spiderwebs

So my time in Barcelona has come to an end, and I have found the city to be a good one. I am currently flying over the city at night with lightning from a storm cloud occasionally punctuating the night sky.  The city below sparkles like a spiderweb in the moonlight after rain, each drop glistening along carefully woven and structured strands.

Unfortunately, I feel the heart of Barcelona lacks a real sense of Spanish soul. This is something I would say of many European cities (not lacking Spanish soul, of course, but a distinctive identity that reflects both the country and its history). The spread of globalization has certainly seen modern European cities feel simply “western” rather than anything specific. Whilst the cities remain interesting and comfortable, they no longer overtly display their own character. It is only the occasional monument or building that speaks of something other. This saddens me, but the chance to experience a country’s genuine character can still be achieved. You just need to scratch a little harder than perhaps 50 years ago, or look a little further.

I am off to Dublin to see an old friend I have not spoken to directly in something like 4 years. Very exciting! And I am eager to see the Irish countryside too, though I feel 4 nights really is not enough time there. Next time, I will spend a good chunk of time in Ireland.

Gaudi: one cannot visit Barcelona without being struck by the mad genius of this man. His buildings are completely fascinating to behold, but, more specifically, the depth and subtleness of thought that went into his designs completely marvelous. His attention to the most minor of details, whether that be subtle changes in wall colour due to changing light to create a more consistent palette, or the shaping of door handles and banisters to perfectly fit the hand, is astounding. No doubt the complexity and strangeness of Gaudi’s designs are what draw the most attention, but there is so much more to appreciate in his mad genius. I am very glad I was able to appreciate his work first hand.

A highlight of my time in Spain (other than bunking with my mate Chris and getting to watch the man tie his shoelaces every morning: wondrous!) was a visit to Monserrat (translates as “the serrated mountain”). Montserrat is a mountain town situated about a third of the way up a collection of jagged and craggy peaks that are truly beautiful, and the view from their height is astounding. A place of rare beauty I will not soon forget (nor will mine and Chris’s feet; we must have done 10 to 12 kms of steep ascent and descent).

This past week I have begun to anticipate being home, seeing friends and family again, and getting back into a more structured life. Admittedly, jumping from place to place has become tiresome, so I am looking forward to spending time in the one place, though if this was settling somewhere in Europe for awhile I would be more than happy. As dear as people are back home there is definitely a life to be lived here …

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bus

The Spanish countryside, and the terrain in southern France as you approach the border for that matter, remind me of Australia. Whilst the vegetation is not exactly alike, it is certainly a tougher flora, appearing more able to cope with a harsher, drier climate than that of middle Europe, and less vibrant in colour. The dirt looks hard and dry, and the hills have a craggy appearance.

The grasses are long and thin, a mix of pale yellow and light green. The trees are mixed somewhat: pines feature, side by side with stout, bushy and tall, light-barked trees that hold pale green leaves.

And a hawk greeted our journey just after crossing the border with a few circles beside the bus. The birdlife of new countries is so wonderous, and I challenge anyone not to be fascinated by the different birdcalls they hear when travelling.

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hotels …

Hotels

So, upon attending the Provence Swing Festival, I left it till the day I was arriving to organise accomodation. A bit silly perhaps, but part of this trip has been about being unplanned.

As a result, due to a lack of research, I booked possibly the worst hotel possible from the recommended options on the PSF website (I hold them at least 30% responsible).

The hotel is a good 30-minute drive from the festival, though the PSF website stated it was only 14 km away. In a straight line, maybe, but roads don’t work that way now do they.

The picturesque hotel from the website is in fact situated directly next to a massive power station, and is ghastly in appearance. It reeks of poor 70s/80s design, decor, and odour. The room is plain and uncomfortable, service non-existent, and wolves howl during the night (ok, that part is kind of cool, unless I encounter one opening the massive security gate that blocks the road entrance at night. Whatever do we need such protection from I wonder? *shudder*). There is no food within koo-ee of the hotel, and the restaurant there is grossly over-priced.

Its one saving grace: the man who runs the restaurant is incredibly nice.

Oh well. At least I can dance

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Almost forgot! There is an amazing chateaux nearby. It was first built in the 11th century, making parts of it 1000 years old. It has since been added to, partly destroyed by fire and earthquake, and now has features from the 15th, 17th and 18th centuries. It also has furniture and clothing dating back to the 17th and 18th centuries. Truly astounding. There was even a room with embroided leather walls, which was apparently a sitting room for knights. Wearing armour is a smelly exercise, and leather was good for masking the problem. And now? A family owns the castle and LIVES there. Ridiculous!

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My goodness …

I have not posted in a little while, and this is purely because my heart has been so full with the beauty of the French countryside that I have been unable to focus on anything else. As I type this on the train from Dijon to Lyon, small village after small village rolls past separated by vast expances of rich, green field, bountiful forest, and small hills. Everything is so fertile, and the villages are full of old world charm and a sense of time and history.

This is the Burgundy region, renowned for its wine production and sumptuous food. I have spent the past 4 days driving with my friends Chris and Cindy through the Loire region, famous for its chateaux (French castle). A chateaux can vary in size, anything from a small mansion or manor house to a vast castle structure familiar to most Australians from our British heritage.

But I am getting ahead of myself. The France adventure began in Paris …

What a fascinating and enchanting place, much as I had hoped! Full of history, mainly centred around the revolution, and a grittiness that is incredibly interesting.

I spent a day and a half in Paris on my own, which I spent wandering the Tuileries gardens and the cobblestones of the Place de la Concorde. And exploring the Montmarte area where I was staying. Montmartre was my favourite district, reminding me of places like Collingwood in a way. It has an interesting artistic side as well as a gritty, sleezy element that makes it all the more interesting.

I had my best meal of the trip so far here at a small out-of-the-way restaurant called Chez Toinette in Pigalle. It was suggested by my Lonely Planet, which so far had proved underwhelming for dining advice. Picture a dark room lit by sombre orange light, seating maybe 20 people at best. The walls display paintings in a Van Gogh style, rich in colour and thickly textured. Upon entering, I am greeted by a forcefully gesticulating man reminiscent of French chef stereotypes. He seems to be telling me to wait, which I am happily doing, just not in the precise spot he would like. Luckily the head (and only) waiter appears to sort things out. I am seated and fearing for the treatment of my chosen dinner, but upon observing the chef at work I realise he is hard pressed and demonstrative in all his actions. And then there is the food … Good heavens AMAZING! So full of flavour and perfectly prepared. The duck entree and rabbit main are astounding, beautifully finished with a cheese desert (cheese is EVERYWHERE in France, and gut-bustingly excellent). The chef brings each dish himself and asks for my opinion, and to top it all off, pours me a glass of his own bottle of wine at meals end and chats with me! My hat off to you, Emrique for one of the best meals of my life …

I wandered up the Montmarte hill during the day, visiting Sacre Cour and imagining myself in that scene from Amelie (yes, I was Amelie. Don’t judge me), and returned at night to enjoy the vista of Paris from the hill.

The next day involved some museums and visiting historic French revolution sites before meeting my friends Chris and Cindy to find our apartment near the site of the former Bastille. The apartment was large, gorgeous and great for exploring the usual suspects of Paris tourism: Eiffel Tower, Louvre, etc.  All amazing. The Louvre in particular. My expectations were not high going in, I believe because of hearing so much about it and thinking there would be just too many people to see anything. But the crowd did not prove too bad, even at the Mona Lisa, which impressed me very much though it has never held much excitement for me previously. I even got to see a number of paintings by Jacques Louis David, a favourite.

The city is beautiful and I would love to spend a great deal more time there, but I feel to truly uncover its secrets one needs to learn the local language …

Oh, and I was up and at a bar by 6 am again to watch Collingwood win the Grand Final! HUZZAH!

I can also say I have seen French cabaret, but not at the Moulin Rouge, unfortunately (it was booked out for many nights). Instead we saw a show by a group called Lido, right in the heart of Paris and at a quite expensive place, and it was GHASTLY! I have never seen such an inept and uninspired group of dancers. Completely horrifying stuff. I cringe just thinking about it.

After 3 splendid nights in Paris (except for Lido) we picked up our nifty little Peugeot rental car (these and Renaults seem the most common in France) for our journey through the Loire region. Our first stop was the palace of Versailles, the former residence of the French monarchy. It was quite possibly the most beautiful place I have ever seen. The colours of the autumn gardens were breathtaking to say the very least, and the layout so intricately planned. We toured around the gardens in a golf buggy that featured Jeremy Irons giving a recorded tour, which knew magically when to talk about whatever we approached, interspersed with delightful classical music. A truly divine day …

We travelled through some dazzling countryside and towns heading toward Blois, our stop for the night. We rose early the following day on what was to be Chateaux Day. First in Blois we explored a stunning chateaux with a very interesting history, which featured noticeably different architectural styles from several periods. From there we headed to the captivating Chenonceaux, situated on a river and also the setting for some interesting historical narratives. We made it to another, called Chambon, which was truly epic in scale, though I think a less picturesque estate than that of Chenonceaux. We just missed being able to enter Chambon by about 5 minutes, partly thanks to my navigating that led us in an unnecessary loop of the town of Cheverny (thank you, directional sense!).

Our final chateaux for the day just happened to be our STOP FOR THE NIGHT! Chateux de la Verrerie. And it was absolutely mind blowing!!! Divinely picturesque, it was situated on a lake and featured architecture from the 1600s. It was abandoned for some years during the 1700s until it was rediscovered by chance around 1840. I cannot explain how beautiful this place was, and I feel very lucky to have been able to stay there. We dined extravagantly, slept in supreme comfort, took a row boat out on the lake, played knights in shining rubber armour (photos will explain), and just meandered about on foot and bike enjoying the wonder of it all.

My final night with C & C Music Factory was meant to be in another Chateaux, but as bad luck would have it the chateaux had overbooked and we had to stay at their sister hotel. Nice enough place, and they gave us a bottle of $100 champagne to make up for the error. And snails! We ate snails there, and lord were they tasty.

I now find myself at the Provence Swing Festival, in what is a much more wild region of the countryside with its own beauty.

Better get back to the festival …

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trains

Well. The train ride from Florence to Paris has proven to be quite the contrast of experiences.

The night began with some rather unsavory toilette conditions on the train, quickly followed by the entry into my 6 person sleeper cabin of a man and two women possessing more luggage than ever humanly necessary. There is no room in these cabins at the best of times. One of the girls had an amazing cough she exhibited for a good while during the early sleep stages (thank you, ear plugs!), and the other girl decided to talk loudly on the phone just outside the door she kindly left open for a good 10 minutes.

But the piece de resistance of this motley crew was the thick and pungent perfume the woman sleeping below me had obviously bathed in prior to the train journey. It was inescapable! Horrible, horrible stuff. This should give you an idea of it’s intensity: when she finally realized talking on the phone was a bit rude, she closed the door and walked away. I was determined to remain awake and lock the door once she had re-entered, but alas sleep got the better of me. I did wake, however, shortly after her return. NOT because I heard her return, but because I SMELT her return! I kid you not her disgusting perfume funk punched me back into the waking world. Well, at least I got to lock the door …

All right. Enough of being a miserable chap, on to the contrast. Upon waking in the early morning, the train made its final stop in Dijon. I took the opportunity to stand and watch the train journey from here towards Paris, and I have to say it was breathtaking. Beautiful green valleys and quaint French villages, rolling fields and wandering sheep. It really was something …

It always seems to take more words to complain than say something nice.

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Aperitivo?

A note on Italian drinking …

Aperitivo: a pre-dinner drink enjoyed with some snacks to be followed by dinner.

A lovely idea, but who are they kidding!?! This is  DRINKING, plain and simple. Dress it up as something else all you want but I am afraid this is just alcoholism done well. I asked for a recommended aperitivo from the, yes, cute waitress, and she gave me quite possibly the ultimate combination of my favourite drinks in one subtle, stylish drink: well done, Italia!

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chianti time!

I am on the bus this morning from Florence, taking a day trip out to a small Tuscan village named Siena. I have been lucky enough to procure a double-decker bus for the trip out through the countryside, sitting at the very front with almost panoramic views of what is a lush and breathtaking landscape: olive trees and grape vines, but also thick forested hills. The weather here in Italy has been the warmest of the trip so far and today I am enjoying a sparkling 22 degrees and clear blue sky. Something of an Italian dream …

Italy has been a slight whirlwind (can you have a “slight” whirlwind? Hmm …) so far. I have been behind schedule since Poland and had to cut some days from Rome and Florence in order to have the time I want in Paris.

Rome is an expansive city that is immersed with a sense of time and history. The Roman ruins are fascinating to behold and communicate just how old the Italian civilisation is, and the basilicas and churches, temples and monuments, too many to count. The piazzas are great and a feature of Italian cities I wish Melbourne also had. But ultimately the city was a bit too large in scale for me. Bustling Italian restaurants and wine was definitely a highlight.

A word or two on the Sistine Chapel: surprisingly small when you enter! Was  taken aback slightly. But once you study the paintings and see the familiar images for real, it really is an exceptional experience. The chapel is part of the Musei Vaticani, the second largest in the world. But much like the Hermitage I found the lack of selectiveness an issue. Simply too much crowded in to a building that is an artwork to behold in itself.

Florence: much more my style! Smaller in scale but still featuring stunning architecture. The Duomo here is an absolute wonder to behold and I highly recommend coming here. It is a Gothic design unlike anything I have seen, and the scale of the basilica is astonishing. I much prefer the architecture here in fact to Rome.

I met a friend’s friend last night, Tommaso. Wonderful chap! Gave me many insider tips for Florence and got some of the local Chianti (the wine style of the region) and grappa into me. Both were extremely good, and I fully intend upon enjoying a bottle of chianti today with some bread and cheese out in the Tuscan countryside. When in Rome (or Florence), right?

Tomorrow I will explore the Florence city, see some Carravaggio’s at the Uffizi, and consider some shopping here (amazing fashion but expensive!).

And then, PARIS …

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It is now later in the day in Siena. I have just enjoyed a picnic on a secluded hill just a short walk from town. Italian cheese and salami, fresh olives, locally produced pesto, and a pricey bottle of chianti, which here isn’t too expensive. Roughly $20 here would retail for much more in OZ. I am three quarters through and FEELING rather nice.

Rain has appeared in a very Melbourne manner: unlooked for and in a hurry. I am standing in a back alley of the town, having fled my hill, that is littered with flags representing the local quarter of the town. There is an annual horse race here in the town square, in which representatives of the town quarters compete against each other. The rivalry is fierce and the race hotly contested, as one would expect from Italians. Part of this is a passionate loyaly to the quarter each person is from, and the people in Siena proudly display their local colours and flags.

Standing in this back alley, strewn with many flags representing the local quarter, I find my heart full and my mind struck by the brevity of this experience: moments such as these are the gems of an adventure, and I will, with luck, forever remember this rain soaked, flag flown moment …

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Amsterdam vs. Munich = no contest, really …

Today finds me in stunning Amsterdam. Good lord! What a city! I am dying to talk about it but I best attend to previous matters first.

If there was a contest between Amsterdam and Munich over which city was more interesting, Amsterdam would win hands down in my book. Sorry Bavaria! But that’s how I feel. Amsterdam has really captured my heart, and I wish I had more time to spend here. But alas, no …

So Munich (aka Munchen, with a couple of dots thrown above the ‘u’ for good measure): quite a nice city with much charm and history. And, ultimately, Oktoberfest.

I don’t think I have been as drunk as I was on the opening day of Oktoberfest for some time. And that’s saying something. It is without doubt the biggest beer drinking extravaganza in the world, and I am glad I at least got to see it just once. The beer “tents” are massive (they are really massive halls) and filled to the brim with people dead set on getting ridiculously drunk. Women clad in traditional dress carry up to 10 or 12 steins at a time (1 litre glass mugs) and charge about blowing whistles to clear the way or just ramming people. I was not aware of the “give way to the beer ladies!” rule until I got rammed in the back by some chilled frothy mugs. A lesson quickly learned there …

Did I get to wear lederhosen? NO. TRAGEDY! My bank card would not work on the day and they were very expensive. Will I regret this for the rest of my life? Possibly. Did I waste $300 on something i will rarely wear? No.

A wonderful thing happened in Munich (more wonderful than, well, being in Munich)! The day after Oktoberfest I spent hungover as all hell, and decided to use the day (half day by the time I awoke) to explore the city. I wandered about seeing many sights, and happened upon the Hofgarten (garden/park) late in the day. To the joy of my ears and musical sensibility the delightful sound of swing jazz greeted me and I ambled towards it. I soon found people swing dancing under a pergola type object, followed by a raucous Australian town shouting “JARROD!”. It was none other than Dean of the Melbourne swing dancing scene there to greet me, who was attending the Munich Lindy Exchange. An event I was not aware of taking place. This led to further random dancing late into the night with many a German lass (how unlucky). A joyous evening, finished off with an eventful lift back to my hotel from one Heidielinde. We were pulled over by the police for goodness knows what (probably erratic driving caused by my ever forward wit and charm). A tense but amusing affair! Thank you, Heide

AMSTERDAM! My god what a wonderful city! My favourite so far! A magical place full of stunning canals, interesting, trendy people, and bikes! So many bikes! As far as the eye can see and with very few rules governing there behaviour. It really is fantastic. It seems that if you are aggressive and hold your line you generally will win the right of way. So people just go for it! The streets are really tight also, meaning there is little room for error, and NO ONE wears helmets. It’s amazing people survive. I haven’t even seen one accident yet. And people do anything whilst riding: frequently talking on mobiles, messing about. I even saw a girl getting a “dink”, applying deodorant as she wobbled along on the back of the bike. Amazing …

I spent most of my time cruising on Quinten’s old  cruiser (few people ride new bikes; they only get stolen), with buckled wheel and many a strange noice, and had the time of my life.

I must say, I feel a little sorry for Amsterdam. It is known the world over for its Red Light District and “coffeeshops”, but it is so much more than this. I could live there in a heartbeat. It felt like the lifestyle of Fitzroy in a small city scale. So, so very beautiful.

I met so many wonderful people here (W), and had such a splendid time staying with my friends Quinten and Sarah. I hope I can return the generosity they showed me one day.

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Leaving Praha

I am currently on the train from Prague to Munich for what, fortuitously perhaps, happens to be the opening weekend of Oktoberfest. I decided to go to Munchen instead of Berlin thanks to a German fellow i met in Moscow. I am partially regretting this decision because I have since heard wonderful things about Berlin, and Oktoberfest meant expensive accomodation. But, with any luck, my lifelong dream of wearing lederhosen will at least be fulfilled! Stay tuned for that one …

Prague: gorgeous town! So very beautiful indeed. A labrinthyn arrangement of cobblestone streets and gothic structures, the city exudes a charm in pure architecture almost unparralled in my experience. However, much like the centre of London, is overrun with people like yours truly. It’s unfortunate because I think I would have a wonderful time here if it felt more specifically Czech. Instead my time was more what I would call fair.

Prague Castle is stunning and the cathedral there one of the most amazing buildings I have seen. It is truly an epic gothic masterpiece.

I am now becoming a master of foreign metro and public transport. The trams in Prague are regular, neat and clear in listing info. I think after getting lost in Poland I am focusing better on this aspect. The Czech language though is beyond me …

I managed to track down some swing dancing in Prague. Found a small studio where I got some info about a class that night (the first of the new season), but when I enquired about social dancing the jolly fellow from the studio gave some unconvincing directions to a Big Band gig that very night at a place called “Gong”. After some wicked work on the Interweb I found something called Gong Theatre some way from the city centre. A not overly long metro journey took me to a destination somewhat reminiscent of, say, Frankston. My ever improving navigational skills led me to the desired place quickly though, and I soon found myself in front of the Prague Swing Orchestra dancing with some Prague-anians! The band were tight and impressive, and played perfect tunes for dancing. There weren’t many girls there to dance with but one girl, Litka, was a joy to dance with. Was great swinging out after a 12-day draught!

I took a day trip out to a smallish village called Kutna Hora, about 1 hour east of the city by train. I hired myself a trusty steed (some kind of dodgy, K-mart quality, mountain bike) and scaled the village, enjoying a “piwo” (don’t be lazy, look it up) whilst overlooking the sunny green valley, and then racing back down to look at an oddly decorated monastery that had an interior adorned with the bones of locals buried there.

My final day in Prague saw me hit up the only Aussie bar there to watch Collingwood vs Geelong, which meant beer from 11 am (golly, life can be hard on holiday!). Hopefully you all know how that went

From the mother land

Today finds me in Prague, watching the remnants of a rather wet day retreat across this beautiful city as it descends into night.

This is unfortunately spoiled by the young boozy groups at the hostel I am staying at. They are the loud, vapid type rather than interesting travellers.

So it goes …

It has been a hectic week or so, exploring Poland for the most part and having an exceptional time, as well as a thoughtful and affecting experience.

Leaving Russia, I was expecting things to be a tad easier to handle but still not easy for a lad that has limited Polish. And from what I had heard the infrastructure in Poland was not great.

My departure from Russia was not an easy one: a midnight train to Moscow’s smallest airport where I had to wait 6 hours overnight for my flight (I thought I could get some sleep there, but conditions were far from cosy. Most benches were taken, and I had a guz snoring loudly nearby complete with tongue lolling out). My passage through Belarus also proved “entertaining”, with my lack of a visa leading to a great deal of walking around the airport with staff looking unsure of what to do and arguing lightly, and me wandering if I would see my passport ever again. It was not all bad I suppose because the women in Belarus are VERY attractive, at least this seemed to be the evidence from what I saw of airport staff. After much hassle I ended up in the right terminal with passport and ticket in hand somewhere near where I started. Thank you, Belarus!

Poland: what an experience! Warsaw was wonderful, being quite a modern city that also has a classic ‘old town’ quarter and much history.  And a real sense of remembrance concerning the Warsaw ghetto remains. But in truth, my Warsaw was very much the hostel at which I stayed. The staff there were brilliant and showed us much of the city we would not have experienced otherwise. And as it turned out there were many Australians there who were great to spend time with of an evening. There were plenty of stories and adventures, but one cannot spill all the beans at once …

(A quick side note: I had my clothes washed and dried again in Warsaw with similar results. I may come back a eunuch if this continues.)

The Polish people are very accomodating, very stylish (in a more subtle and appealing way than in Russia), and full of colour when you make the effort to engage with them. I found them fascinating, and was impressed by the deep understanding of their own country they had. Perhaps I should find myself a bride here (as one young Polish girl suggested could be a purpose for my visit).

They also drink ALOT and beer is VERY cheap. I don’t think I saw an early morning in Warsaw …

I did get lost once, partly due to the rain that seems to be following me around Europe, and no doubt in part due to my well developed sense of direction. But as always, getting slightly lost ain’t a bad thing: you see some city life you would otherwise have missed.

From Warsaw I headed to Poznan, a smaller city directly east of Warsaw, to meet a recently found distant relative. Paul was a great guy, and was very enthusiastic about meeting his Australian family. I was only there for one day, and ultimately I regret this because his enthusiasm told me that the unusualness of having family from Australia was significant for him. I look forward to a future meeting where we can communicate with freedom (I know very little Polish and his English, whilst good, takes time to construct).

Aside from this meeting, Poznan was rather uninspiring at night, being reminiscent of a King Street nightclub, but exciting in the town square during the day thanks to a medieval type festival that took place. Was very entertaining watching locals in armour bash each other about. The midday clock tower chime, complete with two mechanical goats headbutting instead of the usual coo-cooing bird, was also a highlight.

Krakow: I decided to come here briefly based on Warsaw people’s recommendation, and ultimately to visit Auschwitz-Birkenau, where my grandfather wad held during WWII.

The city itself was charming, boasting many a cathedral and an impressive castle. I didn’t have much time to explore too much however. I do think there was much to see that I only scratched at the surface of. What I did see I did in the company of an Aussie I met in Warsaw who is good company, and a couple of other Aussie lads staying at my hostel.

An achievement: two kebabs, back to back. I was drunk and wanted to make a comparison (they both claimed to be the best!). Result: the first was better. And the realization that one should never eat two kebabs in one sitting.

The bus ride to Birkenau (about 1 and a half hours) was quite wonderful, and slightly at odds with the sense of foreboading and discomfort I had about our destination. The hills around Krakow are very green and fullsome, and the style of country home there strange to my foreign eyes but appealing. I would happily spend some time in that countryside in future.

Aushwitz I and Aushwitz II-Birkenau: A heavily affecting place, where the sadness is etched into every stone, every blade of grass, and where the silence is overpowering. Auschitz I is very much a museum now, with occasional moments of horror when one comes to a place where unimagineable cruelty occured. At Birkenau, however, the camp remains much as it was when the Nazis evacuated. It is expansive and ominous, and the scale of what happened hard to comprehend when actually confronted with the space. It is not a simple experience to talk about, and part of me feels like perhaps i shouldn’t. I will say that gazing down the steps to the gas chambers at Birkenau is an image that will never leave me: an eternity of horror would have been felt there, and my heart weeps to imagine such a thing …

Moving on.

I took the overnight train to Prague that night, met some lovely young New Yorkers in my cabin who I will catch up with here. They are keen to join me at Fat Boy’s Bar to watch Collingwood play Geelong, which means an 11 am start at the pub on Friday.

Well, if i must : )