Day 29: Paris

Highlights:

• Parc Monceau
• Almost making it to Pere Lachaise Cemetery
• Winetasting with Lewis

So that bed wasn't as uncomfortable as I remember. Not the straw, stable mattress I'd thought it was. I lay in until 11am. The relaxation of a four week holiday really takes it out of you, you know? I was terribly exhausted.

I got up at the thought of a fresh croissant. I had a shath (a shower/bath. It leaks if you just have a shower, and I couldn't stop half the water coming out of the shower nozzle. Shath) and then headed out into the city.

So I came to Paris for the first time in July this year. My friend Abbie and I had driven as the support car to a group of our friends cycling from Calais to Paris. After a night in Abbeville, we arrived the day before the Tour De France finale. Abbie and I were staying at an airbnb, whilst the guys stayed at Lewis' apartment (well, eventually. I locked the key in shortly after arriving, leaving the guys stuck in their cycling jerseys all evening). The group all drove back home after watching the final Tour De France laps on the Champs Elysees (Wiggo!) while I stayed in Paris for the week. I'd been learning French from some Michel Thomas audio tracks, so I went to the Boulangerie across from Lewis' apartment to try it out. I asked for un croissant, and was slightly perplexed when I ended up with two. The next time I went, I ordered un pain au raison, and again got and, to save fuss, paid for two. It got a bit ridiculous when I came away with two baguettes, but probably the most unuseful was the two loaves. Two whole loaves. For just me. I couldn't work out if I pronounced 'un' incorrectly, or if they were taking advantage of my lack of comprehension to make a few more sales.

So I decided to try again. I repeated 'urn' to myself as I crossed the road. It was lunchtime, so it was packed. People were queuing down the road to get in. No good; I can only use my French in spacious, slow-paced environments. I panic and revert to German when I'm rushed. I decided to go to Parc Monceau instead. It's a cute park with lots of runners and free Wi-Fi. 

I went back to Lewis' apartment for lunch (bread and cheese, obviously. It's illegal in Paris to eat anything else. C'est Vrai) and then caught the Metro back to Montmartre. On the way to the station, I saw a man cutting his nails in the street. That's weird, right?

My travel guide put the Pere Lachaise Cemetery immediately after the Sacre Coeur, so I presumed it was close to Pigalle and decided to go there. This is the cemetary where Chopin, Oscar Wilde, Jim Morrison and Sarah Bernhardt (remember her from the Mucha posters?) were buried. It wasn't close though. An error in the guide. Miles away. So after a quick check to see if the bartender from yesterday was working (he wasn't thankfully), I went back to La Fourmi. The Robin Williams/Einstein/That70sShow-Stoner-Guy was there again. Typing away on his laptop. Perhaps he's a writer? I did a little writing myself (Tankas, Haiku. That sort of thing, you know) and noticed this weird piece of artwork on the wall. Words really can't describe it, so I drew a picture for you instead:

I had a bit of time before Lewis arrived, so I walked back to the apartment, passing the Moulin Rouge (translation is Red Windmill), some electric cars plugged into their chargers, a lot of seedy sex shops and a Hippopotamus restaurant, which seems to be a chain in Paris. SIDE NOTE One of the Israeli Olympics massacre plotters was assassinated in Paris after eating in one of the Hippopotamus'. Just so you know.

I went back via Parc Monceau and did a few laps of the park, walking. It was almost like I was exercise. It was a pretty nice evening. Lewis arrived a little after 7, a bit out of breath from lugging his Pinarello up the stairs. It's an expensive bike, for the normal people reading this without a ridiculous cycling fetish. We stood admiring it for a few minutes; Lewis said the baggage guards on the Eurostar had all taken photos of it, it was so beautiful. Sure.

We had some food. Lewis has a ridiculously powerful hob (wait a minute, this is slightly more interesting than that opener suggests) which sparks occasionally. He has one dial called a MILATRON which GOES UP TO 11. It's a Spinal Tap hob. Lewis had an excessive level of embarrassment that his well-stocked kitchen had three cheese graters but no can opener. He didn't want me to write here that he had to hack into a tin of tuna with a knife. We listened to some Beirut and Michael Jackson, and then just got completely smashed on red wine (Burgundy and then Cote du Rhone - not so much winetasting, as winegulping), martini and vodka. 

End of day 29.

Day 28: Bern to Paris

Highlights:

• Blue skies and white snow in Bern
• La Fourmi cafe, and Leo
• Lewis' apartment in Paris

I had another mega breakfast at Landhaus. Albert was back, and he was on top form; making jokes and being extra helpful. I asked him if he was in fact Albert, and he said "as good as". I'm not sure what that means exactly.

I packed up and headed into town. It had stopped snowing, and the skies were clear blue. 

Occasionally the wind disturbed the snow on the trees, and so there were mini-snowfalls all along my route to the station. It was only a 4h train ride, but I stopped off at a Migros supermarket to stock up on supplies. It was huge! It sold all your standard groceries, but then had specialist counters selling clothing, flowers and even plaster of paris ornaments. I stocked up on water and supermarket swiss chocolate products to fulfill my gift quota. Sub-standard chocolate coming your way soon, friends and family. You lucky devils.

There was a panicked moment at the station when the lady told me you HAD to reserve a seat to Paris and then pulled a face when I asked if there were seats any left today. "I don't think so", she said, shaking her head. "We only allocate a few seats for interrailling". A minute later, she surprised herself by finding nine free seats. She seemed slightly annoyed to have made my trip so easy. I imagine she got some sort of sadistic pleasure out of sending heavily bag-laden travellers back to their hostels. But still, she reluctantly booked me on a train leaving in 5minutes, so I raced along Bern station to the Gleis (remember, that's platform in German), hitting numerous people with my heavy chocolate bag (I've had the German word "Entshuldigen" to hand from day 1 of this trip. I can't count how many times I've had to use it for pedestrians and, more commonly, cyclists, when they've had to skid to the side after I've plonked myself unexpectedly on their paths). I just made the train, and we pulled out of the station and headed to Basel SBB.

(Just a note for travellers, there's a Basel SBB and a Basel BBB. Very different, and about a 10minute train ride from each other. I almost got off at BBB on the way out before discovering last minute that it was the wrong station for international connections. Close call.)

I stopped off at Bretzelkonig (I'm presuming the translation is Pretzel King) at Basel station, and ordered a coffee. I clearly only speak Bavarian German, as when I asked for "only milk", the Swiss guy dumped some sugar in and then went on to the next customer. It wasn't good coffee, even with the sugar. Don't go there. Fortunately queuing at Bretzelkonig gave me a chance to see my Swiss hero for a second.

There was a delay to the Paris train, but I settled in to read some more of my wine tasting guide. I'm almost a pro, I think. I know all about tannins and acidity, and the whole wine making process. I can defining almost tell a Claret from a Beaujolais. The train filled up a little, with a ridiculous number of young babies. There must have been some sort of baby expo happening in Bern that weekend. Or some baby disciplinary event, as they were all crying.

We got moving after 30minutes, and were soon in France (according to my Orange advice texts, which have generally kept me informed on my whereabouts throughout). A French family of three sat down on the table opposite. There was a cute kid who the mum was making giggle by blowing raspberries in his hand. I glanced at the dad and he was looking annoyed. Odd. The kid went and stood near the door by his dad and was fiddling with something when the dad snapped and forcefully grabbed his arm to yank him away. Unsurprisingly, the kid started bawling it. Great. Me and another woman who'd been laughing at the cute kid, looked at each other in horror. The mum blew a few more raspberries and all was fine again, and the dad tried to join in too. I'm suspicious that he was just trying to save face after appearing so brutal to the kid.

We arrived at Paris Gare de Lyon at 4pm. I didn't have a map, but somehow figured we were in the South East. I needed to pick up the key from the apartment I was staying in and I'd also agreed to meet Leonor, my Parisian friend from university. She lived a few stops out into the suburbs from Place de Clichy, and we'd agreed to meet near Blanche for dinner. I was a little early so I grabbed a few Metros to the nearby Pigalle, and found a cool bar near the station called La Fourmi on Rue des Martyrs. This is in the Montmartre part of town, the area which includes the Sacre Coeur, the artist market, and then the seedy Pigalle section. It's where Amelie is set, so I love it.

La Fourmi was sort of a grungy hip bar, filled with a mix of young and old locals. Wine for €2.90. I had a Syrah, and sat trying to swirl the wine in this tiny glass to release the flavours. Limited success.

I was sending a innuendo-filled, flirty message to a friend of mine, when I accidentally glanced up and caught the eye of the bartender, who gave me a wink. I must have carried the flirtness in my gaze. Whoops. This carried on the whole evening, when I kept accidentally sending him cheeky looks. It made for an awkward moment at the bar when I think he assumed I'd come to follow-up, and I just wanted another drink. I kept myself occupied waiting for Leo, by texting my friend Lewis (whose apartment I was staying at)
to rub in the fact I was in a cool bar in Paris whilst he was still in London, attempting some French. He was arriving the next day, but instead of writing 'Je te vois demain' (or on se vois), meaning 'I see you tomorrow', I wrote 'Je te veux'. You guys can google that. Glad I used it on him and no one else.

Lewis recommended I use it on a local hottie (I'm not sure he used the word hottie). At that exact moment, I felt someone approach the table. 'Helloooo', I thought. Now might be the time. I looked up to find a cross between Einstein, Robin Williams and the stoned photo hut guy from That 70s Show. He wanted to charge his laptop in my socket (calm down, it was next to my table). Perhaps not the time.

Leo arrived, and it was refreshing to see a familiar face after a few weeks away. I was collecting her apartment key to pass on to our Dutch friend Marthe, and her new husband* who were coming to Paris that week. Leo now had an internship in London, so unfortunately wouldn't be there as well. She'd just finished studying Law (Europeans seem to study FOREVER) and would be in London for 2months working for Total (the energy company). We sat chatting for a while, before I headed off to the metro to go to Lewis' apartment.

I stayed here for 10 days in July, so it was cool to notice that I remembered a lot of the area. Rather than change lines, I got off two stops away from Lewis' local metro Wagram and found my way back to his apartment on Rue Ampere. His housemate Isabelle let me in, and I dumped my heavy bags in relief. In July, I'd accidentally locked Lewis' keys in his flat ten minutes after arriving (let's not talk about that) so Isabelle had let me in before, and must think I'm a little bit special. She was studying film editing and had a beginning of term party that night to go to. We sat in their cool living room (it feels like a New York Artist apartment to me. Everything is white, the walls are bare apart from dvds and paintings resting on the floor against them, and there are huge windows looking out onto the street. There are a line of glassed doors leading into the living room as well. One of the coolest apartments I've been to) and talked for a while about film, weather and the future, before I went to bed on the most uncomfortable mattress known to humanity.

End of day 28.

* So in late September, I flew to Holland to go to Marthe's wedding. After a night in Amsterdam with my friend Jonny, I'd headed to Utrecht and met up with Marthe and Leonor. After a great weekend (seriously great. We cycled to and from the church for the wedding. Crazy), I was sitting at Amsterdam airport reluctantly waiting to fly home when this whole trip suddenly occurred to me. So rather than think about it too much, whilst sitting there I just booked my one way ticket to Berlin for 8 days later, and my interrailing pass. Bosh. So meeting Leo and Marthe in Paris felt like a great rounding off of the whole experience.

Day 27: Bern

Highlights:

• 8 SFr breakfast at Hotel Landhaus with a soundtrack of Joanna Newsom and Bjork
• Einstein and Swiss History Museum
• Simon the Snowman
• Kloeserli Weincafe, and a great Sankt Laurent

I woke up, pulled back the curtains, and was looking out onto some sort of bloody winter wonderland. There was white everywhere, and it was still snowing. What a great time to be in Bern.

I went down into the mini restaurant/bar and a different bar attendant offered me breakfast for 8 swiss franks. Probably the cheapest offer I've seen here (it's living up to the expensive swiss expectation). The bar girl had short hair, which was shaved on the sides, and I came to the conclusion she was gay as she started making googoo eyes at a girl who came and sat with her at the bar. It was cute. As I sat eating muesli (presumably Bircher), blueberry yoghurt, croissants, bread and cheese, and drinking coffee and juice (a mega breakfast), Joanna Newsom, The Knife, Patrick Wolf and Bjork played through the speakers. The bar girl clearly had great music tastes. And not just Bjork, but Hyperballad by Bjork. If you don't know the song, download it, then listen to it on iTunes in the dark, with the iTunes graphics playing on your screen. Amazing.

I hadn't packed for snow. I sort of forgot that winter was coming and as mentioned before, only packed cut-off T-Shirts. I did my best though, putting as many layers as possible under my coat and converse (not exactly snowshoes) and looked a little michelin man as I headed out into the street.

It was SUBLIME. These bursts of laughter kept welling up as I crunched through the snow. You can't not laugh in that weather. Even as I crossed the Kirchenfeldbruecke, where the wind kicked up a notch and the snow was horizontal, it felt amazing. I went to the Historiches und Einstein Museum. Not a cheap entry, and I was somewhat reluctant to see more Einstein stuff after learning about his attitude towards his wife, cousin and her daughter later in life*, but it seemed a big deal to the Bernese (Bernese? Does that sound right?) so I went in.

In no time at all, I'd come to grips with the theory of relativity. I mean, I won't bore you with the details here, but believe me when I tell you, I GET IT. Totally and utterly. (PUB QUIZ FACT Light always travels at 300,000 km/sec). After learning about the theory, which Einstein originally developed and released in Bern in 1905, you're led up a staircase to the next level. This staircase might have been my favourite part of the whole museum. It was like walking into something out of the Minority Report or Dr X's special mind room in the X-Men. Everything was mirrored and so as you looked up, it seemed that the room went on forever. With the flashing images of Einstein and the blue and white lights, it was totally surreal. I sat on the staircase for a while, spacing out slightly.

The curators had mixed the Einstein part of the museum with Switzerland's Jewish History (Einstein was Jewish, though didn't believe in God). The Jews really have had it rough. They only got equal rights to other citizens in Switzerland in 1880s. Ridiculous. So after delving a little more into Einstein's life (he didn't speak properly at the age of 3 and struggled with the educational methods at school) and his family (his dad and Uncle owned an Electrical Company in Munich, and were the first people to electrocute Oktoberfest), I headed into the Swiss history section, which gave an interesting fact for every year between about 1850 and 2001. Here are some highlights:

• 1908 - Persil was the first detergent on market. (I'd always undervalued these sorts of developments, but labour-saving technologies in detergent, washing machines and other household devices etc. had a major impact on freeing up women's time at home, and allowed them to pursue things outside of housekeeping. I can't not be grateful of that)
• 1934 - Nescafe soluble coffee invented by a Nescafe employee (Max Morgenthaler) in his own time, after the company dropped the project.
• 1959 - The greatest international success of a Swiss Football team to date...Bern's Sport Club Young Boys won the first leg of the semi-final for the Europe Cup at Wankdorf (LOL) stadium.
• 1962 - First James Bond Film Dr. No released, with Honey Rider (babe who walks out of the sea in white bikini) played by a Swiss lady, Ursula Andress.

So big Swiss history, right there. I learned a bit about Switzerland's role during WW2 as well. Literally the only country not overrun by Nazis, mainly because the Nazis couldn't see any value in invading Switzerland. They instead utilised their banking system (Nazi gold!), whilst the Swiss carried on as usual, sometimes taking in Jewish refugees and letting them flee to the U.S.

Another thing I discovered is that Art Brut is actually the art of the mentally ill. Had no idea. A guy called Asdolf Woelfi was apparently big in Art Brut, his mental disorder being schizophrenia, and his crimes involving child abuse. Good that he's remembered as a Swiss hero.

I went to the Bistro Steinhaus for lunch and sat trying to read, though mainly ended up staring out at the falling snow, thinking about the future (the outcome; nothing decided, but no particular worries about it. Just going to see what happens, you know). I headed back out into the snow to take some photos. I smelt roasting chestnuts but couldn't work out how I was supposed to eat them when snow kept hitting my face and I was wearing thick gloves.

I walked around for a while (Bern's only small) and found myself in the Matte area, along Wasserwerkgasse. There was a tempting amount of snow, so I made a mini snowman on the ledge. I mean sure, it may seem odd for a 25 year old to be making a snowman next to a kids playground, but I was just caught up in the fun of it all. Simon looked pretty good. I picked him up to transport him to the playground to take some comedy photos of him on the slide and the swings, to send home. I'd secured him on a swing, when I noticed one of his eyes had fallen off in transport. Double-checking he was secure, I quickly ran to retrieve Simon's old-conker shell eye, and when I turned round, he was splattered on the floor. Gone. I felt like a mix between a kid who's dropped their ice cream and a parent who's dropped their child. Guiltily, I quickly backed away from the scene of the crime before anyone could see me. R. I. P. Simon.

 Pre Swing

I went to a place near my hostel/hotel called Kloeserli Weincafe. It was really cosy, warm and with candles everywhere and bottles of wine. I had a hot chocolate (what a treat) and then downloaded a book about wine on my Kindle. In my thoughts about the future, and after meeting the Kiwi winery worker, I figured if I wanted a career in wine making, I'd better know more about it than 'well, this tastes alright'. As I read, I ordered a mid-range glass of Sankt Laurent red and sat swirling and sniffing. Apparently the smell is really important. The book advised a test where you hold a piece of ripe pear under your nose, whilst eating a bit of apple. Apparently you'll taste pear.

The wine was good, and I stayed until it got dark. My siblings will be less than impressed that I've started using the pretend scribble on hand to get the bill like my dad does. They always used to take the mickey. It works though. And I figure it's better than yelling 'DIE RECHNUNG BITTE' across the room.

Went for a quick bite to eat then hit the hay in my private room. Lovely.

End of day 27.

* Later in their marriage, Einstein wrote a list of rules for his wife Mileva (who he'd met at University - she had also been a physicist), including; you must not speak to me unless spoken to, you must leave my meal outside my study every night and are NOT allowed in unless invited, you will not expect any signs of physical affection.

When they divorced (or she died?), Einstein went to live with his female cousin and her daughter for a while. He expressed an uncomfortable amount of interest in the younger woman, but said to them both in letter that he was happy to marry either of them, though it was up to them to decide. The younger girl liked him as a person, but found his sexual interest a bit offputting, as he was an old man.

Day 26: Munich to Bern

Highlights:

• Snow-covered German countryside
• Swiss Albert's impression of a Mancunian
• Bern

After my horrific lack of supplies on the train to Ljubljana, I made a trip to the local Lidl to stock up. At home, I love Lidl. Nothing is any logical order and it's all a bit potluck what you come out with. Usually some unbranded curry sauce and a cheap bottle of prosecco. When you're in a hurry, the lack of order is annoying. I came out with some water and two croissants for a 6hour journey. Brilliant.

I unmade my bed at the hostel as required (begrudgingly), checked out and headed to the station. To emphasise German train efficiency even further, the ticket office has one of those old-school deli ticket machines, where you wait comfortably in the chairs for your number to be called. On being told 'sie konnen aber sie nicht mussen reservier ein setz', I hopped on the train to Mannheim and found a cushty table seat. Cushty until a seemingly cute little girl came and sat opposite me and started innocently kicking me.

Housemate Abbie tells me I've described every location I've been as beautiful, so I'm going to do a little Joey from Friends inappropriate thesaurus usage to liven up my descriptions. The German countryside covered in snow was PHYSICALLY ATTRACTIVE. As the snow fell down, and we passed these little cabins, the view was just HANDSOME. We're talking seriously PULCHRITUDINOUS (what?)!

I changed in Mannheim, somewhere in South-West Germany I think, where it was snowing and icy cold. The cold you can only feel when standing on an exposed train platform for 30minutes. Lots of old ladies, in their thin old lady shoes were doing little keep warm feet dances, so I joined in. The trains to Basel were all delayed, presumably because of the snow, but it gave me the opportunity to cement the german word for 'platform' (gleis) to memory. So eventually onto Basel, and then onto Bern.

I arrived in Bern around 5pm. My guide had described it as 'the most underrated capital in Europe', and I think on first impressions, it's been the most impactful on this trip. For once, I didn't get lost, and trundled my way down the main street (Marktgasse) to head to my hostel in the East. The main road was bordered either side with covered walkways with unique shops on one side and huge archways allowing you back onto the street on the other. The view through these archways, with the snow falling in front of all these Diagon Alley shops, was RESPLENDENT.

I crossed the River Aare (Pub Quiz Fact) and found my hostel down a little stairway on Alternbergerstrasse. It was called the Landhaus by Albert and Frida, and I think I was welcomed in by Frida. She looked bemused when I mixed french and german in one sentance and switched to English for me then showed me around. I was in a 6-bed dorm, though these were split into 2-bed cabins, allowing a little more privacy. They had a cancellation, so I actually had my own cabin for the evening.

As is standard with my arrival in a new city (and most evenings really), I treated myself to some red wine (Fransozich, bitte). I then tried to work out the Swiss plug socket. Different from the rest of Europe, apparently. Albert had joined Frida behind bar and was excited when I asked for 'noch eins rot wein' (thanks, Gurk). "But your German is so good!" We had a little conversation about England. They loved London. Like every single person I've met on this trip, they said the people there are just so helpful and friendly. London may have its bad points, but I'd agree that the people are probably the friendliest and smiliest. There's more laughter in London than anywhere else. I felt a bit of pride, but again had to defend English cuisine. SIDE NOTE Seriously, why does no-one appreciate a good Shepherd's pie? It doesn't have to be covered in salt, butter and a rich sauce to be tasty. Shepherd's pie, or a nice stew, or bangers and mash. Quality cuisine.

I said to Albert I loved Germany, and had great first impressions of Switzerland. He mentioned that one of his favourite English phrases was "Don't mention the war!" (A Cleese fan). His second favourite was expressed to him in anger in Manchester. He'd just arrived and had headed to the pub when this drunk manc came up to him and said "fooking shitalian". Albert cackled as he retold this. "I wish I were a shitalian, but I'm just a boring Swiss". He repeated 'fooking shitalian' to himself a few more times, in quite a good Manchester accent.

So seeing as I was in Bern and Switzerland, famous for raclettes and fondues, I went and had Japanese for dinner. It's always odd being in a foreign country, ordering food from a different foreign country. Trying to work out Swiss-German pronunciation of Japanese words. Tricky. An expensive dinner, but it was worth it.

I headed back through the snow and the BEAUTEOUS (it's still different, Abbie), glittering lights of the small houses on the hill.

End of day 26.

Day 25: Munich

Highlights:

• Pinakothek der Moderne
• Englischer Garten
• Augustiner Braustuben

So I stood the Venezuelans up. I examined my reasons for foregoing my only full day in Munich to spend the day with strangers in Salzburg, and realised the only pro-reason was that Lucas Jr was a Venezuelan fox. Young but with salt n pepper hair and mysterious dark brown eyes. I also had this sense of foreboding that Lucas Jr probably already had an attractive Venezuelan wife, and I was being primed as big Luis' London mistress. This in mind, I got up and scuttled past the train station, preparing a plausible story as to why I couldn't come if I bumped into them.

I found a cafe and settled in with my hostel-provided map and brief guide to Munich. So as well as the Olympic Israeli murders and the football plane crash, Munich (meaning the City of Monks) is also known for being a Hitler hotspot. As I walked around town, I noticed a lot of appropriate town squares for Nazi rallying. They're all quite large and floored with white concrete, faintly reminiscent of the top end of Berlin's Unter den Linden. At the moment they're mostly covered in lovely orange and red autumn leaves, so with the sky being a white overcast and the buildings being quite pale, your eyes are drawn down to this sort of fiery scattering. It's all very pretty.

I headed up through the centre of Munich past Marienplatz where there's a bit clocktower which puts on an elaborate cuckoo style performance a few times each day. Something involving a heroic German beating a Frenchie in a jousting battle. There were a lot of people waiting around for the next show but I decided to head north to the Pinotheken, a group of museums. Munich is the home of a lot of German businesses and I saw a big BMW office and an attractive classic pink building which turned out to be Siemens HQ.

Gurk had recommended the Pinakothek der Moderne, so I went and asked for a ticket in German. I really DO think I speak with a Bavarian accent, as here I'm only responded to in German. I understood one word in 7 on average, and I'm pretty sure I bought a ticket covering more museums than I could possibly hack, but my fake-comprehension seemed to please old Hans the ticket guy. Again, you're forced to put your bag in the cloakroom. They must get a lot of art terrorists in Germany. People Banskying over Rothkos and Cezannes and stuff.

So I generally think a lot of modern art is a load of rubbish, but I still love it. I enjoy making up wacky interpretations ("that maroon smudge clearly expresses sorrow for the extinction of the dodo") and taking the mickey. I got a free audioguide, which came with a screen that showed pictures of the artists and critics and seemed to mirror a lot of my joke interpreations though said with complete sincerity. Andy Warhol's religious meanings behind his converse trainer print, because he wore converse (which the lady described as the most popular U.S. Trainer) to the opening of his Last Supper showing. Oh the many layers and depth of that douchebag...I hate Warhol. I started reading his biography once, but couldn't go more than a chapter in. His shallow craving for cool, popularity and wealth is somewhat sickening.

There was some cool stuff by an artist called Georg Baselitz. He had a lot of figures who looked like muscular giants, but with tiny, tiny heads. The colours and style similar to the latest Manic Street Preachers cover. He was born in East Berlin but moved to the West for a bit, and a lot of his paintings are supposed to express his turmoil. There was a good one involving two Forestry workers, looking at two dogs caught in barbed wire. A bit grim, maybe. There was an empty room with some sort of creepy classroom setting, with all these wooden dolls.

There was some quality video art. First a documentary about setting up an art space in London for a Danish artist (Christian something), using a 'famous UK TV interior designer' who I'd NEVER heard of, called Gordon. It explained about the uses of space; apparently the Dulwich Gallery in London was one of the first custom built galleries. They compared the traditional style of that to the Saatchi Gallery's plain white wall and high ceiling approach, and the cool Danish artist expressed a preference to move away from the dull plain white walls. He wanted a bit more of a challenge. The Pinothek Modernes had an amazing style and layout, and it was a really unusual building. Similar tall light grey concrete walls as found at the Jewish Museum in Berlin (which you should all go to by the way. Best museum I've ever been to) but then with this unusual glass roof and oddly shaped breakoffs from the circular entrance hall. Turbine Hall aside, it makes the Tate Modern look really dull.

The other video art was by a Jewish guy, and involved him and some Jewish actors wearing old style country dungarees and caps, building a Kibbutz on the site of the old Warsaw Ghetto. It was beautifully shot, though every now and then focussed on some of the actors with a sort of glow around them. An obvious move to make the characters appear angelic and idyllic. The music seemed strangely Christian Cathedral, aside from a few harmonica timeouts as the actors rested from building this wooden tower and huts. It was all ok until they started putting barbed wire up. Nothing beautiful or peaceful about barbed wire. Apparently this video was part of a trilogy, and at the end the leader is killed by the others. Dunno what that's about. Immediately after this room you walk into a slightly darkened angular room with three landscape screens propped up in the middle. The screens show selection of naked people walking onto the edge of one screen, and then across and off the other end, holding a plank of wood over their shoulders. The next person starts as the previous has walked over all three screens. The viewing angle is from directly below the people, so you see a lot of willies and lady bits. Nakes Society, it was called.

I looked around enough to get my money's worth and then headed outside. It was really cold (I think below 6 degrees) though dry, and the streets were relatively empty of people and cars so it was very quiet. It seemed like the right time to listen to Radiohead's King of Limbs, and with my new bass heavy earphones (see Day 1) and those quiet, empty clean and pale streets, I think I finally get that album. It was powerful. Just Radiohead and I against the cold.

Had lunch in a nice restaurant called Soda near the university buildings, and then headed to Englischergarten. It's supposed to be one of the biggest parks in a city (though the only comparison it seems to make is that it's two times the size of Central Park. Having been to Central Park and being completely underwhelmed (it's pants), that wasn't a selling point for me. The selling point was that there's an entire section which is acknowledged as a nudist hub. I think it's offensive to wear clothes in that section in the summer. Sadly, that 5 degree temperature meant today was sans-nude, but it was still a nice park. Leafy. A few streams of river, which lead into Munich's Isar River (pub quiz fact for you) and some dogs and runners. I got lost (daily achievement) and somehow came out North Side, when I'd been aiming for South West, but you know how I am with city parks. Time well spent.

I walked back along the river and then into town. I think post holiday season, they decided to do a massive city refurb, so a lot of things are shut or covered with big sheets of plastic, some of which are decorated like the building underneath in an attempt to make it look more presentable. There was some sort of archaeological dig going on near Schrammer Strasse and sort of chestnut extortion scam going on, on Kaufinger Strasse. €3 for 10 chestnuts? You're having a laugh.

Back at the hostel I met up with Courtney and we went to the Augustiner Brewery Beer Hall. Munich is famous for its Hofbrauhausen, and we reckoned being slightly out of the centre, this would either be quieter or full of locals. It can apparently cater for 7,000 people. There's a mega beer garden which would be incredible in the summer, with the paths lined with candles. Inside, we were directed to the basement, circling down a low-ceilinged spiral staircase. The basement was huge. High domed ceilings and walls of red brick, with soft lighting. It felt like a true Bavarian experience, and it was packed with Germans. We were seated at the only free table, and I ordered one of two vegetarian dishes; macaroni cheese with fried onions and salad. Courtney ordered the meat plate. Seriously, just a plate of meat. And a weissbiere. Of course. It was brilliant. I'd recommend two days in Munich if only for that experience.

We had a great evening talking about Australian wines (apparently they're alright, if you know where the good grapes are), Parisians (Courtney had a put-off-for-a-lifetime experience in the capital) and pork knuckles (where is a pig's knuckle? Apparently it's huge).

End of day 25.

Day 24: Ljubljana to Munich

Highlights:

• Efficient, smooth German transport
• Lovely Bavarian beer garden
• Venezuelan Luis, Lucas Sr and Lucas Jr

So snoring took on a whole new level last night. I was having this dream where someone was trying to force me to go to a dupstep club night, and I just wasn't interested. I could hear the beat, and my companion was all 'doesn't that sound awesome?'. I listened and I heard 'di-di-di-di hfraaaawn, hfran' on repeat. Gradually I woke up to find that hrfaaaawn was Simon from New Zealand, and hfran was a girl from the Philippines. Well, it takes about 90minutes to get back to sleep with dubstep in your ears. Bloody snoring.

I woke and packed, and slowly headed to the station. I stopped for a guilty McDonalds Cappuccino and caught up with the US girls as they legged it for their train. My last memory is of them, 5ft 11 Carly and 5ft 1-ish Brianna, jogging away from me on the platform, their huge backpacks bouncing as they descended into the stairway ahead.

At the platform, a stuttering guy came up to me with what I thought was a question about the train. Even when he'd reverted to English, I still couldn't understand him until he started repeating 'give me two euros' in an unusual way. I didn't give him two euros. I pretended I had to look at something further down the platform.

The journey was uneventful but wondefully smooth and beautiful as we headed through Austria. We're talking Austrian hills, green and vast against snow capped mountains and blue skies, with these little Austrian villages in the valleys. It went on and on, until you entered a 5minute tunnel through one of the mountains and then emerged again in another valley. We passed through Salzburg and then headed into Germany. The landscape become less epic, though after a few hours of fog, we hit some sunshine. A car transporter passed us on the track, full of brand new Volkswagon and Audi cars. There were two levels on each carriage, with seven cars stored on each level. About 50 carriages must have passed by on this train. That's mass German transportation.

I arrived in Munich around 3.30pm. The girl opposite me thought I was German and rather than disappoint her, I followed her lead and laughed at what seemed like the relevant punchlines. She looked like a German, dark-haired and pierced-lip version of my friend Helen Martin. We both laughed at a child crying in the corridor.

I was staying at the Wombats hostel, a 3minute walk from the Hauptbahnhof. The receptionist was refusing a 40something couple as I arrived, explaining that they were fully booked. The couple got angry, though the receptionist, with a somewhat smug grin, repeated that it was a busy hostel and you really needed to book; she couldn't exactly throw existing people out, could she? Quite cleverly, the hostel made you make your own beds. I was a bit outraged, until I got a grip and realised it was a pretty smart move and that I'd been spoilt for a month not having to change my sheets since Berlin.

As it was sunny, I headed to what I thought was a beer garden, recommended by my friend Gurk (her au-pairing had been in Bavaria, the capital of which is Munich). It turned out to be a beer hall, which was cool but I wanted to be outside enjoying the sun. After a brief stop off at C&A to see if they sold any baby lederhosen for my new favourite baby (Charge Gridley-Stickland), I found an outdoor beer garden on Viktualienmarkt. Loads of long tables, surrounded by beer and food huts. It was packed. I'm told it was their first sunny day in a while. I bought a beer then used my best 'Kann ich hier setzen' on a German family and sat reading Kindle Samples about the Munich Olympics massacre (the only thing I know about the place beyond the Busby Man United plane crash). I eavesdropped as the 13 year old daughter of the German family came back, having bought a T-Shirt with the word ROCK on. Her older brother moaned how lame those T-Shirts were, then defended his Nirvana T-Shirt saying 'Nirvana were not a rock band' (I've translated this). It all got a bit heated.

The family were soon replaced by three guys, a late 40s guy asking in English if he could sit down. The youngest guy of the group asked me something in German; the only German he knew it turned out, as they were all actually Venezuelan. They were returning from Kanton, China, where they went once a year for a conference on plastic pipes. They'd started their own company the previous year (and were all partners) and had their manufacturing based in China, hence the trip. The two older guys were Luis and Lucas Sr; the younger guy was his son Lucas Jr. They all spoke great English (though had to speak in Spanish for a while trying to work out what 'The Sound of Music was' (whilst the direct Spanish translation is supposedly beautiful, it's called something like 'The Rebel Nun' in Venezuelan)) but Lucas Jr had studied in Boston so he had to help the older guys from time to time. They were stopping on the way back from China for a short holiday in Munich, and invited me to join them in Salzburg the following day ("either Venezuelan Style or English Style". The former, they pay everything for me, and the latter I pay for myself). They showed me photos from Hong Kong Madame Tussaurd's, with various comic poses next to Mao, Princess Diana and Steve Jobs (showing him a blackberry). Lucas Sr bought me a beer and we hung out for a few hours as it got darker. I learned that Venezuela is famous for its beaches and beautiful women.

We left about 7pm, and I stopped off for dinner near the station. Quite proudly, I spoke entirely in German throughout the process, somehow making myself understood even in the Bavarian dialect, and then headed back the hostel. I'm sharing with two Chinese girls and a Taiwanese girl who study Jewellery making in London and were in Munich for this big ole jewellery fair. They felt it was a small world meeting someone from London. I don't think it's that unusual.

Also sharing with a really unique looking Aussie called Courtney; she had a Dutch-Indonesian Dad and an Aussie-Sri Lankan Mum. I headed to the hostel bar with Courtney, and we sat next to two Argentinians, Martin and Lucia. They were studying in a small city in Germany and could speak really good German, but limited English. German seems a pretty unusual language choice for two South-Americans though, doesn't it? They were playing a complex Argentinian card game called Gruco, using a pack of cards with four different suits (apparently it's always different in Argo).

Courtney had been travelling since August on her own. She'd been really shy when she started, and used to find it difficult going into restaurants alone (fairly problematic) or speaking to strangers. Her boyfriend was joining her in a few weeks, and they were heading to London, Berlin, Morocco, Spain, Italy and then New York for Christmas and New Year. They both worked for the National Bureau of Statistics in Australia, and she explained how she'd been focussed on the census Australia had last year (I used my best open university Census chat here; "it's just so important for allocation of medical and education resources"). She wasn't sure about going back there; the work environment is really sexist, and her bosses notoriously ganged up on the women in her position. We had a few drinks and then went to bed. Courtney showed real concern when I painfully slipped into the splits from the wet bathroom.

End of day 24.

Day 23: Ljubljana

Highlights:

• Slovene Laundromat
• Roasted chestnuts
• Slovene Dan and Robert. Rob. Bob. M*****F*****
• Canadian Carly, American Brianna and Aussie Claire

On waking, I went to a little coffee shop just along Krakovski nasip near the river, called Cafe Zep (I assumed there was some sort of cosmic influence at work after my Led Zep cinema experience, so I went in). I'm not sure what the cosmic message was, as I think I walked in on an argument between the leather jacket-wearing waiter and his boss. It started with the boss telling him how to wash up, and from that point it all got a bit uncomfortable. The guy slammed the equipment around and was in no mood for my cheeky smiles. I've apparently got no ability to charm Slovenes. It didn't work with the Pizzeria waiter that evening either. It was a nice enough Cafe but I'd recommend a little questioning on employee/management relations before going to Cafe Zep.

I downed my coffee, left my money on the table and raced out. The waiter looked like he wanted to punch someone. I went back to the restaurant next to the hostel to have breakfast and plan my next steps. I had four nights remaining, and then I had to somehow get to Paris. You've seen a map though; Europe is huge. Every route seemed like I was missing out on something even greater. I ordered some yoghurt and black tea (I've got really used to drinking it without milk here) from the waiter. He was a tall, smooth talking, mysterious character. Not necessarily good looking, but he had a powerful and scary aura. I imagine he was an Italian assassin, but had been forced to lay low in Ljubljana after one of his kills gained too high a media profile. Probably.

I spent the early afternoon doing chores (it was overcast, so no assistance from squirrels and deer). I won't bore you with the details of the Slovene laundromat (4euros all in. Regulation washer/dryer). I'll fill the time with a few facts about Slovenia:

• After being controlled by Austria until 1918, Slovene control was split after WW1 between Austria, Italy and then Yugoslavia. The Slovenes generally resisted the Nazis (hurrah!). It became independent in '91 after a 10day war

• Population is around 2million, with 83% being ethnic Slovenes. 58% Roman Catholic

• Slovenia's most beloved writer is the poet France Preseren. It seems a lot of Ljubljana is named after him

• Siddharta are the most popular local rock group

I wandered back to the hostel through the market streets, stopping off for some roasted chestnuts. They're everywhere here, and about €2. Delicious. It brought back memories of picking loads in Norsey Wood, only to find many of them uneatable after they'd been roasted. The taste of slight victory amidst a tray of bitter disappointment. The Americans had never had them before, and suddenly the christmas lyric 'chestnuts roasting on the fire' all made sense.

At the hostel I spent the rest of the afternoon with the American girls, Carly and Brianna and a young Aussie called Claire. Carly was 5ft 11, had Dutch heritage and was blonde with blue eyes. Proper Heidi of the mountains. She was actually Canadian, and her Dutch grandparents still lived there after her immediate family moved to Boise (I think that's where they're from) in the US. Her and Brianna spent most of the afternoon planning my trip (which didn't actually end up working due to train times). They suggested the Cinque Terre in Italy, and the photos they showed me were amazing. They both got so excited by the idea of me going there, and lent me their iPad, train timetable and travelguide so I could make all the arrangements. Probably the two most helpful people I've met on the trip. I reciprocated with some Berlin advice, which mainly consisted of FRITZ KOLA.

I went for dinner in the Pizzeria from the first night. Midway through, two 30something drunk Slovenes were sat next to me. As I tried to anti-socially concentrate on my book, I heard a Kid Rock style voice singing "he wears a sweet bandana, he wears a sweet bandana. And a honkytonk down in Mexico". A bit of slovene slurring and then "Cause children walk hand in hand, no matter what colour." I'd never heard these songs. I glanced over at them. ERROR. I was spotted. The singer reverted to English on my blank look at his introduction. His name was Dan and he'd been in London two weeks ago (he told me this twice) to help a Finnish guy move to Slovenia. He loved London because, being cool like him, you could meet a lot of people. He offered a greasy, melted cheese-covered hand for me to shake. I declined as politely as I could, indicating the string of cheese hanging down from his third finger. He still looked offended. His friend introduced himself to me as "Robert. Rob. Bob. Motherfucker". Dan told me my name in Slovene meant 'never' and that if he had more time he'd tell me I was lovely. I took that as my cue to leave.

I'd been planning on going to a few bars with Aussie Claire though discovered she didn't want to leave until 12pm. She'd got significantly more excitable/annoying since I'd agreed to go out with her, so I used my unexpected early start as a get out. Pheuf.

So, Claire was from the Gold Coast, and loved r'n'b and dubstep clubs. Clubbing in general. She often went alone. She was self-admittedly spoilt; her parents had brought her a three bed house, and her daily spending budget for two months in Europe was AUS$150. She was wearing pearls and just bought a nice dress to wear when she met this guy she was seeing in Paris. Claire had met this German guy called Daniel in Munich during Oktoberfest whilst she was drunk (his opening line was "mine's a Gin and Tonic"). They'd hooked up a few times since (she gave us too many details about their sex life), and were planning this weekend in Paris soon. She seemed very eager, and talked about it A LOT whilst we were all trying to concentrate on planning our trips. Despite this and a lot of random interjections about her life that were unrelated to the general conversation, Claire was actually quite sweet. I think she maybe tried too hard, because she didn't know how to get people to like her. She was a nurse, and as she talked about getting stuck in and helping her juniors when they needed it, you could tell she had a good heart.

Of all the travellers I've met, Claire was the only one to pack high heels, pearls, eyelash tint and a 'how to get a man using body language' guide. Odd, but she gave us a few tips. When going for the handshake, either gently and briefly clasp their hand between both of yours or combine the handshake with a gental pat on the other person's safezone (elbow to shoulder). Apparently this will make them like you. Watch out for me touching all of your safezones on my return.

End of day 23.

Day 22: Ljubljana

Highlights:

• Sax Bar
• Tivoli Park
• Slovenian Swing Dancers

The hostel I'm staying at is called Hostel Sax on Eipprova ulica. The hostel is above and behind a small bar called Sax, which was opened in the 80s and hosts jazz nights. It's a tiny bar, and not too busy, but it's got a great warm atmosphere. The bar and hostel are run by the same people, so they're alternately staffed. It's all very trusting out in Eastern Europe. The hostel has copied the Jazz style; the walls are full of records, and the rooms are named Ray Charles, Louis Armstrong etc. It's a new hostel so the decor is lovely, and the beds are comfy. It's super cool.

I dragged myself out of bed and into town, heading for Neboticnik 'The Skyscraper' (it doesn't so much scrape the sky, as just about rise above all other building in Ljubljana). The skyscraper has a bar and cafe, so I took a seat on the roof balcony and had some traditional Slovenian Bled Cake; pastry filled with a thick, sweet, eggy cream. It was good. From the roof you can look across the city and see the raised castle and idyllic streets. Someone told me the Brothers Grimm set a lot of their stories in Slovenia, and Ljubljana looks exactly like a Fairytale town. With the courtyards, river and then castle on a hill in the centre, it sort of looks very Sleeping Beauty-esque.

I had a look at the map to plan my day, and gleefully (yes, gleefully) noticed a park on the west of town called Tivoli. Show me a city which is circled with parks, and I'll bang on about it on here, and stay well and truly beyond the recommended stay duration. The whole city is pretty compact, so you can walk everywhere, and it only took a few minutes to find the main walkway. It was lined with a National Geographic display, highlighting the importance of protecting the world's natural heritage. It alternated large photos of world sites with Slovenian photos.

Bloody hell, Slovenia is beautiful. Overwhelmingly so. With a National Park and lakes and rocky gorges, it looks absolutely stunning. I sat and read my book (a Hungarian author that Andrew recommended), and like in that scene in Snow White, all these squirrels and birds just came and sat next to me. Pretty sure they were one step away from helping out with my laundry and chores. Lovely.

I spent most of the day there, completely guiltlessly. It was warm and sunny. Birds were tweeting. I made friends with the squirrels.

I headed back to the hostel around 5pm and met some of my dormmates. The place was fully booked, and as I'd extended my stay, I'd had to move to the larger dorm (from Armstrong to Ray Charles). I was staying with a Kiwi called Simon and an Aussie called Debbie. They'd met a month ago and had been travelling together since (not like that. Simon - "Debbie's a lesbian, otherwise we would have probably slept together"). They joined me in the Sax bar a bit later for a glass of cold red wine (seems to be the only way they serve red wine in Eastern Europe). Billie Holiday was playing in the background. It was getting foggy out, but the bar was warm and cosy.

We were joined by some other dormmates; Carly and Brianna from Idaho, and Rosie from New Zealand. We headed into town for dinner, deciding against the ridiculously cool and expensive Sushi bar, and stopping at a place near the main square when a young woman in zigzag leggings and a red beanie offered us the student price menu, and warned us the inside was "a bit crazy". It was a bit visually wacky. There was an upside-down cow in the entrance, and then a mixture of mosaic chairs and nude bronze ladies bent over into tables. There were cartoons playing on a tv in the background (Jetsons). I loved it.

So Rosie had studied Biomedical Sciences at Uni but had ended up working in a Winery. She'd needed her science degree to get the job, but said a lot of her colleagues had decided to study Oenology at Univeristy at the age of 18. Leaving yourself a bit isolated if you decided you didn't want to work in a Winery after that...she loved it though, and was able to return to that after travelling.

Brianna and Carly had met at University, though Carly was now a hair stylist (she really loved her job) and Brianna had been working on a Dude Ranch to save money for travelling. This was in Wyoming, in somewhere called Jacksonhole ("No, sorry. I've not heard of it") and basically gave Eastern tourists the opportunity to experience the ranch lifestyle, with horseriding etc. Apparently the place was worth $100m. Big money.

After dinner (Sangria and dinner coming to about €10. Since returning to a Euro country, you definitely notice an increase in prices), we headed to an area that was supposed to be lively with bars. Turned out to be dead, except for a busy bar playing swing music. We went in and found all these couples (generally early 20s to about early 30s) well and truly going for it on the dance floor. It was amazing. They just threw each other around and seemed to all know various routines. You didn't see one second of hesitation, even when they all swapped partners. It was a mixed bunch too, with alternative, pierced and tattooed couples going for it as much as the nerdy looking couples. Amazing. We were all enthralled.

We headed back around 11.30 and Ljubljana was in a complete fog. You could see people emerging out of the fog only 10m in front of you. It would have been creepy if you were alone.

End of day 22.

Day 21: Budapest to Ljubljana

Highlights:

• A sad farewell to Andrew and Gabo
• Sally from Southampton
• A great welcome to Ljubljana

I woke up to Gabo and Andrew's voices. I wouldn´t have minded another night in Budapest, but I had a train to catch.

Andrew looked crestfallen as I approached reception. He'd just had a bad review and couldn't understand it. I think in a city like Budapest and for a small hostel like HomePlus, a bad review really can damage your business. I promised to write a glowing review (and I will). Gabo offered me tea, which I declined. As he put sweetener in his he said 'this is sweet, but not as sweet as you!'. I think I've definitely made a friend. He offered to show me around Northern Italy, as he knows it well. I promised to email him (I will!). I got huge hugs from both of them, and I gathered my stuff and reluctantly left.

I walked to the Metro, where you HAD to pay for a ticket (Gabo had again advised getting the tram to the metro for free. I don't think he understood my reluctance to illegally ride transport in a foreign country). He'd said it was a long walk between the metro and main station. It was, but only because I accidentally got off a station too early. I've become a bit absent minded over this trip. Lucky it's not hindered me too much...

I was guided onto the train by a nice Hungarian station officer (I've found the Hungarians to be the nicest people of all the countries I've visited so far. Seriously friendly. I talked to someone later who agreed, but had said she felt the Polish and Hungarians seem somewhat repressed. It's true that in Poland, you couldn't see a lot of laughter, and no one really returned your smile. Not true of Hungarians though. Very jolly).

The train ride was nearly nine hours to Ljubljana (capital of Slovenia). I settled into a carriage and fashioned a bed out of the three adjacent seats. My phone was dead, and my Kindle and iPod were in their last minutes, but sleeping aside, the time just flew. I felt so relaxed, I had no worries, and my mind just ambled about pleasantly. I can't remember feeling this content in the last 10 years.

It wasn't all roses though. The toilet had no water, so was pretty grim and when we were told there were rail replacement services, it felt strangely reminiscent of every weekend trying to travel home from London and Essex. I'd also been in a rush so had only four biscuits, a bag of pom bear and a small bottle of water for the whole journey. I decided to impose some war-style rationing, but then ate all my food in the first twenty minutes of the journey. Yeah, rationing pretty difficult when you've got hangover munchies.

On the second train (even grubbier than the first) I overheard an English lady talking to two Hungarian girls. She was heading to Ljubljana also, so I knew my action plan from then on was to just follow her and hope for the best. We got talking as we transferred onto a bus. I couldn't tell you where we were. Middle of nowhere is probably a good description. Her name was Sally and I'll tell you later what I learned about her.

We arrived in Ljubljana an hour after we were supposed to. Coincidentally we were booked into the same Hostel, and she'd got a cab number from them to avoid getting ripped off by the station lurkers (charging up to €15 rather than the €3.20 we were charged). The driver was the big guy who spoke great English. Apparently it's compulsory in Hungary and Slovenia to graduate with two languages, and unlike the dubbing issue in Western Europe, Slovenians watch everything from cartoons to film with subtitles, so their English is a of a really good standard. The driver's first words were that Ljubljana was boring. Not a good start. He then explained that he meant for locals it was dull, being such a small city of 350,000. He gave us a bit of a guide on our short journey, pointing out this lovely castle on this steep hill in the middle of the city, and gave us walking directions from the hostel to the city centre. He was great, and of course we tipped him extra.

Sally and I dumped our stuff in separate rooms (I was in an 8 bed, and she in a 5 bed) and headed to a restaurant. She had Slovenian dumplings (made from potatoes, and a bit more like soft gnocchi, than the suet ones we're used to). We had wine to celebrate our arrival whilst I munched down a massive Pizza. Traditional er...slovenian pizza...

So Sally was on a 6 month sabbatical from her job as a Store Manager for a Superdrug in Southampton. She was near the end of the trip, having started in Florence for 2 months then with a few breaks home in between, had gone to stay with people she met in Italy in Czech Republic, Vancouver and Vienna. She was 48 and had decided to take the Sabbatical the day after her boyfriend broke up with her (quite sadly, he had developed Muscular Dystrophy and become depressed, and found a relationship too hard to handle). They'd got back together the day before her Sabbatical interview, but she went for it anyway; a good decision given they broke up shortly after. She looked amazing for 48. With skin almost as good as my Mum's (the youngest looking 50 something I know). She'd rented an apartment for two months in Florence, figuring it was a small enough city to live in, and a good base to see the rest of Italy from. On her last few days, she decided she wanted a bit of fun, so signed up to some internet dating site and immediately came across the profile of Bernardo. 'Hubba hubba', she thought. He was on business in Milan, but the next night they met up and spent the next week together. She said it felt like a traditional romance, the way he came to pick her up from her apartment every night, and then dropped her off after the date. I think Sally had a complex about being single (presumably other people make you feel there's something wrong with you if you're not settled by that age) so I hope it works out with Bernardo. At the end of the trip, she's finishing in Florence and staying at Bernardo's. She hadn't realised she would be, so unfortunately didn't have any sexy underwear, but I told her not to worry. He seemed pretty keen already.

It was good to meet someone of a different age group, and someone out of London. Sally did the comical middle class thing that Miranda Hart mentions in Miranda; lowering her voice whenever she mentioned the words gay/lesbian/black/asian. In Vancouver, she stayed with two girls she'd met in Florence, and only discovered on arrival that they were *hushed voice* lesbians. It was probably best that we didn't talk politics. I imagine there's probably a significant gap between us on the spectrum. It was good to meet her though. I was playing a significant part in her log that day; she was blown away by our chance meeting, with the same hostel and the same reason for going from Budapest to Ljubljana, instead of going to Croatia (we both had limited time, and realised Croatia needed a few weeks to enjoy the mix of cities, beaches and hiking). I didn't think it was that big a coincidence, but I like that I made an impact.

Went back to the dorm, and entered the room to hear Johnny Cash's Hurt playing. Good sign. Turns out I was with a few young people from Australia (Suz and Mim, sisters), Canada (Tim, 21 and has a pilot license) and an American (bit moany). We chatted until midnight about Seal, the song Killing Me Softly and Batman.

End of day 21.

Day 20: Budapest

Highlights:

• Vasarely Gallery Museum
• Szechenyi Spa
• Led Zeppelin: Celebration Day

I was called over by Andrew and Gabo first thing to declare my plans for the day. I wanted to check out the Hungarian Contemporary Art Museum but Gabo was all "No, no, no. I show you on map better places. 'I show you on map' seems to be his catchphrase alongside 'what means *insert any word here*'. He showed me two museums dedicated to Hungarian artists; Kassak, and Victor Vasarely (to use his Western name). Gabo sensibly suggested I get the tram, as we were going completely off map with these museums, up North on Buda side, but I was determined to walk, if only to get some good photos in the sun. I headed for breakfast at Cafe Europa first, just round the corner on Andrew and my guidebook's recommendation. Standard croissant and good coffee.

I walked across Margit Hid (Margaret Bridge) and took some photos of the Parliament building, which even at 10am and only a few hundred metres away was still caught in a sort of haze, so looked purple. Beautiful.

I did get lost. Of course I got lost. I found myself walking through this maze of Budapestian Council Estates. Eventually I found the river again and was able to reach Fo Ter (which Gabo told me means 'Main Place') and the Vasarely Museum. You'd probably recognise Vasarely's work; After years of doing fine art and a few other styles, he stumbled across Kineticism. So quite simply, he focused on movement within art, and achieved this using geometric patterns and a knowledge of the eye to brain nerve system. This exhibition provided a really good level of information, pushing you to step back and look at the painting again, and actually see the vibrations caused by putting black and white shapes together. Vasarely had studied the Bauhaus approach to colour and some interactive activities at the gallery showed how if you look at one block colour for a while, then look at a blank space, your eye ends up creating a blur of the opposite colour on the spectrum for a while. Try looking at a square of red for a minute, and then at a white square of the same size. It's cool.

Vasarely made his fame in Paris so I think I'll visit his gallery there. I left the gallery and slowly wandered to the Szechenyi Spa in the park around Heroes Square. It was a hot day and a weekend so it was pretty busy, but I'd already bought my ten quids ticket from Andrew, so went in. I lounged in the heated outdoor swimming pool for a while, astounded by the variety of shapes and sizes that came and went. If you're ever feeling overwhelmed by the ridiculous media images of the 'normal' woman or man, I suggest going to an outdoor swimming pool. Really perks you up to see ACTUAL normal (and a fair few potential entries to Channel 4's Embarrassing Bodies). From here, I then used the various facilities, including some sort of murky indoor pool which smelt like rank meat. I could only last a few minutes. A great experience though, and nice to fully relax after a few weeks of hectic sight-seeing.

I went back to the secret Hungarian restaurant for dinner and had the same again. Why mess with a classic egg and gnocchi dish. I then went back to the hostel to get ready for the evening, and found Gabo holding fort on reception. I was in a bit of a rush, and he can talk a lot, but he's always got some interesting story to tell. He told me how he worked for Tele Uno for a while, and made me guess that Berlusconi was his boss. He also filled me in on Andrew's love life; separated from his wife, so he entertains himself with a few girlfriends (including the lady from the day before...). Gabo then offered to show me around Vienna or Hungary if I came back, and gave me his email address. Turns out his name is Dr Pesti Gabor, but he's always gone as Gabo. Very sweet.

So when I'd been booking my ballet tickets, down the side of the screen under the 'you might also like) heading was the screening of Led Zeppelin's newly released live dvd, Celebration Day. Led Zeppelin? Budapest? Their O2 show in full viewing? I snapped up the ticket. It was at the Urania National Film Theatre, and Gabo told me this was a lovely old building near Astoria.

The show was at 9.30 so I walked there slowly, passing the flats Gabo had said he used to live in until a grenade came through their window during the revolution. The lady told me I was early, and as I couldn't find a bar, ran across to Tesco Expressz for some refreshments (so in Hungarian, a plain 's' makes a 'sh' sound, hence the 'Budapesht' pronunciation. And an 'sz' sounds like an 's', hence Expressz and Szex shop). On the way out I saw two large chinese guys passed out on the street. I'm certain they hadn't been there before I went in. One had been sick. Two minutes later though an Ambulance pulled up. They HADN'T been there before, so that was the quickest ambulance arrival ever. A joyful Tesco experience, and then I headed back to wait in the theatre entrance hall.

I was admiring the arched, painted ceilings and grand stairways when I looked up and was sort of in a state of disbelief as one clergy man after another came out of the cinema. Like a Priest Day Trip. As I stood there with my Led Zeppelin crowd, all heavy metal hair and beer guts, these priests filtered through us. The most bizarre sight. Then I noticed the poster for 'Pope John Paul II: The Movie' (ok, that wasn't the actual title, but something similar. The poster also explained the big advertising presence of JP II in Krakow). I can't say for sure, but I'm pretty sure that poster explained the priest party.

So when Led Zeppelin started a count down on facebook, ending in a DVD release, I was gutted it wasn't a tour. I'd planned to watch it in Edinburgh with my mate Tom, but suddenly, in Budapest, I was about to see the best next thing to a live show, in this newly resurfaced mega-theatre called Urania National Film Theatre. It was all chandeliers and intricately painted ceilings. The lady reading tickets couldn't understand the English on my print-out so an English-speaking Hungarian behind stepped in. As I was sitting down, he beckoned me forward, saying he had the ticket for a spare seat next to him. Instant upgrade to top seats dead centre.

His name was Robert, and he owned a bar in the neighbourhood (as I discovered later). We had a brief chat about his Led Zeppelin prior viewings (he'd seen the Page/Plant '97 tour and then Plant with his then-band in 2007. Then at a Rock Festival they have in Budapest every year, he met Robert Plant and got a photo with him). He said that this was one of those fleeting moments in life, where two lives collide by pure coincidence, then separate again.

Then bam! With big Bonham drums, Led Zeppelin came on. And I was blown away. It was amazing. A perfect performance with some great versions of their tracks. Jason Bonham on drums joining on vocals occasionally. Plant and Page laughing around. Plant with his signature hand-twisting moves and Page with his closed eyes and pouted lips as he played his 12string. Amazing.

The show ended and Robert asked if I wanted to go for a drink. I was meeting the Aussies I'd met in Prague/Krakow, but figured I could go for one. Robert said his bar was just five minutes away. Then he pulled two motorbike helmets from his spacey looking case. Uh-oh.

I'm pretty sure it would have all been safe, and I was so tempted to say yes, but it occurred to me that this would be in the news article when the details of my kidnap and murder came to light. 'Woman, 25, willingly goes with kidnappers to death'. I made my excuses and left.

I found Instant: The Enchanted Forest, and waited for the guys to arrive. I got hit on a few times, with the guys not even having seen my face before doing so ("and a good thing at that too...LOLS" as my mate Paddy said). Harry, Sven and Adam turned up and we played a card game called 'F*** the dealer' and we joined by a huge group of Americans. We followed them to a bar called Simpla, when I lost the Aussies and was left stranded with all these ridiculous Americans ("oh my god, I love your accent"). I've got a few ace US friends, but most of these were awful. Adam arrived a bit later and I pounced on him in relief. He'd got stuck taking a girl to the toilet on route ("she was so f***ing stupid"), and then had got lost and had to get a rikshaw to the bar. The other guys arrived shortly after and we stayed out until around 5 when the bars shut. And then home to bed, in a pleasantly empty dorm.

End of day 20.

Day 19: Budapest

Highlights:

• Gabo
• Scrambled Egg Gnocchi
• Hungarian State Ballet

The Americans got up pretty early, guilting me into getting up around 8.30. Still, I hung around and had some hot water and lemon (trying to cleanse my body of beer) whilst they went to breakfast with Hungarian Andrew (now the only Andrew). I was still struggling away on my blackberry trying to write yesterday's entry when Andrew returned. Shortly after, a friend of his arrived and I heard them have a big hug around the corner and assumed she was his wife. But I think like Gabo, she was just another good friend. He made me re-demonstrate the light feature on my kindle case in front of her, and we oohed and aahed over it a bit. With all the excitement it's causing, I wonder if they don't have the Kindle here yet?

I headed out a bit later than planned, and went to Alexander for a coffee and to finish The Pianist afterword. It was about the German Officer who helped Wladek (the pianist), and lots of other Jews (though was killed by Soviets after the war). Very moving. An absolute hero.

The rest of my morning/early afternoon was pretty uneventful, aside from an exciting spot of Tesco Expressz. Yes, with a z. I saw a T-co (I don't want to give them more mentions than necessary) van in Prague, though never saw the store. I didn't go in to this one; I'm sticking to the elaborate Lidls I keep finding, and a store called BCA which make these really good seeded, croissant-dough long rolls. Another store that's made it over here, I smelt from a block down. As I walked closer, I was thinking 'hang on a minute, that smells like Lu-' and then I saw that it was a Lush. Same sickening smell. It's just round the corner from my hostel though, so if I get lost in that area I can just sniff my way home.

Anyway, clearly an uninteresting day, and I was worried I'd have nothing to write here. Enter Gabo.

I'd been back an hour when Gabo came in. Andrew had told him he'd be back by 3pm (he only mans reception when he knows people are arriving, or when he can be useful) but didn't turn up until 8pm (Gabo says he always blames the traffic). Anyway, I sat and had tea with Gabo, this Hungarian born, longtime Austrian residing guy in his 60s. He's got a strong accent, pronouncing Vs instead of Ws. ('There's own-ly vun vay to do this'). He gave me a maths puzzle - what is 10 to the power of 100? He said it was a word I use every day. I didn't know, so he made me look over his shoulder as he typed 'what means google' into google. So 10 to the power of 100 is a google. Fact for you. Welsh Andrew had said Gabo had only recently discovered google and was obsessed. He also looked up Lord Nelson after some tea label he read, and a few more 'what means'. 

I was snooping the brochures in reception and figured I should do something that evening at the Opera House. There was a Ballet showing called Karamazov (after the novel by Dostoyevsky) so I booked a 12quids ticket (call back) and agreed to have a quick dinner with Gabo before it started at 7. The place he took us to was about a 10minute walk from the hostel though he was planning on getting a 1minute tram ride just to speed it up. He made me promise not to tell anyone about the restaurant, as he didn't like tourists (and was eyeing up two American guys pretty distastefully) and didn't want them ruining his favourite place.

So here's what I learned about Gabo over the early evening:

Andrew had told me he was a millionaire, and Gabo explained the reason he was in Budapest was because a guy owed him £67,000 that he had lent to his company. It was already overdue, and he was in town to serve the guy with legal papers if he didn't pay up. That day, Gabo had also been down to the CASTLE he owned 102km south of Budapest. He'd had it for 5years and was doing it up. He showed me pictures and it looked pretty impressive, laying just a short distance from the Danube. So, Gabo was in his early sixties (not quite old enough for OAP free travel) and had been born to two communist parents in Hungary. However, during the revolution in '56 (I learned all about this), his parents left for Vienna, with him and his sister following later. He studied Economics at Vienna University (where his sister has just retired from as an English Professor) and did a post-grad at Cambridge, where he met Prince Charles who admitted that he didn't want to be King. Gabo insists that William will take over instead.

I asked him when he retired and he responded '39'. 'A few months ago then' I joked, not taking him seriously (he jokes all the time. You've got to be careful around Gabo). '39 a few days ago', he said, with a twinkle in his eye. Then he told me he hadn't been a nice man at that age, and then one day he was driving his car at 140 km/h when he crashed into a truck going at a similar speed. He was seriously hurt; he lost his little finger on his left hand and some feeling in his arm, and has metal plates in his head and chest. He was in hospital for 6months, and then had to return daily for the following year. 'That's life', he said to me, shrugging. He slowed down at work and eventually quit and just invests his money from time to time. 

I had some sort of weird scrambled egg gnocchi dish (which I let Gabo finish), as I polished off some cold red wine (Gabo has never touched a drop of alcohol). We split the bill, and I think I was the only one to leave a tip. Gabo insisted on seeing me to the Opera House. We jumped on a tram, and Gabo explained that if anyone checked him for a ticket, he'd just pretend he didn't speak Hungarian (even though he's a native) or he'd keep an unused ticket in his pocket and explain that old age meant he'd forgotten to get it stamped). You don't stay rich if you spend money I think his motto must be. He pointed out that the main station in Hungary (Nyugati) was designed by the Eiffel Tower Architect and showed me the first metro station on the continent by Oktogon (Budapest was next after London in getting an underground). Their lines aren't particularly deep underground here though, and at Oktogon station there's maybe only a worrying 30cm of pavement between the street and the tunnel.

We arrived at the Opera House and Gabo bid me farewell, offering me a tour of the city tomorrow if I wanted it. I took my seat in a box, and was joined by three mid-30s Aussies, and two Hungarian teenagers (romantic date). The Australian woman looked like she could have been a Ballet dancer herself, and her partner was a bit of a silver fox. They mentioned having seen an actress they knew called Deirdre a few boxes along, but I couldn't eavesdrop enough to find out how they knew her.

The ballet started, and I was blown away. It was my first ballet, and I hadn't ever really considered it an art form before that moment. But it's just like a painting, with swirls and colour and movement, only this is live in front of you, and it's people twisting their bodies into phenomenal shapes and it looks beautiful and graceful rather than distorted and painful. And there's an Orchestra building up the emotion, and the set and lighting constantly change, just like a play. It was just incredible. And easy to follow (once I'd established that the person I thought was the three brothers' mum, was actually their younger, black-robed, clergy novice brother (I'd got a little suspicious when this vixen who had been seducing one brother, then started kissing this black-robed mum, but assumed it was just a way of drastically portraying the vixen weaving her way into the whole family, mum included. I only clocked on when they stripped the black robe to the waist, and the woman seemed ridiculously flat chested and six-packed, even for a ballet dancer), and the guy I'd thought was their third brother was actually their dad). Only about a 1hr 45 minute ballet, with a £4 glass of champagne in the middle, but really worth it. The opera building was phenomenal inside. All domed ceilings and epic murals. During the interval I went out onto the balcony which overlooks Budapest, and seeing the dark sky and the city all lit up...just, really nice. 

After three encores (two too many), I left and came back to the hostel. I bought a ticket from Andrew for the spa the next day and he welcomed me with open arms (this time I DID get a hug) when I asked to stay another night. I think he offered me an 'every second night free' deal, and recommended I stay until the Revolution Anniversary, as this usually got pretty rowdy/violent, and would be interesting to watch. In 2006, the old government approved police to shoot into the crowd. 

I'm thinking about it. If I hold out a week longer, I'll even get to see the Fit Parade as well. Like Gay Pride, but for Bodybuilders.

End of day 19.