In sickness and in heath

Jo, Craig and I rented a car and went Henge Hunting. We forgot the lyrics of the Spinal Tap song, opting rather for an alternative mix of the Pet Shop Boys' Go West, replacing the main line "go west" with "Stonehenge", making up random shit to fill in the following bits. We saw some mounds of dirt used for burying important people, some fancy stones arranged in circles and drove through a lot of British country side. Jo gave some of the big rocks hugs and then we made our way to the Stonehenge. We got stuck in a traffic jam which chewed up most of our tourist time and got there with twenty minutes to spare. This did mean most of the people had already left and we got to share the area with about 30 others. Nice. Afterwards we found a nice ye olde English pub and ate stodgey English food by a cracking ye olde English fire.

Travel is that exotic thing you daydream about while sitting through another pointless office meeting. But in reality, it can sometimes suck, especially when you're sick. Thankfully I have friends and family around feeding me soup and chocolate and not a severe looking Finnish nurse inserting a lubricated hose up my bottom.

Tomorrow it will be 2007. Looking back, the highs and lows of 2006 have cancelled each other out - leaving me feeling a bit empty and a little bonkers. Now that I have the leveling influences of Jo & Craig around, I'm noticing that I have changed subtly since being in Australia.

Here's a short list of what I've learnt this year:

I have a stimulus limit
Travel in Russia is cheap and comfortable
Travel in China is very cheap and uncomfortable
A dozen ways to say hello, thanks and cheers
Relationships with emotional hypochondriacs aren't fun
Bratislava is a city, not a country
Americans aren't all bad
Tear gas does make you cry
Mongolia looks a lot like Australia
China is in no way, shape or form a communist country
what the inside of a pig looks like
Kiddy fiddlers go to jail
Hostels usually suck
Babylon isn't just a cafe in Slovakia
Saturn looks cool through a telescope
My jokes are still bad, even in other languages
Okinawans think that big boobs sharpen you up
There is actually a monkey on the mountain
Lenin looks like something from the House of Wax
English beer is crap
The longest Slovakian word - najnevjpozitavatelnrjsie
In Germany, carrying your passport is the law
The Dutch speak better English than the British

In other news, my Trabant video won me some loot.

Happy New Year

diagrams & equations

On Xmas eve, Jo and I called mum. It was nice to talk to our mummy bear.

I canned my plans for early morning photos at Piccadilly Circus on xmas day. This was mostly due to me not finding the place that interesting (where are the clowns, elephants and trapeze?), but laziness and respect for sleep did play a part. We had a breakfast of bacon and scrambled eggs. The bacon here in England is really juicy and meaty, with bugger all fat.

I played the Christmas Fairy, distributing the gifts from under the tree to their new owners seated around the lounge. No surprises that bub (being her first xmas), received the most presents. I cleaned up, with a fresh supply of bonds undies from Jo & Craig topping the list. Mum gave me a year's subscription to Flickr (my first virtual gift), which was a great choice. While the whole idea of christmas irks me, I still like getting loot. I spent the afternoon reading, counting the indigestion formula commercials on telly - 34. Matt got an Xbox 360 and Gears of War, which we played a co-op mission until 5:30am Boxing day. After sleeping a few hours, Jo, Craig and I went exploring around the Regent street sales. Craig bought some Vans and Jo bought a pair of jeans. At Muji I bought a new notepad, and at Uni Qlo I bought some socks. I am a Japanese brand whore.

Last night I had a dream that someone with the first name of Jean had released a book detailing the crazy ideas of Luke Toop. Every page explored a different Toop idea through diagrams, mathematical equations and shaded in squares of graph paper. Weird.

the loot tree

Last night I ended up hanging out with Phil, a bloke from Adelaide who works here in London as an Accountant. We rode down to Westminster and near Downing street and had an entertaining conversation with a copper with a rather large gun.

Today, on the way back to where I'm spending xmas day, I saw the weirdest thing I've seen in London so far. I was riding along Seven Sisters Road towards Tottenham at about 8:30pm, there were a few cars on the road, but it wasn't busy. Coasting down a hill, I see a guy about 200 metres ahead run out from behind a fence, press the button on a pedestrian crossing and then run back behind the fence. The lights change and the traffic next to me begins to slow down. As I go to get onto the footpath, a white dog runs out from where the guy was, stops in the middle of the road and drops a big poo in front of the stopped traffic. After he finished, he ran back to the spot behind the fence, leaving his fresh package laying in front of the cars, with their lights catching on the steam. My question is how does a person train their dog to do this?

Merry non-religious day together with friends and family, where you swap gifts wrapped in paper decorated with snowmen. And a Happy New Year.

I hope this video puts you in the same calm mood it put me in.

It's been a funny old year.

James Brown is dead..
Total chaos, man it's resurrected

don't believe your reviews - good or bad

Went to the football the other night with Marina, a lass I know from Adelaide. The free seats we got were pretty crap, but at 30 Pound for a regular ticket, I was happy with what I was given. During half time, I went to have a closer look at the pitch, with my cohort joining me after a bit. There we were standing at the edge of the pitch appreciating our new found proximity to the action, when people started flooding back into their seats and the players returned to the field. However, rather than returning to our seats in a galaxy far, far away, we followed the crowd into the more exclusive area where we found a couple of empty seats close to pitch and enjoyed the second half from there.

Afterwards, we went to a little pub in what looked to be a ritzy bit of town. The girl behind the bar was really friendly, saying they had just taken on the business two weeks earlier and that she liked Aussies. We got there about 5 minutes before the end of service and ended up seated at a table with a few of the locals and joined n on the conversation. A rather pissed 40 something guy arced up once he found out we were Australians.

Pissed guy: You fucks come ere on ya 2 year visas, take all the fucking jobs and think you fucking own the joint. Pack of maggots you fucking Australian cunts are.
Me: err.. I'm only here for three weeks, and then I'm off to Ireland.
Pissed guy: Three weeks? How the fuck are you supposed to see anything? Disrespectful cunt.

Can't win, can I?

A bit later, his mate (who really enjoyed the price of steak in Australia but not much else), reminded the pissed guy that he was Scottish and should mind his Ps and Qs. Not wanting to perpetuate the hostilities, I avoided the "My last name is Murphy and I'll be visiting family in Ireland" conversation with these UK lads.

I've been a little spoiled in Austria, Slovakia and Hungary where being an Australian is still a bit of a novelty. "Hey everyone, this guy's from Australian", "Whoa.. Australia.. Kangaroo, Cool". But in this London bar, I felt a bit weird getting an earful about being from Australian. True, they (we), are everywhere in London, but as I pointed out to the twat hurling abuse at me, the same goes for UK travellers in Australia. He had caught me by surprise and taking the bait, I allowed myself to get agitated by what could be at worst described as a bit of drunken shit stirring. Just today, I counted six Australians, plus a group of five Commonwealth Bank cash card toting girls in front of me in the ATM cue, complaining about health issues while bragging about their drinking accomplishments. No novelty there.

The fog here in London is crazy. Yesterday wasn't too bad, but today I couldn't see more than about 400 metres on street level, with the view out of my fifth storey window limited to the side of the neighbouring building. Jo and Craig's plane back from Paris last night was cancelled and BA put them up in a hotel for the evening, flying them out of France at the Butt Crack of 4am this morning. Today, we met up for lunch at Camden Markets and wandered around the shops until we froze. I found 20 Pounds on the footpath, which I used to buy a rather spiffy scarf with. I can't remember the last time I had a scarf (if at all), but it is a welcome addition to my wardrobe / backpack.

vintage tees

Saturday I was on a mission. Matt and Melissa needed to get a car, but couldn't fit in actually buying one between their new baby and working. I volunteered to go to the mechanics, check it out, buy it and drive it back. I rode from their house in Tottenham all the way to the garage in Harrow, about 30km through suburbs, parks and back streets. It was a beautiful, but chilly day and I got to see Finsbury Park, Hampstead Heath, Wembley Stadium and a whole bunch of little places I've heard mentioned on the telly, but never really imagined I'd ever see. Suburb, street, shop and last names which all have different uses back at home. It took almost 3 hours and was a good way to see the northern parts of London.

While waiting for my own Arthur Daley to rock up and take the cash for the car ("I'll be there in 20, I'm just down at the pub and want to finish me pint first"), I sat down and struck up a conversation with Kevin, the 5 year old son of one of the two mechanics. Kevin had just started school, he was hungry and he liked watching his dad fix cars. His dad and his colleague had spentthe better part of the day replacing the "moh-a" on a Rover hatchback, which some "dozy geezer" had blown on the M1, but was paying a packet to get it fixed by 5:30pm. While attaching the final tubes and the finish touches on the engine swap over were being executed, the car sales guy turned up just as the two guys who owned the car did, forming a small audience around the front of the car. Kevin started making little groans and grabbed at his mid section. I asked if he needed to go to the loo, and he said yep. It was at that moment a fire broke out in the engine bay of the Rover. The mechanic under the bonnet starts yelling, "BLOWER.. Get a fuckin blower", as he was blowing at the fire like a 10 year old kid trying to put out the candles on their 76 year old grandfather's birthday cake. Kevin tugs at my sleeve, I look down and see his face, twisted into a tormented expression looking back up at me, with a small yellow puddle forming at his feet. The other mechanic races over with an extinguisher, puts out the flames and then leads Kevin away to the loo while his dad explains the mess to the car's owner. I was waiting for Jeremy Beadle to pop out of from behind the door and say, "'e wasn't expecting that, was 'e?".

On the drive home, I navigated my way across London in about an hour, only missing two turns and surprisingly not seeing any of the expected nightmare traffic. With the roads clear, the scenery new but vaguely familiar and the radio on, I remembered what I like about driving. I'm amazed at what you can get for 500 Quid. A 1996 Ford Mondeo with 52,000 miles on the clock. An idea is stirring. Nah.. Too much hassle.

Today I went to the Camden Markets. It's not just one little back street car park with trestle tables and a handful of hippies selling Nepalese beanies. It's an entire suburb with old factories and mills gutted, filled with stalls, lights, cafes, vintage shops, jewelers and a whole lot of hippies selling Nepalese beanies. It'll take a few visits to see it all, but I might wait until Jo and Craig get back from Paris.

I got free tickets to the Football tomorrow night. Fulham vs Middleborough. Nice one Bruvva.

city limits

London

Big place. Rode a bike I borrowed from Melissa (Craig's sister), to the centre and then around the some of the more famous bits. Surprisingly I felt pretty safe on the roads, but it has been weird swapping back to the left hand side, and I think I pissed a few drivers off with my occasional hesitation.

Big Ben really isn't that big and Westminster seems tiny after Budapest's Parliament. But it's still fairly impressive. The Eye looks cool, but at 20 pound a shot and an hour long wait, I decided against it. I accidentally on purpose found my way onto a guided tour of The Globe, where I got to see where the great unwashed stood. I spent an hour or so riding around the Thames, checking out a few of the little back alleys and side streets. Then I spent the rest of the afternoon at the Tate Modern (having a little unexpected nap on the couches), which I reckon I'll be returning to a few times while I'm here. There's plenty I didn't get a chance to look at, and besides, I've still got to have a turn on the slides.

As expected, prices are at the least double of what they are in Australia, and in some cases four times the price. However, after spending three months in Hungary, where everything is half to a third of the price, the equilibrium of financial karma is catching up.

The weather is scarily beautiful. It's cool but not cold and today there are blue skies and bright sunshine. A nice day to go to the Camden Markets.

Proper foreigners

I realised on Tuesday afternoon that my flight from Bratislava to London was on Thursday.. not Friday. This meant one less day with the guys in Vienna, no going away dinner and no drunken late night conversations. The upside to this was I would see Jo and Craig a week early, as they are due to jet off to Paris for 5 days on Friday, the same day I thought I was meant to arrive. I figured this might make for a good surprise and thankfully it did. I met Craig's sister Melissa, her husband Matt and their new, smiley baby Alexis. It all paned out really well and it's so great to see my sister again after 9 months. Family reunion in isle 5. But as most things that seem to happen on this trip, it's not the destination where the story is, it's the journey.

On the email from Ryanair:

Do not wrap any presents that you are carrying in hand baggage as the wrapping will be removed at security. Merry Christmas from all of us here in Ryanair.

Merry Christmas indeed. Very Un-Australian.

Freshly equipped with my missing day, I did more things in Vienna in one day than I did in three while I was there last time. I bought gifts, had lunch with friends, went to galleries, explored streets and back alleys I missed the first couple of times. Basically I spent an entire day riding around on my bike, saying goodbye to it in the best way possible. Using a borrowed camera, I took more photos of the town I had thought I had already captured and found cool shops I had somehow overlooked last time. I got a bit emotional when I said goodbye, but knew that I would always welcome back to Hirschengasse. I donated Frankenbike to the household, so he wouldn't just be left in some shed gathering dust. Then I grabbed a train to Bratislava and stayed with Radovan again. In the morning I followed a backhanded route to the airport (take the free Ikea bus to the shopping centre, then take the number 61 - which is usually too full for a conductor to operate - to the airport). I gave myself plenty of time and apart from the fully loaded run from Ikea to the 61, my journey to the airport, check in and boarding was all performed with the serenity of a Hindu cow. Taking off in thick fog was cool, because as we got above it, the low cloud carpeted the ground, breaking on the hills around Bratislava like water lapping at the banks of a lake. The flight was uneventful, with Ryanair cutting costs everywhere (some overheard conversations: you mean I have to give back my in flight magazine? Stansted is how far from London? Why is only one toilet working?). As I've had a bit of a stomach ache on and off over the last few days, my only concern was Where's the vomit bag/cheap film processing packet? Too bad if I ever wanted to do both. I wonder if anyone has posted vomit to the film company before..

Arriving in the UK was weird. Signs in English. Only English. I could understand all the announcements. I was able to eavesdrop. The amount of useless information we are presented with in day to day life is only highlighted in the first couple of hours of when you arrive back in familiar territory. But like being confronted with ear splitting rush hour city traffic after a weekend in the country, eventually it all becomes common place background noise. It's been 9 months since I was in an English speaking country. Sure, nearly every young person in Europe speaks English, but the world around them is always in their mother tongue, not mine.

After walking through the labyrinth of Stansted, I finally find my way to immigration. About 200 people are standing ahead of me and they're not moving very fast. Arse. I then notice the 3 different lines: UK citizens, EU citizens and ALL OTHERS. I walk over to the ALL OTHERS line, and there is only two people ahead of me. I walk past the huge queue as if in the VIP line of a nightclub. I felt a bit like royalty or some fancy pants celebrity. I had a big grin on my face and started to whistle Rule Britannia, singing the '6 Chinese crackers up your arse' bit quietly to myself. I get to the big yellow line you stand behind when waiting for the next person to get their passport stamped, a guy hands me a little form and I go fill it in. I then come back and start chatting with him.

me: Ahh.. It's so easy being back in an English speaking country. It's a big relief just to be able to read the signs.
guy: yeah?
me: yeah.. I haven't been in one for about 9 months. and this is my first time in the UK.
guy: Really? you staying in London long?
me: About three weeks. I've heard so much about it and I'm curious what all the fuss is about.
guy: you gotta keep an eye on your wallet though.
me: yeah, I heard the UK was kind of expensive.
guy: nah. Lots of foreigners.
me: (looking at my passport and the guy) What? Like me? I'm a foreigner.
guy: (waving a hand at me as if to say "don't be silly") No. You know.. Proper foreigners.
me: Oh.. you mean the ones that take all the jobs and marry all the women? yeah.. big problem that.
guy: can't trust any of them.. and with this EU thing, so many different people coming and setting up shop here. I dunno.
me: Kind of like reverse colonialism.
guy: erh?
me: All these places occupied or attacked by the British way back when, finally coming back to the "mother land". (exaggerated quotation gesture)
guy: not sure about that. 'ere, mind ya way.

..and he waved me through.

Welcome to the United Kingdom.

In the Nothing to Declare section, there was no one to not declare anything to. I peered around the corner into the Declare section, and again there was no one there either. Later, to prove to myself how open minded I am, I asked a young Muslim woman for directions." 'ang a right at the next lights, then a left and then up a bit 'til you get to the brightly coloured offie and then take a right'. But it wasn't her mouth of marbles British accent which caught me off guard, it was her Calvin Klein branded Hajib which made me double take. No assimilation my arse.

After hanging out with Jo and Craig for a few hours, the last 10 months seems like a dream. While I like to blab about the cool things which are happening to me on this blog, in person I'm fairly reserved about it, holding back on the 'when I was there' stories. I remember around the time I was beginning to think quitting high school to work was a bad idea, I started meeting people who had just returned from their gap year holidays. Their stories of European adventures told with Cockney accents picked up in the transfer lounge at Heathrow really shitted me. I always got jealous, but it wasn't what they told it was how they told it. This lead to me making a promise to myself that if I ever got the chance to travel, I would try not to be a precocious wanker about it when I got back. But if I ever bail you up and start dribbling shit about killing pigs, riding bikes and getting arrested, Andy, the American guy I met in Budapest, felt the way I want everyone who hears/reads my travel stories to feel:

"I'm not jealous. I'm inspired"

Go see the world.

Get off your arse and open your mind. Even if you can only do a bit, see something different to your little world. And if you can't travel, make a friends with someone from another country. Eat something you've never heard of. Catch a random bus somewhere in your town. Talk with someone standing next to you in the bank. Geeze I sound like one of those cheesey life coaches.

I haven't explored the city yet. That's tomorrow.

spinners

one story I forgot to share was the train ride from Budapest to Vienna.

I rocked up to the station the day before to buy a ticket. In the line I met a couple of girls from the States. They were a little flusted with the ticketing situation and through the confusion missed the train they wanted to catch. Bummer. When it came to my turn at the window, the guy spoke enough English and German for me to be able to get my request across, but when it came to getting a ticket for the bike, he said that the train I wanted to catch didn't offer bike tickets. Hmm.. He then added that I should try my luck, put the bike on the train and see what the conductors say. Last time I bought a train ticket from Budapest to Vienna (coming back from Sziget with Gubi in August), the ticket window operator at the station flat out refused to sell me a ticket, making it clear that buying a from the conductor whilst on board was the preferred method. This did lead to an interesting game of "you can pay 22 Euro for a ticket.. or you can pay 10 Euro for no ticket. wink wink. nudge nudge" with the Provodnik preferring to conduct the financial transaction in between the carriages. And here was me thinking Hungary was Central Europe. I think the window girl was getting a cut.

The next day I arrive at the station nice and early, just in case I need to navigate my way through nonsense to get my bike on the train. I made a deal with Andy and Laurie that if for some reason I couldn't take the bike and trailer I would lock it up somewhere near the station and they would give it a good home. I sussed out my options and headed for the front carriage just behind the loco, where I could stash the bike and trailer next to the door causing minimal fuss for the other passengers. I packed it all up, fit it in and received no friction from the guards or coppers. Nice. I find myself an empty compartment next to one occupied by the border patrol police (one of whom shared an uncanny resemblance with Mike Patton), the train departed and my bicycle entourage and I we're on our way to Vienna.

About 15 minutes into the trip, a guy pushing a snacks and drinks cart passes my cabin. I peered out of the door and make sure my stuff isn't in the way. I catch his eye and we exchange nods of reassurance that everything is alright. Another 10 minutes go by and he comes into my compartment and sits diagonally opposite me. I greet him in Hungarian and he greets me back and starts talking to me in Hungarian. I say "Nem Magyr. Igen Anglo." (No Hungarian. Yes English), and he reintroduces himself to me in English. Thomas is in his early thirties, married, lives near an island on the eastern banks of the Donu (Danube), about 20km north of Budapest. He works as a gardener in summer and a train attendant in winter. After the usual pleasantries and him laughing at my piss-poor Hungarian, he asks if I want to share a beer with him. I say yes and he goes back to his trolley and returns with a bottle of czech beer and two cups. He pours out the beers, we mash our plastic cups together (ageshagadre), and I take a sip while he skulls the entire thing. Thomas tells me he likes to drink while doing this job as it is pretty boring and helps to pass the time. The train goes through Kormarno and I see my fort from the Hungarian side of the river. 20 minutes later, we go through Gyor and I see the bridge I made a wrong turn on. It was like watching my bike trip in fast rewind.

After swapping a few travel stories with one another (and me getting a new title of World Patriot), and a couple more beers, Thomas says he has to return to work and leave the cabin. Nice bloke and I wish him well. About 20 minutes later, two burly female conductors stand at the door to my compartment, check my ticket and ask if the bike is mine. I nod and they both enter the compartment, close the door and sit down. For some reason I was reminded of being in (one of), my school principal's office after getting kicked out of class for doing something stupid. They exchanges some weird look and start explaining to me in simple terms "no bikes on this service.... but we can come to some arrangement" - It cost me 2000 Frt, the last of my Hungarian cash and all of my treasured 200 Frt bills I was saving for gifts. Arse. And it was only until the border, when the Austrian conductors took over. However, the Austrian guy checked my ticket, asked if the bike was mine, said it wasn't allowed on the train but because it was out of the way he didn't care and left it at that. No bribes needed.

Catching up with all the dudes at Hirschengasse has been fun. Last night, I was taken along to the birthday bash for a pub, where we talked our way into a room packed with B-list Vienna celebs and a shitload of free food (caviar, little schnitzels, salmon), spread over about 5 tables. Nice one. After that, Petra and I met up with Kathia and we headed to the Cuban club where some fairly atrocious yet entertaining dancing may or may not have been performed by me.

I've started drinking coffee again. This time things aren't bad. I'm sleeping ok and not feeling like shit anymore. I guess not dreaming about of getting shot in the face, having a car accident and over excited squirrels helps me to sleep better. Frankenbike is being donated to Hirschenasse as a house bike. I'm sad that this part of the journey is over and that I have to leave my new friends behind. But the post-travel comedown can wait. London is almost here.

Österreich

After almost 3 months riding around Slovakia and Hungary, I'm back in Austria. It's strange to feel so at home in a place that isn't my own country. The weather here is unseasonably warm, with none of the snow I was promised three months ago. When I got into Vienna, I dumped my stuff at Hirschengasse and headed to MQ to kill some time before the others got back. Where I found the big red blocks which had been used as seats in summer had been stacked on top of each other and turned into a bar serving hot wine and Schnapps. Then I met up with the Hospitality Club member I organised to stay with before the Hirschengasse kids offered their couch.

Now I'm in Berndorf hanging out with the Wildberger, the family which adopted me on my first ride through Austria. Yesterday, Paul took me to the nearby driver training course where I got to drive the family's Nissan around the course. Last night we cooked up a big soup and Clara invited a few friends around. Much laughs were had.

This afternoon, I head back to Vienna to hang out with the Hirschengasse household.

Did you know that Margaret Thatcher is partly responsible for modern Ice Cream?

A video for Austria

The Good, The Bad and the Weird News

Bad news
Lost my camera. I went and bought stuff at a shop, put the groceries in my backpack, the camera on top of the groceries and closed the bag. I returned back to where I'm staying and found my bag was slightly open, with the camera and a banana AWOL. Arse.

Good news
I have insurance, so I will be able to get something new and shiny. Camera that is. I haven't seen many shiny bananas lately. I had just cleaned the card of the days photos and my 50mm is still safe. This has also put me in the situation where I am forced to use the video camera more than just the occasional shot of my bike, which I have taken on. Plus I've been offered the loan of another camera until I can get a replacement. While reporting the loss to the police, I met another Aussie in the police station who had also just lost his camera.

Weird news
In the police station, Richard (the other Australian), and I got talking to an old Hungarian lady who spoke pretty good English. She told us about how Jesus spoke to her in a Russian prision cell back in 1951, how the Jews can be blamed for all the bad things in the world (even the Holocaust), that the gypsies are theiving bastards and how nobody really understands her. Refreshing stuff.

I went to the "Chinese markets" here in Budapest. Run mostly by Vietnamese, Thai and Turkish, with a smattering of Hungarian and Romanian. It isn't exactly Chinese, but most of the crap sold there is. These markets are bigger than any of the places I visited in China, taking up two large blocks of old soviet factories and rail yards along opposites sides of one of the main roads out of Budapest. One side is made up of 6 huge warehouses and the other is a 1km stretch of Shopping Shanty town constructed from shipping containers and tents. While browsing the markets, I got the feeling that cheap plastic stuff was not the only gear being sold there. A few observations the sketchy goings on at the market: 1. What at first looked like a friendly hug between two friends greeting each other, was (when viewed close enough), revealed a slide of hand exchange between internal jacket pockets. 2. A group of big guys, standing around two guys sitting down, smoking a water pipe and holding a bag. The bag was filled with a 20cm thick wad of bills, ranging from USD, Euro, GBP, FRT. No exaggeration, he was holding around $150,000 in cash. It was the most amount of money I've seen outside of a bank. I figured I might get a surreptitious video of their jovial conversation, but as I was un-slinging my bag to set up the shot, I caught sight of the two guns hanging inside one of the big dude's jackets. No video taking from the tourist closest to you. 3. There were several second hand mobile phone stalls, which consisted of the usual ratty old phones, with brand spankers hidden in amongst them. One that stuck out was this Nokia I had never seen before, and on closer inspection found the sticker behind the battery indicating it was a prototype, it had been made in Finland and that it was not to be resold. I found another stall with the same model and assumed they were fake. I fired this one up, and it worked fine. I checked on the net later on, and it was a real phone, just not scheduled for release until sometime next year.

The warehouse section of the markets bore more resemblance to a fortified bikie compound than a market place for cheap plastic toys. Cameras everywhere, big dudes with CBs on all corners and a continual stream of nondescript white delivery vans coming and going. Looking for the loo, I wandered around the back of the main shopping building and caught a glimpses of the staff car park, in one of the warehouses situated behind. Mercedes, BMW, Porsche, Ferrari, Hummer, etc.. Hmm.. I'm guessing these aren't bought with the profits of Nike ripoffs, mobile phone covers and yiros.

I did pick up a soldering iron and solder for 500 Frt ($3.70) and managed to fix my wifi finder with it. Sweet.

Other news
Saying goodbye to a bunch of Hugarians I've been hanging out with has been difficult. I need to keep my promise to them (and myself), to come back.

The Budapest baths are still awesome.

Andy and I, being the nerds we are, sat down for a couple of hours the other night and put together an Instructables on the cigarette box flash diffuser thing-a-ma-jig.

Not sure what to buy people for Christmas. Seeing I think the whole idea of it is a joke, maybe some little souvenirs. Hope you're happy with your coal.. Bah Humbug.

My mum sent me a brief family history and I find out my great, great grandfather was killed by a piano falling on him, in London, 1896. Comedy does run in my family.

Nutella

The biggest jar of Nutella I've ever seen. When bought new, it contains 3 kilos of sugary goodness and after holding this almost empty jar for about a minute, I became diabetic.

does my head look big in this?

This was taken by Marcell Mizik, the Hungarian photographer I had the pleasure of staying with during my stay in Esztergom. He and his photo mates met up in Budapest the other night and there. Until about 3 days ago, he worked exclusively with old skool film. Now that he has a digital shooter, he tells me he's shot more photos in the last couple of days than he would have normally done in a month. I know pretty much all professional photographers now use digital, but I still think someone who uses film and prints their own shots is a real photographer. He has just signed up for a Flickr account, so check out his awesome photos here.

Friday night was iceskating night for Su and I. The Hungarian National Art Museum celebrated its 100th birthday last week by shouting everybody to free iceskating. Well, not entirely free. I still had to rent the skates, but that was only $4. It's been about 10 years since I last went iceskating, which ended with me falling flat on my face and receiving 4 stitches in my chin. And seeing that ice is snowboarder's number one enemy, you can probably understand the abject fear I had during the first couple of laps of the rink. But all was good and my only falls weren't serious. I eventually remembered how to do it (stop trying to walk and just glide), and by the end of the night, while I was still wobbly, I wansn't as afraid of dying as I had been at the beginning.

Afterwards, we rode over to the square in front of the museum where a Hungarain Pink Floyd cover band played for a handful of people. The dancing from the back up singers was second to none (imagine milking a giant cow), and the exuberant smoke machine filled the stage with so much haze it was difficult to see the band at times. Then we headed to Szimpla, where we made flowers from cigarette packet linings and chatted with a group of guys from a hostel. There is a totally different attitude which goes with staying in hostels, something, which after doing the couchsurfing thing, i may find difficult to warm to again. But it looks fun.

The last couple of days have been pretty chilled. I've had a chance to log some of my video footage, finding a whole bunch of stuff that I forgot I had. I've also had a good dig around the interwebs, catching up on news back at home, forming an opinion about stuff that's happening 14,000km away. But here's my two bobs worth: Every person I have spoken to about Australian politics thinks the ALP are mad to keep putting Kim Beazley up after he has lost twice already. I agree. Go Rudd. I'm listening to ABC News Radio as I type this and apparently we are minutes away...

Here's a nice political quote..

"It was a straight-out lie, lie, lie, by the prime minister. He (is) so used to getting away with telling lies, so protected is he with the paraphernalia of government, so drunk with power has he grown after 12 years in office, so believing has he become in his own infallibility and so authoritarian has he become that that is how he behaves."

John Howard talking about Paul Keating in June 1995.

I've been sent a Hungarian video which I swear features George Negus - but not just one George Negus. No. There's two. An old and a young version laughing about something in Hungarian. Can someone offer a translation maybe? What is the plural of George Negus? George Negii? Anyway.. I forget who I gave my framed, signed circa 1981 George Negus photo to when I left, but whoever you are.. Keep it safe and don't sell it on eBay.

Queen came to Budapest back in the 1980s. It's cool to see that they made an effort for the Hungarians by singing one of their folk songs, plus Freddy Mercury is petrified when he starts performing it to the crowd. Last time I heard about Queen, Brian May (or his twin brother), lives in Norwood. I've not done much travelling before this, but seeing the streets where they drove through and the stadium they played in, I was thinking to myself; "hey, I've been there.. I know where that is". It's a cool feeling.

Today for lunch, Su and I cooked up Latcho (?), which is paprika, onion, tomato and egg. We watched Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead, and once it finished, Su asked for the two hours the movie took from her life back. Maybe I should have bought the Snowboarding Monkey movie instead. Tonight I caught up with Vera and we went to Szimpla for a quite drink, where I bumped into Jodi the Kiwi again. Looks like tomorrow night we're having a little dinner party. Yay.

Harold from Neighbours produced Prisoner. Wow.. Even Vinegar Tits would be surprised with that gem of trivia.

update: Rudd wins. Thank fuck for that. However, if Beazley had sounded as genuine as he did during his own eulogy press conference than he did in his entire term as opposition leader, he may have been PM by now.

our days are numbered

Pinch and a Punch..

fark.. it's December.

Having not found any place to stay while in Sorpon, I’m still in Budapest and it looks like a direct train to Austria is on the cards. Which is a shame, as Frankenbike and I are coming to the end of our time together and I wouldn’t mind getting another trip in before saying goodbye. Plus, Sopron is supposed to be really nice and is an easy day’s ride to Berndorf. But what to do with Frankenbike once I leave for London? I’ve been offered a storage place in Vienna, so you never know, I might just come back to him next year sometime. Frozen fingers crossed I can get my hands on a bike in London.

Andy and Laurie had some peeps from Montana (I'm Rick Steves, Bitch!!), stay for a couple of nights. They were laid back folk with chilled out attitudes and for me it was great being in a group of people where everyone understood one another. Aside from almost everyone in Montana owning a gun (for hunting), with its wide open spaces and snow covered mountains sounds like my kind of place. After meeting a few more Americans, I’m beginning to get a feeling to visit the US and disprove all the stereotypes which have built up in my head. Although, one American I’ve met on this trip said that all the good ones aren’t in America anymore, so I shouldn’t hold my breath.

On Wednesday, I met up with Mizik and his photography mates at Café Szimpla (not to mistaken with the Szimpla pub around the corner). Mizik had just picked up his new machine, a Canon 30D, along with some fairly nice lenses and a big fuckoff flash unit. Hmm.. camera tech. After Szimpla, we went to a gallery/pub place full of arty types, met a few more of Mizik’s friends and discovered where Robert Menzies' eyebrows went after his death. Andy met up with us around 11 and Pálinka Nick made an appearance later in the evening. When Mizik and his mates left, they gave me a really nice farewell and I feel I will always have some good friends here in Hungary.

On the subject of good Hungarian friends, I caught up with Su from Vesprem last night. She has now moved to Budapest and she is enjoying the challenge of her new job, but was really tired. She joined me and the gaggle of Americans for dinner, afterwards making our way to Kuplung for a few beers. There was a band playing and Andy spotted the sound tech using a soldering iron to fix stuff with, and I borrowed it while he went off to grab a sandwich and coke. The soldering irons here are weird and rather than finishing in a point, they have a loop of wire with a different alloy at the bend which heats up when current is passed through it. Not that great for repairing small electronics and it didn’t do the job, but still the first time I’ve watched a Hungarian Ska band and attempted to solder things. Afterwards I met up with Vera, who finished work at 12:30 and we caught up on the week’s events. It looks like Canada is no longer on the cards for her and will give Ireland a shot next May sometime.

This weekend Andy has gone to Amsterdam, Laurie’s off to Vienna and Vera is headed to Szombathely, so I’ve got two apartments to myself. Nice. I’ve offered to keep Vera’s cat Maci (Little Bear), company and Andy & Laurie’s internet connection busy.

Having just replaced my hot drink of choice to tea, I haven’t had coffee for a few days now and surprise, surprise.. I’m sleeping better, I have more energy and am looking healthier. When I go out at night, I don’t fade into a delirious mess around 11pm and can actually have fun without booze.

In short:

I’ve learnt some more Hungarian and now I can say some fairly authentic sounding insults to people. I think I’m going through a Johnny Cash phase. I’ve cheered up over the last few days. I found myself in the rail yards of one of the stations here in Budapest. I saw an old school typographer doing his work in a workshop surrounded by thousands of Hungarian metal font boxes. After a series of tests, the RAM in my laptop looks like it's casuing the freezing up and crashing. Arse. I'm still unsure what the third ingredient in Vera's 3-in-1 Shampoo and Conditioner is, but I'm going to find out.

Tonight, Su and I meet up and go outdoor ice-skating near the museum district. Hope I don’t need stitches like I did last time I went ice-skating. Wee haa..