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Strasbourg, Basel and Mulhouse
Entry 66 of 115 | show all | print this entry |
When i first booked my phenomenally cheap 50 buck Easyjet flight out of Istanbul weeks ago, i was fairly amused to find that my arrival destination would be a place called 'Basel-Mulhouse'. Where was this random horticulturalist haven? What was it all about? Today, my curiosity would finally be remedied.
Well, it turned out the Basel-Mulhouse was no pothead haven, rather, a very tidy, precise, ultra layed back little town right on the Swiss border near France and Germany. Basel was the swiss side, Mulhouse the French side, and we had the choice of walking into either country once we set foot off the plane, which i thought was pretty cool. Arriving over clear skies at around 7 in the morning, the flight felt like it had literally taken about 5 minutes, and after the mid morning beers with Ryan and Catie i was considerably bollocked and in dire need of some real sleep.
So, the new plan....
I was now travelling with Team America, though it must be said that Ryan and Catie are two of the coolest yanks i've met, and considerably more tolerable than other whiny voiced Americans who've managed to crawl their way up my goat time and time again throughout the course of this trip. Not to mention Brooksys and Rev's goat as well. Our purpose in Basel was to hook up with Ryan's cousin, the imitible 'Wild Bill', a man whose reputation had preceded him, allegedly a wild party animal, a beast who liked to rage, and the 4th member of the 'coalition of the drinking'. Bill had hired a car in France and was heading to Basel this morning to come pick us up, at the scheduled meeting spot on the middle Rhine bridge. From there, we'd hightail it up to Strasbourg for a night, before hitting up Germany for some wild World Cup action. I was excited, Big Kev style.
After tripping out somewhat at the enormous disparity of 'vibe' between Istanbul and Basel, and the magically peaceful early morning tram-lined streets, i was taken aback at the feel of Switzerland, how chilled out and layed back it was. Sloping cobblestone roads merged into small Marketplaces, as the Swiss folk eventually came out of their holes and went about their Friday morning business. We found our way through the town until we hit the Rhine river, a fairly murky deep green strip of water with little maelstroms flushing about, and we parked there on the concrete ledge for a few hours, eating breakfast and napping away. I bought some Lindt chocolate for about 2 bucks Australian, as well, a definite highlight. 12 noon hit, and there was no Wild Bill to be seen. Time ticked on, until the early afternoon arrived, and still there was no sign of the increasingly mythical Wild Bill. After a bout of deliberation, we conceded that Wild Bill had probably exerted himself last night in a random Parisian watering hole, and was struggling, for whatever reason, to meet him appointment with us at the middle Rhine bridge. Knowing that he'd booked a room for us in Strasbourg, we hit up a train, gave up on the Billster for now, and got ourselves to Strasbourg where fingers crossed we'd hopefully meet up with him later.
Sharing the same name of my favourite sandwich meat, Strasbourg was another location that had seized my imagination when i was a wee lad. Frankfurt was another one, but i hear Frankfurt is a bit of a dump, with nothing but businessmen and big money, and not nearly enough actual frankfurts. But I digress yet again. We arrived in our third country for the day at around 5pm, and hit up our designated accomodation spot soon after. The 'CIARUS' hostel was the largest, most full on hostel i'd come across, bustling with more pre-pubescents than the Cinque Terre hike tenfold, though considerbaly comfortable and close to everything. Unfortunately there was no sign of Wild Bill, whose tracks continued to remain a mystery.
I went for a glorious run around the regal centuries old grey buildings of the 'Bourg, up through park and garden areas, past the Palais du Justice, and the main grass-lined canal. It all felt so bloody French! Red, white and blue flags all around me suddenly, a fine sense of space in the architecture and layout, and just a really layed back 'French' vibe. haw haw haw!(say with stereotypical French accent). It was a rewarding run, it it blew my mind to think that just hours ago we were in Turkey and Switzerland respectively, and that tomorrow we'd be driving around Germany.
Ryan, Catie and I hung out at a fairly nondescript eatery in the main town circle and grudgingly threw down a wholly unsatisfying beer, warmer than an Englishmans' urine and not half as tasty. We trundled back through town, Ryan and i had another couple of beers over a soccer match on the big screen at an old man pub. It was 10.30 and it was only just getting really dark. I spent some time at a local netcafe, before heading back to the Ciarus and joining not only Ryan and Catie sleeping, but the legend himself, a fairly dishevilled looking Wild Bill hoeing into a pasta and wondering who the hell i was, and how i knew his name. Got acquainted with Bill briefly, and got the impression that the following couple of nights were going to be full on.
And they were....
Where I stayed:
CIARUS Hotel
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