Interrailing (Day 5)

After the pub crawl, getting up at 9am was all kinds of heavy. But before leaving Prague, we had the great idea of visiting Prague castle so we left our bags in the hostel and got going. It wasn't long before we came to regret our decision. Prague castle is located at the the top of a hill with a very steep incline. Had we fully grasped this earlier, we probably wouldn't have attempted it at 9am after a 7 hour pub crawl but nevertheless we were committed.

Sweating vodka, we trudged up the streets swearing at any tourists who dared cruise past us on segways. (Seriously though, who does that?) Eventually we made it, having lost what felt like half of our body in water weight.Yet within three seconds, the effort of the walk was forgotten as we viewed the panorama of Prague. The rest of our time in Prague passed quickly as we explored the castle and cathedral, got creeped out by the castle guards, bought a McDonald's and made our way to the train station where we sprawled out on the floor to do some more people judging watching as we waited for a train to take us to Austria. In comparison to our last train, this one was bliss. Spacious, cool and clean we lay back and were whisked away to Vienna.

Em and I arrived in Vienna quite far out of the centre that evening. We found the hostel which was nice enough if not a little too big. We were shown to a 4-bed room with no sign of other guests so laid out our clothes on the top bunks and prepared the bottom ones for sleeping.

With the horrors of yesterday's dinner still rancidly steaming in our memories, we thought it would be a good time to treat ourselves to our first meal out. On exploring the area we came to realise that we were in the heart of what seemed to be the Turkish quarter of Vienna. We also discovered that most places were already closing at 10pm.

We finally managed to find a cheap but friendly-looking place that did pizza but unfortunately did not do the English language. Despite the language barrier, we managed to get a table and order...

... It was only then we realised that everyone was staring at us and we realised that we were the only white people in there. Definitely in the Turkish area.

There were no other groups of solely women in the place and most of the women were wearing headscarves. Em and I were tremendously thankful that we'd put on long sleeves and tights before we'd gone out. Two 18 year old white females going out for dinner at 10pm would have been odd enough without the added oddity of short shorts and vests.

As we were paying, one chef asked (I'm assuming it was a question) "Brittania?" so we excitedly confirmed this with a "yes - Liverpool." A waiter then chipped in with "Steven Gerrard!" and we laughed. Then another man (they were fascinated) said "Man United" so we booed and left.

Our room was dark when we got back and when we turned on the lights we were greeted by two load groans. We turned the lights off immediately and crept into the room. Two girls were occupying the top bunks and had evidently taken all of our clothes from the beds and chucked them on the floor. Cheers girls. Needless to say we immediately disliked them but they left early the next morning before we had a chance to snarl at them. We never actually saw their faces.. only their knickers.. and that was more than enough.

Interrailing (Day 4)

Due to the fact that there was absolutely no natural light whatsoever entering our underground dorm (only weird red atmospheric lamps), Em and I both woke up utterly disorientated. After asking our Swedish roomies the time, we discovered it was midday! Woops..

Then as true Brits, we embraced Praguish culture by going to Tesco's to do a food shop. Since we didn't understand Czech, we had to take a gamble on the water bottles... and lost. It was fizzy. Ew.

For the rest of the day, we wandered around getting a feel of Prague. As hipster travellers, we felt that most of the tourist traps were too mainstream so we stepped off the beaten track to quieter roads. So after crossing over Charles Bridge (a must-see), admiring street artists and the like, we stumbled upon a John Lennon Wall and pub! Scouse.

Crossing back over the river, we went to Old Town Square in search of the astronomical clock. 1 hour later there was still no sign of the damn clock so we sat dejectedly on the curb eating our Tesco sandwiches and doing some more people-judging watching. It was only after getting up from finishing our food that we realised that we'd been sitting with our backs to the enormous astronomical clock the WHOLE time.

So we made it back to our hostel after our exploration and thought we'd cook up some pasta in the hostel kitchen. What happened after this was awful.

First off we had a look in the fridge. Big mistake. I think I could see living organisms growing inside it. There were plates of uncovered, half-eaten food stacked up and dripping down the sides. Random slices of bread were strewn over everything as if someone had been practising their aim. 

Finding a pan proved to be a challenge and the only one we could find had been abandoned with congealed macaroni in the bottom. After severely sterilising the unhallowed utensil, we finally got our pasta going.

But I'm sad to say that things only got worse as we were cooking the pasta.

A guy came in with a pan and cooked a huge batch of spaghetti. He then dolloped half of it on a plate. After SMOTHERING the spaghetti in ketchup he went to eat. Weird but acceptable.

Then the guy returned after eating. He fished out the pan with the other half of the spaghetti and flopped the congealed and still piping-hot mess onto another plate and proceeded to STICK IT STRAIGHT IN THE FRIDGE. Not covered, not waiting for it to cool, not stirred. Just a hot globule of spaghetti. And this is the same fridge I described before.

After he left, we opened the fridge and could see the teetering plate giving off steam. Vile. But that wasn't the end of it...

A few minutes later, the guy's friend walked in. He fished the plate out of the ungodly fridge, put it straight into the microwave, then smothered it in ketchup and ate it. Absolutely vile.

Understandably, we were completely put off our own food but we knew we had to eat before heading out on a Prague pub crawl that we had booked onto earlier with the Belfastians.

Our stomachs still churning after "spaghetti-gate", we made our way to the Belfastians' lovely hostel and were yet again greeted warmly by the owners who warned us against mixing drinks. The dream team reunited, we made our way to the pub crawl along with two guys who claimed that they were from Liverpool. They were from New Brighton. (Have a look on Google maps.)

This pub crawl was immense. A free t-shirt. Unlimited free vodka shooters, absinthe (it burned the soul), wine and beer for the first hour. We seriously mixed some drinks. 4 bars and ridiculous conversation later ("Andy Murray plays badminton"), we (except 2 of our team) made it to the largest club in Central Europe. It was unbelievably amazing until both mine and Em's shoes broke and my shorts ripped. A creepy teenager who "looked like Jesus" kept following us around so a large part of our time in the club was spent running around the different floors "avoiding Jesus". Bare-foot and exhausted, we made the pilgrimage to KFC and shared an emotional bargain bucket as we said goodbye to our Belfastian friends. The next morning it was time to move on.

Interrailing (Day 3)

So we'd thoroughly nailed Berlin and now it was time to move on. But before leaving Berlin, Em and I visited Checkpoint Charlie, despairing at the huge McDonald's situated right on the spot of the historic landmark... and then guilt-eating away our own hypocrisy with Twix Mcflurrys.

Then it was time for the 12:46 train to Prague! Us, and the rest of the interrailing peasants were herded into the stuffy train corridors with no room to move and no room to breathe. But me and Em pride ourselves on being problem solvers so it wasn't long before we were sneaking into an air-conditioned and oasis-like reserved compartment where we immediately made friends with a group of Irish girls who were doing the same thing. Sadly this peace ended abruptly when we were sternly ousted from the compartment by an angry 8 year old Asian boy and his apologetic mother.

We rejoined the rest of our kind in the crammed corridor as people tried in vain to find friends and seat reservations. A particularly memorable moment for me was when an angry, determined, large German man who, despite the lack of feasible passage, went on to barge, prod, shove and swear his way through our ranks. I genuinely had to hold my breath as he elbowed me in the stomach to increase his momentum. Very pleasant.

But before long all this was forgotten as we nestled into our sweaty corridor amongst our fellow interrailers who WERE ALL IRISH. I think that the whole of the Irish youth must have planned a mass exodus to central Europe during summer 2013 because they were EVERYWHERE. One guy from Dublin, who was incredibly difficult to understand, talked about the beauty of post-it notes but soon left us at the sight of an empty chair. Yet all in all, the time passed fairly quickly, especially when we got talking to a group of people from Belfast. And as the train pulled into Prague Station, we were exchanging email addresses with the intention of going out together that night.

Passing absintherie after absintherie, we made it to our hostel and were shown to our 10 bed dorm. We must have delved 2 storeys below ground level (accompanied by a severe temperature drop) before we finally found our freezing, bare-bricked, windowless and doorless (there was a curtain) room. It reminded me of a winery, except that fine and aged wine was replaced by less fine and less aged travellers. For example, the two Swedish guys in our room who looked about 15 and sat in the room THE WHOLE TIME listening to Euro-trash and playing chess on their phones. They really needed to get a life some fresh air.

Em drew a WONDERFUL map to the Belfastians' hostel and we headed out. Their hostel was amazing, cheap, and the owners were lovely. Once we told them the hostel we were staying in, the owner replied "yes your hostel is bad." We bought in wonderfully cheap pre-drinks and food and cracked out the card games in their fabulous and luxurious and pleasant (we weren't envious at all...) hostel.

Our first night out in Prague began with 3 of us desperate for the toilet whilst we all roamed around looking for a club and arguing over the factors of safety and proximity. Proximity won the day as we hurried past a scary-looking scantily-dressed woman dancing on a podium by a club door. We then got in a dubious lift (I don't know it just was) which took us up to the actual club.

It was our first night out in central Europe and we quickly ascertained: good DJs, decent enough music... and horrific dancing. Here's a quick list of the people we interacted with:

• Wannabe Channing Tatum: this guy honestly thought he was in Step Up and writhed around the floor a lot.
• Sandy at the end of Grease: she had come to the club alone in what looked like a black swimming costume.
• Romeo and Juliet: they thought that if they stopped dry humping for even a second, they'd die. EW.
• The Dad Dancer: you know the one - tall, bald and flailing. Except this one also wore sunglasses.. at night.. inside.

And all these people were drawn to us like moths to a flame because we were CLEARLY the best dancers in da house. After feeling we'd represented Britain fantastically, we proudly made the obligatory 3am trip to McDonald's and walked back to the hostel, marvelling at the ease of flat shoes.

Interrailing (Day 2)

Apart from being woken up at 5am when the two English girls came back steaming drunk fairly quietly, Em and I slept soundly until the morning. We said goodbye to the two Israeli guys who were moving along to their next destination but not before having a heated discussion about the best starter Pokemon. (bulbasaur obviously.) Then we went out to explore the area around our hostel and to find the nearest shop. The nearest shop turned out to be a Netto...

..After fleeing from the nearby Netto, it was time for sightseeing. Optimistically, we decided on walking to Berlin's city centre. Although strenuous, the walk turned out to be fruitful as we meandered through the Tiergarten and technology area whilst also seeing the Reichstag and Brandenberg Gate. At the Brandenberg Gate upon recommendation from Em's dad we bought a currywurst each and this powderful deliciousness definitely replenished our energy.

Currywursts devoured, we queued in an irritatingly short line for an irritatingly long time to book a free visit to the top of the Reichstag, only to found out that it was just the terrace open as the famous dome was being cleaned for A WHOLE WEEK. (Honestly, I could have done the job with some Dettol wipes in a day.) But anyway, we booked to go later that day so set off on our favourite method of transport across the city to see the last remains of the Berlin Wall.

The contrast between the two areas of Berlin was immediately noticeable as we left the gleaming office buildings and bustle behind. I'm not suggesting that the eastern bit was the slums or anything, it just felt different. We sat down on some grass next to the wall and river and enjoyed being serenaded by a horse-headed guitarist playing ACDC (yes this did happen, no we weren't stoned). But speaking of stoned, our neighbours on the patch of grass were a bunch of teenage boys who we watched try and roll a joint for a good half an hour. We then stumbled across a sign for a beach bar called Yaam and thought we'd have a look. Feeling sand under our feet, listening to some reggae and smelling A LOT of weed, we wandered through the open-air bar reflecting on the pleasantry of this drug-themed hour of our day.

We passed the time waiting for our Reichstag visit by getting utterly lost back at our hostel (an old nunnery) and marvelling at the stamina of German nuns. Realising we had no food for the next day, Em and I begrudgingly dragged our feet to Netto with the self-justification that carrying the shopping back in M&S bags meant that it didn't really count. For dinner that night, we somehow managed to find a kitchen we'd barged into earlier and microwaved our Uncle Ben's rice. Much to the confusion and disgust of two German girls who were cooking fresh pasta and sauce, we ate straight out of the bags. But their looks of pity soon turned to envy as we threw away our packets and left, leaving them to wash up their pans and plates.

We took a train (surprising I know) back to the Reichstag and since we were early, settled down on a bench in a square by the Brandenburg Gate and some fountains. It was early evening by then and much of the bustle of the day had ended as we soaked up the warm evening and mellow tunes of a nearby saxophonist. This probably doesn't sound special but for me it was pretty darn BOSS, just lying there people-watching. NB: when Em and I say people-watching, we mean people-judging.

The Reichstag itself had full on airport security and we made it through, chatting to a nice guy from Orlando. Up on the terrace, we looked at the beautiful panoramic views of Berlin and the horrible view of bad German male haircuts. The leafy Tiergarten looked out of place in the concrete landscape, much like the teenager's quiff looked out of place on his shaved head. (You can't even comprehend how proud I am of that simile.)

Back in our hostel room, we chatted to the two English girls and said hello to three new Asian girls. The Asians really didn't help the stereotype, keeping to themselves and packing and repacking their stuff numerous times in between checking their iPads. The last bed in our room was claimed by a quiet guy from Cape Cod who said about five words before we all went to bed. Understandably so, I think he must have been overwhelmed by the overpowering stench of feet and oestrogen in our room.

My Experience of Interrailing (Day 1)

I have a genuine excuse for my lack of posts over the past fortnight - My friend Em and I have been interrailing through Europe! (Check out interrailing here http://www.interrail.eu/)

Since this was a completely new experience for us, I thought that I would write down our adventures as we went along and now share them with you through posts for each day. Hopefully this saga might encourage you to try travelling too and even entertain you just a smidgen...

Our flight from Liverpool to Berlin was on the 8th of July and as we boarded the plane, Em and I were hit by the sudden realisation that we were totally unprepared. All we had with us were vague directions to our pre-booked hostel in Berlin and our booking for a Venice hostel on the 19th of July (plus essentials like knickers, ID and Berocca). The response from EVERY single person, including my hairdresser, who we told about our trip to "stay safe" and not "go off with strangers" still ringing in our ears, we buckled our seatbelts and wondered how we were going to survive the next fortnight by ourselves.

The man sitting next to us on the flight only exacerbated our fears by telling us how "brave" we were to be travelling alone so we silenced him with the gift of some Bitsa Wispa and tried to calm our pulsing hearts. What were we letting ourselves in for?

We arrived in Germany at around 9:30pm and headed for our first train journey. Not wanting to use up one of our 10 days of unlimited train travel, we pressed random buttons on the ticket machine until we came up with the cheapest ticket and bought that, hoping for the best. If the ticket turned out to be invalid, we agreed it would be best to pull the old "me English sorry no comprendey" gaff until we were left alone. Luckily, no such trouble passed and we made it to the hostel 3 trains later at around 11:30pm.

Neither of us had stayed in a hostel before so we didn't know what to expect as we entered our 8 bed mixed dormitory. Two girls greeted us whilst we claimed our bunks and it turned out that they lived 40 minutes from where we come from - definitely a pleasant surprise with which to ease into hostel life. They inquired after our ages and immediately groaned, claiming that they were "the oldest people in Europe" at 24 and 25 years old.

More pleasant greetings soon followed as two Israeli 19 year old guys entered with pizza and shared it with us. The two girls from England got ready to go out as Em and I chatted to the two Israeli guys in the common room. After disclosing that we were from Liverpool, we were met with a thickly Hebrew-accented but touching rendition of You'll Never Walk Alone and the chatting continued in the same bizarre but friendly manner.

When an argument started on the subject of which guy's sister was hotter, Em and I made are excuses and went to bed, slightly more pacified than we had been a few hours earlier. 

Our interrailing trip had begun...

Toaster Problems

Sorry for lack of posting recently. I finished my exams a week ago and thought I would have more time to write but I was a very busy bee...

... until my toaster broke.

Anyone that knows me will understand what a massive catastrophe this was.

A couple of days ago my friends and I went out on the raz / lash / pull / graft etc. (i.e. we frequented Liverpool after dark) and there's nothing that I like better after a late night than some golden brown buttery goodness the next morning. So this is what I had.

After deciding that three pieces of toast was not nearly enough, I got out some more bread. (Granary for the win) I placed my plate carefully on the surface nearest to the toaster to reduce the wafting and therefore cooling of the toast. I readied my knife in the butter next to my plate in order to optimise melt capacity. I was all set. I got out the bread and slotted it into my beautiful four-slotted beast. I set the dial to 2/7 because burnt toast is for losers and people who don't understand the beauty of the world. I did one last check of my preparations and pushed the lever down...

... all the electricity in my house switched off.

No joke.

The trip switch had done its irritating job of ensuring everyone's safety because the fuse in my toaster had blown. My dad went to reset the trip switch and everything returned to relative normality.

I think this was when I began the experiencing The Five Stages of Grief because I was completely in denial of the fact that my beautiful appliance had broken. I pushed down the lever on the toaster again and...

... all the electricity in my house switched off... again.

By this point, my dad, brother and friend were understandably getting annoyed at me as dad lumbered off to do the trip switch again.

My friend remembered we could do toast on the grill in the oven but this is when the second stage of grief kicked in - anger. I was FUMING (angry) that I would have to subject my bread to the ugly burn lines of the oven grill and I became even more worked up when I realised I wouldn't be able to get my bagels to remain soft on the outside but toasted on the inside if I used my oven. Nope, I was not happy.

Then boom. Next came bargaining. I went back over to the toaster and used the extent of my scientific knowledge to unplug it and plug it again. I even fiddled with the wire at the back. It couldn't be broken, not after all the good times and the bad times I'd shared with it. Maybe we could swap the wires with the microwave. Surely something could save it. But alas, no.

This is when waves of depression washed over me like the Mersey on a stormy day. What was I going to do without my beloved and trusted appliance? What would we do with the breadcrumbs it had meticulously been collecting in the tray at the bottom for years? I couldn't imagine finding another toaster like it. This was the end of an era... a warm, toasted, buttery era.

It was only yesterday morning that I finally gained acceptance of what had happened. Mum and dad, realising that I couldn't cope for long in this limbo state with no proper toast, rushed out to Costco and I woke up to find a new chrome machine placed precisely where my old friend had been. It was a gut-wrenching moment but it was inevitable.

I know one day I'll look back at all the fond memories I've shared with my old toaster, but at the moment it's still too raw... like my bread. I haven't been able to bring myself to use the new toaster yet even though I understand this day will come soon.

But until that day,

RIP my old faithful toaster, you've served me well. I hope you're having fun in that great kitchen in the sky.

Keep toasting.

x

That's all for now, folks.

Fast & Furious 6 (2013)

IMDB.com summary:

Hobbs has Dom and Brian reassemble their crew in order to take down a mastermind who commands an organization of mercenary drivers across 12 countries. Payment? Full pardons for them all.

Now let's be honest, plot really isn't the be all and end all in a Fast & Furious film. In fact, it's not really important at all. Any resemblance to narrative merely serves as an underfed milkmaid who is obliged to milk the bursting udder of the cow of bombast for all it's worth but who gets none of the rewards. (I don't know why I'm using a cow metaphor, I'm sorry about that.) So yes, just ignore that metaphor... and the whole plot.

The same can be said for the script. One perfect example goes something like this:
Person 1: "Be careful!" *dramatic pause* Person 2: "This is who we are."
Phwoar.
The dialogue is only really there because something has to fill the gaps between the action scenes. Usually this filler takes the form of a romantic scene.... again, it is perfectly acceptable to ignore these and I have to say that they do drag the film out time-wise more than is necessary.

Having already seen the rest of the franchise, I still couldn't remember the names of any most of the gang. Any characterisation is irrelevant although there is some enjoyable banter between Ludacris and Tyrese Gibson.

Now let's get onto the crucial stuff. Cars. More cars. Cars racing. Sweat. And enough baby oil to ensure that The Rock is suitably saturated for the duration of the film. Beautiful and ostentatious escapism at its finest, ladies and gentlemen. There is also the added bonus of seeing the gang racing through a different city - this time it's London and the spectacle is incredible. As ever, there is the obligatory underground racing scene... (because of course every major city in the world has one, right?) In true Fast & Furious fashion, these scenes are visually stunning, and make it worth the money. The film never fails to try something even more unbelievable than the previous action sequence. I'd love to contemplate a particular favourite part of mine but all I'll say is that the whole cast from now on must only be known as The Flying Squirrels.

So in summary: don't watch it with the expectation of being intellectually challenged.

Watch it with the expectation of getting more than your money's worth for a film with the title "Fast & Furious 6".

That's all for now, folks.