Dresden - Some Days Are Diamonds, Sock It To Me.
Trip Start
Mar 03, 2005
1
45
235
Trip End
Ongoing
Dresden,
Germany
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
One of the most asked questions I get when I meet people here or corresponding with people at home is, "You are travelling alone, donīt you get lonely?" My stock-standard answer is no, when you want to meet people you do, but when you want to be alone or move on you do.
The truth is that this isnīt true all of the time. Some days you do want to spend time with other travellers but you simply wander round looking for a likely spot to hang out, and you canīt find anyone, or the only English-speakers you can find are lager-gutted British louts whoīs idea of culture is to learn how to say "show us ya tits!" in the local language of their current abode - which is "Zeigen Sie uns Ihre Titten, bitte!" if you do want to know. The Germans always finish off requests with please, which is endearing.... Here in Germany, every one looks like a westerner. Thus its hard to establish as to who else is a traveller, and who can only speak German. Although it is the busy season, as all hotels are booked solid, it does seem to be quiet.
It is usually on the days that you desperately want to hang out with new people for a laugh or a drink, because you feel homesick, shitty or just plain lonely, that you canīt find anyone.
The following is probably going to upset 50% of my readership... I am male. I check daily, and it hasnīt changed and wonīt. I donīt get PMT (see above as to the male thingy) but if PMT makes you feel miserable, generally upset, crappy, and other super-descriptive words that I canīt come up with (remembering I am male, emotions ainīt our strength), then today I do have PMT. Pathetic Moody Traveller.
From messages from home, I know that the general idea of those reading this (including some of your work mates who I donīt know, and various strangers who have joined up) is to get to work, grab a coffee, and have a morning look at what the 32 year old who disappeared from normal 32 year old life to discover dreams, discover life, discover himself (woah that sounds deep), and discover the world, has been up to. And Iīm guessing right about now you are thinking "you miserable slack bastard, Iīll swap places with you for the today, try working....." But some days when you are in some strange part of the world, under someone elseīs doona, using someone elseīs computer, catching someone elseīs public transport system, peeing in someone elseīs toilet, it ainīt all its cracked up to be.
Mental Note #16: When the emails from home along the lines of "you miserable sod, snap out of it and get on with it, Iīve got deadlines to meet and its cold and wet..." arrive, read them, and snap out of it.
My PMT was some what eased a little on the train between Berlin and Dresden, when Adita sat opposite me. Now if I hear another person tell me that "Czech women are the most beautiful women in the world" then Iīm going to have to make a stand and claim the same about Botswanan women. Alright, Iīve never been to Botswana, and Iīve never met a women from Botswana, but the Czech girls have currently got a monopoly on the worldīs love, and I am one to encourage competition.
Adita is 28, and was from the Czech Republic. (Its not what you are thinking.) Adita now lives in the US with her hubby, a US Naval Officer. She was on the way to a village near Brno in the Czech Republic to visit her family. (Its still now what you are thinking.)
Adita (a former travel agent and thus travelling afficianado) gave me the required pep talk when one has PMT (of the travelling kind). She told me all the wonderful places to see in the Czech Republic, and where to skip. She told me how good it is to travel so enjoy it. She told me that feeling shitty while travelling happens, but everything happens for a reason so ride it out and see how things work out and where things take you over the next few months.
If that wasnīt enough, she also told me that "Czech women ARE the most beautiful women in the world" and that sheīd be in Prague when I was so weīll go out drinking the delicious and cheap Czech pilseners with a friend of hers from the US (also married so you are still thinking along the wrong line)īand sheīd show me around. I was about to mention Botswana, but decided against it.
And she gave me some delicious Trident chewing gum from the US, tropical flavour. Better than Juicy Fruit.
It did make me feel a little better. But then again, I am still a miserable sod today.
Dresden lies near the eastern border of Germany with the Czech Republic. It looks old, but as most of the buildings were destroyed or badly damaged in WWII, the īold buildingsī are actually mostly renovated or restorations of originals. To prove how much of a legacy was left by the bombings of WWII, and the subsequent financial snailīs pace of the former Eastern Bloc regime, not all of the buildings are yet to be restored from the 1945 bombings. In some cases they have left partially blown up buildings as they were as a reminder of the terrors of war. But in other cases, it may be 60 years after the war is over, but completion of their restoration is yet to be finalised. Next year is Dresdenīs 800th birthday, and the hope is to finalise the fixing by then.
Dresden is a mass of gothic churches, spires, domes and incredibly beautiful museum buildings. Add in the Elbe river running through town, and youīve got yourself another picturesque German city.
I decided to see some of the city by joining a tourist bike tour, for a combined exercise-sight seeing-meet other travellers experience. Alas the tour was cancelled due to the guide being ill. Rather than give up on the idea, I decided to make my own tour, by going to the train station to hire a bike.
The bike that was provided to me was an old school red number, with black basket on the front and pedals that doubled as brakes. Instead of free-wheeling when you peddled backwards, the brakes would slam on, which confused me no end. The bike was very 70s, but it was brand new. Given its style and color, I felt like I had stolen a bike from a Postman. Just call me īThe Mailmanī, cos I always deliver....
I headed off round Dresden. Then I stopped, and crossed the road, and started again. The Germans ride on the right, and I was endangering my life by initially riding on the left. I pointed the front wheel towards the city and headed into the Altstadt, and went down by the river. I rode a number of miles out of town next to the Elbe, into outlying suburbs of Dresden which were like their own little villages. I felt like I should have been dropping off letters.
The route back took me back through the Altstadt, which is where all of the new old buildings are. Its a unique experience riding past the castles and churches on a bike along cobblestone roads. Normally I hate the Piano Accordian. Its right up there with the Banjo as the top two instruments in the world that should never be played in a public forum. But riding past those buildings, it seemed appropriate that there was a busker playing the Piano Accordian. Perhaps it was because he was playing it in traditional European flowing style, rather than īOompah, Oompah, Oompahī style.
I have stayed probably one too many days here in Dresden to be totally occupied, so I have decided to take it easy and do a īnormalī thing or two. One is visiting a Laundry.
I am the king of handwashing - a daily ritual that has resulted in significant forearm muscles in comparison to the remainder of my arms, which are fading away due to lack of gym work. There are only so many pushups you can do on the floor or triceps lifts you can do on a bed, in a single room hostel. I am also the king of creative detergent methods. My current favourite is a mix of powdered detergent in small bags from India, and Dettol Handwash. My clothes may not be 100% whiter than white, but they are sure as hell bacterial free.
But today I thought while I have the opportunity, I should hit a laundry for some real machine akschon. The one I selected (down Konigstrasse, take a left at Laurisenstrasse) is somewhat famous here in Dresden. It is the Phantom Sock Laundry.
They have 2,563 individual socks all strung from the roof. I didnīt count them, but the signs and newspaper articles on the walls told me there were 2,563. It is like the bra in the roof thing at the Coyote Ugly bars in the US, only the socks were not left voluntarily by women who had that one Slippery Nipple, Screwdriver or Cocksucking Cowboy too many. It seems that, you can be anywhere in the world, and socks do go missing.
It reminded me that I too currently have a missing sock. Iīve got a great sock in my backpack. Its one of my favourites. Comfortable, easy to keep sparkling clean, non-smelly, attractive, colorful. If I may say so, its a darn nice sock. (that is a sock repair gag if you missed it) It is all the things you could actually want in a sock, if you were currently sock shopping. Unfortunately the matching pair has currently gone missing. That too I think is a great sock. Iīve been in two minds as to whether to dump the sock I still have, or hold onto it in my backpack, in case the pair is only temporarily missing and is hidden somewhere else in my pack for a while. It might just be hidden under a strap, or pair of undies that I havenīt seen since India or even Thailand.
The Phantom Sock Laundry in Dresden has given my some inspiration. I might just hold onto the sock for a while. Just keep it in my backpack, down the side, next to that new t-shirt I bought in Delhi that I am yet to wear, so I donīt look at it all the time, even though the bloody thing keeps in my eyesight every time I open my pack. But who knows, the pair might magically re-appear at some stage in the future if it separates from those undies. Or the sock might be gone for good with the undies. Or I might be in some Laundry in some other destination and find a perfectly good spare alternative sock to match with my favourite sock. Or the favourite sock might come in handy in the future for some other reason, as everyone needs a good sock, even if its not quite in the same capacity as you were hoping that sock would be in the beginning. Who knows. Iīll keep it with me, and see where it takes me.
Sock it to me. When you are travelling, some days are diamonds, other days all you can think about is socks, other days you need reminding that you are off seeing the world and that you shouldnīt be worrying about socks, because more often than not, socks get sorted out in the wash in the end... Even if at times it appears that the machine is on the longest wash cycle possible.
(PS. Hello to favourite socks back home. Especially to Old School socks, Gym socks, and socks that my Mum has spent time fixing over the years)
Comments
PMT?
I reckon you're upset because it's end of financial year and you were wishing you were here to do all the fun work associated with it. Or maybe you're just missing India, maybe you should go back??