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!

Oxegen

Around this time last year we found ourselves among the frenzy also known as San Fermin, The Running of the Bulls. At the time, I never in my wildest dreams imagined to find a better combination of filthiness and fun. So, almost a year down the track I find myself covered in mud again longing for a hot shower with a smile from ear to ear.


I've become somewhat jaded in my approach to sight seeing. Gone are the days of wanting to see and experience each and every cultural offering of the country. Obscure churches and random squares no longer interest me. Not to say that I have become a slave to traveling the globe without absorbing culture. I'm not shallow enough to say that content is found with a passport full of stamps and to be able to chime in with a "I've been to that country". On the contrary, I'm still taking enough away from each country to leave a lingering feeling.


Take for example, my recent trip to Dublin. I, experienced Irish weather, spotted a leprechaun, asked a local to repeat themselves because of the Irish accent and got drunk in the mud. OK the last one really isn't Irish, but was still fun!


A familiar face, a familiar smile, an unfamiliar relationship.

Chk, chk, boom!

Riga, Lativia

Sushi, the "national dish".

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.

Oktoberfest 2009

I've officially experienced one of the busiest working weeks in my short working-career. Feature creep, misinterpreted requirements, various hacks and a tight deadline have culminated to what would either be a spectacular fail or conversely a product that would make Steve McQueen proud. To say work was busy would be an epic understatement. Let's back this up to Friday evening: 10 pm. I had just reached the 15th hour of work. To make matters worse, the air-conditioning had shutdown for the weekend and the cleaners had gone home. My eyes - dry and tired. My hands - cramping, RSI kicking in. My brain - mush. The Bulldogs - lost. My 6:20 pm flight to Munich - missed. This week - shit.

Despite this, I clung onto the only positive about missing my flight. That I would get to see my sister. At least, so I thought. Long story short, her roster had changed and she would no longer be flying to London but to Manila. This was rock bottom. I needed to drown my sorrows, I needed a beer.


What my sorrows got was not a drowning, it was asphyxiation by 6.9 million litres of smooth amber liquid. Resuscitated, then re-drowned until it was nothing but a soggy memory. On average, 6 million other people will head to Munich during this 16 day period. All with the same intention: to drink, eat and sing. It is the opposite of misery and self-wallow, it is Oktoberfest.


I arrived in Munich late Saturday evening. People of all ages were out walking the streets in traditional lederhosen and dirnl. The two days spent in Munich felt like one huge alcoholic roller coaster. It was as if the entire town was intoxicated (both fesitivity-wise and literally).

I'll try to outline a typical Oktoberfest day. Wake up early, you'll need to start lining up to get into the Beer Tents. By 9:30 most of them will close their doors until later in the evening. Activities that take place include:

Drinking: A Stein (1 litre of preservative free beer, higher-than-normal) will set you back approximately €8-10. The price of water was about €4. Prost!


Eating: Pretzels, breads, Schnitzel, Hendl, sausages and pork knuckles.


Talking: Great place to talk to people from all around the world.

Singing: Traditional Bavarian folk songs plus a healthy share of western classics make for a huge sing-a-long (Hey! Baby, Better Man, Country Road, Seven Nation Army).

Passing out: The higher than usual alcoholic content of beer claimed many casualties. Ranging from vomitting, passing out and alcohol poisoning.


Should you survive till 10 pm, there are countless after parties to take you deep into the evening. The legal drinking age is 16 and Oktoberfest caters to people of all ages. The grounds are not only home to beer tents but a Royal Easter Show-esque carnival. Amazing festival, definitely recommended and I'd consider returning in 2010.


Munich wasn't all about drinking (although it felt like it). On our final day we made the choice to visit Neuschwanstein Castle. It was a grueling 2.5 train + bus ride but the view was amazing. The tour was somewhat lackluster as was the hideous scaffolding but it added the final splash of culture this trip was missing.

Viva La Vida

The familiar yet still unsavory chime of my alarm rouses me from my sleep. Scrunching my eyes tightly together I breathe a heavy sigh and roll over to my side. I blindly fumble for my alarm clock. Prying my eyes open proves to be a less than simple task. "Just another 5 minutes". Despite having almost 12 hours of sleep I still feel completely rundown and soon find myself negotiating with my sleep deprived alter-ego for more sleep. "How about going to into work late? Actually, you should call in sick".

Snapping out of my stupor I casually slip my earphones on and listen to Coldplays' Viva La Vida. The introduction brings back a wave of memories, Spain, Bilbao, San Sebastian, Pamplona and Ibiza. In short, this trip is best described as an agglomerate, a sensory orgy of all things Spanish; food, culture and friendships old and new. Indelible and memorable, this trip will be forever held as the climax of my European travels. If my EU travels were to be analogous to sex, this would be the orgasm. Similarly, I find myself lying on my back in a state of contemplation.

I trudge into the shower and soon find myself humming the tune that will forever be associated with what was an amazing holiday. Viva La Vida, Spanish for "Long Live Life". Amen to that.

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...

Prague

When you suffer the consequences of doing something ridiculous it makes you stop and ask yourself "Why do we do stupid things?". The frequency of this question over the last couple of days has prompted me to wonder if it's lack of common sense or in fact just a way to add value to out otherwise mundane routines. The first instance of this question came about Thursday night. I was at the gym "experimenting" with a new back exercise. During the last set I fell into an awkward position and felt the entire right hand side of my back lock up. Oh uh, I thought, stupidly enough I continued my work out fighting through the pain. Only after I got home did I realise I had sprained my trap muscle and my back was disfigured and hideously disproportional.

The extent of this injury became apparent the following morning after a 15 minute endeavor to get out of bed. Range of movement in my neck, back and shoulders were severely limited, It felt like I had broken my body with the only way to avoid the sharp thronging pain was to live life in slow motion.

There is in fact a correlation between European travel and the seasons. Winter makes for unpleasant holidaying with the most influencing reasons being the cold, the limited hours of daylight and the possibility of delayed flights. So as the European winter draws to an end the weekend of the 7th-8th February was to be spent in Prague. In total, 8 of us would travel to the capital of The Czech Republic.


We arrived at Ruzyne International Airport shortly after 10 am local time. After a 20 minute bus ride from the airport to Dejvicka station we found ourselves on the metro being shuttled to Staronestska, the centre of town. First thing on our agenda was to find our apartment where we could freshen up and then explore the city. To say that we were enthused about being in Prague would have been a lie. We had taken a couple of wrong turns and our feet were heavy from the lack of sleep and the agonising pain of hunger. Passing a KFC we resisted the urge to succumb to the Colonel's secret recipe. We eventually found a local bar and had the waitress call the owner of apartment to come fetch us.

The apartment was enormous and one of the best accommodations I've stayed in Europe and at around €20 per person/per night was a bargain. Going by recommendations we ended up eating at U Sadlu a medieval themed restaurant specialising in Czech cuisine. The amount of food that we consumed was obscene. We sat in the dimly lit music saloon each staring out into space, we had all eaten too much. Despite being completely satiated we ordered desert and drifted into consumption comatose. Why do we do stupid things?


The next two hours was spent walking the streets of Prague.

Charles Bridge:


Astronomical Clock:


Old Town:


We had covered most of the key tourists attractions on this side of the river and with our Saturday night already planned we headed back to the apartment for some much needed rest.

The evening kicked off with a dinner reservation at Gordan Ramsey's Maze. Admittedly we were still full from lunch but found the food and service top notch.


The next Czech experience involved us being seated around the apartment coffee table as we each took turns burning sugar cubes into Absinthe. Feeling quite warm we headed back out into the cold to Karlovy Lazne. Left club just before 3 am and spent a substantial portion of the evening trying to retrace our steps to the KFC. We were preparing to go to sleep and with one last ditch effort tried to finish off the remaining Absinthe. Why do we do stupid things?


Sunday morning was a complete write off. In the afternoon we headed across St Charles Bridge and explored Prague Castle. It was a nice walk but the groups' energy level had been sapped. Unanimously we decided to once again return to the apartment for an afternoon nap. We checked out at 6 pm and made for the local KFC. We bought a bucket of chicken and another bucket of wicked wings and proceeded to gorge ourselves silly. Why do we do stupid things?


Prague rates as one of my laziest European trips. I can safely say that we spent more time in the apartment than on the streets of Prague. So here I am, typing up a recount of my last few days. I'm extremely tired, my back still hurts, I've put on the extra calories, I'm down £200 and admittedly, this doesn't phase me one bit.

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".