'd just said 'Hillary Clinton'. "Im'a hafta see I.D or somethin'."

I slid my ID over the counter, she glanced at it, and stabbed a few more times at the keyboard, then slid me some tickets. "Wait, you've uh.. you've entered my name as 'Vic Cheltenham'.. that's part of my address." I said, pointing to my name which was written in bold, 16 point type. She stared right through me and gave a small shrug, as if to say "Maybe it is, maybe it isn't."

"Thanks, you've been great." I said, but by that point it was as if I was talking to an Easter Island statue. She had already returned to furrow-browed, slow-chewing contemplation of her monitor by the time we left. Good times.

The way the ticket was structured had us unfortunately travelling back to Boston, then heading northwest again to Canada - a 12 hour trip. When we finally arrived at the Canadian border it was very late and the passengers were clearly exhausted. The border post was a large, brightly lit beacon in the darkness.

We were instructed to disembark and proceed with our baggage through customs for 'questioning'. After a process similar to the one at New Jersey airport, we were asked to line up while a sniffer dog scampered excitedly between us, attempting to pick up incriminating scent. Eventually satisfied, the customs folk allowed us to re-board the bus for the pitch-black trip onward to Montreal.

Montreal lit up the night sky as we approached. We arrived at the dingy coach station, and after walking along a strip that looked like one of the streets from 'Taxi Driver', picked the hotel that looked the least seedy (all windows intact? no guy sleeping in the doorway? thumbs up!). Early the next day we rapidly fled the red-light area in the direction the local youth hostel. The further we walked the nicer the city became, until we were eventually strolling past leafy parks and gleaming skyscrapers.

While wandering, we heard incredibly loud soundchecks coming from the direction of an outdoor stage by the water, and learned after asking around that Bjork was giving a performance that evening. This sounded kinda interesting, so we joined the already lengthy line to investigate tickets. These turned out to be hugely expensive, but as we waited we spotted a gap in the fence that provided a decent view of the stage.

This seemed like a far more budget conscious option, and after grabbing a decent meal we took up position by fence gap and waited. With the support act plagued by technical problems, we weren't really sure what to expect from the main event. Even though we were fairly distant, we were able to get a reasonable impression of what was occuring on stage - an expensive looking, extravagant sound-and-light show with roughly 15 backup Icelandic folk singers on stage at any given point.

After a while, people outside started drifting over to investigate why two people were apparently staring at the fence, and most decided to stay and watch the show. Eventually an impressive crowd had gathered, leaving security to attempt to shore-up the gap. The concert itself was pretty average. We spent a day or two swanning around Montreal before heading on to Toronto.

_________

Thanks again for checking these out - it's much appreciated.

Liam & Eb
]]> Glasgow — Glasgow, United Kingdom http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elsewhere/liameboverseas/1188300900/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elsewhere/liameboverseas/1188300900/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elsewhere/liameboverseas/1188300900/tpod.html Wed, 10 Oct 2007 19:32:43 -0400 Liam and Eb trek forth into the great beyond in search of lederhosen and smallgoods of dubious origin.
Glasgow, United Kingdom

Hey all, Liam here. Wow, we've really lost track of time since last we managed to update this thing. We've travelled quite a way since the last entry, but I'll skip the boring bits and relate what is (hopefully) interesting.

Since last we wrote, we've bumbled our way through Helsingor, Copenhagen, Aachen, Brugges, Lille, Cherbourg, a ferry crossing, Rosslare, Wexford, Dublin, Cork, Killarny, Kilkenny, Sligo, Dun Laoghaire, Belfast, Stanraer and Glasgow.

To keep things shorter than 'War and Peace', we'll attempt to catch up in future updates and just mention a few places in this one. Cheers again to the folks who've sent emails and messages - as always we greatly appreciate it.


Copenhagen:

The train to Copenhagen rattled through the northern German countryside before slowly pulling in to a ferry bound for Denmark. We thought this was very novel, and spent the time the train was being loaded with our faces pressed to the glass of our carriage, terrifying several dock workers in the process.

The ferry ride itself wasn't particularly long - only about 45 minutes - but the ferry itself contained buffet restaurants, cafes, duty-free shops, etc. We spent some time on the deck looking out to sea before being blown back down the stairs with an eyeful of spray, then boarded the train for the journey into Denmark.

The rest of the ride passed through picture-perfect farmland and attractive towns before finally arriving at Copenhagen's packed central station. First order of business was to work out where to stay and what the euro was worth compared to the Danish Kroner, etc. This required coffee, so we sat down at a station cafe and spent the first of our (very cool looking) Kroner.

We ordered 2 coffees and were astonished to find that the bill came to an amount closely equivalent to the price of a small car in Australian dollars. Spooked but not yet scared off, we pressed on to the tourist info center, past the enormous Tivoli amusement park right outside the station.

Copenhagen struck us as a very appealing city as we strolled through its busy streets. High above us over the amusement park was a thin metal pole that seemed to reach to cloud level, and cabled to it were several chairs rotating at considerable speed. Shrill screams reached us from the chairs' occupants, and we thought we half-glimpsed a thin spray of vomit arc down to the people craning their necks below. It looked to be just about the most terrifying ride ever.

At the crowded tourist office we were informed that a fashion show was on in town and that there were no more rooms available anywhere in the city, nor in the surrounding towns. The guide indicated that there might be rooms in a place called Helsingor, about an hour and a half away. Feeling a little disappointed, we left for Helsingor.


Helsingor:

Helsingor was located in the far north of Copenhagen, a stone's throw away from Sweden. Upon exiting the station, we saw the castle used in 'Hamlet' (or so the guidebooks told us) across the water - very impressive in the fading sunlight. Helsingor had the feel of a quiet coastal village, probably because it was.

The tourist office was closed, and having no map, we decided to follow a sign that had a pictogram of a tent on it - the international symbol of youth hostels, campgrounds and tent shops. We walked for a long time through the deserted streets, swearing that "if the hostel wasn't around the next corner, we were giving up." several times.

Eventually seeing the same tent pictogram on a flag through some trees, we cut through an alley, across some train tracks and found ourselves in a caravan park by the ocean. The park seemed to be packed with elderly vacationers, but we enquired at the reception hut anyway and were informed by the owner (a Viking-looking guy about the size of a wheat silo) that he only had 1 cabin left.

This sounded okay, so we accepted and were shown to an oven-like cabin among some caravans. Exhausted we promptly bunked down for the night, but the cabin was just about hot enough to start seeing mirages, so we let some heat out by opening and closing the door really fast. This was apparently the signal that every mosquito in a 12 mile radius had been waiting for.

We spent the night alternately listening for buzzing sounds and swatting mosquitos with our footwear. The next day, we decided to leave Denmark altogether - Eb's travel time in the EU was running out, and Denmark was proving too costly.


Hamburg / Aachen:

We stayed 2 nights in Hamburg, a massive and impressive German city, but nothing much of note occurred there. We saw an open-air metal concert and had a chuckle at amusing German band names, avoided skin heads and hoodie guys (who seemed to always furtively glance both ways before trying to start a conversation) around our dodgy 1 star hotel, and did our laundry. Hooray!

Hamburg was a staging point for heading into France, as it was our intention to take a long ferry crossing to Ireland. Before leaving Germany, we had decided to visit a town called Aachen.

After a few major delays, the train to Aachen finally arrived at Hamburg station already packed with people. There was a period of shoving and some graceless pirouettes before we were able to get a seat with our packs on our laps. This was hugely uncomfortable, so Eb suggested we try our chances in 1st class.

More shoving and garbled apologies followed in German before we made it to 1st and found it to be almost completely empty, save for one old guy in a flat cap and a long haired 'Kraftwerk'-type guy wearing steel rimmed spectacles. We were just settling in for the long journey when a severe looking 40-something conductor came in, shouting that she needed to see tickets.

We produced our railpass (which she barely glanced at). She snatched it away. "Hello. Yes. Where are you from?" she demanded (despite the fact that this info was prominantly displayed on the pass). We told her Australia. "In Germany" she sniffed "this is first class, and THAT" she indicated with a dismissive flick of her hand "is second class!" With that, she stormed off to accost the Kraftwerk guy. This did not go well, and soon grew into a heated argument. Before long, she was on a phone located in the wall of the carriage, presumably to call security.

After the fracas had died down and the unlucky guy had departed, she returned to us angrier than before. "Hello. Yes. It is clear to me that you do not understand. THIS" she said, stomping her foot "is FIRST class." Eb told her that our pass covered first class in Germany. Something that we hoped was true.

"Yes. Okay." she said simply, then turned on her heel to attack a teenager sitting on a pile of luggage with one buttock in first class. She made him pick up his stuff and move 10cm into 2nd where he was forced to stand with 30 other people packed in like sardines. We were the only 2 people in the entire first class carriage, staring out at empty seats. Crazyness.

Aachen itself turned out to be a nice town, with many historical buildings and a unique cathedral that held the remains of Charlemagne, as well as religious relics, the strangest of which was "Christ's swaddling cloth". This stuck us as bizarre (not to mention unlikely).

Heavy restoration was underway on the massive town hall building, while other buildings had clearly been restored, giving the impression that the city was well cared for. We left Aachen feeling happy and content, and headed into Belguim.


Brugges / Lille:

We travelled to Brugges by way of Brussels, as we had heard that it was a city worth seeing - one almost entirely intact from the 14th century. We set out from the station for a long circuit around the city and eventually came to the huge town square, which was swarming with tourists.

Brugges was packed with ornate buildings and lush parks, but the sheer amount of people shuffling around was staggering. Eventually it became a chore to struggle through the crowds with our packs and Brugges started to lose it shine, feeling more and more 'fake' as we progressed.

Brugges was certainly pretty, but felt manufactured somehow. We both decided (almost simultaneously) to give it up and press on the the French city of Lille again for a potential connection to Calais.

We hadn't actually realised the scale of Lille on our last stopover - the train station was a long way from the city centre - so it came as quite a surprise. People were thronging the streets among the closely packed old buildings - even larger and more ornate than those in Brugges. It was actually very nice, and we wished we had a little more time to explore.

In order to get a bit of advice on the best way to get to Ireland, we headed to a (luckily English speaking) travel agent on the way to the hostel we had booked. I can only assume that the agent we spoke to took us as perhaps hobos or British or something, because she was as unfriendly and unhelpful as it is possible to be without producing a loaded firearm. Undaunted, we decided to stick to the original plan and proceed to Cherbourg the next day.


Paris / Cherbourg:

Getting to Cherbourg proved to be much more strenuous than we had anticipated. It was not possible to get a train directly from Lille; we had to change at Paris and head north. This seemed simple enough, and after some difficulties with the seat reservation system and a missed train, we were off to Paris.

In Paris, we learned that we needed to be at a different station to get to Cherbourg, and that we needed to take the underground to get there. We raced around the huge central station and found the underground link we needed to catch, however in my haste I had forgotten to grab my validated ticket from the machine.

"Not to worry" I thought, "I'll just go back and get it.." little realising that once you had stepped on the rapid escalator, there was no way back down without frantically sprinting the other way. This I learned after taking a bewildering amount of staircases and exits. Eventually I gave up and crossed my fingers that there wouldn't be barriers at the other end. I even picked up a discarded ticket from the station platform, hoping that it would be valid.

When we reached the correct station and ascended the escalators, my heart sank as I saw the line of barriers. I tried the ticket I had found, but the machine spat it back out contemptuously. Eb had gone through before me, and seizing the moment, had held open the barrier.

I took a run up (as much as that term can be used with a massive pack on your back) and clumsily lept the turnstyle waiting for the hand of authority to land heavily on my shoulder, but none came. In my mind, I was like an Olympic sprinter, racing up the exit stairs. In reality, I was a bearded guy awkwardly shuffling in a zig-zag pattern with the equivalent of a fridge strapped to my back. Eb was way out in front.

In the end, we managed to make the train to Cherbourg with literally 2 minutes to spare.


Cherbourg:

It was a pleasant trip through the northern French countryside - although the sky was overcast, the deep green trees, hedges and hills made for a relaxing trip after the hectic Paris shenanigans. We passed through a number of villages and towns that had seen heavy fighting after the D-Day landings, though you would never suspect it now.

We pulled into Cherbourg just as it began to pour with rain, and sprinted in the direction of the first place we saw - a B and B opposite the train station. The owner was chatty, and informed us that the town had seen a lot of visitors only recently. He had one room left, a ground floor double with a bathroom.

The bathroom turned out to be facing the street, giving passers-by the unique opportunity to see whatever you were doing in there, and the shower was so small that once you closed the curtain and turned around it would cling to you, like some sort of slimey cape.

We weren't really bothered though - it was quiet, central and out of the rain. We ate a very nice Indian meal in a restaurant with a leaking ceiling, then got an early night. The next morning, the sky had cleared, so we took an extended walk to the ferry terminal to begin the 6 hour wait for the ferry.


Ferry to Ireland:

The ferry appeared to have been designed and built in the 70's - all brown carpet and woodgrain wallpaper. We had booked the cheapest seats we could find, and learned that these placed us belowdecks in a windowless area the size of a cinema, complete with matching seats.

The captain's voice crackled to life on the intercom and mentioned that we would be in for a rough crossing from Cherbourg to Rosslare, and that the journey would take about 18 hours. We hadn't sailed before, and were curious to see if we would be violently seasick.

The trip turned out to be pretty rough indeed. I luckily escaped feeling too bad (despite being travel sick on busses), but Eb was struck down and felt pretty green. Around us were quietly moaning people splayed out on the floor and slumped over tables, as if the room had been gassed. At times the ferry swayed so violently that the windows first showed entirely sky, then entirely water, and back again. A steward was walking around the cafeteria nonchelantly handing out sickbags.

The journey ended up taking 22 hours due to rough seas, and we were extremely thankful to be on dry land again, and in Ireland.


]]> Toronto — Toronto, Ontario, Canada http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elsewhere/liameboverseas/1190670840/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elsewhere/liameboverseas/1190670840/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elsewhere/liameboverseas/1190670840/tpod.html Wed, 10 Oct 2007 18:12:28 -0400 Liam and Eb trek forth into the great beyond in search of lederhosen and smallgoods of dubious origin.
Toronto, Ontario, Canada

Hey all, Liam here.

It's (once again) been a while since we updated this - we're currently in Canada, but this entry covers the U.K - a land with such a punishing currency for the poor ol' Aussie dollar to deal with that we were left with actual, physical bruises after every financial transaction.

As a result, this entry can be read as either a stirring tale of us gradually fleeing to Gatwick airport, or as a rollicking jaunt through the British Isles, or just as a mildy interesting time-killer between coffees. Whichever is good!

This time we've both jotted down a bunch of stuff while on trains and busses, so to avoid the potentially massive scale of this entry, we'll be posting separately - we've managed to finally find a place that allows uploads, so a couple of my photos are attached. Eb's entry will be up in a week or so with her photos included.

Two for the price of none!

Glasgow:

The train journey from Stanraer in Scotland (where we disembarked from the Irish ferry) to Glasgow was a very pretty one in the fading sunlight, with rolling green remote hills and calming views of the ocean. We got chatting to an older Scottish couple on the train who had been visiting friends in Northern Ireland, and they helpfully recommended several places in the highlands to visit during our stay.

The train ride was quite long (a few hours), and we were feeling pretty drowsy. To keep things interesting, the toilet on the train had a lid that kept slamming shut as the train went over a hill or around a corner (or basically if it moved at all). This added a certain dimension of challenge to anything you planned to do in there, to say the least. Several times we saw an unlucky commuter close the door, only to hear the SLAM sound of the lid, closely followed by a muffled stream of obscenities from the occupant.

We rolled on through the Scottish landscape and gazed sleepily at the gentle green hills dotted with tufty, purple heather bushes. At times, there were half hour gaps between spotting one quaint little homestead and another.

Eventually we arrived at Glasgow's huge central station and emerged into the city itself. The streets were incredibly dark for a major city, and we had to find our way to the hostel more or less by touch. Checking in was our first taste of the British exchange rate, and it brought tears of pain to our eyes. We realised at this point that our time in the UK would probably have to be cut short unless we wanted to return home wearing potato sacks.

Taking a stroll around the city in daylight proved to be very enjoyable, with the streets providing some brilliant architecture, monuments, galleries, etc. We saw a movie at the "world's tallest cinema", ate a surprisingly good meal in a local pub, and bummed around in a local park for a few hours, enjoying the accents of passers-by.

At one stage we were looking around a local shop near some young Scottish kids playing Star Wars. After what was presumably a fierce lightsabre duel, the first kid turned to the second and yelled in a thick Scottish brogue; "Aye'm a Jedi Master! Yer just a droid! I jest sliyced yer head off! Zzzzz!". It became increasingly easy to see how Ewan McGregor got his break.

After a couple of days of this aimless but enjoyable wandering, we jumped on a train to Edinburgh.


Edinburgh:

As we wandered through the busy streets of Edinburgh looking for our hostel, we were struck by how picturesque so much of it was. High over the city loomed Edinburgh castle (home to the vacationing queen and uhh.. military tattoos), and near the city dramatic cliffs dominated the skyline. The place really did have an energetic, vibrant feel.

After dumping our packs, we headed for the cliffs with the hare-brained intention of climbing them. A few wrong turns up some thistle and nettle studded hills and a few gently bleeding shins later, we began the lenghty ascent to the top of the highest cliff. Very rough stairs had been cut or placed into the cliffside in places but others required frantic scrambling up very loose stones, causing us to uncannily resemble a hamster running in a wheel.

We (eventually) made it to the top wheezing and panting heavily, and found the summit teeming with old people eating sandwiches and delicately sipping tea (or possibly Gatorade) from thermoses. One woman rested gently on the handle of her zimmer frame and nibbled the corner of a curried egg sandwich. At this point, Eb mumbled something about 'water' and collapsed faceward to the ground. I poked her with a stick. She seemed okay.

The views from the top were stunning, taking in the city, ocean and rolling hills for miles in each direction. After a brief visit halfway down again to retrieve a dropped thermos lid and a few scenes that put me in mind of 'Cliffhanger', we set off to explore other rocky outcroppings and ended up having another enjoyable (if extremely tiring) day.

We had booked a couple of places on a tour bus in order to explore further north, and at 8:00 the next morning we stood shivering on the pavement waiting for the arrival of the tour guide. He eventually arrived, and his nametag proclaimed his name to be 'Disco Dave'.

Disco was a friendly but world-weary guy who gave the impression of keeping up appearances while plowing through the tour one more time. He took us through some amazing countryside; through tiny rural villages, past vast lochs and crumbling castles, all with an entertaining flow of information.

The end point was a tour of the 'Famous Grouse' whiskey distillery, out in the middle of basically nowhere. The tour involved a circuit of the various stages of whiskey production, capped off by an extremely loud and expensive-looking 'Clockwork Orange'-style multimedia presentation designed to imprint the Famous Grouse brand on the minds of those present.

It didn't Famous Grouse work, though.

Crieff:

Our reason for taking the tour was to leave the bus at a town called Crieff in order to visit a friend living on a game reserve in that part of the country. Crieff looked straight out of one of those tiresome English comedies featuring a small town full of eccentric locals, but turned out to be very appealing regardless.

Accomodation in Crieff was "non-existant due to a local festival" according to the frazzled staff of the tourist office, but someone working there kindly offered us a lift to the tiny neighboring town of Comrie in order to find a room at the local pub/hotel. We drove there through more lush, green countryside, and finally arrived at what was to be our accomodation.

Stepping into the hotel and our room felt like stepping 40 years back in time (or perhaps just visiting your grandmother) and the town itself was sleepy to the point of being comatose, but the people we met there were exceptionally generous and friendly.

After we managed to get in touch with our friend from the game reserve, he picked us up and took us to the remote farmhouse he was living in with two other gamekeepers. We had an excellent meal cooked by our host, and got talking to a falconer who was also visiting for the evening. He offered to show us the next day how falconing was performed with a small tour group, and one of the gamekeepers offered to drive us out there in the morning.

We gratefully accepted, and found ourselves bouncing along thin one-way country roads, past heather clad hills and fields. Eventually we reached the falconry, and found the group surrounded by veritable forest of perches, each holding a different bird of prey. They were already in the middle of learning how to handle relatively small Harris hawks, balancing them tentatively and uncertainly on gloved, outstretched hands.

We eventually joined them, and spent a harrowing but exciting day flying increasingly larger birds - first a hawk, then a desert owl, African eagle, then finally a full-grown, American Bald eagle. The last was absolutely massive, seemingly angry, and had a wingspan like a single engine Cessner. I had mental images of being dragged into the air in jerky stop-motion animation, like something out of Jason and the Argonauts, before being dropped into a volcano.

In the event, I managed to cope with the thing landing on me with only a small loss of urine, while Eb performed admirably. It was all very exhilarating, and was one of the absolute highlights of the trip.

After eventually finding our way back and spending a night above a Thai restaurant in Crieff, we phoned goodbye to our friends and headed south again, through Scotland and into England, to the city of York.

York:

I had vague, hazy recollections of York from a previous backpacking trip and occasionally I would recognise a house or landmark, but around the remembered structure would be totally unfamiliar. We trudged around York's ancient winding streets for an age before we finally spotted a hostel I thought I had stayed in previously - one with a wacky Viking theme. Most dorm rooms in the place were enormous (with 30 or so beds to a room), but it was a comparitively cheap way to spend the night.

York was a great location for strolling, with largely intact, walkable medievel stone walls stretching around the city, parks, and plenty of narrow pedestrian cobblestone alleys to get lost in. We did a bunch of traditional but uninteresting-to-relate 'touristy' type things, sampled some truly awful English cuisine (I hadn't realised that boiling was an acceptable method of cooking a steak) before the cost became too prohibitive and it was time to move on, this time to the scholarly town of Oxford.

Oxford:

We took a lengthy coach ride to Oxford on a bright, sunny day. This involved a change over in an entirely modern city known as Milton Keynes; possibly the most lifeless, over designed city we'd been to - home to blank, staring glass and steel buildings, barren concrete squares and (seemingly) not much else.

Oxford was a study in contrast with tree-lined streets, cobbled roads for pedestrians and grand, ivy-covered university buildings at every turn. After walking around and taking in the sights, we eventually found a B&B just out of town. This was cheap, but it had its quirks - in order to have a hot shower, you needed to place the shower head on the floor, turn on the cold tap in the sink, then lift the shower head to shoulder height. This was all related straight-faced by the proprietor, as if showers couldn't possibly operate any other way.

All this was okay though - Oxford made a good base in order to take coaches to London and was an appealing city in its own right, especially in the popular university districts. After a few days spent relaxing, drinking, exploring and drinking, we took a coach to London.

London:

We caught a coach to London and emerged into rush hour near Victoria station - packed with commuters. Everywhere you looked were the familiar red busses, clouds of exhaust, general traffic and throngs of people - the noise was incredible. We bullied our way through the crowd and made our way down a treelined avenue to find ourselves at Buckingham palace.

Signs along the high garden walls leading to the palace warned that the bricks were coated with 'climbproof paint'. We could imagine Her Majesty enquiring about the safety of the walls and being assured by a guard in a tall busby hat not to fret;

"The wallpaint is climbproof, Marm."
"Jolly good. Carry on, minion."

Adding to the invincible paint, cresting the walls were racks of cruel-looking razorwire and CCTV cameras. It looked more like maximum security at Alcatraz than the home of a couple of grumpy royals. We half expected to be picked off by an unseen tower guard for reading the signs too closely or loitering, but no shot came. Eb did eventually cop a dart in the buttock for taking too many photos, but it just made her a bit groggy.

We didn't spot the queen (or any other royal-types), but we did spot a gathering of heavily armed police barring the gates behind a vehicle crash barrier. After watching 'the guard' march towards each other, turn, and march away, we realised we had pretty much exhausted all the possibilities for diversion that the palace offered.

We made a large circuit of the streets, wandering in and out of shops, checking out monuments and squares, and generally being very 'touristy'. Prices in London were absolutely astronomical, but we resolved to return the next day regardless - we were meeting up with some friends for a proper tour of the city after spending another night in Oxford.

Unfortunately during our wanderings we had lost track of time, forcing us to sprint a couple of blocks in order to catch the bus. We barely made it, and collapsed wheezing into our seats occasionally coughing up exhaust fumes, dust and cigarette butts. London really is an incredibly dirty city.

The next day was spent wandering again, but this time in the care of some capable guides. It seemed that wherever you looked there were at least 10 people in your field of vision, but despite this we had an enjoyable time in good company. On the way back, we did a spontaneous/ incredibly nerdy thing and went to a Star Wars exhibition (complete with guys walking the corridors dressed like Jedis, to our shame).

To redeem ourselves, we also did a cool thing - checking out a view of the city from atop the imposing 'London Eye' - the massive ferris wheel left over from the millenium celebrations.

Sadly, our time in London was almost causing our wallets to burst into flames out of protest, so we resolved to spend some time in the beachside town of Brighton instead to await our upcoming flight to America in the hope that it might be a little cheaper. We gave a last cheery wave to London, dodged several cabs bearing down on us, and trudged to the coach station for the trip.

Brighton:

We took a surprisingly lengthy (and costly) train ride to Brighton, and emerged from the station into brilliant sunshine. Brighton had the interesting air of a semi-faded seaside resort town, and the stroll to our hostel was a pleasant one, with the ocean glittering at the end of the main street leading from the station.

The 'beach' turned out to be a large expanse of pebbles and smooth rocks instead of sand, but that hadn't stopped people from sunbaking stretched out on the stones. Brighton is apparently a popular hang out for artists, with the result being some unique bars, pubs, shops, and particularly graffiti murals.

Unfortunately it was as prohibitively expensive as anywhere else in the U.K, so we had to limit our activities in order to stay in roughly the same ballpark as the budget. Despite this, we had a good time browsing, window shopping and lying on the beach (though this caused an intriguing pattern of red dents on our backs - with a bit of experimentation you could get a real leopard print thing happening).

We had the odd experience of seeing an elderly gay man become insanely angry with a coin operated washing machine that he believed had stolen his change, or his pants, or perhaps both (very lively), but apart from that our time passed pretty quietly, which was much how we wanted it before tackling the 'States.

After making sure everything was in order for the flight, we headed to Gatwick airport.

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Thanks to those who are continuing to read these posts, and thanks also to those who have emailed us and left comments - we appreciate it!




]]> Eb's U.K Update — Seattle, Washington, United States http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elsewhere/liameboverseas/1191722400/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elsewhere/liameboverseas/1191722400/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elsewhere/liameboverseas/1191722400/tpod.html Wed, 10 Oct 2007 14:49:26 -0400 Liam and Eb trek forth into the great beyond in search of lederhosen and smallgoods of dubious origin.
Seattle, Washington, United States

Hey all! Eb here.

Okies, Liam had his turn last time at bloggin' 'bout Blighty, so now I'll have a crack at it, even though it's late and we're now in the USA, I just had to get this one out. There'll probably be another US update soon.

Here goes:

Electric Showers.
Yes.
They exist.

Now, the sum total of what I learned in 7th grade electronics class was:

a) It's a better alternative to 'Statistics' when you're forced to choose class electives

b) Capacitors explode like all get-out when you stick them into mains power sockets and turn the juice on.

and finally,

c) Electricity and water are a bit of a no-no.

I can understand the concept of electric hot water. It's been around for years, faithfully heating up my morning wash. That's fine. But why the hell would a person decide to go a step further and not only create an electrically powered shower, but to put buttons, levers, pulleys and switches not just *near* the water but *in* the shower recess itself? What happened to the good ole tap?

I don't know about you, but even the thought of those tacky, penguin-shaped in-shower radios that suck onto the tiles conjures up images of me jiggling about like a Tickle-Me-Elmo with sparks shooting out my ears the moment I touch it. So I was understandably wary of tooling about with a circuit board whilst wet and in my 'all-together'.

But the Brits, Scots and even the Irish seem to love them; Love them like their first born child - even though they're remarkably over-engineered. Personally, when I've just woken and not yet fitting the dictionary definition of 'sentient', I want nothing more than an easy ride to a toasty bathe to wash off the blear and set me up for the day. I want to shamble into the bathroom, turn the tap on, jiggle my hand under the stream while the pipes heat up and step in for a spell.

I don't want to do the following:

* Get into the shower and fiddle about with anywhere between 1 and 3 different dials controlling heat, speed, intensity, mode or type (Type? Type of what?! Water? Hrmm, I'll take the Perrier today - those bubbles make me feel so *alive!*)

* Hit 'Start' and hope for the best

* Commence frantically fiddling again because the settings aren't actually making the water 'hot' per se, more a steady stream of needle-pointed icicles which blast me square in the face
* Tumble backwards into the soap holder, firing a half bottle of Panteine into the ceiling fan

* Leap out of the shower, freezing and dripping wet

* Find an external switch or pull string (often located *outside* the actual bath room, resulting in hill-llairous hijinks involving towels and co-ed hostel dorms)

* Use that external switch to turn the main power on, because that had to be done first but I forgot to do it.

* Turn off the ceiling fan because it's raining shampoo and spinal injuries

* Get back in the shower and re-commence setting and dial fiddlage.

* Get out again because I managed to blow the fuse.

The idea behind these showers is that they use less energy and water than a regular shower. They are therefore more economical. I'd like to sit down and quantify how much water and energy (on people's part and on the electric company's part) is expended every morning as we duke it out with the beloved electric shower and then see how 'economical' they really are.

Then again, I couldn't sit down and quantify anything. I didn't take 'Statistics' at school. I took Electronics.

Anyhoo, I won't bore you with much more about the UK, since Liam went over it with wit and aplomb last time. I'll press on to the rest of the journey.

Liam and I left the UK for the USA on September 12th. We'd run out of money around the 10th. That is to say, we'd run out of money for the UK. We figured they had enough of their own. Just to illustrate the wallet-stopping point a lil better here, let me give you an example.

(Eb clumsily fits a sock puppet onto her hand, realises it's on inside out, and abandons the idea...)

Okay, well, basically at the time when we were in England, the Aussie dollar only got about 40 UK pence. Okay, that hurts, but it's do-able.

Or is it.. ?

Imagine with me, dear reader, a place with a 0.4 exchange rate but, one that is also 1 to 1 with regard to the cost of things. Allow me to illustrate (Eb pulls down a blind with a complicated chart on it and produces a pointing stick):

Okay, let's assume fish and chips and maybe a drink at home in Melbourne is something like $6.50. The same meal in England is £6.50 (Just to clarify, that's six *pounds*, fifty pence) minimum, maybe even £8.50. (Eb puts on some glasses, whacks on an accountant's visor and breaks out one of those adding machines with a docket roll attached) Okay....6.50 at point four...carry the one....That's 16 to 21 Aussie dollars minimum for a plate of fish and chips. *British* fish and chips. Made with cod. As in: "Ewww, cod!"

So we upped sticks and flew out via Gatwick, weeping gently all the way - and wishing we hadn't eaten the fish. We arrived at Gatwick feeling a tad nervous. You see, I was in England - technically - illegally. I assure you I didn't mean it! It was more of an inadvertent 'slip under the radar' than an actual and wanton act of evasion. Promise. After Ireland and the ensuing hoopla, I wasn't about to goof again if I could help it.

Scottish security is tight. Damned tight. So tight in fact that as I stepped off the ferry from Ireland, my immigration procedure consisted of a man waving frantically at me and screaming "Don't ye worry aboot yer passpoort! The connecting train is almoost away!" It seemed that shuttling me from the ferry in Stanraer, a few miles out of God Knows Where, to civilisation in Glasgow was higher up on his list of priorities than making sure I was allowed to be there in the first place. I was there and no-one knew.

I felt like Jason Bourne but far less sexy, dynamic and adept with firearms.

So on the way to Gatwick, Liam and I rehearsed and re-rehearsed what we would say if questioned re how I got in, why I shouldn't be tarred and feathered as punishment etc etc. We'd denuded our bags of anything even remotely controversial and went over ourselves with a fridge magnet to see if we were inadvertently carrying metallic nasties.

No sooner had we stepped into the checking line than it began:
(cue ominous music, fade the lights)

A young fellow with smart shoes and an official-looking badge took my passport and told me to progress in the check-in line without it. I did so. In fact, if he'd asked me to stand on one leg and bark like a dog, I'd have done so, complete with both small and big dog sounds on command. Liam was being grilled by another official a little ways up. I went and stood behind him. Continental Airlines have little terminals than span the length of the check-in queue. Each terminal was equipped with a laptop and a little scanner like a credit card reader. The operator swiped Liam's passport and the set about asking him the sorts of questions a Parole Officer would pose. Liam did his best to answer, while I wondered where my passport had gotten to.

I had not long to wait before Smart Shoe Man came back, presumably equipped with a mental report on my monumentally stupid faux pas in Ireland. I tried to remain calm as I answered query after agonising query regarding my reason for visiting the UK, where I slept last night (true story), why my passport wasn't stamped, how many fingers was he holding up, dot dot dot.

Despite the onslaught of inquiry, Smart-Shoe was a pleasant young man and didn't fill me with absolute dread. This was bad. You see, I have a problem that I really should address. I have...and this is hard for me to admit... (Eb bites the back of her finger and chokes back a sob), whenever someone speaks to me, I become a person. I have a personality leak. I can not be an automaton. I just ain't wired that way.

Condemn me for this if you will, but I have a personality - a little odd at times, but generally not too bad, I'd like to think. So when I was posed with the seemingly ludicrous question of "Are you carrying a weapon or anything that may look like a weapon?", I looked visibly taken aback and replied loudly with "Oh goodness, no!" Nothing major. Right? It's not like I burst into fits of laughter and cried "What confounded fool would take a weapon or weaponey-like object even *near* a modern plane! Jeez, what kind of screaming moron do you take me for!?"

At any rate, I noticed Liam's posture visibly sink out of the corner of my eye. Shoey paused for a bit and narrowed his eyes. Crud. Had I goofed again?

Wordlessly, he walked off and consulted with a handsome yet stoney-faced officer who had better shoes and a nicer tie. He came back several agonising minutes later. I prepared myself to be clapped in irons. He eyed me a little more, then eyed my passport. I was hoping I hadn't soiled myself.

"Where are you resident in Australia?"
"Melbourne." I replied, before mentally slapping myself in the forehead.

Yes, I live in Melbourne, always have done - but before I left, I changed my residential address to my Mum's place in Mansfield so I wouldn't lose any re-directed mail. Crap! Crappy dang! Crap, crappity crap-stravaganza! I tried not to let on. He eyed me. I wondered what prison food was like.
--
--
--
"You can go."
--
--
"O...Kay...."

Confused, numb and somehow feeling guilty, I proceeded to the check-in desk. A friendly (read: dangerous!) lady greeted me, took my passport and ticket and we started out on the road to check-in. She typed away for a little while, making small talk as she went. After a while, although I stuck to some very blunt answers, I started to feel dangerously at ease.
My ticket had a destination of New York, followed by Seattle. I have relatives in and around the Seattle area whom I intend to visit: folks who I'd be spending a fair while with and who have graciously offered me full use of their couch.

"Oh! Seattle!" quipped the check-in lady. "You'll be there a while?"
"Yes," I bluntly replied, focusing my gaze on the middle distance.
"Oh, it's a nice place!"
I agreed without emotion.
"Now," she started, "U.S. Customs require you to register an address you'll be staying at while in the U.S. Where will you be staying?"
"With my family in Seattle." I sounded like Robocop. I helpfully produced an address from my bag and spelled out any words I'd written unclearly. I was faultlessly professional.
"Thanks" she said. "It helps when U.S. Immigration cross checks this at the other end."
"You're welcome" I replied without flair.

I walked away from check-in feeling like the Kung-Fu Master of Check-In and Standard Response Technique. It was all very Zen.

I joined Liam at the exit and, as we walked to the security clearance area, we *carefully* chatted about things in case we said something without thinking first. Heaven help us if anyone heard us mention anything even mildly inflammatory, stupid - or could be perceived as such. In fact, we were so concerned, that we spoke very softly and with excess clarification about the most benign of topics.

Liam whispered:

"Do you...want water?.. For.. drinking purposes?"
"Yes...I would...enjoy water...to drink."
"Let us...purchase...water."
"I concur."

During this stilted and frankly weird whispersation, I made mention of the fact that I'd put my family's address in Seattle as my residence in America. Liam stopped dead. He looked like he'd been slapped in the face with a golf shoe. Apparently U.S. Immigration require a place of residence for the *first night* you're to spend on U.S. soil. That wasn't, for us, in Seattle - it was in New York. At a hotel. A hotel I'd booked in my name the night before. Crap. In all that hoop jumping and folderol, it had slipped my mind. The little diversion about Seattle being nice had planted the idea about staying on the...oh, I don't know, other side of the country!

"I..am...doomed."
"I concur."

We had not long to ponder my fate before we were whisked into a Security Check line, where our passports were taken (again), an unflattering photo was snapped and we were instructed to start removing items of clothing. Not one to usually do this without at least being taken to dinner first, I was rather obliging. Jackets were the first thing to go, then shoes.
"I'll take my bleeding pants off if it means it'll stop terrorism!" declared a toffy businessman with a hunting lodge 'What-What' accent. I didn't have the guts to tell him that an eyeful of him in a pair of Budgie Smugglers would terrify even the most hardened soul.

Our carry-on luggage and clothing were x-rayed up the wazoo and, short of a 'Total Recall' style full body scan, we were free; Free in the sense that we were dumped and stranded in what appeared to be a shopping mall; A mall where all the tonnes of miscellaneous items we'd jettisoned from our luggage for fear of confiscation were conveniently available - and at only *thrice* the price! How thoughtful.

Resisting the urge to purchase a 26 dollar 50gram tube of lip balm, I opted for a chappy mouth until America and instead finding some of that water we'd spoken of so deeply before. Flights are dehydrating. Water is handed out every so often but you have to start a rugby scrum with a stewardess to get anything extra. So we sat down at a cafe-bar-thing with 2 small bottles of tap water. I sobbed gently as I counted my change out of a ten pound note.

Flight time rocked around and we set off on our trip. All went well until about 4 hours in, when the plane flew into a spot of turbulence, or should I say, it flew into one of those industrial paint tin shakers you see at Bunnings. The ferry ride to Ireland had steeled my resolve against rocky rides and I emerged 40 minutes later, wearing Liam's fruit cup on my head like a little, drippy fez, but was otherwise fine. I am now the Kung-Fu Master of Shaking Plane Style.

We arrived in the USA...but that's a story for another time.

Til then, thanks again to all those who have posted comments. We muchly appreciate 'em.

Cheers.

Eb.
]]> Fussin' — Füssen, Germany http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elsewhere/liameboverseas/1182097920/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elsewhere/liameboverseas/1182097920/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/elsewhere/liameboverseas/1182097920/tpod.html Mon, 08 Oct 2007 14:10:58 -0400 Liam and Eb trek forth into the great beyond in search of lederhosen and smallgoods of dubious origin.
Füssen, Germany

Liam here.

Well, Eb and m'self are in a Germany, specifically in a little town on the Austrian border called Füssen. Tried making an entry earlier, but there was a big group of Italian teenagers playing with a 'Foozball' table nearby, making it difficult to concentrate. I noticed one of them had a 'manbag'. But anyway.

We've now left Switzerland, which turned out being extremely expensive (surprise, eh?) and officious, but very picturesque. Spoke to an old Swiss guy in Zurich who thought I was also Swiss "because of my boots." He was cycling around Switzerland. This was impressive, given everyone there seems to cycle and smoke - often at the same time. Didn't think much of the new part of Zurich, but the old part contained some amazing views and some great architecture.

We decided to head on to a town called Lausanne, but when we attemped to find a room we found the whole place was full. We decided to head on to the next town, Vevey, and we called ahead to book a room there.

The view was absolutely spectacular, looking out across a lake to a huge mountain covered in cloud in the distance. After asking directions to the B&B we finally found the street it was on, but the number we were given didn't exist. After peering through the windows of what we thought was a hotel, a Swiss-French woman noticed us and asked what we were looking for. We explained the situation, and she invited us to her apartment while we sorted things out.

She was a social worker who had grown up in Burkina Faso and Morocco. As it turned out, the hotel we had booked was for recovering alcoholics & addicts. Nice.

She called the place, and came with us to check it out. The place looked and smelled like someone (or perhaps a horse) had died in it recently, and the proprietor looked like a Russian contract killer. So of course we signed in immediately.

By signed in, I mean we got out of there so fast we left scorch marks on the (rickety) stairs. We explained to Ivan Milat that we were moving to the next town, (or perhaps leaving the country) and left him glowering silently at the top of the landing as we departed and got on the first train to a town called Sion.

Turned out to be a great idea. Mountains, medieval town, castles, etc. And we had the hostel room to ourselves. There was a large, screaming group of German ESL students racing up and down the halls, but that was okay. The chances of being buried in the cellar were considerably less here.

Eventually travelled to Lausanne, where we saw a lot of expensive stores, explored the massive cathedral, and looked at the tombs of knights and clergy. Everything was accessible to the public, which meant people had scratched things like 'Marco 4 Bella 4 Ever' onto a knight's forehead. Still, was very atmospheric and impressive.

Overall, Switzerland was pretty decent. Cops there look like paratroopers with berets. You can't look anywhere without seeing a crane. Houses and buildings are either amazing, or look like they've been designed by IKEA out of Lego.

Anyway, time is running out and I've probably related enough. Hope you're all going well, and will write an entry again soon(ish).

Liam
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