Sunday at the Western Wall, Old Jerusalem

Bethlehem to Tel Aviv

I'm back in Tel Aviv for a night. Jerusalem was a blast. Back on Sunday night I hung around at home playing Dance Dance Revolution and had cornchips and beer for dinner. Yesterday I went out early to see Bethlehem. It's really very close to Jerusalem, but getting there involved first a long-ish walk to the Old Town, then a 20-minute ride on an "Arab bus" from the "Arab Bus Station" to the checkpoint on the border between Israel and Palestine. I showed my passport and was waved through quickly. On the other side of the huge wall there's a flock of yellow taxis and I went with the first driver to approach me. His name was "Wally". He showed me a brochure of all the holy sites around Bethlehem and I told him that I only wanted to see the basic three: The Church of the Nativity, the Milk Grotto, and the Shephards' Field. We agreed on a price - 150 shekels: pretty steep but I was told to expect this and I could see he wasn't going to go much lower. So we drove off to the Shephards' Field. It was alright. Then we drove the Milk Grotto. It was pretty cool. Along the way Wally pointed out a big Jewish settlement on the Palestinian side of the border - an illegal landgrab that's heavily fortified and protected by Israeli military forces... These settlements cause so much grief and the majority of Israelis seem to be totally against them, but there's that lunatic fringe who believe in their God-given right to occupy the land... Ugh... The Church of the Nativity - built on the site of the manger where Jesus was born - is by far the biggest attraction in Bethlehem. It's apparently the oldest church in the world, now a sprawl of linked buildings from different periods of time. It's an interesting place, and obviously a very significant site for the busloads of awestruck Christian tourists who were there. I bought some olive-wood rosary beads for Grandma from Wally's cousin, who had a workshop nearby. Back at the checkpoint again and I take my wallet out to pay for the ride. "Okay, so, 150 shekels..." I say. Then Wally gets ugly. "Um, what? What is this 150 shekels? It is 150 shekels for you to see three places. I also drive you back to the checkpoint. It is 100 shekels from church to checkpoint." And I realise too late that I should have spelled this out to begin with. He's milking me ruthlessly. I said I wouldn't pay more than 150. He said he could take me to the police if I wanted. After some squabbling I say I'll give him 200 and nothing more. So I pull out some shekels and he's all like "Oh, and now you will pay me with Jewish money! You are my friend and you offend me like this with Jewish money! In Palestine Jewish money is no good!" (this is bullshit of course: it's the only money they have) I start to get out of the car but he's making such a scene that I expect to be arrested or something. I say goodbye and he just warns me "Oh, this is not good for you! Not good for you!" I was feeling rattled as I walked up the ramp to the checkpoint. It's a shame that my 90 minutes in Palestine was spent with a hostile taxi driver visiting the standard tourist attractions. I would have liked to get a better feel for the place. From the car window it looked poor, but not very different to Arab East Jerusalem over the border in Israel. The wall itself is an emotive sight, covered in graffiti, far taller and scarier than what I saw of the Berlin Wall. The process of going back through the checkpoint was a little more intensive, involved baggage inspection and some heavy duty turnstiles. Back in Jerusalem I went to the Bible Lands Museum, which has an impressive collection of archaeological finds from the area, from all of the various historical periods... It was strangely quiet. I think most tourists choose the Israel Museum nextdoor instead to see the Dead Sea Scrolls. Back home it was hummus and crackers for dinner. I said goodbye to my temporary housemates and left Jerusalem this morning. It has been raining all day so I'm doing some much-needed laundry and I'm going to see a little more of the city before heading back to Germany tomorrow.

O Jerusalem

I'm in an internet cafe on Via Dolorosa, where the man himself carried his cross to his own crucifixion... possibly stopping to check his email and play some Warcraft on the way. It's a narrow winding street in the Christian Quarter of Old Jerusalem. I arrived in Jerusalem on Friday and made it quickly to the apartment of a friend of a friend who I had organised to stay with. It's nice and close to town so I did a bit of walking but turned back when it started to rain. There were people coming for dinner. It was a mixed group including a few Israelis, an Irishman, a German girl, and myself. There was plenty of food, Israeli wine and beer, and inevitably a guitar that was passed around for renditions of Irish folk songs (not just by the Irishman). People came and went and at about 1am it was decided we should go out. So we walked to a club in a lively part of town (despite Shabbat), and drank and smoked and danced to pumping Reggae music. It was close to 6am by the time we left the club, walking back home via a Yemeni fast food place. I remember it being tasty, but not so much later when it reappeared as vomit... Yes, it was a big night, and a cruel blow to my guts given the recent food poisoning. I was in bed until almost three in the afternoon on Saturday, but finally felt obliged to do some more conventional sight-seeing. I walked to the Old Town, surrounded by a high wall but divided cleanly into Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Armenian quarters, etc. Old Jerusalem strikes me as a bit of a shitfight. Most of its tiny streets are lined with stalls selling souvenirs, JC sandals, Jewish skullcaps (kippahs), and so forth. The sellers are aggressive bordering on insulting. One of them called me a "perfect Jew" because I was ignoring him. I went first to the Jewish Quarter, which I expected to be quiet considering Shabbat (which continues from sundown on Friday to sundown on Saturday). The stores were closed but the streets were filled with people nevertheless. And down by the Western Wall (aka, the Wailing Wall) photography was outlawed for Shabbat so tourists were getting sneaky. I got in trouble myself when I inadvertantly started walking toward the women's section of Wall. I was dressed pretty casual (thongs, jeans, t-shirt) so I felt a bit disrespectful I guess... It's the most significant site in the Jewish faith and if you stand back in the plaza it seems a tad perverse that it's become such an attraction to clueless non-Jews such as myself. People were so offended by the request that they not take photos. I weaved back out through the Arab markets, had a great dinner involving the best hummus I've ever tasted (or maybe it was just because I hadn't eaten in so long). Shops that had been closed all day opened at about 6pm and were back to business as usual. But I had an early night. Today I've returned to the old town, planning to catch a bus to Bethlehem. It appears to be more trouble than I first thought. Bethlehem is controlled by the Palestinian National Authority, so a trip there would necessitate a border crossing and potential hassles. Israeli nationals aren't even allowed there, and it's not exactly clear where to get the bus from. Meanwhile I've been fart-arseing around in the old town most of the day and I think I've left Bethlehem too late, for today anyway. Further up Via Dolorosa you can see the Church of Sepulchre where Jesus was sentenced, and the other way is where the Virgin Mary was allegedly born - all of the Old City is peppered with such landmarks. Groups of evangelical Americans pass up and down carrying big crosses and singing Christian songs, trying hard to have a spiritual experience amongst the madness. Nearby is the Muslim Quarter and the Dome of the Rock. I went to see it but was turned back because I'm not Muslim - only Muslims allowed on Sundays. It's fair enough I guess. I sat outside the Damascus Gate for half an hour, watched people flow in and out of the city. On that side, East Jerusalem, it's predominantly Arab and a world away from Jewish parts of the city. Yeah, it's an amazing place. So tomorrow it's either Bethlehem or the Dead Sea, or possibly both!

Gut distention in the Middle East

I am now in Tel Aviv. Back on Tuesday I discovered I had about five Turkish lira (approx AU$5) left in my wallet so had to budget for my last 24 hours in Turkey. I realised the kind of crap that my money goes on when I'm not paying attention to it... I went down to the fish market and had a fish sandwich for three lira, fresh from the sea. I spent the remaining cash on water and bread for breakfast, and enjoyed the novelty of being a tourist in Istanbul without any money. I caught a shuttle bus to the airport very early yesterday, but their timetable meant that I had four hours to kill before my flight. Fortunately I'm deeply involved in The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle. I flew into Tel Aviv mid-afternoon and caught a bus into the central bus station. Entering the station I was passed over with a metal detector and had to open my backpack up for inspection (it's very tightly packed so this was easier said than done). From there I could walk to my hostel... an Indian-themed guesthouse crawling with Israeli hippies and a couple of resident dogs. It's a fun place, but I can't figure out why there are always so many people around when there seems to only be a handful of travellers staying in the dorms - it's like a drop-in centre or something (I found the staff sharing a joint this morning). I locked my things away and set out to walk to the beach and the old town of Jaffa. I got to the beach just in time to see the sun turn red and disappear behind the sea. In Jaffa the second-hand dealers were just closing shop... so I ate dinner and headed back. On the hostel rooftop they screen movies at night. Last night they showed A Clockwork Orange but stopped it inexplicably half-way through and started James and the Giant Peach (most frustrating). Today I woke up sick and have been sick all day due, most probably, to some dodgy couscous I ate in the Jaffa restaurant last night. Nevertheless I went back to Jaffa this morning and poked around the markets there. It's a classic fleamarket with the sort of second-hand goods that are just a shade above rubbish - my favourite kind of markets. There are souvenir shops throughout Jaffa and I'd very much like to buy a "Guns 'n' Moses" t-shirt for someone back home. The beach was beautiful, the sun was out, and I'm a little more red than I was before. Still sick though, I really had no choice but to spend the afternoon at the hostel, sweating and cramping and dashing to the toilet. But I seem to be recovering now. I've walked around some nicer tree-lined areas of Tel Aviv this evening and have been amazed at how Western it all looks, the people mostly... The Hebrew street and shop signs are the only obvious indication that I'm not in familiar surrounds. That and the young soldiers I've seen getting around. They look about high-school age and yet many of them carry rifles, on buses, down the street, in McDonald's. I'm off to Jerusalem tomorrow.

Back to Constantinople

It's my last day in Turkey. Istanbul is such a huge multi-faceted city
that I've only managed to scratch the surface. In Bursa I'd planned on
catching a traditional shadow puppet show on Saturday night but got my
timing wrong. Their puppet museum looks impressive from outside but
seems to only open for sporadic performances. I walked all the way
back to Cekirge and watched Turkish cable. On Sunday I left early for
Istanbul. I'm staying in a hostel across the road from where I was
last week. It has a similar rooftop bar, but a pretty unpleasant
atmosphere. I walked around town, through the Hippodrome where they
used to race chariots, and where there's an odd assortment of
obelisks. I ran into some people I met last week and so we went to
dinner and tried to find a live Dervish performance (men in white
robes and conical red felt hats who spin incessantly in order to
commune with God - aka, the whirling dervishes). We found one in a
backpacker restaurant but I don't think the dancer was communing much
with God - it looked pretty weak. We then spent the evening on the
rooftop of the better hostel with beer, raki (like ouzo), and insipid
Turkish wine, where the DJ was Australian and there were some more
familiar faces. A few of us are en route to Israel so the Middle East
conflict inevitably entered into conversation, and there was a young
Californian political science major on hand to talk at length about
it. I'm sure it would do my head in if I tried to form a definite
opinion, so I'm flying to Israel/Palestine/Whatever tomorrow with an
open mind. Yesterday morning I ran into an English girl I'd met the
night before, and we were both on our way to the Grand Bazaar. I'd
decided I should give the bazaar a second chance and try to buy
something... It was a better experience this time around. The sellers
were cheery and we both got to engage in some bargaining. Later I
walked across the Galata Bridge and all the way north to Taksim
Square, the centre of modern Istanbul. There's a big pedestrian
thoroughfare that leads there and huge numbers of people meandering in
all directions. It turned out to be a very long walk... I stopped by
the Spice Market on the way home and bought some turkish delight for
the road. Lovely stuff. I spent last night reading with my feet up.
Today I set out for two major sights I had thus far missed: Topkapi
Palace and Aya Sofia. Topkapi looks like an amazing complex but I'll
never see it because it happens to be closed on Tuesdays. So I settled
for the neighbouring museums, the Museum of Archaeology and the Museum
of the Ancient Orient. Both had very similar collections to my
untrained eyes: an impressive range of sarcophagi and a long frieze
depicting the battle between the Anatolian Amazon Women and the Greek
invaders. But I felt guilty for being uninterested in most of it. Aya
Sofia is a former Roman church, subsequently a mosque, and currently a
museum. It's a beautiful ancient building, and it's strange to see the
tiled mosaics of Virgin and Child beside tiles of Islamic calligraphy
(the Christian iconography had previously been plastered over).
Neverthless, I've suffered severe Gallery Rage, wanting to slap every
idiot who takes a flash photo, or obstructs my view, or talks loud
enough for me to hear. It was a mistake to go to several museums in
quick succession...

Bursa

Oh my God, thıs Turkısh ınternet ıs drıvıng me nuts... I'm now on the Asıan sıde of Turkey, ın Western Anatolıa. Back ın Istanbul I set out for the Grand Bazaar on Thursday mornıng. To be honest ıt was hugely dısappoıntıng, apart from the shady lıttle courtyard to the West wıth a cluster of used book stalls. The majorıty of the Grand Bazaar sells sılver (and not-sılver) jewellery, shoes and leather goods, souvenır t-shırts, and varıous kınds of scarves, skırts, dresses... It's a mall for tourısts, and there was none of the mad buzz that I was expectıng - the sellers seemed to stıll be wakıng up and made no effort to sell to me. I may have been there too early ın the day. Neverthless, ıt took all of my wıll power not to at least try on a fez, knowıng that ıt would be way too small and mark me undenıably as a tourıst. I kılled a couple of hours ın the bazaar dıstrıct. The muddy streets surroundıng the enclosed market were more ınterestıng, wıth more actıvıty. On the way back to the hostel I stopped for a shave and a haırcut, whıch turned out to be easıly the second most ıntense groomıng experıence of my lıfe. It started out normal enough - straıght back and sıdes wıth the lıttle peak at the front, as per usual. Then he lathered up my face and began wıth the straıght razor. After scrapıng my face raw he bent me forward ınto the basın where he shampood and condıtıoned my entıre head wıth a good fırm face massage. Then the blow-dry, then he splashed my face wıth somethıng lıke gın, put some gel ın my haır and sent me on my way... It was the closest I'm goıng to get to a Turkısh bath treatment. In the afternoon I went to the Spıce Bazaar (aka, the Egyptıan Bazaar). It's mostly spıces, coffee, tea and turkısh sweets, all ın a covered market. So the place smells absolutely ıncredıble. I got excıted too early and bought 300 grams of honeycomb - not somethıng you can easıly snack on, so most of ıt ended up ın the bın sadly. They advertıse Turkısh vıagra wıth the taglıne 'Sıx tımes ın one nıght!', but ıt looks lıke some form of baclava. Some stalls offer samples of sweets but unfortunately ıt's ımpossıble to try everythıng you want to. I had to have an early dınner to employ excess salıva. I walked across the Galata Brıdge whıch ıs lıned wıth local fısherman, shoulder to shoulder. And then went back to the hostel to sıt on the rooftop overlookıng the Sea of Marmara for the sunset. I got talkıng to a Swıss and an Italıan and the three of us went to dınner together (although, I had already eaten so was just there for the company). It was a popular restaurant ın the Bazaar Dıstrıct, wıth lıve musıc and a supply of fezes so you can pose for a photo wıth your waıter. We dıd thıs. The rest of the nıght was spent back on the rooftop, drınkıng many beers and smokıng somethıng banana-flavoured through an enormous water pıpe, untıl the electrıcıty was turned off at 2am. It was an ınterestıng group of travellers. Nevertheless, I decıded agaınst Gallıpolı and the Medıterranean Coast because ıt seemed to be where everyone was goıng. So, followıng advıce from my newly purchased (but long out of date) Lonely Planet, I headed West yesterday for the great Ottoman capıtal of Bursa. It took a taxı, a boat, a coach, a cıty bus, and then another taxı to get me from Istanbul to my hotel ın Cekırge, outsıde Bursa. Two young Turkısh people seperately offered me help when I got off the coach at the termınal lookıng lost and exhausted. One of them fırst asked me ıf I was Jewısh, because he had seen the drıver of the coach ask me to move seats and ımplıed ıt was because I looked lıke a Jew. I'm not sure what to thınk about that... I've had to show my passport a couple of tımes ın Turkey and they always flıck through the pages carefully. A guy at the hostel saıd that when you go to Israel you can ask Immıgratıon to stamp a document separate to your passport because ıt's dıffıcult to travel ın the Mıddle East once you have an Israelı stamp. I hadn't consıdered thıs but maybe I should. Anyway, Bursa feels lıke the real Turkey. They cater to the Turkısh tourıst but there don't seem to be many foreıgners here at all. It's what I was lookıng for so I'm enjoyıng ıt so far. I'm a lıttle way out of town ın Cekırge, whıch ıs famous for ıts hot mıneral sprıngs. Most of the hotels have theır own thermal baths and even though I took a budget optıon my shower seems to run mıneral water as well (even the 'cold' water ıs hot). I ate a local varıatıon of ravıolı - tıny lıttle parcels of what tastes lıke kebab meat ın a yoghurt sauce. You can see the ladıes makıng the pasta at the back of the restaurant. Thıs mornıng I went to the Cıty Museum, whıch has a nıce collectıon of local artıfacts and exhıbıtıons on Turkısh lıfe. I bought a shadow puppet because Bursa ıs supposedly the bırthplace of Turkısh shadow puppetry (Karagöz). It looks kınd of tacky but I thınk ıt's real camel hıde. Bursa was a bıtch to get to and ıt's a bıtch to get around... the dolmus servıces are mostly sedans that drıve a set route (lıke a taxı that you share). It's cheap but late last nıght I was dropped at a bus depot at the back of Cekırge and only found my way to the hotel by luck. I've fınally managed to book my tıcket on the ferry tomorrow. I'm glad I came to Bursa but I'll be glad to be back ın Istanbul - there's a lot I haven't seen there yet.

Istanbul

I flew into Istanbul this afternoon, seated beside an old Dutchman with a Hari Krishna haircut who began talking about his prostate trouble and former benzodiazepine addiction by way of an introduction. It was an interesting flight. He was on his way to India, claimed he had been a close personal friend of George Harrison, and now lectures in Eastern Philosophy. He advised me to get in touch with my inner 12-year-old, to never get married, and to take pumpkin oil every day, then suggested we might meet again via astral travel. In Berlin yesterday I took the guided tour out to Sachsenhausen Concentration Camp, the first camp of its kind and the model for Auschwitz and others. It was liberated by the Soviets, was reappropriated as an internment camp for political prisoners, subsequently partly destroyed (of Station Z where prisoners were murdered and burnt, only the foundations and some twisted oven frames remain). I'd never heard of Sachsenhausen before I came to Berlin but tens of thousands of people were kept in disgusting conditions then systematically murdered there. Some of the torture devices remain intact (the well where people were left wallowing in excrement for days on end; the poles where people were left hanging from dislocated arms; the all-terrain running track where prisoners were made to test army boots until they collapsed dead or were shot for stopping), and there was the "pathology lab" where prisoners were infected with gangrene or inflicted with grenade wounds for the purposes of experimental treatment. It was a truly spooky place, still amazingly desolate despite the swarming tour groups. There were a lot of Australians in my group and I bonded with a guy from Melbourne over RM Williams boots. It was late afternoon by the time we were back in Berlin, so I just walked around a bit... The vitality of Istanbul seems so daunting. I came from the airport during peak hour and nearly had a panic attack on the incredibly crowded tram to Sultanahmet: bodies pressed against each other everywhere and me keeping a paranoid eye on my backpack, struggling to stay upright. I've bought a Lonely Planet, realising I had no idea how I was going to see the country in the fews days I've allowed. It hasn't clarified things for me. I figure I might just take the budget package tour option down the coast over the weekend, although it feels like a cop out. Gallipoli is not an easy place to see without private transport. I've done a bit of walking but the backpacker district seems pretty expansive here. The Grand Bazaar tomorrow should be a blast.

Istanbul this afternoon

Start? Hey, why not...?

Sachsenhausen Concentration Camp

Berlin some more

Yesterday morning I set out to the Art and Nostalgia Fair and discovered a couple of other flohmarkts along the way. Lots of rubbish, but lots of bulky junk I would have loved to take home (antique aviators goggles, etc.) and loads of colourful beautifully-bound books I wish I could read. I headed for the Guggenheim but discovered that for some stupid reason they're closed for two months, between exhibitions. Two months! Fortunately they've employed someone to stand at the front door and personally disappoint tourists with the fact. I caught the U-Bahn out to Potsdamer Platz and walked around to the Kulturforum, where I discovered that the New National Gallery is also closed for a couple of weeks, between exhibitions. What happened to German efficiency? Or maybe each exhibition is so spectacularly different to the last that it takes up to two months to shift things around...? Stupid. Fortunately the Gemaldegalerie is also in the Kulturforum, and it was open. In fact, "Kinderfest" was underway, so the complex was overrun with little kids in painting smocks involved in all sorts of crafty activities, led by adults who were dressed as devils and angels. It looked like a lot of fun. And the gallery had an amazing collection of European art, including some of those crazy 16th century triptychs... Last night I walked out to that big gold angel at the other end of the Tiergarten. It was a longer walk than I expected but I took a less direct route back for variety's sake. It led me down a very quiet and dark path, with trees close on either side and fog across the road, rabbits on the footpath. So I was feeling lost for about half an hour before the Reichstag came into view. This morning I went East to see the longest remaining stretch of Wall, 1.3km still standing beside the river, covered in graffiti old and new. I recognised someone from the hostel on the way so I said hi and walked along with this young lad from London who was able to educate me a bit. Afterward, he went to climb the TV Tower and I went to see "Topography of Terror" - a very intriguing name for what is essentially the rubble from the SS/Gestapo headquarters. There's a lot of reading material there for tourists but nothing much to see. A film crew of tall black Americans were spread out over the site, working on some sort of inspirational feature... I overheard the made-for-TV soundbyte "it really makes you appreciate life". But I guess it does... The history seems so immediate in Berlin. Tonight I went to the Jewish Museum, which is an incredible building with sloping narrow hallways, diagonal slit windows, and a bit of a Kafkaesque feel to it.  If you follow the map you read a lot about Judaism, Jewish life and the persecution of Jews throughout the ages, but the most interesting feature I thought was the Holocaust Tower. It's a tall column of a room that you enter which is unlighted, unheated, and open to the outside. So you step into complete darkness, and all you can hear is the distant street noise above you - supposed to evoke the terror and disorientation of the Holocaust. It's effective. Tomorrow I take a guided tour to the Sachsenhausen concentration camp North of Berlin.

Berlin

I'm in a backpacker hostel in Berlin and there's techno music coming from an indeterminable source...  Dresden was fantastic. The river divides the old and new towns. In the old town you can see amazing architecture and some tidy little museums,; in the new town you can see genuine German punks and wander the streets on a Friday night with a longneck Pilsner in hand... along with thousands of young locals. It's a great, if somewhat anarchic, atmosphere in the new town. This morning I was caught riding a Dresden tram without a ticket and was fined twenty euros on the spot - bummer. I arrived in Berlin early this afternoon, headed into the city and first visited Checkpoint Charlie, where you can pose and have your picture taken between an American and a Soviet soldier, although I didn't. I saw the Wall Museum, which is mostly concerned with the various means by which people escaped over, under, and around the wall. There are some pretty amazing stories involving homemade submarines, hot-air balloons and chairlifts, and lots of the designs are on display. I wandered North to the Brandenburg Gate, where there was some great big protest rally underway - I gather it was "anti-fascist". In response the German "Anti Konflikt Team" was out in force and they had actually cordoned off the gate itself so that protesters couldn't pass East into the pedestrian mall, although I was able to pass West into Tiergarten.  This pissed off a lot of feral lefty Germans, and it seemed strange to me... I stood around watching the protest speeches for a while but couldn't figure out what everyone was there for... There were a lot of kids wearing tin-foil headgear for some reason. I came back to the hostel and met the New Zealanders who I'm bunking with for the next few days - bummer. They all went on a guided pub crawl tonight, but I took myself out to Kreuzberg where I sat in a bar that styles itself as some sort of David Lynch nightmare - with candles and horses' heads - and watched soccer. And so now I'm back in the hostel and it's not even midnight.  These "party hostels" always make me feel like a boring fart. Tomorrow I go to the Art and Nostalgia Fair!

Dresden

Dresden seems quiet this afternoon. I'm glad to be out of Prague. On Tuesday morning I crossed the river to see the Franz Kafka Museum (modernist author whose stories "concern troubled individuals in a nightmarishly impersonal and bureaucratic world", popular with Arts students and other troubled individuals - see Wikipedia). The museum is set in an attic with exposed beams and boarded-up windows, low ceilings, ambient lighting and brooding music. The exhibits are all in stark black and white: family photographs, facsimiles of manuscripts and personal letters, as well as audiovisual presentations based on his writings and ink drawings. It's all fairly well put together: claustrophobic and disorientating. And it seems to be a popular attraction. You don't have to walk far in the tourist areas to find a t-shirt with Kafka's face on it, looking like a vampire in need of blood. He's an odd choice for a city mascot, given he openly hated Prague despite living his whole life there. I suppose the museum didn't really put me in a mood to enjoy Prague, neither did the overly academic Czech novel that I'm still ploughing through - Love and Garbage by Ivan Klima. And neither did the obnoxious American who slept on the bunk beneath me, nor the nervous British woman who found the American hilarious. But it felt fitting to wander the streets aimlessly with a cigarette in hand anyway... Mmm. I went to a Salvador Dali exhibition near the Old Town Square, all lithographs and etchings. Yesterday morning I headed North across the river to the large-ish area marked "Prague Market" on my tourist map. It was a bit of a metro ride and a walk, and it turned out to be by far the most depressing market I've ever been to. Stall upon stall selling counterfeit street wear, lingerie and socks, flick-knives and a worrying number of knuckle-dusters. There were hardly any shoppers, and those who were there seemed as lost as I was. I bought a strange gelatinous soup from a caravan then returned to the city on the same 75-minute ticket. I decided that I wasn't going to change any more money for Czech Crowns, so I became frugal, passed on the National Museum, the Communist Museum, and the Don Giovanni marionette opera... Instead I packed some home-made wurst baguettes and went out walking at dusk. Yeah, Prague's a beautiful city. Stunning really. It's incredible to look out over the water and the see the castle high on the hill, lit up amongst the woods. But the circus atmosphere on the ground makes the city seem a bit unreal, like the buildings were just painted canvas to be taken down after the tourists go home. I came by train to Dresden today, just over the German border. The hostel seems a little friendlier here and the city may be a little less crazy. I want to take it easy before I get to Berlin on Saturday.

Praha

It's raining in Prague. Just like it rains everywhere I go, always, without fail. But I suppose a city like this looks good in the rain - it adds a sheen to the cobblestones, and to the gold decorations that top the grandest buildings. I arrived today after five nights in Cologne, staying with Lena, who was a most gracious host. On Thursday she took me around town, showed me where tourists go, and where people who live in Cologne go. The Dom (see below) is the cathedral in the centre of town, it's the quintessential Cologne photo-op. You can climb up to the top of it, but I didn't. Thursday night the planned pub crawl didn't go ahead, but I made a soggy stirfry with the closest thing I could find to egg noodles in a German supermarket. Friday I walked around by myself, following an itinerary and map hand-drawn by Lena - unfortunately the big Travel Outfitting Store (where I was supposed to try out the Ice and Rain rooms) was closed due to the public holiday, and the directions were wrong to the park where I was supposed to "sit on a swing and think about life" (it was a cute game). At night I was taken to a smoky and very loud club where I danced like a foreign fool until 4am. I couldn't believe it had become so late - apparently you can have a big one on any night of the week in Cologne. Saturday was beautifully warm and sunny. I staggered through the flohmarkt (fleamarket) in the afternoon, hoping to find some interesting junk that might fit in my backpack, but spent the rest of the day nursing a killer headache. Sunday Lena put on a big breakfast, with that dense brown German bread and wurst from a tin, which looks like Spam but is infinitely better. In the evening we went to a tiny pub where people sat in absolute silence watching a German crime show, the name of which translates to "Crime Scene". It's some sort of long-standing tradition for people to go out and watch this show every Sunday night, even though it plays on free-to-air TV. Obviously I couldn't follow the dialogue but it looked ten times better than Inspector Rex. The plot was explained to me once the show had finished. After this I was taken to the Havana Club to watch Lena dance salsa, and we didn't leave until after 1am despite my complaining... Today was spent mostly hanging around Cologne-Bonn Airport. My cheap flight was delayed two hours so I sat watching rain fall on the tarmac for a long time. It's a shame to be back to staying in a hostel. It was such a great experience staying with a local and being involved in local things, not having to negotiate lockers and sticky communal showers, not feeling like a complete alien. I've done a lot of walking around Prague this afternoon, had a Czech sausage sandwich and a few of my remaining Portuguese cigarettes as I've orienteered with my little tourist map... The city feels like the cusp of Eastern Europe. It has a strange criminal feel to it. I've been uneasy since the lady who sold me my sandwich called me "Sexy Boy" for a 5czk tip... I seemed to spend a long time trying to find somewhere I could drink beer and read a book without feeling like a sociopath. In the end I found an internet cafe instead. I have three nights in Prague. I plan to see the Communist Museum (ironically located "above McDonald's") and take in a puppet show!

With Lena at the Dom...

Ausfahrt

In Cologne, and I´m getting around to a much needed blog entry. Back in Singapore I spent most of the evening hanging around Bugis, had a very cheap Indonesian dinner in an open-air foodcourt... and saw the Arab Quarter come alive after sundown, remembering that we were in Ramadan. I was up very early - with the first call-to-prayer from the neighbouring mosque - for my flight to Munich. Oktoberfest coincides with Ramadan, so I had a couple of beers during my three-hour stopover, thus partaking in festivities such as they were in Terminal 2. Lots of red-faced lads in funny hats heading home from what looked like a good time. I arrived in Lisbon around 10pm on Friday, got totally fleeced by the taxi driver who took me (off the meter) to my hostel, but I was too tired to care about the money. Slept like a rock under a window over-looking Praca do Rossio, with its fountains and drug dealers. Saturday morning I checked out the Gallery of Modern Art and later met Danielle at the quirky old hotel where we stayed the next four nights. We ate dinner at a charming tourist trap then wandered a bit around the centre of town. Sunday we went down to Praca do Comercial where there was some great cultural festival happening, incorporating traditional folk dancing, trampolining and stilt-walking in a somewhat random mess of activity sprawled out over the square. Dinner was at a French bistro where I was able to feast on European veal and feel slightly evil. Later we went to Bairro Alto, a tight grid of narrow streets with all sorts of bars open late, famed for its Fado houses. Fado is a uniquely Portuguese genre of music...  melancholy latin heartbreakers (basically). The club we went to was dark and dusty and the band played in the shadows without amplification. Beautiful stuff. We were the last of many patrons to leave when the music stopped at 2am. Monday we went for a tram ride around the inner suburbs - the trams seem to be a local icon if you can judge by Lisbon souvenir merchandise. It´s amazing the way those rattling old things can navigate the crazy streets. In the afternoon we visited the Sao Jorge castle on the hill above Lisbon, walked around its walls overlooking the river and the city. We had dinner back in Bairro Alto, and another late night in a dark smoky little club, this time over jugs of Super Bock and under speakers blaring Led Zeppelin. Yesterday we went to Belem, from where Portuguese explorers sailed back in the colonial glory days. From there we headed East to Alfama, and the Thieves´ Market, where all manner of stolen and worthless crap is laid out on blankets for sale. Lots of sunglasses and old mobile phones, but also some great classic Portuguese porn mags amid records and rusty, dented bric-a-brac. It was probably the most authentic experience of Lisbon that we had in the whole time we were there, and I might have bought a hat if not for my enormous-head problem. Later we took a bus up the coast to Sintra, the historic mountain town. There might be history there but it´s all but lost under horrible tourist fodder. An hour there was plenty long enough. The bus back to Lisbon stopped at the Westernmost Point of Continental Europe, which was quite beautiful in the late afternoon with the Atlantic Ocean faded into the horizon... Last night we drank port (Portugal is famous for its port, obviously - which is a shame because it tastes bloody awful) at a bar on Praca do Rossio until closing time. We both left Lisbon this morning in opposite directions. Danielle has gone to Canada, and I came to Germany. Bad weather in Frankfurt meant that my flight was delayed but I eventually landed and met Lena near the baggage carousel. We drove to her parents´ house in an archetypal German village outside Frankfurt where we picked up her animals (two cats and a big black German Shephard, obviously) before hitting the Autobahn and heading North to Cologne... at 180km per hour. We got here in under two hours, after dark but ahead of the rain. I made dinner out of what we could find in the fridge and it turned out okay. Now I´m at Lena´s computer, alone in her flat with her two cats because she has gone to stay at her boyfriend´s place tonight. Tomorrow I´m in for a walking tour of Cologne and a pub crawl... apparently...

From Sleepy Sam's in Singapore

I've only been off the plane a few hours but I've done a lot of walking and I need a good sitdown - suppose it's not too early to start journalising. I got into Singapore early this afternoon, made my way by train to Bugis, and walked from there to the Arab Quarter, where I'm staying in a secluded but popular hostel.. It's so secluded that I was walking in circles trying to find it, and it doesn't look like an area very popular with tourists otherwise. A casual glance down Arab Street would suggest that this is the Rug District. Seems to be a pretty relaxed bunch of backpackers here, but maybe that's just the heatstroke. The atmosphere draws the sweat out of you by the bucketload and the place smells like Asia to me: wafts of clove cigarettes, a ubiquitous musk of rotting vegetables and car exhaust. I've strolled through some of the great sprawling street markets around Bugis, which sell everything from icecream sandwiches to sex toys (yes.) and it's definitely a very colourful place, but I'm happy not to dwell here. A sweaty British girl I met at reception mentioned to me that the Singapore Grand Prix is on tomorrow, but if it's a big event I can't tell. I have to get up at 5.30 in the morning to make my flight to Munich.

City Lights, Hellbillies, and one thousand pillows

I'm now home safely but for the sake of closure and because I had such a great time in San Francisco yesterday I'm going to post one final time. I had breakfast with one of my roommates, a jolly Californian drifter, before checking out of the hostel. I took a long walk through Chinatown to North Beach and the legendary City Lights bookstore. It wasn't open when I got there so I went into the cafe next door and ordered an orange juice while the old men at the bar were drinking spirits (at 10am). Obviously they were poets congregating for high-minded discourse. The woman at the bar told me "It's okay to just drink orange juice... You know you're in a strange place when orange juice is the odd thing to order for breakfast..." City Lights opened and I spent a good hour perusing the shelves. I had the poetry room to myself for a long time, and eventually bought a couple of small books by Lawrence Ferlinghetti - the beat poet, founder and owner of City Lights since 1954. The man himself walked in the front door as I was standing at the counter and gave me a short smile. I walked back into town and caught the half-hour train to Berkeley. It's home to the original University of California campus and the university pretty much still defines the small town. Down Telegraph Avenue there's a great string of bookstores as well as shops catering to fashion-conscious young socialists and any other subculture you can label. The sidewalk was teeming with students and stalls were set up selling stickers, incense, etc... I found a genuine weirdo shop on a quieter end of the street. It traded equally in pornography and second-hand comic books with a few additional shelves for random junk. There was a rack of DVDs with hand-drawn covers - live recordings of local punk and metal bands. I got talking to the guy who films the shows and draws the covers, and I eventually bought a Hellbillies DVD that came highly recommended (I haven't watched it yet). I also bought a t-shirt printed with one of his designs, and a pack of Garbage Pail Kids stickers from 1987, and I felt strangely comfortable in this shop. In the late afternoon I decided to check out the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art (SFMOMA) before heading to the airport. It's got a small but interesting collection, starting with modernist paintings on the first floor and getting more conceptual as you climb upwards. I got talking to a German girl while we were standing in front of a big collage made up of butterfly wings and anatomical photographs. We agreed it was disturbing, and walked around the next couple of floors together, talking loudly about the pieces and ignoring dirty glances from the more serious art connoisseurs. Then she said that she had to go downtown in order to join a big public pillow fight that was scheduled for 6pm (it's an annual event). She had her pillow checked in at the gallery cloakroom. I didn't have a pillow but I figured I had to see this, so I went with her. I lost her in the mayhem as soon as the clock struck six, but I stood watching for 20 minutes and it was a truly memorable spectacle. Great clouds of feathers were sent into the air as hundreds of people got stuck into each other - all in good fun - and it was showing no sign of slowing down when I eventually had to leave for the airport. I rode the train with feathers in my hair and was pleased that my trip around the world had been capped off in such a surreal and unexpected way. And so that's it! It's all over! It's been incredible.

San Francisco Blues

Ugh. So, it snowed for the whole time that I was in Chicago. It was indeed beautiful, but the cold was so oppressive that I only managed to see a few of the things I had planned to. On the first night I went to a local hotdog shop in Lincoln Park that is famous city-wide for the abuse that goes on there between the staff and customers. This may be due to the fact that it's frequented by drunken frat boys... So I entered and the big burly black guy behind the counter just said "Whatchoo want?" I got a hotdog with pickle and relish etc, and no ketchup (apparently ketchup on a hotdog is sacrilege in Chicago). It was alright. I was hoping to see a fight but I think I was there too early in the night. After the hotdog I went to a blues bar around the corner. It's been there since the '70s but it could only be an imitation of the original blues venues in the South Side. The band was impressive, playing the classic Chicago electric blues style (Muddy Waters, Howlin Wolf...) but blending into funk on several occasions. The bar girl called me sweetheart so I called her darlin. Yesterday morning the snow was heavy everywhere and it was still falling. I made my way into the city and killed some time in one of Chicago's massive art supplies stores until the gallery was due to open. I asked a lady about cartooning inks and she spent about 20 minutes taking me around the store showing me every possible material. And we talked for ages. She teaches cartooning apparently. We were interrupted by an old lady looking for charcoal so I said goodbye and she hugged me before I left. It was strange - I've never been hugged by a salesperson before. Sadly a large part of the Art Institute of Chicago was closed (American paintings 1900-1950: the section I was most interested in). An Edward Hopper exhibition is opening on the 16th, so the famous "Nighthawks" painting had been put away in preparation. I was bummed about this. The gallery has an amazing collection of French impressionist works and some of the most iconic Van Gogh and Picasso paintings. I wasn't in the mood for more European art though. The American rooms were strange, mostly focused on decorative arts... grandfather clocks, tables and chairs, etc... making them look a bit like cluttered living rooms. "American Gothic" was the only item familiar to me. Oh yeah - ha ha - currently the main exhibition at the gallery is of Indonesian textiles. I didn't bother. I spent the afternoon basically trying to keep out of the cold. The snow got heavier, and the sidewalks were piled high with the stuff. I didn't make it to the South Side. I didn't make it to the Magnificent Mile, or the Museum of Contemporary Art. I had to shuffle past and take squinting glances at the great big Picasso sculpture in the middle of town (his gift to Chicago). I did have an enormous burrito though. And at night I went to an old pizza restaurant and had a deep dish pizza. It's like a pie without a top on it. It wasn't all that great. My roommate at the hostel turned out to be a nice guy, a former yuppie down on his luck and looking for work in Chicago. This morning I left him my box of Lucky Charms and he let me try some of his Cap'n Crunch. The snow had stopped and the sky over Chicago was blue but I had no more time. It took me over two hours to get to the airport this morning so I missed my flight by a few minutes. Fortunately they put me on the next flight for just a small booking fee and I got to sit around the airport for a bit, people-watching. The travelling is catching up with me. My body's acheing. My feet are raw. And every time I sit down I start to nod off. Nevertheless, as soon as I arrived back in Frisco I went out to the Mission District, perused the main street and had another massive ("Super") burrito. It's a colourful area - very Mexican - but everything in San Francisco seems to be amplified a little bit. I wanted to find some live music tonight. The best I could manage was a crappy dixieland band in a very touristy place... And I did a lot of walking following false leads. Despite the cranked up energy of the place, you just can't seem to find a rock band on a Wednesday night. I have a lot to do tomorrow before flying back to Sydney in the evening. Berkeley. City Lights Bookstore. Chinatown. No more burritos. I'm not sure my intestines could have taken more than four nights in America.

I ain't no Kid Chicago

From Liverpool I caught the train to London, then out again to Dover. We drove past some white cliffs, I saw Dover Castle from a distance, but most of the sightseeing was done through the bottom of a pint glass. I was staying with a friend out of town and we spent Friday night drinking with a very nice bunch of her mates. On Saturday afternoon we all had a drink beside a pebble beach, and then went into the nearby village of Deal to drink at a few of the pubs. I sampled various tepid and flat Kentish ales and the day was warm and sunny - perfect for sitting around in beer gardens. I didn't want to leave but had to be back in London for the night, so I caught a train around 7.30, and rode back in an empty carriage drunk on an empty stomach. I fell asleep and woke up dazed and confused at the end of the line, staggered out onto the platform and asked the information lady how I could get to Charing Cross Station. I was pleased to find that I was already at Charing Cross Station. I made it to the hostel at Earl's Court sometime before midnight, fell asleep, and was up again at 6am to catch my flight to San Francisco. Having let the weekend run away with me, I had no accommodation booked when I arrived in San Francisco in the late afternoon. So I bought a guidebook at the airport and made my way into the centre of town - the Union Square district. I came out of the BART station at the bottom of Powell Street, where they manually rotate the trams on a big wooden wheel before sending them back up the hill. Down the intersecting Mission Street were people selling all sorts of rubbish at stalls, and a fair spattering of street crazies and preachers on their various soapboxes. I walked up Powell Street and took a hotel on the first sidestreet that I came to and it happened to be pretty cheap. It was a big rambling place that looked like it was from the '20s. The door to my room had a suspicious two-way peephole, and the door to the shared bathroom was warped so that it wouldn't close. The bed was big and good though, which is what I needed (I don't mind if I was being watched). I went first to the Cartoon Art Museum. It was mostly concerned with single-panel cartoons of the New Yorker variety. You'd hear people laughing as they edged their way around the rooms. There was funny stuff. From there I walked to the Tenderloin, which is a big slum that stretches through the middle of San Francisco. I couldn't believe it. There were so many people on the sidewalk loitering, drinking, panhandling, and generally looking dangerous that I didn't feel safe there - and it's very rare that I feel that way anywhere during daylight hours. I had dinner at Lori's Fabulous '50s Diner (served with a dill pickle the size of a banana), then bought an American Mad Magazine and a can of Budweiser and had quiet one. I had to leave early this morning to fly to Chicago (I'll have some more time in San Francisco later this week). As the plane was landing the pilot announced that it was -13 degrees celsius on the ground. It started snowing as I was on the train from the airport into town, but the streets and buildings were already thickly blanketed. It's a beautiful sight, all of the bare trees and turn-of-the-century houses under snow look just like a Chris Ware drawing. I inadvertantly booked a hostel in Lincoln Park, the suburb where rich white folks live. The train here from the city was absolutely packed (being rush hour) and a local rich white guy befriended me... told me about the hotels his company owns in Sydney, and about his yachts (I don't know how we covered so much ground in such a short train journey). It was about a kilometre to walk from the station to the hostel, in falling snow, and on a sidewalk caked thick in ice. Lots of fun.
And it's an amusingly bad hostel. My mattress has spaceships on it, and my only roommate states he has "been here for a while" - it basically looks like his bedroom.