Oporto

The consensus with budget airlines was unanimous and simple, "Avoid Ryanair at all costs". Heeding this, I had for over a year, managed to comply with this caveat. It was only until early 2010 that I booked myself into my first Ryanair flight. Pisa, was the destination and I had braced myself for cranky staff, yielding flight times and to be charged for everything under the sun. As with all expectations, I was pleasantly surprised. Sure, they didn't have seat pockets or in flight magazines and that annoying audio-byte at the end of each "on time" flight. Overall, Ryanair is bearable and only marginally pipped by Easyjet. Saturday was slightly different. Our flight was scheduled to depart at 9:20 but had been pushed back to 11:05, normally this wouldn't irk me at all. However, an extra hour of sleep on morning weekend flights makes the world of difference! Excellent way to start the trip, not.

It still amazes me that after being here for almost 2 years I still hadn't set foot in Portugal. It's not that the desire wasn't there, it's just there was always somewhere "more interesting" to be sacrificed at the expense of a weekend. With my penultimate departure on the horizon we rounded up a small group (of 3) and headed over to Porto, Portugal. As previously mentioned, I had low expectations of Portugal, in fact my predetermined criteria for a good trip was as follows: Nice weather, drink Port, try some authentic Portuguese Charcoal Chicken and eat as many egg tarts humanly possible.

I can happily report that it was an excellent trip with all of the above points successfully completed (some checked more than once). The weather was a few degrees shy of being perfect but with 22 degrees blue skies it was always going to be better than the sub-10 degree Autumn currently plaguing London. We visited a couple of Port Cellars on the Vila Nova de Gaig and (for me, the first time) sampled locally produced Port. It was a complete mission to find Chicken with Peri-Peri but we eventually found it, each time we asked "Do you know where you can get Portuguese Chicken?" it was always received by a "you can get chicken from most restaurants in Porto". Another case of lost in translation. I must have consumed at least 5 eggs tarts over the two days, a little short of what I had expected still, they were delicious!

Saw an old man vomit on the street from excessive alcoholism. For some reason unknown, I had an affinity with this (approximately) 80 year old man. He slowly pulled a handkerchief from his tweed pocket and proceeded to wipe his mouth. Two older ladies were at his side rubbing his back while cleaning his face. Magenta waste spilled all over the pavement, the customary carrots also featured and in the middle of the mess were his dentures, just sitting there. You're never too old to get blind drunk.

Oktoberfest: 2010 release

It was billed as the rematch. 12 months ago I had passed out after a gruelling 6 hour drinking session. I had become another statistic of the 16 day event known as Oktoberfest. This time round I was determined, experienced and better prepared and I had grand ambitions to last out an entire day of drinking. Confidence is one thing, being delusional is another.

I, like many, suffer from the common problem of Asian Flush. This enzyme deficiency leads to the embarrassing situation of turning bright red after a handful of drinks. I decided I would attempt to remedy this problem at the world's most famous beer festival. Again, this was unsuccessful.

The Opening Ceremony of the 200th Anniversary of the most famous beer festival was exactly as I remembered - Plenty of drinking, the price of a stein had jumped to €9. Plenty of eating, it still amazes me how they manage to churn out quality food for the masses. Plenty of shenanigans, ass pinching, tobacco snorting, Europeans with yellow fever. Plenty of causalities. Plenty of memories, managed to catch up with my old Dragon Boat coach from Canada. Excellent times! Prost!

Pros versus Cons

Undoubtedly, the hardest thing about being overseas is being away from friends and family. Not only that but those moments that you aren't there to share with them. The various rites of passages, graduations, birthdays, ground breaking news flashes and anniversaries. It can be somewhat depressing to hear about front page news through written text, an SMS, an email, a Facebook update. It's almost as impersonal as reading about the escapades of a celebrity on the front page of Entertainment Weekly. In the end you can only congratulate them or share your salutations and express with deepest regret that you weren't there. In the end you just hope that these momentous sacrifices are not all in vain.

Ruing the fact that I am due to miss two upcoming weddings I made it a mission to make the most of being overseas. Iceland's Eyjafjallajokull had wrecked havoc on EU flight paths potentially derailing this trip. Also, it would be my first Ryanair experience. I desperately wanted to get on this flight if only to justify why I was overseas.

Finding people to travel with to this destination was a mission in itself. Majority of people that have been to Europe, let alone those living in Europe have toured through the Tuscan region of Florence and Pisa. Keeping it short, managed to tick off all the iconic items. The Leaning Tower, Pasta, Gelato, Florentine Steak and Michaelangelo's David. The highlight would be riding a bike through the narrow Florence streets and the Sunday Lunch consisting of take away pasta eaten on the steps of an old church.

Why so grumpy?

Imagine a world where for each waking morning the first thing that would register would not be the sound of an alarm, the familiar smell of coffee nor the sun stealing through your window but a single numeric value. Let's say for example that this number ranges from between 0-10. Now imagine that this number would be deterministic of the day ahead of you. 0 being absolutely rubbish, conversely 10 being outstanding. Would you bother getting out of bed if one day you woke up to a 1?


Saturday 2nd May 2009, the beginning of the first May Bank long weekend. Another redeye flight. Departing from Stansted Airport at 7:20 am. Begin the sequence of unfortunate events. 4:20 am, the Dean St bus stop is closed due to road works. This unforeseen road closure has me searching for an alternative way to get to Victoria Station. After much aimless wandering I arrive at Victoria station late, great, I missed the 4:47 am coach to the Airport. In fact, tardiness is not the only reason for missing my bus, turns out I was waiting on the wrong side of the road. 3 coaches later I climb aboard the 5:35 am National Express and explain to the bus driver that I had missed my previous booking. 'I missed the earlier bus', He looks at my boarding pass and then looks at his watch: 'You missed it by a lot'. Smart ass.


If this chapter in my life has taught me anything it's that expectation management goes a long way. Brace yourself for the worst that way nothing surprises you. There was a realistic chance I could miss my flight, my boarding pass states that all gates close 30 minutes before take off. At 6:55 the coach pulls into Stansted Airport. I disembark like a madman, dashing off the bus, weaving through crowds, bounding up escalators only to regain composure, wipe the froth from my mouth and casually flash my boarding pass to security at the departures hall. I rush through customs/security in record time and find myself lining up to board at 7:10. Who says you need to be at the airport 2 hours before a flight? Currently reading Kazuo Ishiguro's Never Let Me Go.

BCN International Airport, it's a welcome sight to see my other travel companions. We invest in a 10-pass metro ticket and proceed to head into town. The train arrives at the platform and as we board somebody cuts across my left shoulder and barges his way onto the train. He smiles and politely excuses himself, I nod and try to get into the train. Despite my will to move I feel myself being herded into a particular direction by the crowd. At that moment in time I feel fingers reaching into my back pocket and pinching at my wallet. Slapping the hand away I spin around to shove the would-be pick pocketer away. "Hey!" (that's the monochrome version of what language was used). He looks at me, looks to the ground and walks off. The remainder of the train trip is spent being over cautious as we observe the thieves work their way through the train. I'm in a foul mood.

Check into the hotel and begin our tour of the city. I have around €2.60 on me, no problems, I'll just pop over to the hole in the wall and withdraw some Euro. Or will I? 3 card rejections later, I'm still broke. Overseas with no money. Thankfully my friends have been nice enough to offer me a daily allowance. What a start to the trip, almost didn't make it to Barcelona, almost got robbed and almost had no cash. I wonder if I'll almost have a good trip. They say, Bad things always happen in threes. Thankfully this proved true and the rest of the trip went without a hiccup.

Sagrada Familia Church


€13 entrance which include admission to the Gaudi House. Definitely not worth the entrance fee, the interior of the museum was under construction. €2.50 lift to the top was worth it however.


Guell park - Amazing park that lacked grass.


Picasso museum


Free entry on the first Sunday of each month!

Port/Beach


Columbus Monument


Parc de la Ciutadella - The Central park of Barcelona


St Joseph Market (Mercado an Jose)


Great selection of fruit, nuts and snacks.


Mare Magnum - Seaside shopping centre.


Food: Les Quinze Nit, La Gavina, La Xerinola, Tapas 24, KFC, Dunkin Coffee, Crepes Barcelona




Nightlife

Slightly unfortunate that we didn't get to party it up with the Catalans. The first evening we were there also happened to be the Local Derby El Gran Clasico. Real Madrid versus Barcelona with an end result of 6-2 in favour of the locals. The victory meant that locals were in a festive mood, although festive could also be mistaken for riot.


So to answer the question. I would most definitely get out of bed; even for a zero...

Amstel dam

The cold crisp breeze stirs through the park. A path of wavering grass and the rustle of leaves is left in its wake. Occasionally the sun will steal through the clouds, the rays warm the skin and the goosebumps subside. It's already quite late in the morning and the locals are awake. They are occupied with their usual Sunday morning park activities; exercising, walking the dog, strolling with kids or on their way to somewhere important. Then of course there's me. In a defiant protest I sit in the park for other reasons not so common to theirs. I've just woken up. In the middle of a park. In Amsterdam. I have stooped to a new level of homelessness.

In my defence, I was only asleep for 10 minutes but what a glorious 10 minutes it was. Rewind 24 hours. 3:30 am, my house mates are still out partying as I gather my backpack and head off to Baker Street to catch the National Express to Stansted Airport. One of the reasons for the relocation to London was having the luxury and opportunity to travel around Europe. This would be my first of (hopefully) many weekend adventures. This weekend's destination as you may have already figured out is Amsterdam.

The flight from London to Amsterdam took a little under 50 minutes. We were immediately greeted by a cooler than London climate, plenty of canals and the biggest collection of bicycles I have seen in my life. Our day was spent visiting the major tourist destinations each reached by tram: The Van Gough Museum, Anne Frank House, shopping around Kalverstraat and finally an early evening tour of the infamous Red Light District. The evening was capped off with the Sensation Black 2008 party held at Amsterdam Arena where we partied into the early morning.


Fast forward to 11 am Sunday, so having been awake for an unhealthy 31 hours I find myself sitting in Vondelpark. It should be noted that, some of us did not organise accommodation for this weekend adventure. Our lazy afternoon was spent in one of Amsterdam's traditional Coffee Houses before boarding our flight back home. I haven't quite got used to the fact that "home" is now London and have on many times re-corrected myself "I'm from Sydney, well London".