Jez and I spent the majority of the morning on the internet doing sweet FA. After a while, we went and met up with Anna and Nick (the same ones Jez knew in New York and we met in London), and Adrianna, a girl that was also part of Jez’s crew in New York. We went and had a look at where the others were staying. They were staying at a pension that was still under construction. Apparently the owner wanted to complete it, but owed too much money and doesn’t have the funds to finish it.
Also staying at the semi-completed pension were Lee and Jerry. Nick knew Lee from back home.
At around midday, all of us went to the beach. We didn’t go to the main beach, but a surfers beach on the other side of San Sebastian. This gave Jez and I another chance to bust out the budgy smugglers. Even Nick was getting in on the act with a nice pair of Euroshorts (kind of like really, really, really short boardies). The day was pretty fun as we were finally able to catch some waves. The beach on the other side of San Sebastian is almost a bay with the amount of surf it gets.
At around 5 o’clock in the arvo, something noteworthy happened. The majority of people were in the water when I got approached by 2 fit, Australian, good looking…….guys. That’s right, 2 gay guys walked over and tried to pick me up. It was funny with one of them obviously very comfortable with himself, judging by the way he was sitting/kneeling. After a kind of awkward conversation they went back to where they had set up camp (no pun intended, OK, maybe a little).
After much discussion it was determined that the budgy smugglers were the cause of their advance. I don’t care, I intend to smuggle on regardless.
After the beach we all went back to our respective pensions/semi-finished pensions and got ready for dinner. Lee and Jerry have lived in San Sebastian before and are therefore basically locals. We caught cabs to a cider house which was a bit out of the city.
The deal was for 25 Euros you could get all the cider you could drink and a massive meal. A fun time was had by all, with many a cider consumed. The meat that was brought out was absolutely delicious.
After the meal we caught cabs back into the city, where we all had alcoholic coffees. A great end to the night.
Here endeth the blog,
Monty
Thursday, July 16, 2009
July 13 - San Sebastian (Monty)
After another fairly late wake up, I went to the beach again to catch some rays and meet up with Sal. As all her friends had left that morning, it was just me and her. Sal had made it her mission to get as tanned as possible before heading back to the Australian winter, and was taking the operation by the scuff of its neck.
It was a pretty uneventful day, with the most exciting thing being a pontoon about 100 metres out to sea. It had a slippery slide into the water and a few diving boards to jump off from. It is a great idea and would go down a treat in Australia.
That night, Sal had the great idea to get some beers and pizza and have them down on the beach. This was exactly what we did and it was awesome. Good company, good food, good drink, good beach and a good sunset = great way to end the day.
We went out a found a place in old town that had some good music. We met some guys from Musselbrook, a town 2 hours away from Newcastle in the hunter, and worked out that I probably played rugby against them when we were kids. They were going to have an all nighter and catch a bus to Pamplona at 4am to go running with the bulls.
We called it a night at around the average time and went to bed. All in all it was a pretty chilled day.
Cheers,
Monty
It was a pretty uneventful day, with the most exciting thing being a pontoon about 100 metres out to sea. It had a slippery slide into the water and a few diving boards to jump off from. It is a great idea and would go down a treat in Australia.
That night, Sal had the great idea to get some beers and pizza and have them down on the beach. This was exactly what we did and it was awesome. Good company, good food, good drink, good beach and a good sunset = great way to end the day.
We went out a found a place in old town that had some good music. We met some guys from Musselbrook, a town 2 hours away from Newcastle in the hunter, and worked out that I probably played rugby against them when we were kids. They were going to have an all nighter and catch a bus to Pamplona at 4am to go running with the bulls.
We called it a night at around the average time and went to bed. All in all it was a pretty chilled day.
Cheers,
Monty
July 12 - San Sebastian (Monty)
After another fairly late wake up, I went to the beach again to catch some rays and meet up with Sal. As all her friends had left that morning, it was just me and her. Sal had made it her mission to get as tanned as possible before heading back to the Australian winter, and was taking the operation by the scuff of its neck.
It was a pretty uneventful day, with the most exciting thing being a pontoon about 100 metres out to sea. It had a slippery slide into the water and a few diving boards to jump off from. It is a great idea and would go down a treat in Australia.
That night, Sal had the great idea to get some beers and pizza and have them down on the beach. This was exactly what we did and it was awesome. Good company, good food, good drink, good beach and a good sunset = great way to end the day.
We went out a found a place in old town that had some good music. We met some guys from Musselbrook, a town 2 hours away from Newcastle in the hunter, and worked out that I probably played rugby against them when we were kids. They were going to have an all nighter and catch a bus to Pamplona at 4am to go running with the bulls.
We called it a night at around the average time and went to bed. All in all it was a pretty chilled day.
Cheers,
Monty
It was a pretty uneventful day, with the most exciting thing being a pontoon about 100 metres out to sea. It had a slippery slide into the water and a few diving boards to jump off from. It is a great idea and would go down a treat in Australia.
That night, Sal had the great idea to get some beers and pizza and have them down on the beach. This was exactly what we did and it was awesome. Good company, good food, good drink, good beach and a good sunset = great way to end the day.
We went out a found a place in old town that had some good music. We met some guys from Musselbrook, a town 2 hours away from Newcastle in the hunter, and worked out that I probably played rugby against them when we were kids. They were going to have an all nighter and catch a bus to Pamplona at 4am to go running with the bulls.
We called it a night at around the average time and went to bed. All in all it was a pretty chilled day.
Cheers,
Monty
July 13 - London to San Sebastian (Jez)
The day again began early with little time to waste if I was going to get to Stansted in time for my flight back to Spain.So after saying goodbye to dadWhat followed was a long punishing day of travel which I do not want to relive so I will only discuss in the barest of details. I caught the train from Marble Arch station to Liverpool St Station, then another train to Stansted airport, then a 2 hour delayed plane to Biarritz, then a bus to Bayonne train station, then a train to Hendaye, then another train to San Sebastian and then a half hour walk into town in the steadily heavier rain. The whole process took approximately 11 hours of alternately waiting for transport to arrive, travelling and getting off not sure what to do next. All of this was achieved with only the slightest grasp of French or Spanish and the fact that I got there at all was more proof that the travel gods are on my side, at least for the moment.
Eventually I arrived back in San Sebastian, met up with Monty, went to the hostel and dumped my bags, then did an about face and headed out on the town for some tapas and cheeky beers with Steph Cain and a couple of her friends from Adelaide. Monty was certainly wearing the maillot jeune on the night and Steph and I struggled to keep up with the relentless pace that he set. It did not relent.Soon enough we were all pretty plastered and after some fairly B-grade dancing on my part (Monty continued to wear the maillot jeune) we turned in. It had been a long long day
Eventually I arrived back in San Sebastian, met up with Monty, went to the hostel and dumped my bags, then did an about face and headed out on the town for some tapas and cheeky beers with Steph Cain and a couple of her friends from Adelaide. Monty was certainly wearing the maillot jeune on the night and Steph and I struggled to keep up with the relentless pace that he set. It did not relent.Soon enough we were all pretty plastered and after some fairly B-grade dancing on my part (Monty continued to wear the maillot jeune) we turned in. It had been a long long day
July 11 - San Sebastian (Monty)
Feeling a lot worse than I had intended to, I woke at just before midday and decided that that planets were aligned correctly and I had to once again get my wash on. According to my lonely planet, there was a self service laundromat only 3 blocks away. My lonely planet was wrong. What was 3 blocks away was a boarded up shop that used to be a laundromat.
Dejected, I went to the beach and caught up with Sal and her mates and got caught some rays. It was there that Ros, another mate of Sal’s brought out a printout of San Sebastian’s lonely planet online. My book was a bit outdated (hence the boarded up laundromat). However, Ros’ was very much up-to-date. After a few intuitive questions from myself (“Are there any laundromats in San Sebastian?” I should be a detective), I quickly found the location of another laundromat.
I said my goodbyes to the girls and the sun, and set off once again for the holy land of detergents and softeners.
I found it without too much hassle and started looking around for what I needed to do. For starters, I needed 14 Euros in coins to do a wash and a dry. Unfortunately the laundromat had not evolved enough to accept notes. I went to the pub next door and was able to get the change required.
I started putting the coins in, only to find that the bloody washing machine was screwing with me and was sometimes accepting them, and sometimes not. But when they did go in, the amount still to be paid didn’t change. After a few rounds of Man v Washing Machine Wrestling (in which washing machine won on a points decision), I saw a sign that had a phone number to call if there were any problems.
This phone call did not go smoothly as once again language barriers presented themselves. However, I was able to get a lady to appear after some not-so-fluent Spanish from myself. She quickly performed her magic (opening the washing machine and pressing a button to get it going) and we were away.
While I was there, I met 6 people (a couple and a group of 4). Every single one of them was Australian. I was even able to guess that the group of 4 was from Adelaide. When I told them this, they were astounded, thinking that they must act or talk differently to the rest of Australia (which is probably true). But it was because one of them was wearing an Adelaide Crows jersey.
After successfully completing the laundry mission, I met up with Sal and her mates who had booked a restaurant on the main beach of San Sebastian. It was pretty damn cool. For 18 Euros, we got a decent 4 course meal and amazing views of the beach.
After that, we enjoyed a few quite drinks and hit the hay. Unfortunately, due to the lateness of the reservation, it was 2:30am by the time this happened.
Stay safe,
Monty
Dejected, I went to the beach and caught up with Sal and her mates and got caught some rays. It was there that Ros, another mate of Sal’s brought out a printout of San Sebastian’s lonely planet online. My book was a bit outdated (hence the boarded up laundromat). However, Ros’ was very much up-to-date. After a few intuitive questions from myself (“Are there any laundromats in San Sebastian?” I should be a detective), I quickly found the location of another laundromat.
I said my goodbyes to the girls and the sun, and set off once again for the holy land of detergents and softeners.
I found it without too much hassle and started looking around for what I needed to do. For starters, I needed 14 Euros in coins to do a wash and a dry. Unfortunately the laundromat had not evolved enough to accept notes. I went to the pub next door and was able to get the change required.
I started putting the coins in, only to find that the bloody washing machine was screwing with me and was sometimes accepting them, and sometimes not. But when they did go in, the amount still to be paid didn’t change. After a few rounds of Man v Washing Machine Wrestling (in which washing machine won on a points decision), I saw a sign that had a phone number to call if there were any problems.
This phone call did not go smoothly as once again language barriers presented themselves. However, I was able to get a lady to appear after some not-so-fluent Spanish from myself. She quickly performed her magic (opening the washing machine and pressing a button to get it going) and we were away.
While I was there, I met 6 people (a couple and a group of 4). Every single one of them was Australian. I was even able to guess that the group of 4 was from Adelaide. When I told them this, they were astounded, thinking that they must act or talk differently to the rest of Australia (which is probably true). But it was because one of them was wearing an Adelaide Crows jersey.
After successfully completing the laundry mission, I met up with Sal and her mates who had booked a restaurant on the main beach of San Sebastian. It was pretty damn cool. For 18 Euros, we got a decent 4 course meal and amazing views of the beach.
After that, we enjoyed a few quite drinks and hit the hay. Unfortunately, due to the lateness of the reservation, it was 2:30am by the time this happened.
Stay safe,
Monty
Jul 12 - London to Sheffield and back
The day again began early with dad keen to get to the airport asap so that we could make our way to Sheffield and discover some Atkin family history. Whilst the actualy happenings of the day were largely fairly mundane (essentially just driving around), there were a number of highlights. And of course, there was a huge amount of real talk.
Some of the highlights included having a Guiness in the pub watching the cricket, having sunday lunch in an authentic English country pub, seeing where my grandfather recuperated after WW2 and lots and lots of driving down narrow english country lanes.
But the day was never about highlights. It was about discovering our roots. But equally It was about real talk. So here it is, the Atkin family history - all of which is real talk.
- Atkin actually used to be spellt Atkyn and can be traced back as far as the mid 1500s when I apparently had an antescendent named Henricues
- The Atkin family have had a number of professions which they have specialised in including being silversmiths, cutlers, weavers, doctors and shotgun makers
- At one point, Sheffied produced 80% of the world's steel
- My first cousin twice removed was an Olympic gold medallist, being a part of the victorious English hockey team that beat the Belgians 12-1 at the 1920 Antwerp Olympics.
- One of my antescendents was the mayor of Sheffield (I can only speculate that he was directly responsible for all the steel output)
By about 5 however, our day of real talk was drawing to a close and after catching the train back to London dad and I did a bit of a monopoly board walk back to the hotel, grabbed a dinner of delicious Italian food, managed, between us, to give me a pretty respectable haircut (mum would have been proud) and hit the hay.
Some of the highlights included having a Guiness in the pub watching the cricket, having sunday lunch in an authentic English country pub, seeing where my grandfather recuperated after WW2 and lots and lots of driving down narrow english country lanes.
But the day was never about highlights. It was about discovering our roots. But equally It was about real talk. So here it is, the Atkin family history - all of which is real talk.
- Atkin actually used to be spellt Atkyn and can be traced back as far as the mid 1500s when I apparently had an antescendent named Henricues
- The Atkin family have had a number of professions which they have specialised in including being silversmiths, cutlers, weavers, doctors and shotgun makers
- At one point, Sheffied produced 80% of the world's steel
- My first cousin twice removed was an Olympic gold medallist, being a part of the victorious English hockey team that beat the Belgians 12-1 at the 1920 Antwerp Olympics.
- One of my antescendents was the mayor of Sheffield (I can only speculate that he was directly responsible for all the steel output)
By about 5 however, our day of real talk was drawing to a close and after catching the train back to London dad and I did a bit of a monopoly board walk back to the hotel, grabbed a dinner of delicious Italian food, managed, between us, to give me a pretty respectable haircut (mum would have been proud) and hit the hay.
July 11 - London (Jez)
The day started out inappopriately early, with dad excited by the prospect of getting out into the English countryside and not wanting to waste any time in getting on the road. Accordingly, it wasn't long before we were renting a comically small smartcar and heading towards Windsor, to have a look at the castle and then on towards Stonehenge. By the time we got to Windsor we were both pretty hungry so we opted for the English Breakfast at the pub before having a bit of a wander around town. We were both surprised by the abundance of tourists and chose not to wait in the massive line to actually get into the castle, content to take photos from a distance, before having a bit more of a wander and then heading for Stonehenge. It should be noted that the weather was absolutely miserable all day - raining, cold and barely managing to get above 15 degrees - classic English summer weather.
According to the instructions we had been given, this was going to be a relatively easy task - "head down the freeway to exit 18, make the turn-off towards Salisbury and you can't miss it". This turned out to be horrendous advice. It was only after quite a bit of aimless driving around the countryside (including spending about 20 minutes obsessively looking for Frome) that we found a service station and bought a map. It was at this point that we realised just how far off course we had been sent. Now that we knew where we were going, we made it to Stonehenge relatively easily and whilst it was jampacked with tourists, it was not quite as impressive as either dad or I had imagined it would be. This was confirmed by possibly the world's worst audio tour which could offer no conclusive answers as to who built it, when the built it, how they built it, or why they built it. All they did was speculate. Real talk was thin on the ground.
We did not linger for too long and were soon headed back towards London (though now we knew where we were going it took about half as long as it had taken us to get there) and after dropping the car back at the garage we grabbed a delicious Moroccan dinner around the corner from the hotel and hit the hay, resting up for a big day or rediscovering our roots which was to follow.
Jez
According to the instructions we had been given, this was going to be a relatively easy task - "head down the freeway to exit 18, make the turn-off towards Salisbury and you can't miss it". This turned out to be horrendous advice. It was only after quite a bit of aimless driving around the countryside (including spending about 20 minutes obsessively looking for Frome) that we found a service station and bought a map. It was at this point that we realised just how far off course we had been sent. Now that we knew where we were going, we made it to Stonehenge relatively easily and whilst it was jampacked with tourists, it was not quite as impressive as either dad or I had imagined it would be. This was confirmed by possibly the world's worst audio tour which could offer no conclusive answers as to who built it, when the built it, how they built it, or why they built it. All they did was speculate. Real talk was thin on the ground.
We did not linger for too long and were soon headed back towards London (though now we knew where we were going it took about half as long as it had taken us to get there) and after dropping the car back at the garage we grabbed a delicious Moroccan dinner around the corner from the hotel and hit the hay, resting up for a big day or rediscovering our roots which was to follow.
Jez
July 10 - Pamplona to San Sebastian (Monty's Strory)
For me, the day started at 5:30am with the alarm that was supposed to wake Jez up instead woke me up. As I don’t take kindly to being woken up at 5:30, in my daze I promptly turned off the alarm and went back to sleep. I didn’t even consider why an alarm had been set so early.
I stirred from my sleep again at around 7:30, only to realise that Jez should have been at the airport at this time waiting for his plane. As it was, he was snoozing pleasantly next to me. I was quick to wake him up; and, with a lot of expletives, Jez was on his way to the airport to catch a plane that left in under an hour. God speed.
As I had no plans that day (I didn’t have any hostels booked for that night), I went and had a lazy breakfast, packed up my stuff and headed into Pamplona. I went to the bus station and hopped on a bus bound for San Sebastian. This was because I had agreed to meet Jez there in a few days when he got back from London and I was looking forward to just chilling out in one place for a while.
I hopped off the bus, only to realize that the bus station was a good half an hour walk outside San Sebastian
Unperturbed, I set off until I realised where I was on the map in my lonely planet. I headed to the tourist information office, only to walk past it a good 4 or 5 times on account of the fact that it was shut. Well, not shut, it had moved 150 metres up the road according to a sign on the door where it should have been. It was at this point I felt like I must have looked like a real tourist, lonely planet out, walking back and forth with absolutely no idea where I was going.
I went into the information office and received a booklet which contained about 100 pensions (pronounced pen-si-on, not like the welfare that the elderly received as I was to find out later). A pension is basically a large apartment that has been converted into a lot of rooms. So it is kind of like a hostel, but a very small and intimate one. A lot of the pensions were in the ‘Old Town’ which is basically downtown San Sebastian. So off I walked and checked a few out, only to come to the conclusion that San Sebastian has very expensive accommodation (judging by the booklet I got from the information office), and somehow all this expensive accommodation is fully booked. I was able to make a booking for the Sunday night at a pension, but that was 2 nights away and I really didn’t feel like sleeping on the beach for 2 nights. Getting a little desperate, I started randomly calling some pensions. As it was, the travel gods were smiling on me that day. I picked a random pension (it was aptly called Aussie Pension) and asked if they had room. Much to my luck, they did. Not only did they have availability, but they were also one of the cheapest pensions in the booklet, at 25 Euros a day! Bonza!
I checked in and was pleasantly surprised to find that I had my own little room. Everything was turning up Monty.
I dumped my stuff, and a shower for the first time in 2 days and just recuperated. That night I was walking around the old town, getting the lay of the land and trying to find a place for some cheap dinner. I was a shadow of a man after the onslaught that was Pamplona and looking forward to a few days of R&R. It was at this point that I bumped into Sally-Anne Yates, a girl I work with at Ernst & Young. She was in San Sebastian for a few days with a bunch of people she went to college with in Canberra. R&R be damned!
That night we wandering around for quite a while trying to find a place that would sit 10 people. Eventually we found a place and all tucked in to some very authentic paella. It was about 11pm by the time we sat down and midnight by the time we were done.
That night we went to a place that had 10 shots for 10 Euros. Sal and I quickly polished quite a few shots of Jagger and red bull. We then shared with Bec, one of Sals mates, a massive cocktail which was served out of a novelty sized martini glass. All for the pricely sum of 15 Euros. However expensive accommodation is here, the cheapness of the grog subsidises it.
We had a good dance and before you knew it, it was 3am and time to go home.
Cheers,
Monty
I stirred from my sleep again at around 7:30, only to realise that Jez should have been at the airport at this time waiting for his plane. As it was, he was snoozing pleasantly next to me. I was quick to wake him up; and, with a lot of expletives, Jez was on his way to the airport to catch a plane that left in under an hour. God speed.
As I had no plans that day (I didn’t have any hostels booked for that night), I went and had a lazy breakfast, packed up my stuff and headed into Pamplona. I went to the bus station and hopped on a bus bound for San Sebastian. This was because I had agreed to meet Jez there in a few days when he got back from London and I was looking forward to just chilling out in one place for a while.
I hopped off the bus, only to realize that the bus station was a good half an hour walk outside San Sebastian
Unperturbed, I set off until I realised where I was on the map in my lonely planet. I headed to the tourist information office, only to walk past it a good 4 or 5 times on account of the fact that it was shut. Well, not shut, it had moved 150 metres up the road according to a sign on the door where it should have been. It was at this point I felt like I must have looked like a real tourist, lonely planet out, walking back and forth with absolutely no idea where I was going.
I went into the information office and received a booklet which contained about 100 pensions (pronounced pen-si-on, not like the welfare that the elderly received as I was to find out later). A pension is basically a large apartment that has been converted into a lot of rooms. So it is kind of like a hostel, but a very small and intimate one. A lot of the pensions were in the ‘Old Town’ which is basically downtown San Sebastian. So off I walked and checked a few out, only to come to the conclusion that San Sebastian has very expensive accommodation (judging by the booklet I got from the information office), and somehow all this expensive accommodation is fully booked. I was able to make a booking for the Sunday night at a pension, but that was 2 nights away and I really didn’t feel like sleeping on the beach for 2 nights. Getting a little desperate, I started randomly calling some pensions. As it was, the travel gods were smiling on me that day. I picked a random pension (it was aptly called Aussie Pension) and asked if they had room. Much to my luck, they did. Not only did they have availability, but they were also one of the cheapest pensions in the booklet, at 25 Euros a day! Bonza!
I checked in and was pleasantly surprised to find that I had my own little room. Everything was turning up Monty.
I dumped my stuff, and a shower for the first time in 2 days and just recuperated. That night I was walking around the old town, getting the lay of the land and trying to find a place for some cheap dinner. I was a shadow of a man after the onslaught that was Pamplona and looking forward to a few days of R&R. It was at this point that I bumped into Sally-Anne Yates, a girl I work with at Ernst & Young. She was in San Sebastian for a few days with a bunch of people she went to college with in Canberra. R&R be damned!
That night we wandering around for quite a while trying to find a place that would sit 10 people. Eventually we found a place and all tucked in to some very authentic paella. It was about 11pm by the time we sat down and midnight by the time we were done.
That night we went to a place that had 10 shots for 10 Euros. Sal and I quickly polished quite a few shots of Jagger and red bull. We then shared with Bec, one of Sals mates, a massive cocktail which was served out of a novelty sized martini glass. All for the pricely sum of 15 Euros. However expensive accommodation is here, the cheapness of the grog subsidises it.
We had a good dance and before you knew it, it was 3am and time to go home.
Cheers,
Monty
July 10 - Pamplona to London (Jez's Story)
The day began with Monty tapping on my shoulder asking why I was still there. He was right to be concerned. My flight from Pamplona airport was taking off at 8:30 and the time was approximately 7:40. In short, I was in big trouble. If I missed my first flight then I was absolutely no chance of making the connection to London and I would not be meeting up with dad who was there on business. After grabbing my bags (I had no need to either dress or put my contacts in as I had slept fully clothed) I sprinted to the camp office jumped in a cab and headed off to the airport. Through my limited Spanish I was able to convey to the driver that I need to get there as soon as possible (Andalay, Andalay!), but deep down I was pretty sure that I had no chance of getting there on time. However, the cabbie embraced his inner Shumacher and I got there, though I will wholeheartedly advise against ever waking up 50 minutes before you are due to fly.
Once I was on the plane i promptly fell asleep and was only aroused from my slumber when the plane landed in Madrid, where I grabbed my bags and headed to the British Airways desk, to check-in for my connecting flight to London. It was only once I got there that I was told that my flight had in fact been cancelled. Once again it appeared that I was in big trouble. However, the travel gods continued to smile upon me in spectacular fashion and the lady at the desk took pity on me. Subsequently I ended up on another flight, which was actually earlier than the one I was supposed to be on and was landing at Heathrow. And, I was in business class. Epic result!
After a very comfortable flight I landed at Heathrow and after the obligatory hour long mission to negotiate the tube and get to the hotel where I was meeting dad, I settled in to watch the cricket. The fact that that there was no play due to rain was only a slight inconvenience as I was just happy that my day of transport was over. At about 6, dad arrived from his day of meetings and we wasted little time in heading out to have a few beers and dinner, and catch up on all of our respective stories. It had been a long day's travels but after a hearty meal and a long hot shower I felt contented, and happy to be back in an English speaking country - even if it was only for the weekend.
Jez
Once I was on the plane i promptly fell asleep and was only aroused from my slumber when the plane landed in Madrid, where I grabbed my bags and headed to the British Airways desk, to check-in for my connecting flight to London. It was only once I got there that I was told that my flight had in fact been cancelled. Once again it appeared that I was in big trouble. However, the travel gods continued to smile upon me in spectacular fashion and the lady at the desk took pity on me. Subsequently I ended up on another flight, which was actually earlier than the one I was supposed to be on and was landing at Heathrow. And, I was in business class. Epic result!
After a very comfortable flight I landed at Heathrow and after the obligatory hour long mission to negotiate the tube and get to the hotel where I was meeting dad, I settled in to watch the cricket. The fact that that there was no play due to rain was only a slight inconvenience as I was just happy that my day of transport was over. At about 6, dad arrived from his day of meetings and we wasted little time in heading out to have a few beers and dinner, and catch up on all of our respective stories. It had been a long day's travels but after a hearty meal and a long hot shower I felt contented, and happy to be back in an English speaking country - even if it was only for the weekend.
Jez
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
July 9 - Turning 24
I woke up in a world of pain, wondering the number of the truck that had continually driven back and forward over my head the night before. Not exactly the best way to enter the "mid-twenties" but a fitting tribute to the debauchery of the early twenties. Regardless, the first half of the day was a massive effort, despite the fact that we did almost nothing. Putting one foot in front of the other was painful and we did not make it beyond the familiar confines of the camping ground. By mid-afternoon however, the light was starting to return so we caught the bus into Pamplona where we went and got ourselves some paella from the markets (Monty again loved the authenticity) and then wandered about. Still feeling very shady, we headed back to the campground where we planned on having a quiet night of cheap campground dinner, cards, a couple of quiet beers and an early night. This seemed appropriate as I would need to be awake at 5 am to get to the airport for my flight to London the next morning.
Things did not go to plan. The night proceeded as follows:
7 pm: order campground dinner of roasted rabbit (which turned out to include the head). Have a couple of quiet beers, play cards and take it easy.
8:00 pm: joined by a group of random Norweigans who have been driving for 27 hours to get there and tell us that they are looking forward to having a good time. They then proceed to sing the theme song from home and away.
9:00 pm: The Norweigans find out that it is my birthday and launch into a very rowdy rendition of Happy Birthday. On overhearing this a bunch of English dudes who are on a buck's party drag me away from the table and proceed to throw me into the air 24 times.
10:00 pm. Order more beers. Sit with people that work at the camp and watch as one Norweigan takes an empty wine bottle and breaks it over his mate's head. They all (including the guy whose head got hit) think this is hilarious. He bleeds profusely.
11:00 pm. People that work at the campground buy me shots. Girls from New Zealand buy me a bottle of wine.
12:00 am: Monty goes to bed. I head into town with a girl from South Africa and another one from New Zealand.
12:30 am: A guy on the street tries to pickpocket me. I am just sober enough to realise what is going on and punch him in the shoulder.
12:30 am - 4:00 am: ???
Your faithful time-traveler,
Jez
Things did not go to plan. The night proceeded as follows:
7 pm: order campground dinner of roasted rabbit (which turned out to include the head). Have a couple of quiet beers, play cards and take it easy.
8:00 pm: joined by a group of random Norweigans who have been driving for 27 hours to get there and tell us that they are looking forward to having a good time. They then proceed to sing the theme song from home and away.
9:00 pm: The Norweigans find out that it is my birthday and launch into a very rowdy rendition of Happy Birthday. On overhearing this a bunch of English dudes who are on a buck's party drag me away from the table and proceed to throw me into the air 24 times.
10:00 pm. Order more beers. Sit with people that work at the camp and watch as one Norweigan takes an empty wine bottle and breaks it over his mate's head. They all (including the guy whose head got hit) think this is hilarious. He bleeds profusely.
11:00 pm. People that work at the campground buy me shots. Girls from New Zealand buy me a bottle of wine.
12:00 am: Monty goes to bed. I head into town with a girl from South Africa and another one from New Zealand.
12:30 am: A guy on the street tries to pickpocket me. I am just sober enough to realise what is going on and punch him in the shoulder.
12:30 am - 4:00 am: ???
Your faithful time-traveler,
Jez
July 8 - Pamplona
I’m going to start out by saying that this was the best day that Jez and I have had so far in Europa. Jez said it was up there with the best day he has had away (i.e. in the last 7 months). It was so good and we were such a wreck the next day, it was deemed Jez’s unofficial birthday. Even though his bday is on the 9th of July.
The day started at the ghastly hour of 5:30, when the alarm woke us after about 3 hours sleep. The reason for this was that we had planned on running with the bulls. So, we hopped on the first bus from our campsite into Pamplona. There was a shitload of nervous energy on the bus, even though everyone was still waking up. We arrived in town to find people passed out everywhere and broken glass and rubbish all over the town.
There are 2 areas you can start the run from. Jez and I chose the one closer to the finish line as we consider ourselves fairly intelligent. We made our way to the square to find the cops in the way not letting anyone in. Were our hopes about to be dashed? No, they were just letting people in to the square a few out a time, much to our relief.
Jez and I were standing there for about 10 minutes when we hear this “Boys!” coming from behind us. We turn around to see Dan Kelly (aka DK), a guy who was 4 years ahead of us at Drews and who played a rugby with Jez. After a few ‘Mate! What are you doing here!’s, we all realized that we had about an hour until we would be running with the bulls. This hour did not go quickly. There were time updates every 5 minutes that seemed to get longer and longer. There was also this idiot Aussie, Glen, in front of us who we met on the train from Bairittz yesterday. He hadn’t slept, was maggot and obviously on the pingers. He kept turning around and saying how he wanted to kill the bulls. He was a deadest moron.
Eventually, the cops let the crowd out and we started to creep towards the stadium. We had heard you don’t want to piss bolt at this stage because the cops will use it as an excuse to kick you out. So Jez, DK and myself slowly walked for a bit until we heard the first cannon go off. This was to signal that the bulls had been released. A few people started piss bolting (but they shouldn’t have as it is the second cannon which signals the bulls are on the course). The second cannon went and we started to shit ourselves. At this stage everyone is jumping up trying to look back over everyone else’s heads to see the bulls. We saw a few people running past you with absolute fear in their eyes. Everyone was jogging/running at this stage so we all got separated. Finally, the bulls reached us and it was chaos. People were cheering/screaming and most people pushed to the sides as the bulls ran past. It only lasted a second, but in that second we were in touching distance of a 700kg bull.
Once they passed us, everyone just ran for it. It is still a good 400 metres to the stadium and there were people falling over everywhere. Honestly, there was more chance of getting hurt by being run over by people than by bulls. The trick was to keep your feet. Thankfully, all 3 of us play rugby and this definitely helped to step in and out of the crowd (Jez and DK probably have better skills in this regard, but I digress).
Finally we made it into the stadium and met on the right hand side. The 3 of us high fived each other and listened to the crowd cheer. We were only elated for a moment though. For after just a few seconds there was a massive push to the walls of the arena, and we were all swept along with it. This was because they release 6 smaller bulls, one at a time, into the stadium. They run around while people try and smack them on the back. You never touch their head or horns though, otherwise you will get bashed by the locals.
So for the next 30-45 minutes we all tried to escape the bulls. At one stage a bull had a bunch of people (Jez and I included) up against a wall of the arena. Jez and I ran away, but not after giving the bull a mighty smack on the arse. We are such bull running experts.
At one stage a bull bucked a guy over the stadium wall, and all we saw was a pair of legs flailing in the air. To calm the bulls down, a larger, tamer bull is led out which just trots along. However, there is no warming of this and it sometimes trots straight into people from behind, who fall over like they have just been tackled.
After the last bull was led off, we got a massive roar from the crowd. DK went back to his car and Jez and I headed back to the bus station to get a bus back to camp. We were all still buzzing from the mornings activities and all couldn’t help ourselves stealing cheeky little glances behind us just to make sure their weren’t any bulls there.
Due to the lack of sleep the night before and the excitement of the morning, Jez and I had a good kip when we got back to camp. After this we decided to head back into Pamplona and just have a wander round. It was in this wandering that we again bumped into DK. He was having a few alcoholic ciders (at 2 in the afternoon) with his girlfriend Kate, and a mate from college, DT. We joined them just to have a taste of the cider and, before you know it, there are empty bottles of cider everywhere.
DT is one of the funniest people you will ever meet. The rest of us were in stitches for the entire afternoon. DT had a bunch of dad jokes, with the crowd favourite being the one about a mushroom.
A mushroom goes into a bar and asks for a drink. The barman refuses, telling the mushroom that he doesn’t serve your kind around here. The mushroom comes back on the 2nd day. Same result. On the 3rd day, the mushroom comes in, and after another argument, goes to the barman: “Oh c’mon! I’m a fungi! (Fun guy!)”. Absolute poetry.
After more ridiculous dad jokes, I get a tap on my shoulder. I turn around to see this French guy feeling my arms and nodding. Before you know it, he has challenged me to an arm wrestle. After a bit of coercing from everyone I give it a shot. Needless to say, I absolutely obliterated him. After that, the French guys were systematically destroyed by Jez, DK, DT and myself. There were about 10 arm wrestles (both right and left handed), and we didn’t lose a single one. The funniest was DK, who was up against the angriest Frenchman in Spain. He was small and fired up. He played DK about 3 times. On the last one, DK even toyed with him, faking like he was going to lose and then smashing the Frenchies arm against the table. The expression on the Frenchies face was priceless. As a reward, the French guys bought us all beers. They went down smoothly.
After this, DT kept repeating that we were all rugby players, by pointing at us and saying “Wallaby”. I don’t think they believed us, but they did believe that we were rugby players. With the aid of Kate (who spoke perfect French), the Frecnhies offered DK and Jez the opportunity to play rugby in France semi-professionally!
After email addresses had been exchanged, the 5 of us (Jez, DK, Kate, DT and myself) headed off to the stadium for the 2nd time that day to see some bullfighting. We made the mistake of initially following DT, who has an appalling sense of direction, who sent us off in the exact opposite direction to the stadium.
With DT under control, we eventually made it to the stadium and set about buying tickets. We couldn’t buy them from the ticket office as they have all been snatched up, so we have to get them from scalpers. Thanks to Kate (she also speaks fluent Spanish, and even sometimes can talk to the animals), we quickly had 5 tickets, at 50 Euros a pop from numerous scalpers. As DK, DT and Kate had seen a bullfight last night, Jez and I were given the better seats and DT pulled the short straw to get the ‘cheap seats’.
We all split off and arranged to meet after the fight. Jez and I found our seats which we basically in the members section. The bull fights were amazing and well worth the 50 Euros. If you ever get the chance to go, I highly recommend it. There is a set procedure to the fight which, without going into too many details, ends up with the bull dead. But the way they go about it, it is theatre.
There are 6 bulls in all, and by the 4th bull we were loving it. The crowd had adopted us and was giving us wine and sandwiches. They were explaining the finer points of the bullfight, like when to clap, what makes a good bull and what makes a good matador.
Eventually, the fun came to an end and we met the others outside. The funniest sight was seeing DT emerge, a shadow of a man. He was covered all over in sangria; with his white shirt being a nice pinkish-red colour. Apparently DT had gone to the ‘cheap seats’ where the locals were. Once they had seen him, they all pointed and shouted “Gringo! Gringo!” and proceeded to shower him in sangria. We all had a great big laugh when we imagined DT response, something along the lines of “Hey! C’mon guys, I’m a fungi!”
After we finished rolling around on the floor in hysterics, we went back into the main part of Pamplona and promptly bought a baguette (for dinner) and a litre and half of sangria (for drinking) each.
After this, things seem to get a bit hazy. We went to a few bars until DT had to be taken home by Kate and DK (as he had no idea how to find the front door of the bar, let alone the car they were sleeping in).
Jez and I continued drinking, only stopping to have a D&M sitting down in some alley somewhere.
We went to some more bars where, we are pretty sure, we had a great night.
NB: We only realized the largeness of our night the next day when we found some photos on Jez’s camera (one of me apparently having someone in a headlock, with everyone laughing). We don’t know who this person was, why I had them in a headlock, or why Jez decided to take a photo of the whole thing. Very strange indeed.
Long live Pamplona,
Monty
The day started at the ghastly hour of 5:30, when the alarm woke us after about 3 hours sleep. The reason for this was that we had planned on running with the bulls. So, we hopped on the first bus from our campsite into Pamplona. There was a shitload of nervous energy on the bus, even though everyone was still waking up. We arrived in town to find people passed out everywhere and broken glass and rubbish all over the town.
There are 2 areas you can start the run from. Jez and I chose the one closer to the finish line as we consider ourselves fairly intelligent. We made our way to the square to find the cops in the way not letting anyone in. Were our hopes about to be dashed? No, they were just letting people in to the square a few out a time, much to our relief.
Jez and I were standing there for about 10 minutes when we hear this “Boys!” coming from behind us. We turn around to see Dan Kelly (aka DK), a guy who was 4 years ahead of us at Drews and who played a rugby with Jez. After a few ‘Mate! What are you doing here!’s, we all realized that we had about an hour until we would be running with the bulls. This hour did not go quickly. There were time updates every 5 minutes that seemed to get longer and longer. There was also this idiot Aussie, Glen, in front of us who we met on the train from Bairittz yesterday. He hadn’t slept, was maggot and obviously on the pingers. He kept turning around and saying how he wanted to kill the bulls. He was a deadest moron.
Eventually, the cops let the crowd out and we started to creep towards the stadium. We had heard you don’t want to piss bolt at this stage because the cops will use it as an excuse to kick you out. So Jez, DK and myself slowly walked for a bit until we heard the first cannon go off. This was to signal that the bulls had been released. A few people started piss bolting (but they shouldn’t have as it is the second cannon which signals the bulls are on the course). The second cannon went and we started to shit ourselves. At this stage everyone is jumping up trying to look back over everyone else’s heads to see the bulls. We saw a few people running past you with absolute fear in their eyes. Everyone was jogging/running at this stage so we all got separated. Finally, the bulls reached us and it was chaos. People were cheering/screaming and most people pushed to the sides as the bulls ran past. It only lasted a second, but in that second we were in touching distance of a 700kg bull.
Once they passed us, everyone just ran for it. It is still a good 400 metres to the stadium and there were people falling over everywhere. Honestly, there was more chance of getting hurt by being run over by people than by bulls. The trick was to keep your feet. Thankfully, all 3 of us play rugby and this definitely helped to step in and out of the crowd (Jez and DK probably have better skills in this regard, but I digress).
Finally we made it into the stadium and met on the right hand side. The 3 of us high fived each other and listened to the crowd cheer. We were only elated for a moment though. For after just a few seconds there was a massive push to the walls of the arena, and we were all swept along with it. This was because they release 6 smaller bulls, one at a time, into the stadium. They run around while people try and smack them on the back. You never touch their head or horns though, otherwise you will get bashed by the locals.
So for the next 30-45 minutes we all tried to escape the bulls. At one stage a bull had a bunch of people (Jez and I included) up against a wall of the arena. Jez and I ran away, but not after giving the bull a mighty smack on the arse. We are such bull running experts.
At one stage a bull bucked a guy over the stadium wall, and all we saw was a pair of legs flailing in the air. To calm the bulls down, a larger, tamer bull is led out which just trots along. However, there is no warming of this and it sometimes trots straight into people from behind, who fall over like they have just been tackled.
After the last bull was led off, we got a massive roar from the crowd. DK went back to his car and Jez and I headed back to the bus station to get a bus back to camp. We were all still buzzing from the mornings activities and all couldn’t help ourselves stealing cheeky little glances behind us just to make sure their weren’t any bulls there.
Due to the lack of sleep the night before and the excitement of the morning, Jez and I had a good kip when we got back to camp. After this we decided to head back into Pamplona and just have a wander round. It was in this wandering that we again bumped into DK. He was having a few alcoholic ciders (at 2 in the afternoon) with his girlfriend Kate, and a mate from college, DT. We joined them just to have a taste of the cider and, before you know it, there are empty bottles of cider everywhere.
DT is one of the funniest people you will ever meet. The rest of us were in stitches for the entire afternoon. DT had a bunch of dad jokes, with the crowd favourite being the one about a mushroom.
A mushroom goes into a bar and asks for a drink. The barman refuses, telling the mushroom that he doesn’t serve your kind around here. The mushroom comes back on the 2nd day. Same result. On the 3rd day, the mushroom comes in, and after another argument, goes to the barman: “Oh c’mon! I’m a fungi! (Fun guy!)”. Absolute poetry.
After more ridiculous dad jokes, I get a tap on my shoulder. I turn around to see this French guy feeling my arms and nodding. Before you know it, he has challenged me to an arm wrestle. After a bit of coercing from everyone I give it a shot. Needless to say, I absolutely obliterated him. After that, the French guys were systematically destroyed by Jez, DK, DT and myself. There were about 10 arm wrestles (both right and left handed), and we didn’t lose a single one. The funniest was DK, who was up against the angriest Frenchman in Spain. He was small and fired up. He played DK about 3 times. On the last one, DK even toyed with him, faking like he was going to lose and then smashing the Frenchies arm against the table. The expression on the Frenchies face was priceless. As a reward, the French guys bought us all beers. They went down smoothly.
After this, DT kept repeating that we were all rugby players, by pointing at us and saying “Wallaby”. I don’t think they believed us, but they did believe that we were rugby players. With the aid of Kate (who spoke perfect French), the Frecnhies offered DK and Jez the opportunity to play rugby in France semi-professionally!
After email addresses had been exchanged, the 5 of us (Jez, DK, Kate, DT and myself) headed off to the stadium for the 2nd time that day to see some bullfighting. We made the mistake of initially following DT, who has an appalling sense of direction, who sent us off in the exact opposite direction to the stadium.
With DT under control, we eventually made it to the stadium and set about buying tickets. We couldn’t buy them from the ticket office as they have all been snatched up, so we have to get them from scalpers. Thanks to Kate (she also speaks fluent Spanish, and even sometimes can talk to the animals), we quickly had 5 tickets, at 50 Euros a pop from numerous scalpers. As DK, DT and Kate had seen a bullfight last night, Jez and I were given the better seats and DT pulled the short straw to get the ‘cheap seats’.
We all split off and arranged to meet after the fight. Jez and I found our seats which we basically in the members section. The bull fights were amazing and well worth the 50 Euros. If you ever get the chance to go, I highly recommend it. There is a set procedure to the fight which, without going into too many details, ends up with the bull dead. But the way they go about it, it is theatre.
There are 6 bulls in all, and by the 4th bull we were loving it. The crowd had adopted us and was giving us wine and sandwiches. They were explaining the finer points of the bullfight, like when to clap, what makes a good bull and what makes a good matador.
Eventually, the fun came to an end and we met the others outside. The funniest sight was seeing DT emerge, a shadow of a man. He was covered all over in sangria; with his white shirt being a nice pinkish-red colour. Apparently DT had gone to the ‘cheap seats’ where the locals were. Once they had seen him, they all pointed and shouted “Gringo! Gringo!” and proceeded to shower him in sangria. We all had a great big laugh when we imagined DT response, something along the lines of “Hey! C’mon guys, I’m a fungi!”
After we finished rolling around on the floor in hysterics, we went back into the main part of Pamplona and promptly bought a baguette (for dinner) and a litre and half of sangria (for drinking) each.
After this, things seem to get a bit hazy. We went to a few bars until DT had to be taken home by Kate and DK (as he had no idea how to find the front door of the bar, let alone the car they were sleeping in).
Jez and I continued drinking, only stopping to have a D&M sitting down in some alley somewhere.
We went to some more bars where, we are pretty sure, we had a great night.
NB: We only realized the largeness of our night the next day when we found some photos on Jez’s camera (one of me apparently having someone in a headlock, with everyone laughing). We don’t know who this person was, why I had them in a headlock, or why Jez decided to take a photo of the whole thing. Very strange indeed.
Long live Pamplona,
Monty
July 7 - Biarritz to Pamplona
I'm not sure that Monty could say the same thing, but in my book the night slept on the night train from Nice to Biarritz was far and away the most comfortable night's sleep I've had since we've been in Europe. Accordingly, by the time we got to Biarritz at 10:30 in the morning I was feeling chipper - ready to hit the beach before continuing on to Pamplona later in the day. These plans got thrown to the wind when we spoke to the lady at the ticket desk who informed us that the only way for us to get to Pamplona would be to catch a train to Irun, just across the Spanish border about half an hour later and then get another train to Pamplona about 2.5 hours after that. This was a bit of a downer but given it started pouring with rain almost immediately we didn't really miss much.
In the end it turned into quite a funny day. We met 8 other Australians in the train station at Irun and given that we were all waiting for the same train, had a couple of hours to kill and that most of them seemed to have bigger drinking problems than ourselves we sent an advance party to the supermarket to get supplies and proceeded to drink sangria in the train station whilst waiting, and then continued to do so once we got on the train. By the time we got to Pamplona we weren't quite scottered but we were definitely in the festive spirit so we wasted no time in heading down to the markets and getting all of the kit for the San Fermin festival. With some shrewd mime / bargaining on behalf of Monty we got all of the gear for a cheaper but still massively inflated price. We then jumped in a cab and headed off to the campground where we ran straight into Jeremy and Phil , who we had last seen at about 4:30 in the morning in Paris about 5 days earlier. After a couple of beers and another dinner of baguettes, salami and potato chips we headed back into Pamplona to soak up some of the festival atmosphere and to do some recon of the bull-running course. This was great fun as the streets were jampacked with people and Monty and I were reassured that we at least knew where we would be going when the bull-running began in the morning. Another highlight was Monty getting his groove on to the music of some street performance. The man can and will dance almost anywhere.
After a couple more hours of wandering around, and a quick foray into a bar (with out litre casks of sangria still in hand) where Monty once again got his groove on, we decided to head home as we knew that we would need to be up bright, early and preferably not too hungover for our date with the bulls.
Hope you're all swell
Jez
In the end it turned into quite a funny day. We met 8 other Australians in the train station at Irun and given that we were all waiting for the same train, had a couple of hours to kill and that most of them seemed to have bigger drinking problems than ourselves we sent an advance party to the supermarket to get supplies and proceeded to drink sangria in the train station whilst waiting, and then continued to do so once we got on the train. By the time we got to Pamplona we weren't quite scottered but we were definitely in the festive spirit so we wasted no time in heading down to the markets and getting all of the kit for the San Fermin festival. With some shrewd mime / bargaining on behalf of Monty we got all of the gear for a cheaper but still massively inflated price. We then jumped in a cab and headed off to the campground where we ran straight into Jeremy and Phil , who we had last seen at about 4:30 in the morning in Paris about 5 days earlier. After a couple of beers and another dinner of baguettes, salami and potato chips we headed back into Pamplona to soak up some of the festival atmosphere and to do some recon of the bull-running course. This was great fun as the streets were jampacked with people and Monty and I were reassured that we at least knew where we would be going when the bull-running began in the morning. Another highlight was Monty getting his groove on to the music of some street performance. The man can and will dance almost anywhere.
After a couple more hours of wandering around, and a quick foray into a bar (with out litre casks of sangria still in hand) where Monty once again got his groove on, we decided to head home as we knew that we would need to be up bright, early and preferably not too hungover for our date with the bulls.
Hope you're all swell
Jez
July 6 - Monaco to Nice
It was a fairly uneventful morning. As I had gone to bed early the night before, I was feeling a bit fresher than Jez, Edles, Ant and Franny. However, they were in good spirits as they recounted to me what happened the night before. This included Ant and Franny keeping a restaurant/bar open almost 2 hours after it’s normal closing time. Not a bad effort.
For the majority of the morning we just hung around outside the beautiful hostel (did we mention that it was only 18 Euros a night?) and went on the internet. After a while we all hopped on the train, along with Eddy (a POM). Hence, he was referred to as Eddy the POM.
We caught the train into Nice. Eldes was having moments of déjà vu on account of the fact that he accidently caught the train to Nice one morning at about 7am after a night out. Turns out the one he hopped on was an express from Monaco to Nice and didn’t stop at our station.
From Nice, we said our goodbye to Elders, Ant and Franny as they caught a train to Marseille to (you guessed it) watch more of Le Tour. Eddy, Jez and I went off to find the nearest pub. Whilst we were walking down the main street of Nice, it occurred to both Jez and I that we were low on cash. Luckily, Nice is crawling with ATMs so we didn’t have a problem finding one. However, the first 2 we tried were out of order. Jez was able to withdraw funds on the 3rd attempt, and halfway through my withdrawal the ATM shut down. Luckily it had the foresight to spit out my card also. Unperturbed, we set off again. Only to find that literally the next 15-20 ATMs we saw were out of order. It was honestly like someone was performing a bank robbery on all the banks in Nice and they had decided to shut down the ATMs as a result. Finally, we found one that worked which didn’t shut down halfway through the transaction. There was dancing in the streets.
We found a pub in the old part of Nice (as opposed to the new part) and promptly got the bartender to change channels to Le Tour. Much to my dismay, there was no Phil Ligget commentating. This was devastating as apparently he in the voice of Le Tour in Australia and makes watching the tour on SBS that much better.
After too many beers, Eddy took us to a local café and we had socca for dinner. Socca is sort of like a chick pea pancake that is only made in this part of the world. It tasted pretty good, and Jez and I thanked Eddy for making our dinner so authentic.
After dinner we went back to the pub to watch the remainder of the tour and watch the band that had just set up. Unfortunately, we couldn’t leave as soon as we had planned as we were requested by the band to stay. This was due to the fact that the bar was basically empty nd we were the only ones paying any attention to them.
We were finally able to wrench ourselves away from the band and headed back to the station to catch the night train to Pamplona. The night train was definitely a new experience, with 2 3-bed bunks in each area. Jez slept the majority of the 13 hour train ride.
Luv,
Monty
For the majority of the morning we just hung around outside the beautiful hostel (did we mention that it was only 18 Euros a night?) and went on the internet. After a while we all hopped on the train, along with Eddy (a POM). Hence, he was referred to as Eddy the POM.
We caught the train into Nice. Eldes was having moments of déjà vu on account of the fact that he accidently caught the train to Nice one morning at about 7am after a night out. Turns out the one he hopped on was an express from Monaco to Nice and didn’t stop at our station.
From Nice, we said our goodbye to Elders, Ant and Franny as they caught a train to Marseille to (you guessed it) watch more of Le Tour. Eddy, Jez and I went off to find the nearest pub. Whilst we were walking down the main street of Nice, it occurred to both Jez and I that we were low on cash. Luckily, Nice is crawling with ATMs so we didn’t have a problem finding one. However, the first 2 we tried were out of order. Jez was able to withdraw funds on the 3rd attempt, and halfway through my withdrawal the ATM shut down. Luckily it had the foresight to spit out my card also. Unperturbed, we set off again. Only to find that literally the next 15-20 ATMs we saw were out of order. It was honestly like someone was performing a bank robbery on all the banks in Nice and they had decided to shut down the ATMs as a result. Finally, we found one that worked which didn’t shut down halfway through the transaction. There was dancing in the streets.
We found a pub in the old part of Nice (as opposed to the new part) and promptly got the bartender to change channels to Le Tour. Much to my dismay, there was no Phil Ligget commentating. This was devastating as apparently he in the voice of Le Tour in Australia and makes watching the tour on SBS that much better.
After too many beers, Eddy took us to a local café and we had socca for dinner. Socca is sort of like a chick pea pancake that is only made in this part of the world. It tasted pretty good, and Jez and I thanked Eddy for making our dinner so authentic.
After dinner we went back to the pub to watch the remainder of the tour and watch the band that had just set up. Unfortunately, we couldn’t leave as soon as we had planned as we were requested by the band to stay. This was due to the fact that the bar was basically empty nd we were the only ones paying any attention to them.
We were finally able to wrench ourselves away from the band and headed back to the station to catch the night train to Pamplona. The night train was definitely a new experience, with 2 3-bed bunks in each area. Jez slept the majority of the 13 hour train ride.
Luv,
Monty
July 5 - Monaco
After the excitement and activity of the opening stage of Le Tour the day before, Monty and I decided to make the most of the location of our hostel and have a lazy day. But first, there was more of Le Tour to be watched so we headed into Monaco with the hope of getting a good view of the start. After having perched ourselves around the corner from where we imagined that start would be we were pleasantly surprised when it turned out that the start was about 20 metres from where we were standing and that we would have an absolutely perfect view. It was great to see the riders go off at such close proximity and equally interesting to see just how many sponsors' cars, team cars, officials' cars and television cars and bikes there were. It would be no exaggeration at all to say that for every rider there would be multiple vehicles.
By the time we had see Le Grand Depart it was early afternoon so we headed back to the hostel with the plan of getting our budgy smugglers on and getting some sun. We did this for the next 4 hours which was a very pleasant way of spending the afternoon, though given it was well over 35 degrees and we were lying on a concrete pontoon thing it was sweaty and thirsty work. Luckily for us, Edels, Ant and Fran had devised the perfect remedy in the form of Bar Nemo, which was essentially just a bunch of inflatable doughnuts to float around in and another one to hold the beers. So after a beer run to the top of the hill, which involved more sweating bullets, we spent the next 3 hours floating in the Mediterannean drinking beers and enjoying the sun. It is difficult to describe just how awesome this was. Eventually however, our failure to devise a method of dealing with the empties and the fact that we ran out of beers meant that it was time to head back up to the hostel, put some clothes on and grab dinner.
Mont and I headed up to a pizzeria in central Cap D'ail and had a very romantic dinner for two, before heading back down to the hostel to have a couple of quiet drinks with all of the others. After a while of this Monty crashed (we think it may have had something to do with his lying in the sun for 4 straight hours in the arvo) whilst I went along with a couple of the others to see whether we could get into the party about 100 metres along the beach. Whilst the squadron of 30+ Russian security guards meant that this was not possible we were able to learn that the party was featuring live performances by Craig David and Nelly. Admittedly they are not the most expensive names in entertainment but whoever was throwing the party was obviously not short for cash! The rest of the night involved looking after the other boys who had gotten stuck into the red wine and a cheeky swim in the Med at about 2 am.
It was another super day and Bar Nemo will live long in the memory of all that got to enjoy it.
Jez
PS: After a lot of question-asking on our part we have managed to uncover the story (well at least a vaguely plausible story) of the hostel in which we have been staying. Apparently, back in the day the villa was owned by a Brazilian lady who fled in the face of the German advance in WW2 and when she failed to reclaim it after a number of years, by French law it became the property of the local council, sometime in the mid-60s. They then auctioned it off, whereupon it was awarded to the association that runs a group of hostels. The interesting part of the story is that allegedly the hostel association did not make the highest big, but rather were awarded the villa anyway due to some backhanded political dealings. And the really interesting part of the story is that the hostel association is apparently very closely affiliated with the French Communist Party... Incidentally apparently the villa which houses the hostel has been valued at over 40 million Euro. And, the hostel itself doesn't even make a profit! Evidently something dodgy is going on somewhere but who are we to complain! Now that is real talk!
By the time we had see Le Grand Depart it was early afternoon so we headed back to the hostel with the plan of getting our budgy smugglers on and getting some sun. We did this for the next 4 hours which was a very pleasant way of spending the afternoon, though given it was well over 35 degrees and we were lying on a concrete pontoon thing it was sweaty and thirsty work. Luckily for us, Edels, Ant and Fran had devised the perfect remedy in the form of Bar Nemo, which was essentially just a bunch of inflatable doughnuts to float around in and another one to hold the beers. So after a beer run to the top of the hill, which involved more sweating bullets, we spent the next 3 hours floating in the Mediterannean drinking beers and enjoying the sun. It is difficult to describe just how awesome this was. Eventually however, our failure to devise a method of dealing with the empties and the fact that we ran out of beers meant that it was time to head back up to the hostel, put some clothes on and grab dinner.
Mont and I headed up to a pizzeria in central Cap D'ail and had a very romantic dinner for two, before heading back down to the hostel to have a couple of quiet drinks with all of the others. After a while of this Monty crashed (we think it may have had something to do with his lying in the sun for 4 straight hours in the arvo) whilst I went along with a couple of the others to see whether we could get into the party about 100 metres along the beach. Whilst the squadron of 30+ Russian security guards meant that this was not possible we were able to learn that the party was featuring live performances by Craig David and Nelly. Admittedly they are not the most expensive names in entertainment but whoever was throwing the party was obviously not short for cash! The rest of the night involved looking after the other boys who had gotten stuck into the red wine and a cheeky swim in the Med at about 2 am.
It was another super day and Bar Nemo will live long in the memory of all that got to enjoy it.
Jez
PS: After a lot of question-asking on our part we have managed to uncover the story (well at least a vaguely plausible story) of the hostel in which we have been staying. Apparently, back in the day the villa was owned by a Brazilian lady who fled in the face of the German advance in WW2 and when she failed to reclaim it after a number of years, by French law it became the property of the local council, sometime in the mid-60s. They then auctioned it off, whereupon it was awarded to the association that runs a group of hostels. The interesting part of the story is that allegedly the hostel association did not make the highest big, but rather were awarded the villa anyway due to some backhanded political dealings. And the really interesting part of the story is that the hostel association is apparently very closely affiliated with the French Communist Party... Incidentally apparently the villa which houses the hostel has been valued at over 40 million Euro. And, the hostel itself doesn't even make a profit! Evidently something dodgy is going on somewhere but who are we to complain! Now that is real talk!
July 4 - Monaco
Jez and I woke after a few hours sleep to the pleasant French of Claude, the guy who ran the hostel. Claude literally did not speak a work of English and has no inclination whatsoever to learn. So there he was babbling away in French. In our semi-conscious state we took it to mean we had to get out of bed as the cleaners were coming. Unfortunately our French is not as good as we thought and we were mistaken. We later found out that they kick everyone out of the hostel from 10am to 5pm. No one knows why. Edles, Ant and Fran (Jezs mates from school) had a theory the hostel was being used as a front for drug dealers.
So we left at around midday (close-ish to 10am in our books). But it was not like we weren’t going to leave anyway, for Le Tour De France was starting! Get excited! I can honestly say that this is the most excited Jez has been this trip. It didn’t help matters that Edles seems to be the only person in Europe who was more excited about Le Tour than Jez. They spent a lot of the day discussing everything they could from the teams, riders, tactics and great Le Tour moments.
As it happened the 5 of us got separated for a few hours (the Tour wasn’t going to start until 4pm anyway). Jez, Fran and Ant walked around to a beach and swam out to a pontoon where they caught a few rays. Edes and I wandered around central Monaco soaking up the atmosphere; where Edles was trying to give me as much knowledge of Le Tour that was humanly possible before the start.
Everyone eventually found each other after a few hours in the stands near the finish line (for those of you that don’t know, the first stage is always an individual time trial. This time it was a 15km ride around/through the hills of Monaco. Apparently (according to Jez and Edles) this is a bit of a break from the norm as usually the time trial is approximately 8kms and flat).
At 4pm the first rider was off to the roar of the crowd. For the next few hours, we sat down and watched the tour on the big screen and in person. During this time, Jez and Edles tried to update me on tactics that teams employ during Le Tour. There was also a bit of discussion on how Astana was going to go, with both Lance Armstrong and Contador potential team leaders.
As Lance did not ride in the tour last year, he was one of the first to time trial this year and got a massive cheer when the set off. The other notable rider was Cadel Evans (for those of you that are not as knowledgeable as me about Le Tour, he is the Aussies best chance, with Mike Rogers being our 2nd best chance. Unfortunately, Robbie McEwen is not racing as his team did not make the top 20).
After Le Tour Stage 1 finished, the 5 of us walked back to the hostel. On the way we stopped by a pebble beach and all stripped down to the budgies and went for a dip.
That night Jez and I decided to call it an early one and went to bed, dreaming of Cadel in the maillot jeune (the yellow jersey).
So we left at around midday (close-ish to 10am in our books). But it was not like we weren’t going to leave anyway, for Le Tour De France was starting! Get excited! I can honestly say that this is the most excited Jez has been this trip. It didn’t help matters that Edles seems to be the only person in Europe who was more excited about Le Tour than Jez. They spent a lot of the day discussing everything they could from the teams, riders, tactics and great Le Tour moments.
As it happened the 5 of us got separated for a few hours (the Tour wasn’t going to start until 4pm anyway). Jez, Fran and Ant walked around to a beach and swam out to a pontoon where they caught a few rays. Edes and I wandered around central Monaco soaking up the atmosphere; where Edles was trying to give me as much knowledge of Le Tour that was humanly possible before the start.
Everyone eventually found each other after a few hours in the stands near the finish line (for those of you that don’t know, the first stage is always an individual time trial. This time it was a 15km ride around/through the hills of Monaco. Apparently (according to Jez and Edles) this is a bit of a break from the norm as usually the time trial is approximately 8kms and flat).
At 4pm the first rider was off to the roar of the crowd. For the next few hours, we sat down and watched the tour on the big screen and in person. During this time, Jez and Edles tried to update me on tactics that teams employ during Le Tour. There was also a bit of discussion on how Astana was going to go, with both Lance Armstrong and Contador potential team leaders.
As Lance did not ride in the tour last year, he was one of the first to time trial this year and got a massive cheer when the set off. The other notable rider was Cadel Evans (for those of you that are not as knowledgeable as me about Le Tour, he is the Aussies best chance, with Mike Rogers being our 2nd best chance. Unfortunately, Robbie McEwen is not racing as his team did not make the top 20).
After Le Tour Stage 1 finished, the 5 of us walked back to the hostel. On the way we stopped by a pebble beach and all stripped down to the budgies and went for a dip.
That night Jez and I decided to call it an early one and went to bed, dreaming of Cadel in the maillot jeune (the yellow jersey).
Saturday, July 4, 2009
July 3 - Paris to Monace
The day started as the day before had really failed to end - sitting on the bed of our budget hotel, trying not to fall asleep and waiting for it to be time to head to the metro station. We eventually got moving at around 5:20 and timed it perfectly - arriving at the metro station at about 5:29 and just in time for the first train of the day. It was at about this point that we started to get a little anxious. We needed to be at Gare de Lyon and on the train to Lyon by 6:24 or else we would miss all of our connections and our dreams of Monte Carlo, the meditteranean and the start of Le Tour would come to nothing. It was just as well we were still drunk or else we may have really hit the panic button. However, we eventually got there just in time and embarked on the third of six train trips that would make up "Training Day". Once we were on the train we both promptly fell asleep - this started a trend. When we got to Lyon I once again fell asleep and once we got on the train to Marseille we again both fell asleep. So, by the time we got to Marseille, despite the fact that we had actually been traveling for almost 7 hours, we both felt relatively fresh.
After grabbing a quick lunch (which we managed to order in our rapidly improving French) and another train (which was disgustingly hot) from Marseille to Nice, and yet another one from Nice to Monaco, we got off the train and once again were not quite sure how to get to the hostel, nor in fact whether the hostel had any vacancies - it turns out that my French is not so great over the phone... However, we were able to find the tourist office where we were given directions to the hostel and reassured that there were in fact vacancies. So we headed off and once we got the hostel we were both absolutely stunned. Not only was the hostel literally right on the Meditteranean, but it also only cost 18 Euro a night and had vacancies at 7 pm on the night before the tour de france was starting in town! The sense of shock was only compounded when I found out that three guys from the year above me at school (Ant Serventi, Nick Edelman and Francis Egan) were staying at the same hostel...
After a quick dip in the mediterranean and a few cheap beers on the hostel patio, we headed into town with the boys where we had a very civilised dinner and traded traveling stories before heading down to a bar on the harbour. It was a very cool scene and we all got right into the spirit of it, meeting a whole bunch of random people, many of whom were Australian, before decided that we needed to save ourselves for Le Tour tomorrow and heading back to the hostel. This was an adventure in itself and our plan of just following the coastline on the assumption that it should take us straight to the hostel not working out all due to all sorts of castles and palaces blocking the way (we also somehow ended up walking through at least 2 shopping centres). Accordingly, what should have been at 30 minute walk took us over an hour and we weren't tucked up in our ridiculously good hostel until well after 4. Given we had an all-nighter the day before I think this is something that Simon and I can be quite proud of.
Loving life!
Jez
After grabbing a quick lunch (which we managed to order in our rapidly improving French) and another train (which was disgustingly hot) from Marseille to Nice, and yet another one from Nice to Monaco, we got off the train and once again were not quite sure how to get to the hostel, nor in fact whether the hostel had any vacancies - it turns out that my French is not so great over the phone... However, we were able to find the tourist office where we were given directions to the hostel and reassured that there were in fact vacancies. So we headed off and once we got the hostel we were both absolutely stunned. Not only was the hostel literally right on the Meditteranean, but it also only cost 18 Euro a night and had vacancies at 7 pm on the night before the tour de france was starting in town! The sense of shock was only compounded when I found out that three guys from the year above me at school (Ant Serventi, Nick Edelman and Francis Egan) were staying at the same hostel...
After a quick dip in the mediterranean and a few cheap beers on the hostel patio, we headed into town with the boys where we had a very civilised dinner and traded traveling stories before heading down to a bar on the harbour. It was a very cool scene and we all got right into the spirit of it, meeting a whole bunch of random people, many of whom were Australian, before decided that we needed to save ourselves for Le Tour tomorrow and heading back to the hostel. This was an adventure in itself and our plan of just following the coastline on the assumption that it should take us straight to the hostel not working out all due to all sorts of castles and palaces blocking the way (we also somehow ended up walking through at least 2 shopping centres). Accordingly, what should have been at 30 minute walk took us over an hour and we weren't tucked up in our ridiculously good hostel until well after 4. Given we had an all-nighter the day before I think this is something that Simon and I can be quite proud of.
Loving life!
Jez
July 2 - Paris
The 2nd of July was a memorable one for Jez and I. This was because, for the second time thus far, we cleansed ourselves by doing a load of washing. Never underestimate the feeling of putting on clothes of which every item is washed. This rarely happens are our shorts and shirts get a fair work out.
So in the morning we lugged our dirty laundry for a few blocks to the laundromat (stopping for a baguette from the bakery for breakfast), only to discover that all the instructions in the laundromat were in French, with not one word in English. However, we now have been starting to get the knack of things around these parts and within 10 minutes had 2 loads of washing spinning away getting a nice, good clean.
Whilst our clothes’ souls were being cleansed, we headed back to the hostel to get some admin stuff done. One of the things to do was to book accommodation in Monaco, as we were planning to go there to watch the start of le Tour de France.
Our travel books both mentioned this hostel which was a bargain (18 Euros a night) that seemed pretty cool. You cant book online so Jez gave them a call. This proved to be quite humourous from my part as it became apparent that the person on the other end of the line did not speak a word of English. Seriously, none. Jez tried valiantly to reserve 2 beds, but he was fighting a losing battle. Fortunately, the guy on the other end of the phone finally found another employee who did speak English and we were away. After all that, we were told that the hostel does not take reservations and we would just have to rock up.
After that linguistic ordeal, we went back to the laundromat and successfully navigated the dryers. Once our clothes were dry it became apparent that disaster had struck – Jez’s favourite shirt aka the Green Bandit had been bleached by the detergent and now possessed a number of white splotches. He was devastated. However there was no time to cry over spilt milk and we were soon off to Paris’ main train station, Gare du Nord, to try and book some tickets to Monaco for the following day. This was more of an ordeal than it first appeared to be.
We waited for a good 30-45 minutes in line to get to a ticket desk. When we asked the guy if we could go to Monaco the next day on our Eurail passes, he said that tomorrow was not an option, but he could definitely book us a seat in a week or 2. Stuff that for a joke.
Dejected, we went to a ticket machine and found out how much it would cost to buy a ticket. This also turned out to be a dead end as all the 2nd class tickets for tomorrows trains to Monaco were taken. At this point things were looking grim. However, we are not the type to give up without a fight so we headed to another ticket desk in the hope that we would have more success. Thankfully, we did.
As a side note, I saw a 30 year old Asian dude completely skip one of the hour long lines to the ticket desks. He made it all the way to one of the desks but didn’t get to speak to anyone as the other people waiting in the line complained. So he was sent back. But the guy had the nerve to jump in the line at the point he would have been if he had just stayed in the line the entire time. The guy had guts, but got an earful from a big African guy that was about twice his size who was standing behind him. All in all it was a very funny few minutes.
Back to our success at the ticket desk. We managed to get a train from Paris to Monaco the next day. The catch was that it left at 6:24am (which means we would need to be out of our hostel at 5:15 and catch the first metro of the day to the station). Besides that, we would have to change at Lyon, Marseilles and Nice before finally arriving at Monaco. We decided that we would book the train and worry about the timing later.
After the ordeal at the train station, it was now late arvo, so we went and met Capi, Phil, Jeremy and a bunch of other people at Sacre Coeur, a famous church in Paris which is very touristy. It was a stinking hot day (we were walking around in footy shorts and singlets) and Sacre Coeur sits at the top of a massive hill. By the time we got up there and met everyone, we could have been classified as a small ocean by the amount of sweat we had on us. After walking around Sacre Coeur for a while, we headed back to our hostel, got our shower on and headed over to Capi’s because she was having a party.
The party was great, with lots of red wine being consumed. As it was still boiling, we spent most of the night out on the balcony trying not to spontaneously combust. We knew quite a few people there back from Australia and everyone there spoke English so everyone got along well.
After a while a bunch of us kicked on to one of the bars/nightclubs in Paris and danced the night away. When it came time to leave, Jez and I caught a cab back to our hostel, to get ready for our next day……
Monty
So in the morning we lugged our dirty laundry for a few blocks to the laundromat (stopping for a baguette from the bakery for breakfast), only to discover that all the instructions in the laundromat were in French, with not one word in English. However, we now have been starting to get the knack of things around these parts and within 10 minutes had 2 loads of washing spinning away getting a nice, good clean.
Whilst our clothes’ souls were being cleansed, we headed back to the hostel to get some admin stuff done. One of the things to do was to book accommodation in Monaco, as we were planning to go there to watch the start of le Tour de France.
Our travel books both mentioned this hostel which was a bargain (18 Euros a night) that seemed pretty cool. You cant book online so Jez gave them a call. This proved to be quite humourous from my part as it became apparent that the person on the other end of the line did not speak a word of English. Seriously, none. Jez tried valiantly to reserve 2 beds, but he was fighting a losing battle. Fortunately, the guy on the other end of the phone finally found another employee who did speak English and we were away. After all that, we were told that the hostel does not take reservations and we would just have to rock up.
After that linguistic ordeal, we went back to the laundromat and successfully navigated the dryers. Once our clothes were dry it became apparent that disaster had struck – Jez’s favourite shirt aka the Green Bandit had been bleached by the detergent and now possessed a number of white splotches. He was devastated. However there was no time to cry over spilt milk and we were soon off to Paris’ main train station, Gare du Nord, to try and book some tickets to Monaco for the following day. This was more of an ordeal than it first appeared to be.
We waited for a good 30-45 minutes in line to get to a ticket desk. When we asked the guy if we could go to Monaco the next day on our Eurail passes, he said that tomorrow was not an option, but he could definitely book us a seat in a week or 2. Stuff that for a joke.
Dejected, we went to a ticket machine and found out how much it would cost to buy a ticket. This also turned out to be a dead end as all the 2nd class tickets for tomorrows trains to Monaco were taken. At this point things were looking grim. However, we are not the type to give up without a fight so we headed to another ticket desk in the hope that we would have more success. Thankfully, we did.
As a side note, I saw a 30 year old Asian dude completely skip one of the hour long lines to the ticket desks. He made it all the way to one of the desks but didn’t get to speak to anyone as the other people waiting in the line complained. So he was sent back. But the guy had the nerve to jump in the line at the point he would have been if he had just stayed in the line the entire time. The guy had guts, but got an earful from a big African guy that was about twice his size who was standing behind him. All in all it was a very funny few minutes.
Back to our success at the ticket desk. We managed to get a train from Paris to Monaco the next day. The catch was that it left at 6:24am (which means we would need to be out of our hostel at 5:15 and catch the first metro of the day to the station). Besides that, we would have to change at Lyon, Marseilles and Nice before finally arriving at Monaco. We decided that we would book the train and worry about the timing later.
After the ordeal at the train station, it was now late arvo, so we went and met Capi, Phil, Jeremy and a bunch of other people at Sacre Coeur, a famous church in Paris which is very touristy. It was a stinking hot day (we were walking around in footy shorts and singlets) and Sacre Coeur sits at the top of a massive hill. By the time we got up there and met everyone, we could have been classified as a small ocean by the amount of sweat we had on us. After walking around Sacre Coeur for a while, we headed back to our hostel, got our shower on and headed over to Capi’s because she was having a party.
The party was great, with lots of red wine being consumed. As it was still boiling, we spent most of the night out on the balcony trying not to spontaneously combust. We knew quite a few people there back from Australia and everyone there spoke English so everyone got along well.
After a while a bunch of us kicked on to one of the bars/nightclubs in Paris and danced the night away. When it came time to leave, Jez and I caught a cab back to our hostel, to get ready for our next day……
Monty
July 1 - Paris
For literally the first time of the trip, Monty and I voluntarily got up before 9. We had been up earlier a number of times but literally all of them because we had planes and or trains to catch. The reason for this uncharacteristic display of early-bird-ness was brunch at Capi's place, which in typical French fashion consisted of baguettes, pain chocolat and croissants. This was all very civilised and took up the majority of the morning with Monty, Phil, Jeremy and myself all revelling in the fact that we could just sit around in the comfort of a living room and have a conversation that wasn't based largely on mime.
By mid-morning however it was decided that it was time to get out and see some of Paris so the group of us headed out into the scorching heat (it has literally been about 35 degrees every day for the past week) bound for Notre Dame. After a quick wander through the throng of people inside the cathedral we proceeded to wander through some of the smaller streets, stopping to get crepes on the way. We all enjoyed this thoroughly but no-one more so than Monty who decided that a Nutella crepe was not enough and that he would have a chicken and cheese one as well. It was the ideal travelling experience from his perspective really - food and authenticity. By this stage we were all feeling the effects of the heat and so decided to head to the Luxembourg Gardens and sit in the shade for a while before wandering around a little while longer, first to the Pantheon and then to a cafe where I had the world's worst and most expensive milkshake (6 Euro!) before heading back to the hotel to shower up and grab supplies for the night ahead.
The plan of attack was to meet at the Invalides Park, which is in front of the French Parliament for a picnic dinner which appealed to everyone both because the weather remained spectacular and because it was deinitely the cost effective option. The disparity in cost between eating out and picnicing is probably most evident in the fact that a glass of wine in a restaurant costs about 5 Euro whilst a bottle of exactly the same wine costs 2 Euro at the supermarket. Being that most of us are traveling we went out of our way to make the most of this bargain and what began as a relatively civilised picnic got rowdier and rowdier as the drinking games took effect. Probably the game that kicked things along the most was the old college favourite "Bok Choy Bok Choy" which was particularly funny when played with a bunch of French people whose grasp of English is not as good as it might be. Soon enough all manner of crazy things started happening including playing a group of impromptu Duck Duck Goose with a bunch of French girls, singing the Canadian National Anthem to celebrate Canada day and a random girl joining our group for the sole purpose of spoon feeding Monty some rice. It was that sort of a night and by the time Mont and I got down to the Metro to jump on the last train back to Malakoff Plateau de Vanves we were both well and tuly scottered...
It was another great day, though if this weather keeps up for the rest of the summer there is a very good chance that we are both going to melt...
Cheers
Jez
PS: It should be noted that our horrible mangling of the French language has continued unabated. As a means of remembering that we have to change trains almost every time we get on the metro at the station "Montparnasse Bienvenue" Monty and I have renamed it "Mount Parmesan. Good Venue" Throughly immersed in the culture we are.
By mid-morning however it was decided that it was time to get out and see some of Paris so the group of us headed out into the scorching heat (it has literally been about 35 degrees every day for the past week) bound for Notre Dame. After a quick wander through the throng of people inside the cathedral we proceeded to wander through some of the smaller streets, stopping to get crepes on the way. We all enjoyed this thoroughly but no-one more so than Monty who decided that a Nutella crepe was not enough and that he would have a chicken and cheese one as well. It was the ideal travelling experience from his perspective really - food and authenticity. By this stage we were all feeling the effects of the heat and so decided to head to the Luxembourg Gardens and sit in the shade for a while before wandering around a little while longer, first to the Pantheon and then to a cafe where I had the world's worst and most expensive milkshake (6 Euro!) before heading back to the hotel to shower up and grab supplies for the night ahead.
The plan of attack was to meet at the Invalides Park, which is in front of the French Parliament for a picnic dinner which appealed to everyone both because the weather remained spectacular and because it was deinitely the cost effective option. The disparity in cost between eating out and picnicing is probably most evident in the fact that a glass of wine in a restaurant costs about 5 Euro whilst a bottle of exactly the same wine costs 2 Euro at the supermarket. Being that most of us are traveling we went out of our way to make the most of this bargain and what began as a relatively civilised picnic got rowdier and rowdier as the drinking games took effect. Probably the game that kicked things along the most was the old college favourite "Bok Choy Bok Choy" which was particularly funny when played with a bunch of French people whose grasp of English is not as good as it might be. Soon enough all manner of crazy things started happening including playing a group of impromptu Duck Duck Goose with a bunch of French girls, singing the Canadian National Anthem to celebrate Canada day and a random girl joining our group for the sole purpose of spoon feeding Monty some rice. It was that sort of a night and by the time Mont and I got down to the Metro to jump on the last train back to Malakoff Plateau de Vanves we were both well and tuly scottered...
It was another great day, though if this weather keeps up for the rest of the summer there is a very good chance that we are both going to melt...
Cheers
Jez
PS: It should be noted that our horrible mangling of the French language has continued unabated. As a means of remembering that we have to change trains almost every time we get on the metro at the station "Montparnasse Bienvenue" Monty and I have renamed it "Mount Parmesan. Good Venue" Throughly immersed in the culture we are.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
June 30 - Paris
Jez and I woke in the late morning ready and raring to get some more French culture. First stop: Breakfast. We promptly headed to the bakery and supermarket to get a baguette and cheese respectively. We then sat on a bench, ate our food and commented on how French we were.
After that culinary delight, we decided to go walk around and see the sights. We caught the Metro to Champs Elysees and had a look around. After a wander, we tried to pop our heads into a Louis Vuitton store but were given evil eyes from the 2 security guards at the entrance. This may have been due to the fact we were wearing shirts, shorts and thongs and definitely did not look like classy Frenchman.
After getting over feeling underdressed in Paris (although it was easily 30 degrees), we headed to the top of the Champs Elysees and had a look at the Arc de Triomphe and the roundabout there. It was fairly uneventful, with not even a crash occurring on the notorious roundabout.
We then walked around to the Galaries Lafayette, realized that everything was out of our modest price range and then headed to the Louvre. We didn’t go inside (on account of our modest price range) and so we soaked up some sun in the gardens in front of the museum and plated some backgammon.
That night, we met up with Capi, a girl we know from uni and Phil and Jeremy, 2 of my brothers mates from Newcastle. We had a nice dinner around Saint-Germaine and had a few cocktails. After that we headed to one of the bars (unfortunately Paris doesn’t really have pubs) for a few more drinks before calling it a night.
Monty
After that culinary delight, we decided to go walk around and see the sights. We caught the Metro to Champs Elysees and had a look around. After a wander, we tried to pop our heads into a Louis Vuitton store but were given evil eyes from the 2 security guards at the entrance. This may have been due to the fact we were wearing shirts, shorts and thongs and definitely did not look like classy Frenchman.
After getting over feeling underdressed in Paris (although it was easily 30 degrees), we headed to the top of the Champs Elysees and had a look at the Arc de Triomphe and the roundabout there. It was fairly uneventful, with not even a crash occurring on the notorious roundabout.
We then walked around to the Galaries Lafayette, realized that everything was out of our modest price range and then headed to the Louvre. We didn’t go inside (on account of our modest price range) and so we soaked up some sun in the gardens in front of the museum and plated some backgammon.
That night, we met up with Capi, a girl we know from uni and Phil and Jeremy, 2 of my brothers mates from Newcastle. We had a nice dinner around Saint-Germaine and had a few cocktails. After that we headed to one of the bars (unfortunately Paris doesn’t really have pubs) for a few more drinks before calling it a night.
Monty
June 29 - Amiens to Paris
June 29 - Amiens to Paris
After the debacle of the night before, Monty and I woke keen to make the most of the day and get our fill of WW1 history at Villers-Brettoneux. Villers-Brettoneux holds a special place in Australian war history as it is arguably the place where Australian soldiers most distinguished themselves on the western front. Faced with a strong German offensive in the summer of 1918 and drastically outnumbered, Australian troops were able to defend the town on a day that the german high command later called "the black day" of the whole war. That is all real talk. It was definitely worth the drama from the day before, with both the museum in town and the Australian War Memorial (which is about 2 km out of town) being very well maintained and giving a sense of perspective and reality to all of the WW1 history that we had both learnt over the years. The only downside was that nothing in town seemed to be open so we had to wait until we got back to Amiens to get food (at about 2 pm) and that we had to carry our backpacks around for most of the day in the scorching heat.
After a croque monsieur in Amiens we boarded the train bound for Paris and while Monty read his book, I slept away what was another uneventful train journey. Upon arriving in Paris Monty and I made our way to the hostel (which in reality is just a 2-star hotel) with a minimum of fuss - for once we actually knew where it was... After having a brief wander around and establishing that the area that we are staying in (Malakoff) has not got much going for it, we stopped at a restaurant on the corner and had another croque monsieur for dinner. This turned out to be an epic mistake with the total bill for what was essentially 2 toasted ham and cheese sandwiches and 2 beers coming to an astronomical 31 Euros! I guess we could chalk it up to a lesson learned but given we had each forked out over 25 AUD and were still hungry, we felt more than a little miffed.
After the exertions of the previous 3 days, all of which involved large amounts of walking around with our backpacks we decided to recharge the batteries and after a few games of backgammon we turned in for an early night.
Over and out
Jez
After the debacle of the night before, Monty and I woke keen to make the most of the day and get our fill of WW1 history at Villers-Brettoneux. Villers-Brettoneux holds a special place in Australian war history as it is arguably the place where Australian soldiers most distinguished themselves on the western front. Faced with a strong German offensive in the summer of 1918 and drastically outnumbered, Australian troops were able to defend the town on a day that the german high command later called "the black day" of the whole war. That is all real talk. It was definitely worth the drama from the day before, with both the museum in town and the Australian War Memorial (which is about 2 km out of town) being very well maintained and giving a sense of perspective and reality to all of the WW1 history that we had both learnt over the years. The only downside was that nothing in town seemed to be open so we had to wait until we got back to Amiens to get food (at about 2 pm) and that we had to carry our backpacks around for most of the day in the scorching heat.
After a croque monsieur in Amiens we boarded the train bound for Paris and while Monty read his book, I slept away what was another uneventful train journey. Upon arriving in Paris Monty and I made our way to the hostel (which in reality is just a 2-star hotel) with a minimum of fuss - for once we actually knew where it was... After having a brief wander around and establishing that the area that we are staying in (Malakoff) has not got much going for it, we stopped at a restaurant on the corner and had another croque monsieur for dinner. This turned out to be an epic mistake with the total bill for what was essentially 2 toasted ham and cheese sandwiches and 2 beers coming to an astronomical 31 Euros! I guess we could chalk it up to a lesson learned but given we had each forked out over 25 AUD and were still hungry, we felt more than a little miffed.
After the exertions of the previous 3 days, all of which involved large amounts of walking around with our backpacks we decided to recharge the batteries and after a few games of backgammon we turned in for an early night.
Over and out
Jez
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