Krakow: Finally finding Narnia (and a dragon)

I regret not staying in Krakow longer than a few days. Ok, partly it was because we missed the 'Tram Party', which is exactly as it sounds: a party in a disused Tram.  But I also felt there was a lot more to explore away from the centre. Equipped with our warnings from Kevin (a laid-back American we'd met in Berlin, who told us not to set out into the area we happened to be staying in) our options were pretty limited in the evenings. We ended up in Alchemia, which first looked deceptively like an English pub, but turned out to be a maze of dimly lit rooms.

The first room was reminiscent of an antique-style drawing room and contained a great wooden wardrobe at the end of it. We didn't really want to be the tourists who go over to an empty cupboard, expecting Narnia or something, but eventually our curiosity got the better of us and we edged our way over to it. We stepped through the wardrobe into a candlelit room, which oddly enough turned out to be the smoking area, essentially hiding the smokers away in an extremely-expanded cupboard.



Alchemia (I won't pretend this isn't a picture from Google)

The food we found was hit and miss in Krakow. One place we went to had 4 things on the menu, 3 of which were ravioli. I'm almost ashamed to say we opted for Italian on the first day, because whilst I'm up for trying most local cuisine, when you've been on a walking tour with no lunch (tour complete with a visit to see some dragon bones), none of us were be prepared to try and figure out the Polish menus, or worse: the dubious translations.

When we booked the hostels we were spoilt for choice with loads of quirky places in Krakow. Personally I favoured the 'Goodbye Lenin Hostel', complete with elaborate paintings of Lenin, the Beatles and Jimi Hendrix - an odd combination really. We opted out of Hostel Flamingo, not sure what to make of the tagline - a hostel "run BY flamingoes, FOR flamingoes" and eventually settled on a safe option - Orange Hostel. Little did we know that the building would feel like it was going to drop us through the several flights of stairs that we struggled up with our rucksacks. Or that it would switch the lights off mid-journey, forcing Amber to flee back to the supermarket, too scared to continue on her own. We also weren't prepared for the overly intimate bathrooms, whose walls had no tops to them. This essentially meant whenever you walked into the bathroom it felt like someone was having a shower in the same room and would shortly emerge from behind the curtain. But we enjoyed our stay in Krakow, and when we weren't watching strange Polish breakdancers and impressive flamethrowers; trying to work out what was up with the Krakow dragon; watching our tourguide get his head stuck in an art installation, or being persuaded to get energy from leaning against a magical wall, we were entertained by excerpts from a new phenomenon: 'Klara's Diary'.



Auschwitz

How can I even begin to describe it. I don't think think there are any words I can write, any words you could say, that would even start to explain the feeling of Auschwitz and Birkenau. When you see all at the same time, the torture chambers and the tourists taking photos; the girl smiling away in flip-flops and shorts, posing inside the birkenow camp; the man spitting on the floor and thinking nothing of it. Until you're standing in the watch-tower and can see the lines of barracks, the ditches they dug, the remains of the gas chambers and the harrowing precision and planning that must have gone into the conception of these camps, until you've seen all this I don't think it you can truly perceive the break-down in humanity that Nazi-ism brought. Even simply listing these aspects seems cold. But to ignore it in this blog would feel worse.

Prague - why does everything smell like feet?

It was so sad to leave our Berlin hostel Eastseven, with it's cosy beds, the random women cooking cauldrons of foil and potatoes in the communal kitchen, the 1 euro coffee/beer and the recognisable faces everywhere you went. Instead we had to trade it all in for a train carriage that smelt like Amber's questionable cheese sandwich, and a smelly room in a multistory hostel filled to the brim with Australian coachtrips. Tired from doing absolutely nothing all day on a train, we stayed in to watch the olympic opening ceremony in the hostel bar, Amb nearly in tears when the Peter Pan music started and Han wearing her homemade 'Brit glasses'. In a rare moment of monarchist patriotism, we all cheered on the
queen at every mention.

After staring at the tram timetable for a full five minutes and finally accepting that we'd never be able to read Czech, we stepped onto a tram that took us 10 metres from where we started. Assuming it was some sort of malfunction, we caught the same tram 15 minutes later, and naturally ended up 10 metres away yet again, having to shamefully walk back to the tram stop where the locals were clearly judging our every step. When we finally got into Prague town we realised how out of tune we were with the days and tried to visit the Jewish quarter on the Sabbath day... 

The Warrington boys, that we'd met earlier on the trip (minus James and the Giant Peach), had gone from the railroad club in Berlin pretty much straight to Prague (albeit with an early-morning, sleep-deprived, game of football in between) and so when we got there, we went out to meet them. Picking up Sam, Aidan and Murdoch on our way after finding them wandering around in the reception of our hostel, we went to the bar to cheer on Aidan's cousin in the Olympics and check that the Warrington boys had had at least some sleep since the last time we saw them. Whilst Han showed the boys pictures of her niece and nephew, I attempted to smuggle everyone free drinks, and eventually we moved on to other nameless places including one that had an underground floor playing Diana Ross and Stevie Wonder.

The next day we went to the oldest beer cellar in the world, complete with freaky stuffed bears and rifles lining the walls, and ate our weight in roasts, proving to ourselves once again that we weren't managing the 'budget holiday' we had promised. In the evening we went to a lovely riverside place recommended by the Warringtons. It even had a ballet balanced on a river-stage playing an intriguing mix of Carmen, Hotel California and a good old bit of MJ.

Our good luck continuing, we missed our morning tour, but un-deterred we went to find the Prague castle ourselves. After wandering around some sort of grand village, trying to find it, we only realised that we were in fact in the castle when our queries as to its whereabouts were met with blank faces from the guards .  We ended up on the afternoon tour and our plans to ditch it for some segways were crushed by the 2000kr price tag. However, our tourguide Karel took us all over the city, most of which we hadn't even realised was there. He carried a strange assortment of music projected from his ipod including a range of creepy sound effects: including a fox yelping and some rather worrying screaming. Alongside this was the backdrop some Czech locals (and a dog) having a bit of a domestic in the street - lots of spitting and screaming when Karel was trying to point out the last standing place that Mozart performed. Prague also has a 'Museum of Communism', ironically situated between two pillars of capitalism - McDonalds and a Casino, and delightfully advertised by a Russian doll with a vampire's face. We saw the astronomical clock - complete with Skeleton who yells 'you're all going to die!' and townspeople who say 'no we're not!' We finally got to see the Jewish quarter, steeped in history: once used to protect people, during another time to imprison them.

Berlin: party at the National Railroad Repair Works

The Berliners seem to have a system going where they find any desolate or abandoned building and they convert it into a bar or a club. On Monday it was a power-station turned techno club (called ´Tresor´ if you ever fancy a trip there), and last night we started at an old fabric factory, but ended up in a strange, thoroughly graffitied block with aeroplane seats and what seemed like an old cinema screen. This was definitely part of ´hidden Berlin´, but after a bit of google-ing, it turns out the club is part of the derelict site of the National Railroad Repair Works and holds lectures, theatre performances and the like during it´s daylight hours, all commissioned by the mayor. I suppose we do the same sort of thing in England occasionally - although turning the Pantiles public toilets into The Forum music venue isn´t quite on the same scale.

The German style of dancing takes some getting used to - it´s a shame we´re leaving tomorrow really - I think we´re definitely getting the hang of it, Hannah especially. It seems to be all about the shoulders in Berlin, and a fair few angular arm waves. In Tresor everyone faced the same direction, almost in lines, swaying jerkily to techno music and blue flashes of light. I can´t say it´s the best place I´ve ever been to, but at least we got in, unlike some of the boys from the hostel who were turned away due to the weird door policy.

On top of the Reichstag

Despite the bizarre nightlife, Berlin is a fantastic city. Used to the crush of people and taxis in London, we all found the wide streets and laidback attitude here very confusing for a capital city. My trepidation about leaving gorgeous Italy for the bratwurst capital was unfounded in the end - it´s a really cool city where people dress how they want, live how they do and smile at you from chilled cafes and bars lining the streets. The flea market and accompanying park felt like Woodstock, albeit with less Joan Baez and more young German bands and the occasional robotic performance.

Iain´s house\box

Berlin is a crazy place: when trying to find food we ended up in a cafe\laundromat decorated like a 70s living room, the owner´s shirt clashing terrifically with the wallpaper. We´ve met  loads of interesting people at our hostel too. For instance Iain the Californian, who bought shoes a size too small but cut them up and duct-taped them into a bigger size. Iain eventually told us that he doesn´t have an actual room in the hostel - but is staying in one of the wooden boxes outside for only 1euro a night. Apparently a whole asian family has moved in to the box next door. There were some boys from north London, one of which apparently had ´yolo´ in Arabic (google translate of course) tattooed on his arm. He warned us about festival fatigue, admitting that he fell asleep in the crowd at Benicassim whilst watching Chase and Status. We now spend a lot of time checking the weather updates for Sziget, hoping that we´re misreading any of the temperatures that creep into the 30s and even 40s Celsius.


I think my favourite part of Berlin so far was the walking tour we took on our first full day here. Though we planned to use it mainly so that we could get to the main bit of the city then slip away if it was bad, we ended up staying for the whole 5 hours and tipping our tourguide tremendously. I won´t relive the whole 5 hours for you, but we saw all the main sites, memorial artworks, Berlin wall, checkpoint charlie (where East Germans elaborately deceived Soviet guards - even to the point of hiding  in hollowed surfboards on top of visiting cars - because naturally the surf is pretty good in landlocked West Berlin..). We also saw the site of Hitler´s bunker, hidden by a private carpark for a block of flats. Who knows whether the owner of that volkswagon knows that he´s parked on the spot where Hitler spent his last days, finally married Eva Brown and was pulled out by the Red Army following the race to Berlin. It´s filled with concrete now, after attempts by the Soviets to destroy all remains of it by bombing the bunker (a really well thought out idea seeing as it´s purpose, along with the vast covering layer of concrete, was to protect against all bombing..).

A Berlin church that looks Catholic, is in fact Protestant and was commissioned by an Atheist.

Venice: The City of Mazes

Sorry in advance for the odd spellings bound to occur in this post, I#m writing from a German keyboard where the y and z are swapped round and there are a lot of ö and ä situations. The hotel in Venice didn't have much in the way of wifi, and it turns out it didn't have much in the way of air conditioning either. The day we got to Venice was one of those muggy days before a storm hits and, exhausted by the evening, we sat in our room watching the fan with dismay as needlessly spun round, providing absolutely no relief. The heat got to us very quickly, Hannah questioning whether we would actually survive the night and the rest of us nodding solemnly. Yet again we found that our hotel\hostel had stashed us on the top floor, luckily there's no elevator to hyperventilate about - just a rickety banister and a set of receptionists that seem willing to let anzone into any room without actuallz checking they're booked into the hotel - even to the extent of offering us someone else's passports. Naturally we felt really secure and safe there.

Aside from the hotel, Venice itself is ridiculous. Every building is different from the next and the streets wind round each other so that when we tried to get home we ended up in the exact square we started in. On the way home I the streets were irrecognisable to eyes just 3 hours older and the music that had previously drifted from the accordion player was taken up by a violinist by the next time we passed by. Venice is a place where 'I did it my way' follows you around every corner, interrupted occasionally by 'It's now or never. The nuns sell biscuits and the gondoliers sit by the canal arguing (or what seems like argument - may just be passionate Italian) in their matching stripes. When we got back, it was strange to think that the canals were still so near, the gondolas tied up for the night and the boatmen were winding their way home.

On our second day in Venice the temperature had dropped and we bumped into a gondolier called Victor, eating grapes on a bridge. Although Amber broke a bit of the gondola, it was overall a beautiful trip around the city, albeit slightly tipped to one side due to the weight distribution and narrowly avoiding parts of a crumbling bridge falling onto us. This was exactly what I thought Venice would be like - twisty canals commanding the houses around them and old men drinking coffee from doors that opened into the water. The boatmen calling to each other and stopping to have a chat whilst blindly negotiating the edges and bridges with ease.

If you're going to Venice I would strongly recommend you to read 'The Passion' by Jeanette Winterson before you go. It describes the city and its secrets perfectly and left me almost searching for the fictional characters with every maze of streets I saw. Also make sure you get air-con so that you can avoid the feeling of impending death and comic hysteria that overcame us during the first day. And beware of the signs that point both ways. X

Verona, Italia - and still too scared to use the lift

That's right - its day 7 and we're still too afraid to get the lift, and we're 5 floors up. Luckily there is plenty to distract us from the terrors of a sinister elevator. We went to the arena last night to watch Carmen - a French opera, set in Spain and performed in an italian ancient arena. It was incredible, especially considering how much the arena has seen since it was built. There were two orchestras, one at the front of the stage and one behind, that kept perfect time. We didn't, however, bank on it being so long that it needed 3 intervals. After an 8 hour train journey, a 4 hour opera proved to be a tad too long.

The photo above is by Robert Capa and shows a Sicilian local showing an American soldier which way the German army fled. We went to see his exhibition in the Scavi Scaligeri - a gallery set in underground ruins dating from Roman and Medieval Verona. Capa is fantastic. I never thought I'd find a foreign city I'd love as much as Paris, but Verona is all I could possibly want right now. Giuseppe Verdi once wrote "you may have the universe if i may have italy", never has a man been so right. From the room of our B&B we can hear a man who sings opera spontaneously through the day, waking up to your Italian neighbour singing opera is all you could want from a B&B I reckon. We've even seen a fair few monks and nuns (And a terrifying man dressed as a baby who screamed at us when we tried to run away from it). So far our money hasnt run out, so we're still eating 3 meals a day (even if one of them is free from the b&b and the other is a giant ice-cream). We move to Venice tomorrow and although we've done everything we wanted to do here and more, I'll be very sad to leave Verona. X

Antibes: Poodle at the PamPam

The days are all merging into one now, I can't remember hoe long ago it was that we saw a boy emerge from the sea carrying nothing but a dead fish, which heProceeded to carry into his tent and never emerge back out again. We went to Juan les Pins both last night and the night before and somehow ended up hearing Norah jones perform (in both English and French) jazz for the Juan jazz festival (of which I greatly approve, especially as Tom jones is scheduled for Monday). Went for cocktails at le PamPam, a brazilian bar complete with samba dancers and cocktails out of coconuts carved into odd monkeys that stared at us as we drank. As you may have gathered from the title - there was als a poodle in the PamPam, it was just that kind of place. Ended up in the Hemingway cafe - a cocktail bar with Ernest Hemingway's face stoically staring down from the entrance, but otherwise had nothing to do with it's namesake. Last night we went to the old town, wandered around the yacht docks, pretending we belonged, and bought some lush tapenade. After finding out that both the Cannes and Juan les Pins fireworks (for bastille day) were cancelled, we decided to go straight to le Village. After becoming used to the fusion lifestyle at home of free entry until 11,the French way of not going out unilateral 12.30 felt like a struggle. It was a crazy place, however, and very well worth it. In amber's words, this was the 'made in chelsea' of France, with entry alone being 20euros and e cheapest thing on te menu we were presented with being 110euros (the most expensive bottle was a casual 3000euros). We also found the PamPam dancer and his friends there, each of us in turn realising, yelling "PamPam!" and taking a picture with him. Today we've been beaching and eating and will probably continue in a similar vain for the remainder of the day, along with desperately trying to work out what the name of the pampam song. X