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Friday 11 December 2015

Why Latvians are coconuts

The Expats rule of thumb: One country per month while living in London. 

I realised since my Summer of Fun, I had skipped a couple of months. This was almost entirely due to my lack of funds but since receiving a rather tidy tax return and finally having a steady job, it was time to be spontaneous.

Dan and I jumped on Skyscanner and searched "By Cheapest" to destination "Flexible".

And this is how we ended up in Riga, the capital of Latvia two weeks later.

Friday 27 November
"Run!" my workmate Gavin exclaimed to me as I hurriedly gathered my belongings and raced out the door. I had both misjudged and forgotten when the train was leaving from Kings Cross St Pancras and now was convinced I would miss the train to Luton Airport. I ran from work to the tube station, sweating and puffing upon arrival. The tube became packed. So packed, that I was squished face-first into the glass panel, trickle of sweat inching down my back, unable to even get my hand in my pocket to retrieve my phone. I was on the verge of a panic attack - the running, the lateness, the proximity of people, and I watched my breath fogging up the glass as I took deep breath after deep breath.

Finally, we reached Kings Cross, and I had a little bit of time to spare. I walked quickly but not frantically, and found Dan near the ticket machines, where he gave me a big hug. We had some time to spare now, and we mosey-d our way to the train. We had reserved seats but no one could tell us which carriage was which, so we told someone to get out of our seats (which may not have been our seats!) and I collapsed, slowly becoming more human and ready for the whirlwind adventure ahead.

Our flight was a little delayed but all in all uneventful. We landed in Riga at about 1.30am local time (two hours time difference) and our transfer driver was waiting for us. He couldn't figure out how to get to our hotel - it was in the middle of the market, he said, and after giving the hotel a quick call pointed out where we should go. We thanked him, and cautiously made our way forward.

Turns out, the location was rather excellent, although at 2am in the morning it all looked really dodgy. We checked in and found our way to our already warm and cozy room. Admittedly at first I thought the hotel was shabby and unfinished, but then realised the exposed brick was by design.

Saturday 28 November
I didn't sleep very well. I peeked out the window a few times and as the morning encroached I could see people arriving at the markets beneath to set up. Soon enough it was time to get up and ready for the day ahead. I piled on my clothes, and almost passed out from heat exhaustion. When we made it outside into the chill day air, I was mildly relieved…for about a minute. Then the cold set in. We had decided to join the Riga Free Walking tour as it was the only free one in Riga and it was starting at midday. We had plenty of time, so we wandered through the outdoor market for a while, grabbed a burger to fill our bellies and meandered our way to the starting point of the tour.

A crowd was already forming around a yellow suitcase, and a young, beanie-d bearded man was speaking in English. We gathered closer.

"Please ask me any questions you like," he was saying, "I can't guarantee I'll know the answers, but I can always lie to you."

I laughed, and decided that this tour would be good. The man, Kris, explained that this would not be a tour of Old Town but a tour of the rest of Riga, and I was a bit unsure if this is what I wanted to do. Dan and I decided that if we didn't like it, we could just leave part way through. Never-the-less, the tour was entertaining thanks to Kris' dry sense of humour and incredibly educational as it turns out I knew absolutely diddely-squat about Latvia or Riga.

Our guide took us through the central market, designed out of reconstructed zeppelin hangers after the first world war. "We didn't have any money, so we had to be inventive!" Latvia experienced its first known period of freedom after the war, and this freedom lasted exactly 13 years before they were then taken over by the Soviets during WWII. The tour continued to the memorial for the Jewish people who lost their lives in Latvia (100,000 in total), before moving to the suburb with the wooden houses.


The wooden houses were designed to be able to be burnt down in an instant if the village was under attack. The last time it was under attack was apparently Napoleon's time; however it was a case of mistaken identity as Napoleon never came near Riga. Bugger. By now the people were too poor to try to build houses out of any other materials, and so a whole section of Riga is still wooden today.



The tour ended at the Freedom Monument, which was erected in 1935 entirely on donations (again, the country was too poor and had to use other imaginative means!) It distinctly states "For the Fatherland and For Freedom". Wisely, because the amount of times poor Latvia has been taken over, "For the Fatherland" is far more innocuous than "For Latvia!" and, sure enough, during the Soviet era the monument was left untouched because the fatherland could really be anywhere.

"When you type 'why are latvians…' into Google, the top three choices are:
-never smiling
-so rude
-coconuts," he began, "and they are all related. We come across as rude and unsmiling because we don't have a summer, and it's dark and cold a lot of the year. But once you get to know us, you'll realise we are just like a coconut: a hard exterior filled with a sweet, soft centre!"

And on this note, the tour ended. Our guide gave a few recommendations for places to eat and drink local Latvian beer. One received a nod of agreement from others in the group, and I wrote down "Falk" and "ala" because that was all I could remember of the name. At this point, our feet were getting sore so Dan and I wandered the streets until we found a tiny little cafe.

We ordered a couple of coffees and some cake; chocolate and cowberry. What's cowberry? (Cowberry is actually linden berry, I discovered!) It was delicious. It was now 4pm and almost pitch black.

We wandered to the castle, which was a surprising shade of yellow and not grandiose like the castles in the rest of Europe. From here we stumbled into a little Christmas market, and I was overjoyed. 

"2 gluhwein, please" Dan said, pointing to a jug in one of the stalls. What we actually got was mulled cider, and boy was it strong. Exactly what we needed in the freezing temperature. So warming, in fact, that I had to take off my hood that had been protecting my face, and I unzipped my jacket. Mmm. Gluhwein. I dragged Dan from stall to stall to stall, and we popped out the other side where there was a lovely wreathed entrance, a donkey and a shetland pony. We grabbed out our cameras when a baby donkey suddenly ran past, much to my delight! We continued wandering the streets and found another few little Christmas markets, each with a different themed tree. One was wooden, another with pretzels on.

Complete with our mulled cider gluhwein

All the time we kept an eye out for this "Falk" and "Ala" place. Our chances of finding it, although Riga was small, was slim to none. Outside the town hall, I randomly decided to see if there was free wifi and what were the chances? There was. As we still didn't know the name of the place, I googled "Best pubs in Riga" and low and behold, the Folkklub Ala was one of them. Not only that, it was 2 blocks away.

We approached an odd looking place, to realise the bar was actually underground and so we defended the steps into a very large and wooden open space. All the tables were either packed or reserved. We made a number of rounds around until we decided to sit at the bar. This turned out to be just fine, and gave us a great view of the pub and do a bit of people watching.

One thing we had learnt from our guide is that Latvians love mushrooms. "It's like a mental disease," he had said, "If we know there are mushrooms that can be picked, we can't sleep at night. No, really,  we have to go pick the mushrooms." This made me really want mushrooms for dinner! First off though: Latvian beer. I chose a high percentage cranberry fruit beer, and it was delicious. For dinner, I chose the stroganoff as it was ladened with mushrooms, and yet another fruit beer to go along with my meal.

We were full, warm, content and getting a bit tired. Before we left, we had to try the local liquor shot: Riga Black Balsam. It arrived in a very large shot glass with a slice of orange, and I looked at it apprehensively. I can't quite describe the taste; it wasn't altogether unpleasant but wasn't exactly like drinking a yummy lemonade. It had a bit of a jager feel to it, and once I finally got it down (in two goes), I counted back from 10….9….8….7….6….5…4…3…2…1…and I was drunk.


We stumbled the long way back to our hotel, taking a few photos along the way, and crashed after a long and exhausting day.

Sunday 29 November
I slept much better that night. We packed our things as today we were already checking out, and we jumped into the market just outside our door. I hadn't realised just how close we were staying to the main [Led] Zeppelin hanger markets - in fact, we were right in them! Looking to the sky, we realised there wasn't much to see. All of the taller buildings were lost up above the foggy haze. No finding somewhere high for a view then, apparently. We walked through the market a bit, grabbed some very cheap and delicious pastry breakfast and a coffee and generally wandered through the markets. I wanted to buy some of the Latvian sprodits (sprats) which our guide had recommended the day before. "They taste..specific", he had said. I purchased a tin and then we made our way to the train station.

If we couldn't go up high, we would go to the beach. Even if it was foggy there, it would afford some interesting photographs and Dan had spent some time that morning working out how to get us to the Baltic Sea. 


After standing in the cold (1C) for a short while, a train approached. We climbed the extremely steep ladder and was presented with an interior reminiscent of the Soviet Era; bright orange 3 seater leather seats. Vintage train was vintage. It was comfortable and very warm (I think I dozed!) and in roughly half an hour we made it to Majori, where we were going to the beach.

Along the way, the ground was noticeably white in places. There wouldn't be any snow near the beach though because of all the salt content. And it will be cold, won't it? After getting off the train we were hit with a gust of icy wind. I braced myself, as I thought the next little while would be cold and slightly unbearable.

We walked towards the water and could see the ocean over a slight rise. Wait, what's that to our left? And our right? Why is that sand white? Could it be snow? Yes, ladies and gentlemen, there was snow on the beach. 


The water was deathly calm, the air temperature considerably warmer and the peaceful peace was filled with people on a gentle Sunday stroll. It was amazing. We marvelled for a long time at the snow intermingling with the sand, and walked along the frozen snow trodden path that had been formed from so many people walking the same way. It was divine. Peaceful, gentle, and exactly not what we had expected.


We spent a solid hour strolling along the beach. Back in the little town, we found a cafe for lunch (I had dumplings this time!) and we hopped back on a train - a much newer one this time - to return to Riga.

By now, it was practically dark. We thawed in the markets again, and decided to give our tinned sprodits a go. How specific were they going to taste? We opened the can, and were presented with sardines. Equal parts mildly disappointing and miraculous, we hoed into the fishy fish (glad it didn't taste "specific" - just yummy). Our hands proceeded to smell like fish for the rest of the evening.


Time to go. We wandered to the bus depot to get the bus to the airport. While we were waiting, it snowed briefly It was rather amazing to watch as it fell in wet clumps, and could be seen clearly in the bus lights and the street lamps. We were quite pleased that it was snowing now and not while we had been out and about, in the end.

And thus we said farewell to Riga. It was an interesting feeling farewelling a city that was extremely enjoyable, and knowing that the likelihood of returning was extremely slim. I will probably not see Latvia again, but I hope you all go and see it for yourselves.

***
Returning to London was completely uneventful. I even got through customs without the slightest bit of a drama, and now am a "registered traveller" and so shouldn't have any of my visa issues for the rest of my time in London!

Til next time,

xx

Tuesday 10 November 2015

Germany Part 2: On the road to Berlin

When I first decided I was going to Oktoberfest, I started formulating a plan to stay in Germany and continue travelling, with the intent of discovering more about my family history. 

Fast forward a few months, Oktoberfest was a month away and I had nothing booked. This was mostly due to my Summer of Fun ruining me financially, but in the end I pulled it together, booked some accommodation, in the end staying in Germany for 10 days. This is the rest of that story, after I left everyone in Munich.

Monday 28 September
DRESDEN
I did not envy everyone about to undertake the 18 hour coach ride back to London, but I had a fairly sizeable journey ahead of me. It was going to take 6 hours and 3 trains for me to travel from Munich to Dresden, and I settled in as best I could.

Oktoberfest, to say the least, had ruined me. I was exhausted. How I managed to coordinate myself to change trains and platforms a few times is beyond me. I finally arrived at Dresden Neueustadt and started walking towards my hostel which was only 15 minutes from the station.

About 49 seconds down the road, my phone battery died. By now it was almost 10.30pm, and I was not willing to wander the streets this late at night. I returned to the station and started waiting for a taxi. After a long while, no taxi arrived, but I noticed a gentleman had also been standing at the rank the whole time I had been. I struck up a conversation, as I am wont to do.

"Hi there, do you speak English?"
"Yes, yes," he replied, looking up from his smoke.
"I was wondering...as there aren't many taxis - when one comes along, could I please share it with you? My hostel is right around the corner but I don't know how to find my way there in the dark."

He agreed, and we started chatting. He was actually Norwegian, but had married a German girl and now spends his time between the two countries. His son had lived in Australia for some time, and we talked about all manner of things. An age later, a taxi finally pulled up. I tried to explain that we would do two drop offs, with me first. I think it was understood well enough, even though the driver didn't speak much English. We wended our way through the back streets of Dresden, my taxi companion commenting that this was a very nice area, "very trendy." 

When we pulled up at the hostel, I shoved some money towards my taxi friend and he repeatedly refused to take it, and so I thanked him profusely and gathered my things, ready to bunk down for the night. 

Inside my hostel, the night staff were changing over and so I had to sit for a while. When it was time for me to check in, both the boys behind the counter engaged in conversation. "Sasha. That's a boys name! And Oelsner...that sounds..."
"Yes, my dad was German," I replied, sleepily filling in my form.
I stared at the form in confusion. "Um...Oktoberfest has given me brain damage. What year is it?"
The boys looked at each other and said, "2015."
"Oops," I said embarrassed, and crossed out the 2013's I had written in all the fields, replacing it with the correct year. 

Oktoberfest really took it out of me. I didn't even know what year it was.

Tuesday 29 September
I was still exhausted, but I got maybe 5 hours of sleep and felt remotely refreshed. Today I would go into the old part of Dresden and tomorrow I would explore the new part of Dresden (where I was staying). After deciding €4 was excessive for bread and no ham for breakfast, I ventured out into the world. I stopped at an (overpriced) cafe and ordered a Vitamin C juice (because I desperately needed some goodness) and some pancakes as I attempted to map out my day.

In the end, I hopped onto the tram like the lady at reception had told me to do. I had my change in my pocket and I was ready to buy my ticket. On board, I couldn't see anywhere to pay. I noticed the locals sitting down and so I did the same, thinking maybe someone will come along (as they do in Adelaide). A few stops later, no one came along and it was time for me to get off. Well, that was a win. But also very lucky, because I had heard that in Germany they can be particularly nasty if you don't pay your fare.

I walked across the bridge in the bright, clear sunlit day, taking my time as I basked in the view of the old buildings. I realised I didn't know what any of them were. A tour bus was parked on the side of the road and I enquired how much it would be. If you recall, I had my bag stolen at Oktoberfest and so I lost quite a lot of money. I had a little bit on me, but was loathe to spend it if I didn't have to - and I was to get my pay the following day. I decided the tour would be too expensive and used my rapidly-getting-crumpled map to find my way around.

I spent quite a bit of time in the Zwinger, as it had gorgeous green grass and an amazing fountain. I tried to enter one of the rooms. "May I zee your ticket please," a lady asked as she approached me. "Oh..I ..er...thanks!" and turned tail and walked out. I had simply wandered in - I never found out if I needed a ticket or not.




I visited a number of historic sites, took my photos, and then sat in a sunny spot to learn the history of what I had just photographed. I climbed the church tower as I like seeing cities from above and had my lunch in the market below. Each German city, I was to discover, had market squares where wurst and bier and all manner of food and goods were sold. I marvelled at how many people were drinking beer on a weekday. Don't you need to be at work? I thought to myself.  Excitedly, I saw a few stalls selling kartoffelpuffer. 

Say it with me, kids. Kartoffelpuffer.

I learnt this word when I was studying German in highschool and it instantly became my favourite German word. It is a potato cake type thing with large amounts of apple sauce. I had to have one. It didn't blow my mind, but I am happy to say I have now been kartoffelpuffed.



It was now mid afternoon and I was barely able to stand. I found a mall and had a small wander before slowly making my way back to the hostel for a lie down. Oktoberfest really took it out of me!

I had a much needed nap, and while I could have stayed in bed forever, I figured I should probably get something for tea. On the map was recommended a German place serving traditional food and so I opted to go there. At the last second, I piped up to a boy in the room, "If you don't have any plans - do you want to get some food with me?" A moments hesitation (I thought - what have I gotten myself into?) and he agreed. His name was Florian and he was a soft-spoken German metal head.

His English was stilted but he became more comfortable the more we talked (and once we'd had a beer). At the restaurant (it was candle-lit, which was a tad uncomfortable!) we were finally served and I had - of course - the schnitzel. I was very excited. We drank beer and talked until our food arrived, upon which time I had a small panic attack because my meal was enormous. The schnitzel was very nice - simple, with lemon juice, and it was on a bed of what looked like 19 potatoes. 


There was no way I was ever going to be able to finish all the potatoes, so I gave it my best but ended up having to call it a night. At one point, I told him that in Australia, my family were the only ones with our surname. He looked confused. I said, "Here in Germany, it seems like Oelsner is about as common as a Jones or a Smith!" He laughed and agreed, saying it is a very common surname in Germany. 

Strange, especially how there are no others in the whole of Australia. Also strange, as our family had been under the impression that it was not such a common name. 

Two beers and an enormous meal later, I was ready for bed. 

Wednesday 30 September
DRESDEN - LEIPZIG
PAY DAY. I let myself have a pretty lazy morning before packing my things and checking out of the hostel. Leaving my luggage there for later, I was going to explore Dresden Neumarkt this morning and then catching a train out to Leipzig that afternoon. This morning I wanted to find Pfunds Molkerei, famous dairy shop with a gorgeous interior. On the way, I grabbed a delicious and enormous breakfast of fruit and yoghurt and bread and jam and it was exactly the nutrition I needed.

The dairy shop was just around the corner, with quite a few people standing outside taking pictures. I had heard it was the most expensive dairy shop in town, so many people just went there to photograph the incredible porcelain work that adorned all surfaces. As it was PAY DAY, I was feeling happy to splurge and so I went inside. A massive array of cheeses and chocolate was presented to me, and I looked closely at the wares while taking sneaky photos of the interior. In the end, I bought a few bits of chocolate and for myself, a tasting plate of cheese. Mm...cheese.



Dresden Neumarkt is the trendy side of town, and there were quite a few op shops that had been listed in the area. I spent a little time looking at them but didn't find anything either to my taste or within my price range. On my way back to the hostel, I stopped at a large park to eat my cheese selection and watch some kids play frisbee. 

By now, my phone had completely died and so I returned to the hostel to charge my phone a little. While there, I checked the train timetable and realised that a train left in approximately 25 minutes and it was considerably cheaper than following trains.

The hostel was 17 minutes walk from the station, so I quickly paid for my ticket, gathered my things and walked as fast as my little legs could take me. I made it there in a good 13 minutes with my powerwalking and waited, sweating, for the train (which happened to be about half an hour late).

LEIPZIG
The train to Leipzig was uneventful and I alighted into a large mall, which I spent about an hour perusing (it was pay day after all! Although my only purchase was some german dark chocolate). My hostel was easy to find and very nice, and I checked in a collapsed.

Why did I go to Leipzig? I was considering this trip to Germany to be a small pilgrimage to find out more about my German heritage but pretty soon into researching for the expedition I realised that I wouldn't have a lot of luck in the country itself and was probably better off using Ancestry.com. However, I still wanted to visit Leipzig as it was the town that my father was born in and I wanted to find out if I'd get a bit of a feeling from the place.

What I did find in Leipzig was a soaring re-appreciation for classical music. I had not known that this town had played host to many composers, and I spent my first night (eating German McDonald's with truffle sauce) organising my classical music route for the morrow. On the return to my hostel, I walked through the main square and could hear a familiar piece. Around the corner was a string quartet and they were playing beautiful classical and well known music. I threw some euros into the violin case and stood back to watch and appreciate.

Back in my hostel, the cold I was coming down with blast into full swing. I chatted with an American boy until he bored me quite considerably, and then a very interesting girl joined our room, along with an English boy, and we spent some time talking until I couldn't keep my eyes open any more.

Thursday 1 October
Bach. Wagner. Mendelsohhn. Schumann. Many composers were represented here and so today I wanted to try to visit all of their states, street names, museums, houses and the like. I found myself very close to the Bach Museum so even though I didn't have any breakfast I went straight there. I was a little surprised by the  €8 entry fee, but sucked it up since I was there already.

Bach is actually my least favourite composer. This was a belief passed down from my piano teacher who did not like his music. However, we both conceded that technically, the pieces were brilliant, and educationally, they were essential, but overall, just not particularly inspiring but I still did play a lot of Bach throughout my youth. I know this view point will not sit well with everyone, but each to their own, yes?

To be honest, the Bach museum was the kind of place you stay for quite a long time just to get your money's worth. I did do a little sneaky, though, and took a couple of photographs in the do not photograph section of true, original handwritten scores by Bach himself. I enjoyed the handwritten scores and scribbles - standing there trying to decipher what I was reading - knowing full well that I would never have been able to compose something as intricate on the spot.



After the Bach museum, I wandered past the respective Mendolsohhn and Schumann Houses but both also required an entry fee and I was getting mildly frustrated having to pay entry to everything in Germany. I decided that the next stop would be the Classical Instrument Museum, and along the way I stumbled across a gorgeous little cemetery in which now resides the families of Wagner and Schumann.

I spent more time than I care to admit wandering through this cemetery, the gravestones places sporadically, and whole blood lines buried beneath long, vine-ridden walls. It was beautiful in the early autumn oranges and reds and yellows, and serene.



I discovered the Classical Instrument Museum backed onto the cemetery and made my way inside, once I had my fill of centuries-old gravestones covered in moss. I was the only person inside the museum, and a little old lady (who spoke no English) followed at a slightly-uncomfortable distance behind me. I was particularly interested in the evolution of the piano and marvelled at the insides of many a harpsichord and pianola. The string instruments bemused me too, such as 6 stringed cellos - I found it hard enough to play when it only had 4 strings - and a whole manner of weird and wonderful instruments.



Once I was finished here, I was allowed to go upstairs and have a bit of a play on some of the instruments. They had a piano that was entirely plastic coated so you could see inside at the mechanics of the strings and the pedals. The young man in charge of the room showed me how to use an old organ which created bird songs, water running and other manufactured sounds simply using air.

I was starved by now, and so made the decision to head my way back to the hostel as I was exhausted and had seen as much as I wanted to see. I approached a stall and ordered…something. I had a few minutes until it was ready, and so I grabbed  beer. Soon my meal was ready and I looked at it in dismay. I realised what I had ordered, in my haste. Blood sausage. I thanked the gentleman and took my meal and beer to the nearest table. I attempted to eat the blood sausage while listened to a german man on the stage singing. Every now and then, he would break into an English song…

Love is in ze air,
Everyvere you look around.
Love is in ze air…

The blood sausage grew cold, my beer grew warm, and so I downed the remainder of my drink and walked quickly away from the half uneaten food. No matter, it was an experience! On the return to the hostel I grabbed some strawberries dipped in chocolate and called it an early night.


Friday 2 October
LEIPZIG - BERLIN
I slept in a little bit and checked out just on time. My train wasn't until after midday, and so I made my way slowly to the station, slowly ate some food, and checked my train app. That's funny, it's not updating. I panicked, and went to the info desk to ask about my train. The gentleman behind the counter just looked at me wide eyed and motioned that he didn't know English. I was in a wi-fi zone, and so messaged Dan who suggested turning it off and on again. Oh. Yes, well, that fixed it.

The train journey was uneventful and I arrived in the crazy Berlin station mall. It was a gorgeous sunny day when I meandered my way along the river, past the Brandenburg Gate on my way to find our hostel. I say 'our' because for this leg of the journey, I was joined by the lovely Daniel, who was to be flying in that evening. Berlin was somewhere I had wanted to visit for a while and was a city that received mixed polar reviews. I didn't want to visit it alone as I had heard it was a party town, and I invited Dan to join me so we could explore the city together.

After my phone conveniently died and I found the hostel, I collapsed in the room - which was awesomely upgraded into an apartment! I was so stoked, and after a short relax made my way back out onto the streets. We had been recommended to visit the Reichstag building but one had to get tickets in advance. They were unfortunately already sold out for this weekend. However, if you were willing to wait in line at the ticket booth there was a chance you could get a few of the remaining tickets.

First I walked in an exit and was quickly ushered out by security guards. I asked about getting tickets for the Reichstag for tomorrow, Saturday, to which I was told it was a public holiday and to join the queue over there. Public holiday? What? I guess that explains all the music and concerts and posters I've seen, I thought to myself. I joined the back of the queue.

The queue grew slowly behind me, and the young lady in front of me turned and asked if I was travelling alone. "Yes," I replied, "Well, no, I have been, but my boyfriend will be joining me this evening in Berlin. What about you?" And with that, we struck up a conversation. At one point, I quickly ducked out of the line (Hold my place, please?) to ask a staff member if it was possible to buy a ticket for someone else, with the answer being yes. Back in the line, Sarah and I passed the time chattering about all manner of things. The line moved rather slowly, and we were there for a good hour.

Soon, it was my turn to enter. Only one of the terminals was occupied, the other having been vacated for a short break just before I walked in. I went to order two tickets for the Reichstag, only to be told that I needed some form of photo ID for Dan - either his passport or his drivers licence - neither of which I had. The lady told me to shut the door, and quickly made out the pass for him and myself based on his date of birth and full name. This was against rules and I was very grateful.

Sarah was waiting outside after I had collected my tickets, and together we made our way over to the Brandenburg Gate to see what was going on. A stage had been set up and there was all sorts of rock-classical music playing, with bright lights starting to show up as the sun was setting. We grabbed a beer and a currywurst and Prost! we cheersed to being in Berlin. As the sun set, it got colder and colder and I had left my winter coat in the hostel as it had been such a sunny day. We parted ways and I wandered back to the hostel to change into warmer clothes, before meeting Daniel at the Berlin Station (complete with German beer in hand, of course!).

I gave Dan the Sasha's Tour of Berlin (which was very brief and mostly consisted of "That's a cool looking thing over there…"), and as we wandered past the Reichstag we realised it was covered in lights. There were posters all along the fencing and we could read 25 Jahre Deutsches Einheit. 25 years German…one…heart? Dan grabbed up his Wordlens app. Unity. Wait…was the public holiday on the morrow the 25th anniversary of the reunification of East and West Germany?

We applauded our good luck for being in Germany on such a momentous weekend, took a lot of photos of the Reichstag lit up with historical photos and wandered back to the Brandenburg Gate, which by now was completely alight and watched until the end of the performance.


Saturday 3 October
We slept in a little and ended up missing the first walking tour we had booked, but luckily they were free so we opted for the second one. A quick breakfast of - you guessed it - jam berliners (simply so I could say Ich bin win Berliner - I am a jam doughnut) before being harassed by wasps, we quickly departed for the Brandenburg Gate to start the free Sandeman's walking tour.

There were so many people doing the tour, we were split into three groups (and I think we got the best guide!) He was half Dutch half American, and spoke fluent basically everything. He had a fantastically dry sense of humour and was extremely knowledgeable - he had gone to Berlin a decade previously for a holiday and never left. 

He explained all about the Brandenburg Gate, Pariser Platz and the statue atop the Gate. We wandered underneath a hotel canopy, henceforth known as the "Blanket Hotel" - where Michael Jackson famously (and dangerously) dangled his baby Blanket out the window.

We stood in No Man's Land, and I felt a chill. The space between East and West Germany. The place where any who had stood little more than 25 years previously would have been shot on sight. We wandered through the stone blocks of the eerie, thought provoking and quiet Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, before moving onto the Nazi Luftwaffe (Airforce) building (which would then become the Communist headquarters, and which today is, of course, the Berlin Tax Office - and they say German's don't have a sense of humour?). One theory as to why this building remains standing today is that when the city was being bombed, pilots needed a point of reference from the sky.

A quick visit to a portion of the Berlin Wall that is still standing - sections remain all across the city - before a quick explanation of the Trabant (or trabi) car. This car was manufactured during the Communist era and ended up with a waiting list of 13 years. 13 years to wait for a car. We wandered past Checkpoint Charlie but did not stop - it looked like a tourist trap and was overrun with kitsch. Our guide explained that 25 years previously, tours could come to this place, erect a ladder and let the tourist peek over to see Checkpoint Charlie.


And there we were just gawking at a big poster. How times have changed, and in my lifetime!

After Checkpoint Charlie we made our way to the Gerdarmenmarkt, housing two enormous churches and the Konzerhaus, before rounding the corner to the Humboldt University. Here our guide ended the tour with an exceptional explanation of how the Berlin Wall fell. It was a story I hadn't actually heard, and I was shocked, amazed and impressed that history could be changed within the space of six hours and due to (luckily!) the incompetence of one person. Brava to him, though, as he set the wheels in motion to begin healing Germany.

The tour was over, and I was starving and so we sat in the square to have a bit to eat (and a strange pink beer with a straw) and then made our way through Museum Island and to the Berlin Radio Tower. We ummed and ahhed about going up the tower, but decided for now to forget about it.

Hopping on a train, we popped up in the far East Berlin where the last of the days sun was splashed on the Berlin Wall - the graffiti gallery. I was fascinated by the artwork here. 


One section of the two walls was still standing, and this was the thinnest portion of No Man's Land along the stretch - no more than a few metres wide. We were exhausted, so we sat with our backs against the Berlin Wall and relaxed for a few minutes by the river.


Sitting here, we made the snap decision to go up the Berlin Radio Tower after all, so we jumped back on the train, back to Alexanderplatz and into the queue for the Tower. Here, I happened to get wifi reception and discovered that our hostel had put us in the wrong room, and could we return to pack up our things otherwise they would pack them up for us. I was livid, and fuming, knowing full well that they had done exactly that, but I tried really hard to not think about as there was nothing that could be done at this point.

It was about 2 hours before we could go up the tower, and we peeked at the market in Alexanderplatz. We realised, with a giggle, that this was in fact Berlin's Oktoberfest, and it was a far cry from the one we had experienced in Munich. I, as usual, was pretty hungry but I couldn't decide what to eat. We saw a girl carrying some kind of giant basket filled with sausage and chips and decided instantly that was what we were to have. A currywurst basket, with the bread basket edible once the innards were gone. YUM. Next stop: beer. I was desperate to have a shot of jager whilst in Germany, so I ordered a half pint and a jager shot each and we settled down in some chairs to wait until our turn up the tower.

Whilst sitting, Dan and I slowly came to the conclusion that these Paulaner glasses were in fact pretty sweet. Good quality, heavy, and would make a nice matching set… the little klepto's came out in us as we sacrificed the €2 deposit for each glass and stashed them in our bags. Steins seemed to start from at least a good €30, so these were a bargain! ;)

Back at the tower (and our glasses confiscated for the time being) we took the glass elevator up up up (my ears popping) until we reached the top floor. The view was lovely and we could see fireworks going off at the Reichstag. We stayed for a cocktail before making our way back to our hostel.


I was a little bit angry at the staff at the hostel, unfortunately it was the cleaning lady who had nothing to do with it. I'm still pissed off that they went through our things and sent me an email to let me know - they had my number - but I'll just leave this here and won't say any more about it!

Sunday 4 October
We checked out and took our things back to the Brandenburg Gate. This morning we were going to meet a family friend of Dan's for a coffee and a catch up. I had gotten tickets for the Reichstag for this afternoon at 12.15 as any earlier ones had been taken, but after the coffee we wandered past to see if we should join the line.


Luckily, they just let us through early - at about 11.30am, and in the end it was a good thing they did as we spent much longer here than we had expected to! A quick and very painless security check later (considering I had all my luggage from the previous 10 days) and we were in the line to be led into the parliament building.


The Reichstag has a long and varied history, but was not at any time occupied by the Nazi regime. It was bombed, or burned down, or changed structure. These days, it has a dome atop (akin to a dome it had back in the day) and you can go up there to see 360 views of Berlin. The views here were better than from the Tower, and I was incredible impressed.




You could walk around the Dome, as well as walk inside and up the Dome. It was a fantastic modern structure with mirrors and harsh blues and lines, making for a wonderfully industrial feel. We spent a long time here before looking at our watches and realising we should probably make tracks.

There was one last thing I wanted to do in Berlin and that was have a photo in a Photo Booth. Back at the Brandenburg Gate we found one, practiced our poses and SNAP FLASH SNAP FLASH, we had our print-out on a commemorative 25 Jahre paper.


***
I had a torturous plane ride as my cold caused my ears to block up, which left me writhing in my seat in pain and discomfort. Upon landing, I couldn't really hear, and luckily the border security were lovely and didn't take long about dealing with my passport issues. We were at Southend Airport, which was a way out in the sticks, but the train journey back to London was also a breeze.

Germany, I spent 10 days with you and it was an incredible experience. I found you more difficult than I might have expected - I feel I have traversed other countries easier without knowing the language. I also felt shamed at every turn that I, with German heritage, could not read, write, understand or speak the language and have endeavoured to go forth and learn it. Your food was a mix of utterly amazing and dear-god-what-is-that, and your beers have given me an appreciation for the hoppier beverage. I learnt nothing about my background but reinvigorated my love for classical music.

Thank you, and ve shall meet again.
Auf wiedersehen!

xx


Wednesday 21 October 2015

Germany Part 1: Oktoberfest

13. Go to Oktoberfest
This one is a no-brainer. I don't need to write a lengthy discourse explaining my reasonings for wanting to attend Oktoberfest in Munich. 

Statistics time, kids! 

100% of people who had attended previously told me that it was the best weekend of their lives. 50% of those said they would go back every. single. year. The other 50% said they couldn't go back as their livers have never recovered. 


I fall into the 'would attend repeatedly' category. And so without further ado: Oktoberfest.

This is that story. That very drunken story.

Friday 25 September
I arrived at the BritBound Base a little early to wait for Dan and because I wasn't sure when we would be boarding the bus. Heading inside, the Base was already a hive of activity; a production line of crossing my name off the list, giving out a goodybag (complete with condoms and panadol), handing out a Britbound bracelet and, of course, being thrust an icy cold Fosters beer.

Never have I been given a beer on arrival of a tour before. Yes, yes I know it was Fosters (and turned out to be the second - and third - Fosters I've ever drunk) but it was a very nice touch for our entry into the world's biggest beer festival.


There was much excited babbling as those we already knew were welcomed and new friends were introduced. Finally, we gathered our things to board the bus. The bus attempted a 95 point turn in the small alley, eventually gave up, and so Dan and I ran to get the best seats we could onboard.

Some of us were one beer deep, others about 6 or 7, and so the poor onboard toilet got a pounding during those first two hours of our trip. Despite many protestations from the driver, too many had begun early and their bladders already weak: the toilet was filling up fast. In the mid-afternoon, we were able to get on the ferry and stretch our legs for a while. The White Cliffs of Dover, now the third time I've seen them, faded in the distance as we pulled away from England towards Calais, France.

Our path took us from England through France, across through Luxemburg (can I technically say I've been there? I did physically stand on Luxemburgian ground) before cutting into Germany and down through to Munich. The bus ride was as unpleasant as I anticipated, what with rowdy people being rowdy (excuse me while I go put on my old person diapers and find my zimmer frame), and unwanted movies being played. I didn't sleep, and by about 8am, 18 hours since we first departed, we arrived at the camp site that was to be our home for the next two nights.

Saturday 26 September
It's been Saturday 26 September for a while now, as I was awake for the majority of it, but by now it was time to begin the adventure. I was attempting not to be grumpy from my lack of sleep, slightly worried about how I was going to make it through the day but endeavoured to put on a happy face and I knew once I was all made up I'd be feeling sprightly as can be.

Most important part of the day happened first: breakfast. We headed into the breakfast tent and piled up our plates with scrambled eggs and sausages, lining our stomachs for the onslaught of beer it was about to endure.

We wanted to get to the Oktoberfest grounds as soon as possible, and so the majority of us forwent the 8-minutes-of-hot-water shower and opted for a man-shower tops-and-tails instead, deciding we were going to be covered in beer soon enough anyway! I gently unpacked my dirndl, my gorgeous petrol blue skirt and apron with busty blouse and wiggled into it. I plaited my hair "German" style, piled makeup on my face to remove the bags under my eyes and stepped back. I felt good. I felt beautiful. These Bavarian's really know how to make a lady look nice. My dirndl was the perfect mix of sexy and conservative, coming to my knee but showing off an amount of bust I didn't even know I was capable of achieving.

Enough about my exquisite bust. We haven't even made it to the Oktoberfest grounds yet. Dan looked fantastic in his lederhosen, bright red shirt and hat, and a quick look around showed just how beautiful all the ladies were and how dashing the boys. A first busload went - those who hadn't bought an outfit before-hand so we caught the next bus a few minutes later. Most of the Britbounders piled onto this bus, teeth chattering from equal parts cold and excitement.

We were ready to get our beer on!

Off the bus and we started the walk to the grounds. This walk would be replicated in reverse many hours and beers later. And there it loomed before us. Oktoberfest, Munich. The best way I can describe it from first glance is the Royal Adelaide Show, only free to enter and better in every single regard. But you kind of understand my drift. Followed our esteemed leader and aficionado Jake, we tried the Paulaner tent to no avail - no spare seats or tables at all, inside or out. We walked next to the Schottenhamel Spatenbrau tent. No room inside, but there were tables (quickly filling) outside in the beer garden. We grabbed three tables back to back and made ourselves comfortable.

BIER!

A waitress very soon approached us and asked us what we would like. A little obvious, don't you think?

BIER! FÃœNF BIER!

Ok, we probably didn't shout it and we probably didn't say it in German, but the first round on our table was sorted in under a few minutes of sitting down. An even shorter time later, it seemed that the beers arrived, all heavy steins and foamy head. To begin with, on our table sat Jordan, Erika, Pat, myself and Dan, later to be joined by Jordan, Jeremy, Cynthia, Josie and Kim.


PROST! we shouted, and smashed our enormous steins together with a satisfying chink, taking special care to look directly into everyone's eyes deeply - there was no way I was going to risk seven years bad sex. I took my first sip. I was strangely impressed. Not too beery, I thought to myself, I could get used to this.



Here it all becomes very simple. For the next 9 or 10 hours, we sat at our tables and we drank. We drank litres of beer. We danced. We sang. Some of our party on adjoining tables were kicked out for being too rowdy (possibly the same ones as on the bus?) and they ended up with some Oktoberfest stories of their own. At one point, it was time to eat when Dan and I realised we had completely forgotten to.

Let me tell you a little bit about the pork knuckle. I'd been recommended it, and so it was my first choice off the menu. As Dan and I weren't overly hungry, we decided to get one to start with and share it. Let's just say that the Germans know how to do pork. This was a thing of beauty. A masterpiece, and it wasn't only beer-goggles saying this. The pork knuckle came with a potato dumpling and some fantastic gravy, and it was devoured in very short order.


Across the whole day, I managed to put away 4 whole litres of beer, a fact I am pretty damn proud of considering I don't drink beer. In other words, that was the equivalent of 8 beers. I'm not very big, so this had a reasonable effect on me. Every time we ordered a beer, there was a chorus of, "Sara! Can I please have the sharpie?" and Sara would throw her texta towards us so we could mark our tally on our arm.


Towards the end of the evening, Dan realised his wallet was missing. We searched everywhere for it, looking underneath all of the surrounding tables and asking those who had taken over our old tables. Extremely unfortunate, but it was completely gone. Dan took it well, but as it was getting late anyway we decided to head back to the camp ground on the shuttle. We had a short walk around the Oktoberfest grounds but I for one was pretty damn stumble-y. We somehow navigated back to the bus (one was in the process of leaving and kindly stopped in the middle of the road for us) and back to our tent amongst hundreds in the camp site.

At this point, we realised that our shower tokens had been in Dan's wallet. To have hot water at this camp site, you had to pay for a shower token, which would give you exactly 8 minutes of hot water before becoming icy cold again. We went to the Topdeck tent and they kindly gave us another two shower tokens which we would use the next morning.

By now it was time to collapse onto our air-mattresses and await the impending hangover.

Sunday 27 September
HUUUUUUURUURRHRHRHRHHGHGHGHGHGGGGG.

In case you don't know what that is, that's the sound of someone vomiting violently. In the middle of the night I had heard someone being sick strangely close to my head, although it wasn't Dan or myself. I figured someone had thrown up on a tree nearby, but all was to be revealed in the morning.

We got up early because today we wanted to get a seat inside one of the beer halls. This meant getting there closer to 9.30am, instead of the 11am we were the previous day. It was damn bloody cold, and I had my first shower since Friday with my hot water token, applied a generous amount of makeup, and made my way to the breakfast tent to line my stomach again.

I soon learned that the painful hurling I had heard the night before was our tent neighbour Ryan, who had been unfortunately unwell inside his own tent which he was sharing with Jeremy. Jeremy, unable to do anything about it, managed to find himself a spare tent. Perhaps it was Ryan's plan all along to have a tent to himself? It explained why it sounded so close...because it was right next to my head.

I marvelled at how little hungover I felt, although I did not feel completely chipper. Another night with a significant lack of sleep, plus a significant amount of beer, plus the significantly early start and Sasha was a little worse for wear - although it could have been significantly worse. After stuffing as much food into myself as possible, the troupe who were capable of gathering early jumped on the bus (Thomas coming sprinting straight from sleeping in his tent to the bus) and we were off to do it all over again.

This morning, there was less singing and more groaning on the journey in. I for one was glad when it was over as the motion of the bus was not helping my belly. We made a beeline for the Paulaner tent and this morning we found ourselves a table pretty easily. The Britbounders in this group took up a table and a half and quietly ordered our first round of beer for the morning.

9.30am.

I Prost'ed as heartily as I could muster and took a tiny sip of my beer. I crinkled my nose, exclaiming this is a beerier beer than yesterday's beer! I wasn't sure how I was going to go. Looking around the table, some of the boys were tucking into their beer; most of the girls looked slightly pained.


Half a litre down though, and the vibe changed. Being inside the beer hall was completely different to outside and, while I'm glad to have experienced both, inside is definitely the place to be. It was not long before the room was filled to capacity, and capacity was approximately 8,500 people (sitting, and I'm quite sure more were crammed in). Soon we were singing rowdy songs, and shouting prost! and singing the cheers song (over..and over..and over again!):


Ein Prosit, ein Prosit

Der Gemütlichkeit
Ein Prosit, Ein Prosit
Der Gemütlichkeit.
OANS! ZWOA! DREI! G'SUFFA!



Every few minutes some brave (or stupid!) soul stood up on their bench, stein raised high, to the thunderous applause of the entire tent. This was the challenge: Finish the litre stein in one go. If you complete (and in good time), cheers and respect from your fellow drunkards. Fail, and you will be boo'ed and shamed for all eternity. Until the next person attempts it, anyway.

We had a couple of successful attempts on our table, which I am proud to say!

The afternoon proceeded in a similar - but crazier - manner than the previous days. Beer. Lots of beer. A pork knuckle of deliciousness. A pretzel. At one point, I chatted briefly with the Germans on the table behind us. "My name is Sasha," I said, to which the reply was always "Sasha? That's a boys name!" and laughter.


At some point of the evening, I discovered my handbag had been stolen. I looked everywhere for it. Inside was my purse (approximately €120), Shazza the meerkat, Little Joe, Dan's mascot, my brand new selfie stick that had been a gift, my phone power charger and some other little bits and pieces. I was extremely upset, but thanked small mercies that I had given Dan my phone, which housed my ID and bank card.

That will teach me for being a drunken idiot, dancing on the table and leaving my bag unattended in a room full of even more drunk and less pleasant strangers. I was upset, but decided I wasn't going to let it ruin my night, and so I ordered another stein and got right back up there on the table.

While we were dancing on the table, every now and then a beer waitress would tap us on the legs and angrily tell us to get back onto the benches. When she had passed, we were right back up on the table. Beer was spilled. Beer was drunk. Songs were sung. Dances were danced. Hugs were given. Smiles all around as the room buzzed with drunken electricity.


This day, I had again managed another 4 litre steins according to the sharpie markings I had drawn onto my arm. In actuality, I think it was closer to 5 as I may have purloined an odd stein that was unattended (perhaps the owner had been forcibly removed?). You snooze you lose, buddy.

At some point nearing the end of the evening, I went to the toilet and came back to find that everyone had called it a night. Probably rightly so! Dan and I started to wander off when we thought to check Lost Property on the off-chance someone had turned in his wallet. I don't remember how we found out where Lost Property was, or where it was, but we made our way there and it was not long before we were at the front of the queue.

To cut a long story short, the man behind the counter returned with Dan's wallet. "NO WAY." We both exclaimed very loudly. Dan detailed all of the things inside, including his McLovin' ID. The man asked how much money was inside, to which Dan replied About €100. Turns out it was €180 and we were left wondering if it ended up with more money inside than to start! He had to pay €34 to have it returned (an act of goodwill, I suppose) and we rejoiced.

On a whim, I asked if a red handbag had been turned in and I almost cried when I saw the man return with my (strangely limp) red Hedgren. Unlike Dan's good luck, my bag had been almost entirely stripped; money gone, Shazza and Joe gone, selfie stick gone, juice pack gone. The thief was kind enough to leave me my deodorant and lipstick and my handbag was a good AU$200 so I wasn't entirely unhappy. I still couldn't fathom why someone would steal a meerkat and a puppy dog and wondered what sick people there are in the world. Maybe Shazza and Little Joe staged their own disappearance, took the Euros and selfie stick and ran off into the world. Maybe I should look out for photos of the two of them!

It was almost time for the last shuttle and even though we wanted to ride the ferris wheel, it would be cutting it a little bit too fine. As we walked out of the Oktoberfest grounds, we bid it auf wiedersehen - hopefully not for the last time in our lives!



Monday 27 September
Gurgle. I did not feel well this morning. We had to be out of our tents and packed by 9am. This was a struggle. We had not eat enough over the course of the weekend. I had only eaten 2 breakfasts, 1 full pork knuckle (2x halves) and half a pretzel. That's not quite enough for 9ish litres of beer.

I would not be returning to London with the rest of the crew on the coach, but staying on in Germany. It was a minor debacle finding a place to store my luggage, but it was achieved, before we were all packed onto the coach again for a very small tour of the city. Naturally, I ended up sitting infront of the person who was sick on the bus, and many others were not feeling well, and I was supremely glad when the bus journey was over and I could breathe fresh air again.

The walking tour was uneventful and unremarkable; we ended up in the town square underneath the massive clock tower on the new town hall, and here we were left to our own devices. Dan and I decided we would stick around for the glockenspiel display. While we waited for 11am, I realised I hadn't booked my train ticket to Dresden, and I didn't have any money left thanks to my stolen wallet. Dan kindly lent me some and we booked my tickets then and there for later that afternoon.

After the little characters whirled and the bells chimed to mark 11am, we wandered over to the Hofbräuhaus, the biggest beer hall outside of Oktoberfest. I for one could only muster a fizzy orange drink and had absolutely no inclination for a beer. We had some food and bid the Britbounders adieu; we wanted to check out the Oktoberfest grounds one last time for a look in Lost Property for Shazza and Little Joe and a go on the ferris wheel.

This was the first time we had seen the grounds in the light of day. It was a Monday so it was more subdued than the weekend but it was still a hive of activity. And much bigger than I realised. We somehow found our way back to Lost Property, but the line was ridiculous and so I made the call to abandon.

From up on the ferris wheel, you could see the whole of the grounds, the masses of rides and the enormity of the beer halls. On the right, you could see the Alps in the distance. It was a bittersweet way to end an incredible weekend.

From here, I made my way to the train station to continue on with my adventure, but that is a story for another day.

***
Oktoberfest, what can I tell you? You were exactly what I expected. My expectations were oh so high and you turned out to be precisely what everyone had said. I was sleep deprived, food deprived, dehydrated, hungover but so very happy.

I never knew I was a beer drinker until now.

Til next time, prost!
xx

Tuesday 13 October 2015

Dismaland

On 27 August, I was lucky enough to nab tickets to Dismaland, an exclusively limited Banksy exhibition that would only be running for a number of weeks.

Each week, the tickets would go on sale for the following week and each week, these tickets sold out within 4 hours.

So I was quite surprised and ecstatic when, after pressing refresh furiously, I made it through. I grabbed two tickets for a grand total of £10 for Saturday 5 September and rejoiced.

Saturday 5 September
As I had managed to get through to purchase the tickets, Dan organised our transport there. Dismaland was held on an abandoned block in Weston-super-mare (or Weston-Super-Mario, as it was henceforth named) which is a good two hours out of London. Transport was significantly more expensive than the tickets themselves, which is mildly ironic, but everything about the day was well worth the cost.

There were three ticket times you could choose from, and for each wave the previous group had to leave. 11am, 2pm (closing at 6pm), reopening at 7pm. We chose the 2pm time slot as that afforded us the most time in the park.

After a number of excited hours on the train getting to Weston-Super-Mario, we alighted and paused outside the station. Many of the train passengers began walking in a certain direction and so we decided to follow. Very soon, however, we realised that Banksy was indeed showing us the way.



The pavement was graffitied with signage pointing us in the right direction (making sure to use safe walking crossing and pedestrian lights) for the about 15 minute walk to the fairground. We were running a bit early, so we made our way down to the beach. Yes, beach! At no point did it occur to me that I would be seeing beach, nor sandy beach, and so I had a small homesick moment as I realised I had seen very little (to almost no) sandy beach in over a year. Soon, this gave way to wonder as Dan pointed to the landscape across from us, commenting "That's Wales."

A little bit before 2pm we began wandering towards Dismaland, just in time. The queue formed long behind us and we waiting impatiently for the time to roll around.



Inside Dismaland
I saw people ahead of me being turned away from ticket and ID checking. What's going on? I thought. I finally got to the front and realised our ticket inspector was being a tool and forcing people to join the back of the other queue. I passed over my ticket, not sure what to expect. Bored, he looked at it, scrunched up his face, cocked his head in the direction of the entrance and said, "Piss off."

I did as I was told and entered the first building which was set up like airport security. Except everything was made out of cardboard. I approached the security station.



"Stop smiling." The attendant glared at me. I couldn't wipe the grin from my face.
"Look into that camera there," she said, pointing to a cardboard camera affixed to the wall. I attempted to still my face. "Look into it 5 seconds. We are watching you. Stop smiling."

Finally, I was allowed to enter and, as I waited for Dan's interrogation, two more security personnel surrounded me.
"What have you got in your bag?"
"My coat and tissues, mostly, I'm sick!"
"Urgh! Get out of here with your germs!" and Dan and I burst into the bemusement park.



We didn't quite know where to start. There was a huge line forming on our left and so, true to the human condition, we decided to join it. While in the line, I wandered to the programme stand.
"May I have a programme please?"
"I suppose so," was the bored and uninterested reply. He then asked me if I was Australian. "Bloody long way to come for wind and rain," he said and handed me the programme.

The queue was for a long hall along the left hand side of the bemusement park. Once inside, it was an incredible exhibition of sculpture, paintings and miscellaneous, including a few unassuming Banksy's.





Pretty certain this was art too.

After the hall, I was desperate to go on the Ferris Wheel and after a short line up we clambered aboard. My hands were shaking from my fear of heights, when the ferris wheel suddenly started up backwards and incredibly fast. I found it rather terrifying, but it also afforded an amazing view of the park, across the beach and all the way to Wales. A number of terrifying circulations later and I was back on solid ground, legs shaky.

We were ready for a sit down, and grabbed ourselves a couple of ciders and nestled down at the 'cinema' - a roughly-hour-long loop of short videos on every subject from diving giraffes to the wonders of ageing, to hard hitting international themes.


From here, we had a look in a circus tent which had a real live(dead) unicorn. Next to it was a pond with remote control boats. Cool! I thought, and we put our pound in and started whizzing the boats around. It was then I realised...the boats were filled with people. There was one boat that looked suspiciously liked a police boat. The boats were filled with refugees and there were a handful of dolls lying face down, drowned, in the water. This was only days after the poor small boy was found on the beach and I felt incredibly sad and uncomfortably and ceased to spin my boat around.

Powerful stuff. Thought provoking. To cheer up, we jumped on the carousel - another first for Dan! After the ticket girl begrudgingly gave us our tickets and told us not to fall off, the carousel set off - backwards. After a minute it ground to a half and then started off the right way around. Up and down and up and down - I felt like a kid again!

We also had a look inside the main Cinderella castle, one of the major Banksy works. Once inside, it was pitch black - the illumination coming from strobing flash lights. Cameras. Paparazzi. Cinderella's carriage was upturned, Cinderella hanging out the window. An allusion to Princess Diana, by any chance?

A video posted by flossycomet (@flossycomet) on


By now, it was almost time for our Dismaland experience to be over and, a quick picture through the Selfie Hole and we shuffled our way out of the door.



***
I feel very lucky to have been able to experience Dismaland and for it to live up to expectations. The staff were perfectly in character, I could imagine them going home each evening, excitedly telling their friends So I was a total arsehole to this family today... The art was beautiful, interesting, thought provoking, hard-hitting and exceptionally well done. And, a little fact - once Dismaland was over, it was dismantled and all the materials used to built shelters for refugees at Calais. Cool, huh?



Dan and I finished the day with fish and chips on the beach (which made me feel strangely homesick!) before settling down for the long train journey home.

xx



Unfuck the system.